The Past is a Foreign Country

On hearing a noise from the vicinity of the kitchen, Barbara stopped chewing her sandwich and muted the television. After a brief silence there came the cry, Only me!

On recognizing the voice as belonging to her daughter Jane, Barbara resumed mastication and restored voices to the assortment of women who were chattering on the screen. Jane entered the living room carrying a leather holdall and, with her mother looking on curiously, she undid the zip.

"What's this?" Barbara said.

"I've brought you a present. It's from Jenny."

"Oh, bless her," Barbara said, "did she make it at school?"

"No. It's something she once used, but she has a new one, so you can have the old one."

"I'm confused."

"Ta-da," Jane said, pulling a laptop computer from the bag. "Jenny's old laptop, all set up and ready for you to use. Eric and I have signed you up to a broadband deal."

"A what?"

"Broadband, Mum. Get you active on social media."

"But I don't know the first thing about computers."

"Not yet, but you will. I know you're not up to speed with technology, Mum, but this is a chance to bring you out of your shell. If you don't like it, then fine. But I think you should at least give it a try."

"Oh, Jane. I appreciate the thought, but it's a bit late in the day for me to be learning how to use a computer. I still haven't got the hang of that phone you gave me."

"Nonsense. We're not going to have you hacking into GCHQ, we'll just get you active on social media."

"You see," Barbara said, "you've lost me already. I don't even know what social media is." Jane laughed.

"It's quite simple, Mum, it'll connect you with people. Eric has set you up an account and we'll pay the monthly bills, so it won't cost you a penny."

"I'm not sure."

Jane switched off the television and crawled towards the plug socket on the skirting board, speaking as she connected the leads and plugged in the router. "Mum, in the year since Dad died you've barely been outside. It's time you got back into circulation, and this will help. You're sixty-three, for heaven's sake."

"I wouldn't know where to start."

"Well, we can start now. Look, all done. I'll just go through the initial use admin and we'll be up and running."

Presently, Jane was able to log in to Barbara's new social media profile. "See," she said, "Jenny has already set up a page for you." Barbara put on her glasses and studied the screen. She chuckled.

"Where did she get that photo? I look so young."

"It's from Jenny's Christening. If you want a more recent one, just send it over the Internet."

"I'll never get the hang of that," Barbara said.

"Oh yes you will," Jane said, "I've booked you in for sessions at the community centre on Wednesday nights."

"I can't do that, Jane," Barbara said, "I've no confidence."

"You'll be fine, Mum, because I'll be doing it with you. It's not a class as such, but a friendly group run by a lovely old fellow who teaches basic computer literacy. He'll soon have you dashing off emails and having video chats with Jenny."

"Couldn't you show me how to do that?"

"Well, I could, but then that would keep you within these four walls. Part of this whole venture is to get you out among new people; it's as much about personal interaction as electronic."

"Let me think about it," Barbara said.

"Now, let's add some people to your list of friends."

"I rarely see anyone these days. I've lost touch. Besides, people my age don't use computers a lot."

"You'd be surprised, Mum," Jane said. "What about friends from school, or your pals from the coffee bar that you told me about?"

"Oh, Paula, Wendy, and Janet," Barbara said with a laugh. "We used to go shopping in town with our pocket money every Saturday morning, and then we'd go to the Domino Coffee Bar. It was all very trendy, with a jukebox and glass cups. The others usually had coffee, but I always got a mug of foaming malted milk. After taking my first mouthful I'd have a froth moustache and I'd talk in a gruff voice as though I were a man. It was the same gag every week, but how we'd all laugh. Frank, the proprietor, called us the four incorrigibles. They were happy times."

"Right," Jane said, "what are their surnames?"

"Paula Corkery, Wendy Flanders, and Janet Thorne," Barbara said. Jane began typing, but after only a few seconds she stopped suddenly.

"Of course, they may have changed surnames when they married. This might not be as easy as I thought."

