Honey, Cinnamon, Lemons Ch. 01-08

CHAPTER ONE: SUNDAY. An unexpected meeting in the cemetery.

Tim Bloomfield put a sketchbook, soft pencils, stanley knife, eraser and pens into a plastic carrier bag, walked carefully down the stairs from his flat, let himself out of his front door tucked between a pizza restaurant and an estate agent, and crossed the road under a hot June sun to the entrance of Reading old cemetery.

He followed his usual route along the straight central path, then picked his way across the grass between trees, shrubs, gravestones and daisies to a quiet corner. He sat on a stone slab and started to draw. From time to time, from the corner of his eye, he glimpsed tiny Muntjac deer foraging and skipping in the undergrowth. Central in his sketch was a simple headstone on which was carved:

Polly Tatt

b 28 March 1947

d 14 June 2013

The cemetery was reasonably well-kept, but a discarded scribbled sheet of paper, lodged under a pebble at the foot of the headstone, irritated his sense of order and decency. He picked it up and looked around for a bin then, there being none, tucked it into the back of his sketchbook and continued his work.

He drew carefully and steadily, not rushing, setting out the perspective with rapid feathery gestures, blocking in dark areas with a 4B pencil, rubbing with his finger then cleaning and refining with the sharp corners of his white plastic eraser. As he drew he talked quietly, but not to himself.

'Why are you drawing that gravestone?' A young woman's voice.

He turned and saw his granddaughter, Polly. She didn't recognise him, of course, since she had only ever seen him once, two years ago, and then only for a few seconds, and she hadn't known who he was.

'I don't know. It's newer than the rest. I find it moving. Very simple, not like a lot of them.'

'That's my Gran.'

'I'm sorry. Shall I stop? I feel I'm intruding.'

'No, it's OK.'

She was as beautiful as he remembered her from the three photos he had seen two years ago, and as bold and direct as a robin, as she had been in their online conversations. Her hair was dark brown, eyes black, and lips vermilion; high cheekbones.

'Can I see it?'

'Yes, but it's not very good. Just a sketch ...'

'It is good. Are you an artist?'

'No. But I enjoy drawing and painting. I'm retired, so I have plenty of time for it.'

'Are you married?'

He rubbed his cheek, pushed his nose to one side, then let it spring back. 'No, I'm divorced.'

'That's a shame. How old are you?'

'Seventy. Very old!'

'You don't look it. Anyway, it doesn't matter, does it? I'm twenty-one.'

'Ah ...'

'D'you draw people, or just cemeteries?'

'I like to draw people, but I don't really have the opportunity. You can't really expect people to sit still for ages while you stare at them. It's not as though I'm a proper artist, famous or professional. I'm not exactly Lucian Freud.'

'Who's he?'

'A brilliant painter who painted people. He died recently. He's famous. I would have thought you'd have heard of him.'

'I'm not very well educated. I'll google him.'

'You should.'

'It's my birthday today. Gran died on my birthday.' Her lower eyelids brimmed and glistened; she wiped with the back of her hand, and dark streaks appeared.

'I'm sorry. I'm tough as old boots, Gran used to say. But sometimes I don't feel it. Sorry, I shouldn't talk to you like this, I'm embarrassing you.'

'No, you're not, but you make me feel a bit awkward. I have a granddaughter, so I think I feel a bit protective. I could hug her, but not you of course.'

'No, that would be inappropriate touching. My granddad was an artist. I wish he was here, I could do with a hug.'

'You shouldn't really say things like that to a stranger. Aren't you a bit scared of me?'

'No. Should I be?'

'No. But perhaps you shouldn't be too open with people you don't know.'

'I don't care. Gran always said you have to trust people as long as they seem OK.'

'Do you think I seem OK?'

'I think so. Have we met before? You look familiar, but I don't know why.'

'Perhaps you've seen me here. Do you come often?'

'No. It's the first time since Gran was buried. Do you?'

