Freedom: Part 1 of 2

As I struggled through the masses of people to get onto the 159 on Oxford Street, I mildly cursed the tourists in my mind and wondered what it was about this part of London that they all loved so much. It wasn’t just the tourists though was it? People who didn’t live too far away, with far too much money to spend on things they don’t need also made their way over on a Saturday morning. I only needed to get a little further down the street so that the walk to the pub for my night shift wasn’t too far.

I got myself onto the bus, swiped my Oyster Card against the machine and then wriggled my way through the family who was struggling with their youngest child’s pram and climbed the stairs of the bus to find a seat on the top deck. After settling down on a seat across the aisle from the stairs, I got my iPod out only to find out that the battery had died. Great, now I was left with generic noise to get me through the journey. Almost as if on cue, a toddler from downstairs, probably the one in the pram started wailing. I shut my eyes wishing that I was back at my grotty flat in Bethnal Green.  I thought about my shift at The Carpenter’s Arms, an independent pub just off Tottenham Court Road. I won’t be home tonight before 2am. I had considered calling in sick, but I really needed the money, even if it was only around £40.
Looking around, waiting for the bus to move, I watched a somewhat elderly couple make their way up the stairs, and settle in the two seats in front of me. The man looked grumpy and the woman appeared rather frustrated.
“Is this the best seat you could have chosen? Why do we have to sit up here anyway?” he moaned.
“I just thought it was quite busy downstairs. Besides, I thought we would be able to see a lot more of London up here, don’t you think?” she replied rather cheerfully.
Her partner then mumbled something incomprehensible, before turning his head towards the window and away from the lady as the bus moved off.
After sitting in silence for about a minute, he turned to her and started what could only be described as a rant about all sorts of things, starting with a financial issue.
“Do you realise how much this trip is costing us? If you really want to see London, you should walk and not waste money on buses, which will only get you a little down the road. You know we can’t afford any extras and yet you insist we do all the extras. “
The couple looked like they were in their sixties. Not very old by today’s standards but still not young – they must feel like they are in an ‘in-between’ age; a bit like the young 18-24 age group, who don’t know whether they are children or adults. I imagine that this couple isn’t sure whether they are middle-aged or old.
“But you know my knees play up sometimes. Let’s try and alternate walking and using buses,” she replied with her compromise.
They are starting to feel the aches and pains of old age then.
“I just don’t see the point in coming somewhere that requires a lot of walking about, if you aren’t up to it,” he retorted.
They still feel young enough to want to go on busy city holidays though. Their bickering made me think of Tom. Tom and I had been together for 2 years and he was constantly at me about one thing or another.
The lady didn’t reply to this comment and they both sat there in silence until their short journey was over. They got off with me at Piccadilly Circus. In my opinion, although it wasn’t far by London’s standards, it was certainly enough of a walk to warrant catching a bus if you need any of the shops in between.
I saw the couple begin to bicker about where they were going to go next, as I picked up pace and headed towards the pub. Just as I had got into a steady fast pace, I got a sudden craving for some coffee and remembered that I wouldn’t be able to cope with the evening shift without a strong coffee kick, so I turned back towards the Starbucks on Regent Street.

Whilst in the queue, I noticed that to my left, the elderly couple from the bus was sitting in two armchair sofas. Almost without warning the man got up and walked out of the coffee shop. He didn’t storm out and he didn’t seem angry. Perhaps he just popped out to pick something up elsewhere while his wife rested. Before I could begin to wonder what was going on, the Barrista was waiting to take my order. I ordered as quickly as I could, picked up my coffee and turned around to face the lady sitting on her own. I went over to her.
“May I?” I asked pointing to the empty seat.
“Of course, please do. I am just waiting for my husband to come back,” she replied with a smile.
I took my bag off my shoulder, put it on the floor and sat down.
“Thank you. Has he gone far, your husband?” I asked her curiously.
“Oh hopefully not, dear. He said he was popping over to the chemist down the road for some painkillers, so he shouldn’t be long,” she replied kindly.
We sat in silence for a moment, whilst I thought about how to curb my blatant curiosity despite wanting desperately to feed it.
“Are you in London on holiday?” I asked as casually as possible.
She looked at me with caution for a moment and I could see in her eyes that she was trying to work out whether I was one of those con artists that everybody outside London always warns each other about. They seem to think every other person in London is out to scam people out of money. The lady’s expression softened and she explained their holiday to me.
“We are. We’re visiting London for a week. We’ve come all the way from Plymouth – we got the train down on Monday. Took us four hours! But here we are.”
I smiled and nodded.
“Are you enjoying it?” I asked after a short pause.
“Oh London is just beautiful,” she started immediately. “It is just so grand and regal!” She then stopped for a moment before adding weakly with a small smile, “It’s nice. Tiring but nice.”
“It is a very large city and does take up a lot of energy but the public transport is brilliant. It really helps cut out unnecessary walks,” I offered.
“Oh thank you dear. I do know this but my husband, you see, he seems to prefer to see London on foot,” she replied carefully.
I smiled at her and held out my hand, “I’m Sam.”
She smiled back at me, took my hand and said, “Lovely to meet you Sam. I’m Lucinda. Lucinda Grey.”
“It is very nice to meet you too, Mrs Grey.”