"If it's any help, Paula had a brother, Tom."

Looking at Tom Corkery's profile, Jane found a Paula Jones among his friends and, on checking her profile photo, Barbara immediately recognized her as being nee Corkery. A delve into Mrs. Jones's friend list revealed a Wendy Elliott, who verified her credentials, to Barbara's astonishment, via an actual photo on her profile page of the four incorrigibles on a school trip. Between them, Paula and Wendy had several friends named Janet, but none bore a resemblance to the elusive Miss Thorne.

"Well, as the song goes, two out of three ain't bad," Jane said, sending off two friend requests on Barbara's behalf.

- - -

The group at the community centre was called IT for the Terrified, and, sitting at desks, there were five attendees of varying ages. The voluntary tutor, Mr. Cheeseman, welcomed Barbara and Jane, and he showed them to their seats. Everyone taking part was allocated a computer, and Barbara and Jane sat next to each other. 

Not long into proceedings, laughter ensued when Norma, a fifty-year-old chatterbox, notified Mr. Cheeseman that her computer had stopped working. When the tutor told Norma that her screen had frozen, she asked, "How do I defrost it?" Barbara joined in the laughter, although she wasn't entirely sure what she was laughing at.

Barbara struck up an immediate friendship with Norma, and, four weeks after joining the group, Jane announced that she would be dropping out. As her mother had bonded with new acquaintances, Jane's attendance was no longer required.

Meanwhile, on social media, Barbara had rekindled her long-dormant friendship with Paula and Wendy. Through these, Barbara learned that Janet had passed away three years earlier. Saddened by this news, Barbara suggested a reunion of the remaining three incorrigibles, to be held in the old town. While Barbara and Paula had moved away, Wendy had stayed and she broke the unsurprising news that the Domino Cafe was no longer there. But there were other cafes, and the trio made arrangements to meet up in one of those on a Saturday afternoon, just as they had done over forty years earlier. On hearing news of the reunion, Jane expressed delight at her mother's new, more active life.

- - -

The wheels of Barbara's suitcase trundled on the cobblestones in a lane that led from the railway station to the Oak Hotel which, Barbara noted, had barely changed in four decades.

After calling Jane to let her know she'd arrived safely, Barbara used her brand new tablet, a gift from Jane, to contact her two friends and confirm the meeting at the Kingfisher Cafe on the high street at two o'clock.

As Barbara took a final look at herself in a mirror before leaving, she suddenly felt a pang of apprehension. People change over time, she thought, and it was unlikely these pals from the past would have retained the exuberant, life-loving outlook of those innocent teenage years. She dismissed the thought immediately, confident that they would still be possessed of their better qualities.

"Well, here goes," Barbara said, pulling a stray dark thread from the sleeve of her lemon-yellow jacket. She left the hotel and immediately took a short detour to explore the street on which the Domino had stood. It was now a vape shop.

The Kingfisher Cafe had a pavement seating area that was enclosed within a rope and chrome barrier. Trade was brisk and there weren't many seats available, but Wendy had secured a table in a corner. There were hugs and laughter, and tears from Barbara over Janet's passing.

"I was at the funeral," Paula said, "it was very sad."

"So young," Barbara said. A waitress brought their drinks to the table, coffee for Paula and Wendy, and malted milk for Barbara. There was an inexplicable but tangible degree of awkwardness in the opening exchanges, so Barbara decided not to perform her froth moustache routine. Instead, she wiped her upper lip with a napkin.

"I drove up from London in the Range Rover," Paula said. "It's such a workhorse on long drives. But then, I did pay for all the bells and whistles. It's what you might call a top-of-the-range Rover." She laughed.

"Want one of these?" Wendy said with a hand-rolled cigarette between her lips. She offered Paula her tobacco pouch.

"Heavens, no!" Paula said. Barbara remembered that both girls had taken up smoking in their mid-teens, and at the time she had resisted considerable peer pressure to join them.

