Page 41 of Lessons in Life

‘Oh, Granny. How did you know this is just what I wanted?’ Eloise stroked the box even before opening it to take out the contents inside. ‘A Praktica Super TL!’

‘I did my research,’ Maude said proudly. ‘Went into Schofields in Leeds and spent a very entertaining hour with a young man there. Now hewasgorgeous.’ She laughed, delighted with Eloise’s response to the present. ‘It’s a 35mm, I believe? And SLR. Whatever that means.’

‘Single-lens Reflex.’ Eloise continued to stroke the box until Maude laughed again.

‘Get it open; start using it.’

‘There were a couple of 35mm cameras in Lausanne that we were allowed to borrow, but nothing as up to date as this.’ Eloise opened the box carefully, taking the camera out with reverence.

‘And here are a few bits and pieces to go with it.’ Maude passed over another, larger box.

‘More?’ Eloise’s eyes were saucers.

‘Darling, you are my very favourite granddaughter.’

‘I’m your only granddaughter,’ Eloise tutted.

‘Just a couple of accessories to go with it.’ Maude smiled.

‘Granny!’ Eloise took out the wide-angle and long-focus lenses, the teleconverter and leather case, ten rolls of boxed 35mm film and an instruction book, placing each one on the kitchen table as she did so. ‘I can’t believe this.’

‘Just don’t tell your mother. I keep telling her I’m broke,’ Maude added.

‘You’re not, are you?’ Eloise pulled a worried face.

‘No, darling, I most certainly am not. But I enjoy having your mother think there’ll be nothing coming her way once I go. Another little sherry?’

* * *

The grey overcast sky had eventually cleared and, while Maude went to sit in her favourite armchair by the window, immediately closing her eyes, Eloise made her way down the garden path of the cottage, which was situated in the centre of Beddingfield village. Near enough to the village duck pond for Maude to wander round a couple of times each day with Samson, her ancient Jack Russell, as well as just across from the cricket pitch where she wasn’t averse to whiling away her Saturday and Sunday afternoons eyeing up the local talent in their cricket whites.

Nervously, Eloise practised taking snaps without film in the Praktica before manoeuvring the film into the back of the camera to take close-ups of Maude’s rain- and windblown peonies, convex raindrops shimmering and winking amongst the scarlet petals and stigma, like smooth uncut diamonds.

This, then, was what she was going to do with her summer.

* * *

‘Eloise, you really can’t spend all summer mooching around taking photographs like some female David Bailey.’ Ralph Hudson had arrived home late from the mill where there’d been tension brewing amongst the directors and the union rep over an area of the mill being given over for prayer to the mainly Muslim workers newly arrived from the Mirpur district of Pakistan.

‘I should think not.’ Muriel, feeling somewhat guilty that she’d spent a too long, but rather lovely lunch with her current squeeze – the town’s local Tory MP, Sir Keith Wadsworth – patted her husband’s arm in agreement. ‘Who is this David Bailey anyway?’ she added, affecting the little-girl pout she often put on to portray herself, for some reason, as her husband’s inferior. Eloise knew it thoroughly irritated her father, rather than pleased him.

‘Oh, Ma,’ Brian Hudson tutted, pouring himself a whisky before lying flat out on the gold-tasselled Knowle sofa, legs splayed, tie loosened. ‘The great David Bailey? Where’ve you been all this time? What a jobhe’sgot, photographing all those dolly birds, legs right up to their backsides. Beats arguing with Don Whitwam and his cronies round the boardroom table all bloody afternoon. Don’s on our side anyway, but has to show he’s not. Religion should be kept out of the workplace; we don’t let the Baptists or the Catholics go off to pray every two minutes.’

‘And surely, Eloise,’ Muriel interrupted, obviously refusing to relinquish the issue of her daughter spending her summer taking photographs in return for a deeper debate about religious and cultural differences and inclusion, ‘women wouldn’t want anotherwomantaking their photograph? Surely, they want to pose for men? I mean, I certainly wouldn’t want another woman looking atmein my brassiere.’ Muriel patted coyly at her kitten-bowed blouse with long red manicured nails.

‘So, Eloise, whatareyou going to do?’ Ralph wasn’t letting it drop. ‘Your mother was insistent you do this year in Lausanne rather than A levels, which would have got you into university.’

‘Oh, we didn’t want a blue stocking in the family, Ralphie, darling,’ Muriel trilled. ‘What would Eloise have studied anyway?’

‘I rather liked maths,’ Eloise said. ‘And I quite fancied doing engineering.’

‘Oh pish,’ Muriel retorted, irritated now. ‘A man doesn’t want a wife who is cleverer than him. Look at Pamela Hughes.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Her husband was soon off with another woman once Pamela started doing that part-time degree of hers in Bradford instead of taking her turn to host Ladies’ Lunch.’

‘Right, Eloise,’ Ralph said matter-of-factly. ‘We’re desperately short of staff in the offices. You can type? A bit of shorthand? Answering the phone and some filing? Or on Reception?’

‘Oh, no, I don’t think so, Ralph! The boss’s daughter in the offices, with all the town’s office girls?’ Muriel appeared utterly affronted.

‘Dad, she’d be hopeless.’ Brian frowned. ‘She’s so bloody clumsy, she’d file important stuff away and not pass on phone calls…’

---