We both sat in silence for a moment. I am not sure what made me come over to Mrs Grey in the first place, let alone stay for more awkward small talk.
“Are you enjoying your time in London at least? I hope us Londoners haven’t been too unwelcome to you both?” I asked.
“Everybody has been so kind – much more polite and helpful than our friends and family had warned! If I’m honest, from what our children kept talking about being careful in London, I thought we were going to come and find pickpockets and nasty people everywhere but all we have seen and encountered are helpful and friendly people.”
“Oh there are enough pick pockets and scam artists out there but they generally keep a low profile and of course, 99% of people in London are friendly and welcoming, so I wouldn’t worry,” I reassured her. After a small pause I asked her, “How many children do you have?”
“We have three wonderful children; two boys and a girl. They are all grown up now of course. Jay is just turned 30 and claims to be having a very early midlife crisis. It’s quite funny really. His wife is expecting their first child and he is rather nervous about it, that’s all.”
“How wonderful. Congratulations!” I said.
“Thank you. He is an architect and lives here in London. Well, in Ruislip, North West London but his office is here in London,” she gushed.
“That sounds like a fantastic job,” I said, impressed.
“My daughter, Melissa is 27 and is planning her wedding to her fiancé who is a banker in Central London. Talk of this wedding is coming out of our ears. The plans and colour schemes and themes and styles have changed so many times in the past 6 months, I do wonder what the day will actually be like. Melissa works in Magazine Publishing, but in the past year I feel like she has lost interest in her career. Her fiancé, William, is from a very wealthy family and also earns a very neat salary package from his work in the City. He owns a flat in Covent Garden, where Melissa seems to spend most of her time. Her flatmate is getting a very good deal these days, what with only having to pay half the rent and having the place to herself all the time.
And my little Christopher! He is 25 and he is working on his PhD in Oxford,” she said proudly.
“Oh wow, what is he doing his PhD in?” I asked inquisitively, genuinely interested.
“He is doing his research in memory and language – he is doing a study into how aging affects memory and language skills. He has one year left and then I think he wants to go into more research and higher education teaching.”
Mrs Grey stopped for a moment and sighed.
“You must be very proud, Mrs Grey. They all sound like fantastic children,” I told her honestly. I thought about myself having children one day, and almost ashamed to even think it, I couldn’t really picture Tom being a father at all.
“Oh they are, they’re wonderful. It’s amazing really, considering…” she trailed off with a look of wonder in her eyes.
“Considering what?” I asked, a little concerned about what she might tell me. “Did something happen during their childhood?”
“Well, their father was not the easiest of men to live with,” she said with a small sad smile on her face. “When I first met Michael, he was an RAF Pilot. I was only 17 and Michael was 20 and we had gone to the same milkshake bar with our respective friends. One of my girlfriends, Rita, was the cousin of one of Michael’s friends so we ended up sitting at the same table. In fact Michael and I ended up sitting right next to each other. Michael was so tall and handsome that I didn’t really know what to say to him, and he turned out to be so shy that we barely exchanged more than a few words and a lot of glances that evening,” she said with a little laugh. I smiled at her as she sipped some of her tea while reminiscing. “Soon it became the norm to go to the milkshake bars with the boys, as a large group, so I was seeing a lot more of Michael and every time we saw each other, we would talk a bit more, until he finally plucked up the courage to ask me out on a date. Our first date was at a pub on the other side of town because we didn’t want to bump into anyone we knew. Those initial months were lovely. They were so relaxed and Michael was just wonderful. He was chatty and loved to socialise and was just a joy to be around. Before I knew it we were planning our wedding. We bought a house and settled into married life. I was 20 when we got married and back in those days we were expected to have a baby as soon as possible. Unfortunately it took us a very long time to have Jay. I was 35 before I finally got pregnant. The doctors said there was nothing wrong with either of us, which made the situation worse, rather than better,” she said sadly. There was a drawn out silence. I wasn’t sure how to respond to this so I carefully said, “I can only imagine how difficult and frustrating it must be to want a baby and not be able to have one…”

To be continued…