"What's wrong with roll-ups," Wendy said, "not good enough for you?"

"I prefer these," Paula said, pulling a box of cigarettes from her handbag. Barbara was then taken aback as Wendy uttered a loud profanity as she lit her cigarette. Almost immediately, a passing waitress reminded her that smoking was not allowed in any part of the cafe.

"But we're outside," Wendy said in a raised tone that drew glances from customers. After a reiteration of the rule from the waitress, Wendy flounced out of the seating area and onto the pavement, where she stood only some six feet from where she had initially been sitting, but on the other side of the barrier. She gave an animated demonstration of her disgruntlement, swearing like a sailor and purposely blowing smoke into the seating area.

"Oh dear," Barbara said, "Wendy always was the headstrong one of the group."

"Common as muck," Paula said. "Remember the run-down estate we used to walk through on the way to school?" Barbara nodded. "Wendy ended up living there. Never did anything to better herself." Barbara took a prolonged drink of her malted milk, unsure of how to respond to this aspersion from a supposed friend. Paula continued. "I moved to Surrey. Three-bedroom detached house, which is now four because we had it extended. It's in a lovely area."

"I'm in a nice area too," Barbara said, but before she could continue Paula spoke over her.

"It has a lovely riverside walk to a quaint old pub that does amazing food. A bit on the pricey side, but it keeps out the riff-raff. My grandson Simon has taken a job there until he starts university next month."

"My daughter, Jane - " Barbara said. Again she was cut off.

"Sailed through his A-levels. Four A-stars. He's going to Oxford."

As Paula droned on, Barbara secretly studied Wendy as she puffed on the cigarette. The years hadn't been kind to her old school friend; deep wrinkles curved around a mouth, inside which dwelled crooked teeth that were heavily tobacco-stained. As Barbara watched, Wendy gave a sustained demonstration of the rich wet cough of the seasoned smoker. When respiration returned to normal, Wendy patted her chest and then, to Barbara's horror, spat onto the pavement.

Wendy announced her return to the seating area by tossing the tobacco pouch onto the table. "Well, that was a lot of trouble for nothing," she said. She had barely retaken her seat when the proprietor approached.

"I've received two complaints of swearing emanating from this table," she said. "I'd appreciate it if you'd moderate your language, or I shall have no choice but to ask you all to leave." Barbara was mortified that the proprietor had aimed her warning at the entire group rather than the single perpetrator. Nothing more coarse than damn ever passed Barbara's lips, yet she and Paula had been likened to a gang of navvies.

"So," Barbara said, hoping to steer the conversation back to normality, "tell me about your husbands." Wendy piped up immediately.

"Mine was a right old - "

"Please don't swear," Barbara interrupted.

"Yes, well he was anyway. It was a mismatch from day one."

"I married a TV executive," Paula said. "Never wanted for anything in my life. Holidays, cars, the house, all paid for."

"I lost my dear husband last - " Barbara said, but again she was interrupted.

"Of course, these days we often have soirées at the house, you know," Paula said, putting great emphasis on the French word. "We have a huge circle of friends, and sometimes people from the television attend. We had Clive whatsisname the weatherman round last month."

Due to Paula's interruptions, Barbara decided not to comment further, and in the ensuing silence, Paula departed for a cigarette. After she'd gone, Wendy leaned over the table, clearly to impart some private information. "I was at Janet's funeral as well," she said in a hoarse whisper, "and so was my brother Tom. He was staying at a hotel in town and we were going for lunch together so I went in a taxi to pick him up. As I waited in the cab outside the hotel, who did I see pulling her luggage from a car?"

"Paula?"

"The very same. Only it wasn't a Range Rover like she'd have you believe; it was a taxi. She'd come up on the train. Take all that codswallop about how well she's doing with a pinch of this, mate." She picked up a salt cellar from the table, just as Paula returned.

"Well, I need to get back to the hotel," Paula said. Barbara was relieved that this part of the reunion was over. The three finished their drinks and embraced.

