By: Tess
Faith met her in a bar on George Street a little after two o’clock on a bitter but bright Thursday afternoon. Or, perhaps more accurately, the girl found Faith on that Spring day.
It had been an average morning. They all were, really.
She’d breezed into the bar, eyed the array of half-full and empty tables, and made a beeline for Faith.
‘Do you mind if I sit here?’ The girl indicated to the empty seat. Not sure how to politely refuse her company, particularly when there was no good reason for her to have to share a table at all, Faith just stared at her. The girl smiled back and pulled out the chair, collapsing into it and throwing her handbag on the ground beside her feet.
‘It’s quite brisk out, isn’t it? Sunny, though. One of those days when you don’t know whether to wrap up or not.’ The girl unwound a long scarf from around her neck as she spoke, tossing it carelessly on top of her bag. ‘You see, me, I’m an optimist. If the sun’s shining that’s enough to convince me not to drag out the winter coat. Even if it is still March and we only had snow on the ground last week.’
All the while she spoke the girl watched Faith carefully, as if waiting for a reply. When she got no response she just continued.
‘Hat, scarf and gloves’, she said. ‘If you have them, it’s amazing how thin a coat you can get away with in this weather. I mean, this…’ she pulled her arms out of her black trench coat, ‘is only the thinnest cotton but with my hat, scarf and gloves I’m all toasty despite the chill of the wind. And there are few things better than being able to feel the wind on your skin. It feels so…’
‘Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?’ interrupted Faith eventually, unsure when the girl would stop talking otherwise. The girl grinned back. Impudent, thought Faith. Thatwas the word for that type of smile.
‘That would be because I didn’t give it,’ she replied. It sounded like she was trying not to break into laughter. Faith looked at her.
‘Look’, continued the girl. ‘It doesn’t really matter what my name is. It’s just a label you’ll attach to me, another way of pigeonholing me.’
Faith glanced across the table, not sure how to respond.
‘For example,’ the girl said. ‘How does your name define you, Faith? Loyal? Dependable? Reliable?’ Faith blinked and opened her mouth to speak, but the girl continued, gesturing at Faith’s left breast. ‘You’re still wearing your name badge.’
Faith looked down, blushing. Her companion just sat there, head cocked slightly to one side. After a moment, Faith realised she was waiting for her to answer.
‘I am loyal,’ she said. ‘And dependable and reliable. I don’t see anything wrong with that.’
The girl shrugged, indifferent. ‘I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it. If that’s what you want.’ She moved a little closer to the table, edging her chair forward and leaning her arms on the table surface. ‘If that’s what you really want. Is it? Because I think you’re a jam tomorrow kind of person.’
Faith frowned, but the girl offered no further explanation. Instead she just sat there with that impudent grin on her face, waiting for the inevitable.
‘And what does that mean?’ Faith reluctantly asked, despite herself, after a moment.
The girl’s eyes twinkled with knowing mischief. She pulled a tattered book from her handbag and flicked through the pages. Within seconds she’d found the passage she wanted. Afterwards, Faith wondered if the book had actually fallen open on the desired page. Clearing her voice, the girl read aloud:
“‘I’m sure I’ll take you with pleasure!’ the Queen said. ‘Twopence a week, and jam every other day.’
Alice couldn’t help laughing, as she said, ‘I don’t want you to hire ME – and I don’t care for jam.’
‘It’s very good jam,’ said the Queen.
‘Well, I don’t want any TO-DAY, at any rate.’
‘You couldn’t have it if you DID want it,’ the Queen said. ‘The rule is, jam to-morrow and jam yesterday – but never jam to-day.’
‘It MUST come sometimes to “jam to-day,”’ Alice objected.
‘No, it can’t,’ said the Queen. ‘It’s jam every OTHER day: to-day isn’t any OTHER day, you know.’
‘I don’t understand you,’ said Alice. ‘It’s dreadfully confusing!’”
‘I don’t understand you,’ echoed Faith as the girl triumphantly closed her book. ‘What is that meant to mean?’
‘You’re a jam tomorrow kind of person,’ repeated the girl, in a tone which indicated she clearly thought the passage from the book had been sufficiently self-explanatory. Faith shook her head, nonplussed. The girl rolled her eyes.
‘You,’ she continued, gesturing at Faith, ‘do not live for today in any way at all. You’re always waiting for tomorrow and, once tomorrow has arrived, you don’t even notice. You carry on waiting for the next tomorrow. When was the last time you stopped being so dependable and did something you wanted to do? Something big, something worthwhile, and something you and you alone wanted?’