'Oh, sometimes. It's peaceful, and that relaxes me and helps me draw. When was your gran's funeral?'

'A couple of years ago. I live abroad now so I haven't been here since, but it's a special day today so I came to see her.'

'Where abroad?'

'France. In a village half way down. Do you know France?'

'A bit. We used to go there for holidays, when I was married. Brittany, the Vendee, the Loire valley. I love France.'

'So do I. D'you speak French? I'm not very good even though I've been there for over a year.'

'I can get by, but I'm not very good either. My French is worse than Inspector Clouseau's English!'

'What, the Pink Panther? Gran used to love that.'

'Ah yes... So where do you live?'

'Between Poitiers and Limoges; the department's called Vienne. It's a village in the country. Nowhere glamorous.'

'I like unglamorous France.'

'Me too.' She paused, then bent to pick a daisy and twizzled the stem between her fingers. She stared at him for a few seconds with her lips twitching slightly as though about to speak. Then she said, 'I think I've seen you before. At Gran's funeral there was an old man passing and he stopped and waited while she was buried. Was it you?'

'It could have been. I do come here quite a bit. I live just across the road.'

'I used to live here, with Gran, but she died. Maybe I've just seen you around. Sorry, I shouldn't have said old.'

'That's OK. Actually, I think I might remember seeing a funeral. There aren't many here.'

'Would you draw me?'

'What, now?'

'Why not?'

'I will if you like, but I'll feel self-conscious. I don't think I'm very good.'

'You are. Can you try to make me look nice?'

'You do look nice.'

'Thank you, but I know what I look like.'

'Well I think you're beautiful.'

'Thank you. I'll keep very still.'

'And I'll try to make you look nice. But I can only draw what I see. I'm no good at flattering people. So if you look nice in the picture you'll know that you really are beautiful.'

'Thank you, you're making me blush!'

'Your skin is good. Good colour. You look really well and healthy. It's nice to know.'

'That's from living in France. I don't sunbathe, but you get quite brown in the country. Summers are hotter than here and all the locals are brown.'

'Hmmmmm.' And he continued to draw with intense concentration. Half an hour later she said

'Wow, that is really good! Would you do a painting of me?'

'I'd love to, but I paint very slowly, and I'd need to do it with you in my painting room, sitting still for ages. Or from a photo; photo's safer for you.'

'What d'you mean?'

'You should never trust an artist who wants to get you into his studio.'

'It wouldn't be nude, I couldn't do that. I don't like myself naked.'

He looked down at his sketchbook and brushed imaginary crumbs off it with the side of his hand.

'When do you go back to France?'

'Next Friday.'

'Not enough time then. I could work from a photo. Just your head and shoulders.'

She pulled out a big mobile phone and passed it to him. 'Take a picture now, with Gran in the background.' She showed him how to work the camera and he took six pictures, two of them zoomed right in for detail. He passed it back and she took one of him then said, 'I'll mail them to you if you give me your address.'

'I can never remember it. Give me yours and I'll send you an e-mail and you can reply.'

'XXXXXXXXXX at XXXXXX dot com.' He wrote it down in his sketchbook.

'I hope you don't change your mind. I'd really love to paint you.'

'I won't. I have to go now. But we can be penfriends.' She stood up and looked down at him. He didn't want her to go, but all he could do was stand up awkwardly and look down at her.

'Before you go...how come you went to live in France?'

'I got married and he lives there. I mean, he's English, but he lives in France.'

'Oh, that's good! It's nice to know you're happily married.'

'I didn't say happily married. The thing is, he travels a lot. And he doesn't want children yet. I want to have a baby. I'm very maternal.'

'I'm sure you'd be a good mother.'

'Yes I would. But I s'pose I'll have to wait.'

'Well, I do wish you all the best.'

'Thank you, you're very nice. I do trust you, you know. Bye.' She walked off briskly, and turned once to wave before she was out of sight.

He turned to look at Polly Tatt's grave.