"Till tonight then," Wendy said.

"Yes," Paula said, "seven o'clock at the Golden Fleece."

"It's been great," Wendy said.

But it hadn't been great, and Barbara knew that she was witnessing a final goodbye to her two former school friends.

- - -

Back at the hotel, Barbara rang Jane to tell her what a disaster the reunion had been. "They were utterly ghastly," she said, "one a rude, self-absorbed bighead and the other as uncouth as you like. I couldn't bear to spend another minute in their company."

"So, I take it you're not going tonight?" Jane said.

"I've bought a ticket for a train that leaves at five," Barbara said. "It's sad, but I suppose it's true what they say, never go back."

"Call me from the station and I'll collect you," Jane said.

"I shall," Barbara said. "Look, Jane, I don't want to face any questions from Paula or Wendy about why I disappeared. Is there some way you can stop them from contacting me?"

"Of course, Mum. I'll get right on it and I'll unfriend them for you."

"Thank you," Barbara said, concerned that the term unfriend sounded somewhat Orwellian.

After showering and packing her case, Barbara rang Norma from the hotel lobby to relay news of the unpleasant encounter and her premature return. Norma said that she was going out for Sunday lunch the following afternoon with some of the community centre gang, and Barbara was very welcome to come along. Barbara said she'd love to, and she felt a lot better.

The wheels of Barbara's suitcase trundled again along the cobblestones of the lane that this time led from the Oak Hotel towards the railway station. As she came out of a newsagent's kiosk with a magazine to read on the journey, Barbara spotted Paula and her luggage at the far end of the platform, the Range Rover absent yet again. Barbara guessed that Paula had also been less than impressed with the reunion, and she was bailing out as well. Barbara felt no inclination to approach Paula; the idea of sharing a two-hour train journey with such a self-centred conversationalist held no appeal. To minimise the possibility of that happening, Barbara used the magazine to hide her face, occasionally peeking over the top to monitor Paula's movements. When the train pulled in, Barbara made sure she got into a carriage that was well away from the one Paula had boarded.

Speeding homeward, the train entered a tunnel, and Barbara stared vacantly at her reflection in the window. She ruminated over what had caused the reunion to go so badly wrong, and was reminded of the opening line of The Go-Between, by L P Hartley, which she'd read at school:

The past is a foreign country, they do things differently there.

How true this had turned out to be. As teenagers, the girls had been bound by similar tastes and aspirations, but time had weathered away those unifying factors, as adulthood brought separation and outside influences, new friends and colleagues, marriage, parenthood, and relocation, which had taken each girl in her own direction. The chances of the three remaining incorrigibles being still on the same wavelength after forty years of independent development were extremely slim. Those carefree days at the Domino were now as distant, alien, and unreachable as Jupiter.

Barbara smiled as her thoughts turned towards Jane and Jenny, and then Norma and the gang at the community centre. Then, as though an unseen hand had manufactured the moment, the train sped from the tunnel, and Barbara's vista was one of sunlit fields. The reflection had disappeared, both from the window and her thoughts. "From now on, Barbara, the only way is forward," she said.

- - -

The following day, Barbara met Norma and the others for lunch. The pub was busy, and the hum of conversation and the smell of home-cooked food created a homely ambiance that Barbara found most agreeable. The disappointment of the previous day quickly dissipated amid the laughter that ensued when Norma, aided by mime, told how in the kitchen the previous evening she had sneezed and her cat got such a fright it had jumped in the air. On landing, one of the startled beast's paws had hit the edge of its water bowl, which flipped over throwing the contents over Norma's feet. Barbara laughed so hard at this, she had to dry her eyes with a tissue.

Tuesday evening saw Barbara getting ready for another event in her revitalised social calendar. She was going into town for a meal at a nice restaurant. But the gang wouldn't be there on this occasion; she was going with Mr. Cheeseman.