Faith shrugged, embarrassed.
‘I went to see a show last week that I’ve wanted to see for ages,’ she said after a while. Her companion raised her left eyebrow mockingly. Faith half coughed and half laughed, the bitter noise sounding strange coming from her dutiful throat.
‘Ok, it wasn’t my idea,’ she conceded. ‘In fact, it wasn’t even a show I particularly wanted to see.’
The girl across the table wriggled in her seat and sat there grinning at Faith, hugging her stocking clad knees. She said nothing.
‘But you don’t understand,’ ventured Faith, becoming defensive of her actions. Her life, even. ‘People rely on me. They depend on me to be there. I help people.’ Her eyes pleaded for her nameless companion to understand. Eventually she dropped her gaze and sat in mute defeat.
‘I’m not criticising you,’ apologised the girl after what seemed like an eternity of ashamed silence. ‘I just wondered if you were really happy. I mean, really happy. At the end of the day you need to justify your life to you and only you.’
She paused, tapping a manicured finger against perfect lips.
‘I only know, because you might as well just be me, several years ago. I used to care what people thought. I used to wordlessly beg for a badge of approval that I was never going to win. It wasn’t until an unexpected conversation that I realised that everything I had been putting off, everything I wanted to do but was too scared, everything I had shelved to help someone else was far too important to leave any longer. It’s easy to justify helping others and using others as excuses for inactivity. But, actually, the only person stopping you from doing what you want to do is yourself. If you actually valued yourself as you should, you’d see that someone as amazing as you deserves a happy, fulfilled life. Not just the existence you’re currently working your way through.’
Faith glanced round the room, awkwardly. The girl was leaning in towards her, only the suddenly fragile table acting as a barrier. What would people think? She could feel a blush staining her cheeks. Her eyes darted in pained embarrassment.
And yet, the girl’s attention wasn’t entirely unwanted. Faith had never before felt so comfortable in anyone’s company. Not the arms of a male lover, not the comforting embrace of her parents when she had been a young girl. She had never felt so understood, so valued.
The girl watched Faith’s naked face work through its conflicts of vulnerability and confusion, her lips parted slightly and her eyes glistening with barely muted excitement.
The sharp smash of a glass falling from a nearby table and meeting with the hardwood floor made Faith physically jump from her unexpected reverie. She leant back in her chair, as far away from her companion as possible. For a moment, she was sure the girl looked disappointed.
‘Here,’ the girl said, proffering the book to her companion. ‘Take it.’
‘Oh, I couldn’t,’ replied Faith, shaking her head. ‘It’s yours.’
Her companion smiled, tilting her head to one side with an amused expression.
‘But I think you need it more than me,’ she responded eventually. Sensing Faith’s hesitation was crumbling, she continued. ‘I’ll tell you what; you can give it back to me once you don’t need it any more. And just to prove it still belongs to me, I’ll sign it.’
Grinning, she opened the front cover and, lifting it to her mouth, kissed the book. The glossy imprint of her crimson mouth shone from the dull, aged page. Closing the cover, the girl pushed the paperback across the table.
Faith picked it up and sat there, weighing it in her hand for a moment.
‘But how will I know where to return it?’ she asked. ‘How will I know where to find you?’
Her companion pushed back her chair and stood up quickly.
‘Ah, well,’ the girl whispered in a tone which made Faith feel like there was some conspiracy to which she was not party. Some joke that this girl knew, but that Faith did not understand. ‘Do you believe in fate? We’ll meet again, I promise.’ She wrapped her scarf around her slim neck and bent to pick up her handbag.
‘And remember, Faith; today isn’t just any other day.’
She was gone before Faith could even reply.
The station was always busy and that Thursday was no exception. The ticket queue crawled forward at a tedious pace, the impatience of those near the front tempered by the irritated resignation of those at the back. Faith glanced down at the twenty-pound note in her hand. Lord Ilay stared back. Faith was sure she saw his mouth give an amused twitch, and his left eyebrow raise slightly, challenging and mocking her.
The world was also peering at Faith on that bright but bitter afternoon. Waiting for her next move. She could hear it holding its breath, feel its anticipation brush her spine, making her shudder. Faith pulled the battered paperback out of her practical handbag and opened the front cover. She read the inscription, scrawled twenty-nine years ago, in a child’s hand.
Faith Liberty Stewart smiled.
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