'My darling, don't worry. I'll look after her. I'll try to do a really good painting. I don't know what she'll tell her husband if she likes it and wants to have it. I don't know how I'd even get it to her. Oh well. One thing at a time. I'm so happy I saw her. I'll look after her like a granddad, not like before when I didn't know who she was. I hope you understand, my angel.'

#

When he got back to his flat he turned on his PC and thought about his e-mail address. He couldn't use his real one, because he and Polly had mailed each other a few times two years ago and she would find out who he really was. He'd need to think about that. He didn't want her to know, not yet at any rate.

He tried to set up a new mail account as XXXXXX, but it already existed. He tried XXXXX with the same result, but he was offered XXXXX1372, which he accepted.

14:23

From: XXXXX1372@outlook.com

To: XXXXXXX@XXXXX.com

Hello, I'm the old man from the cemetery. I suppose your name is Polly. Mine is James.

First I want to thank you for being so trusting and kind to me. But you must be careful about speaking to strangers. I have lost touch with my own granddaughter, but I worry about her and now I am worrying about you!

End of lecture.

I will scan my sketch of you and attach it to this mail in a minute if I can get it to work.

I think I've managed to do it.

I do hope you will send me your pictures, I am looking forward to having a painting to work on.

Best wishes,

James.

15:03

From: XXXXXXX@XXXXX.com

To: XXXXX1372@XXXXX.com

Hi James.

Thank you for the drawing it is really good!

Actually I really want to thank you for chatting to me, you cheered me up a lot especially when you said I was beautiful (which I am not!).

I am actually a bit lonely in UK right now. I bust up with my boyfriend after Gran died and that also means I don't see my old gang of friends any more, in fact I have to work to avoid them, so I don't have many people to talk to about stuff.

Because it is Gran's anniversary I am feeling a bit sad. So you have put a smile on my face with your kind attentions!

I am attaching two pictures, the rest are awful (not your fault, it is just me and my face!).

Since I am stuck over here on my own for the week, could I possibly visit you, maybe you could draw me a bit more in case that is better than just the photos. I am definitely not scared of you and your wicked studio, because I do trust you as I said, and anyway I can leave a note in my room saying where I am! Haha!

If you are too busy or embarrassed about having a young woman visitor, then I understand. But if you draw me we could talk and I would so love to tell someone about me and Gran and what I got up to when she died. I hope you are not easily embarrassed or shockable! And anyway there is nobody I could ever ever tell some things to, but I feel that you will be older and wiser and non-judgemental.

If I have scared you off for life, then I do apologise.

Polly X

15:15

From: XXXXXX1372@XXXXX.com

To: XXXXXXX@XXXXX.com

Hello Polly.

I would really like to see you again and I can assure you that at my age I am not shockable! I am not an angel, but I am not in the least bit bad either, not in a nasty sense.

My address is 8D Wokingham Road. Look to your left at the cemetery gate and it's a door between a Pizza caff and an estate agent.

I'll be in all day tomorrow, and most days in fact, and I'll be sketching you from your photos! If you don't turn up I'll understand, and yes it would be a good idea to leave a note! Not that you would really need to, but it would be sensible and I would like to think that you are sensible and do take care of yourself.

Best wishes,

James. X

15:22

From: XXXXXXX@XXXXX.com

To: XXXXXX1372@XXXXX.com

Is it OK if I come round about 10am on Tuesday?

Polly X

15:35

From: XXXXXX1372@XXXXX.com

To: XXXXXX@XXXXX.com

Hello Polly. Tuesday is fine. It'll give me time to tidy up a bit tomorrow!

Look forward to seeing you.

James.

He wept then, for five minutes. Not sobbing, just letting the tears come softly.

He spent the rest of the afternoon and evening tidying up, sorting out his art materials and washing clothes and bedding. He ate his dinner with her photographs propped against the salad bowl where he could study her features. Then he washed up and went to bed, happy.

Just before he slept he saw her face and heard her speak, 'I didn't say I was happily married.' He drifted off with a vague uneasiness plucking at his duvet, letting in a cold draught.

CHAPTER TWO: MONDAY. An unexpected meeting online.

Sabat (or Binomen, or Copperygirl) was holding him in her arms and murmuring sexy words, and then began to slide down his body. He woke up, excited and hard. Then he remembered yesterday's events and was filled with a bubbling energy and joy: he suddenly needed to talk to someone, so reached for his laptop and logged into the chatroom where he had met Sabat and Polly. He was amazed to see the familiar name.

8:30

tommytoomy (70) Hi Sabat. X

copperygirl: (32) Whoremaster!!! How are you and where have you been? XX

tommytoomy (70) I'm OK thanks. I'm not Whoremaster any more, though. I don't do that nowadays. I've settled down. What about you?

copperygirl: (32) I still enjoy a bit of fun. But I've changed too. You'll never guess!

tommytoomy (70) Tell me!

copperygirl: (32) I have left the police. And I am married. And I am a mother!

tommytoomy (70) OMG! Who's the lucky guy?

copperygirl: (32) Not a guy! Do you remember my friend the bodyguard?

tommytoomy (70) Yes?

copperygirl: (32) We got together again. You'll never believe this, but she is only 5ft 3 and cuddly and very fem. That made her a good bodyguard! The shock when she pulled a gun was awesome and she does martial! Well, now she is a stay-at-home mum and I have got her job. But I don't fuck the singer like she did, and I charge more than her! Have to with a wife and child to support!

tommytoomy (70) How did you manage to have a child?

copperygirl: (32) I won't go into details, but you surely missed out by not being around at the time. I'd have loved you to be the one!

tommytoomy (70) Which of you carried the baby?

copperygirl: (32) She did. That's why she's the stay at home mum while I work. We took it in turns to try and she was first. You'd have had a bloody good time with the two of us! It went on for quite a while!

tommytoomy (70) Bi, you really are a wicked woman! You are making me feel jealous! LOL.

copperygirl: (32) The baby is beautiful. She is Amelia Rose Sabat (no surnames here!), and a lovely pale coffee colour. The dad is mixed race from South Africa. He's back there now. Are you free for a bit of lurv?

tommytoomy (70) Aaaw angel, I can't. I've told you I have changed and slowed down a bit. I do remember you with excitement and affection though! XX

copperygirl: (32) Aaaaaw you're so sweet as always! Can I mention your granddaughter? Are you over it all?

tommytoomy (70) Yes and no. Time is a great healer. But I've got news for you too. I met her yesterday! And she's married!

copperygirl: (32) Wow! What happened? How did you find her?

tommytoomy (70) I didn't. I was sketching her gran's grave in the cemetery, and she turned up. It was her gran's anniversary yesterday. She didn't know who I was, and I didn't tell her, I'd be too embarrassed after what we went through together. God, I love her so much even though she is out of bounds for me now. But she worries me. She just chatted naturally even though she thought I was an old man she had never met before. She should be more careful. She got me to draw her and she wants me to paint her too. She's coming round to my place tomorrow!

copperygirl: (32) You old devil! You must be as sexy in the flesh as you are in chat!

tommytoomy (70) Don't you believe it! I'm a grumpy old git of seventy! Time is not just a great healer, it's a great destroyer too!

copperygirl: (32) Well she still let you lure her into visiting you, so you must still have the touch! Lol.

tommytoomy (70) I didn't lure her at all, it was her idea. She wants me to paint her, but she lives in France now and is going back on Friday. She sent me a couple of photos to work from, but she asked if she could come round so I could draw her again before she goes.

copperygirl: (32) She sounds a bit of a forward hussy to me! Takes after you! Lol! What sort of photos?

tommytoomy (70) Not what you think! She got me to take some pics in the cemetery yesterday on her phone and then she e-mailed them to me. She made it clear that she wouldn't be posing nude!

copperygirl: (32) Oh so you asked her then! Well, just watch out Tim. She certainly seems to have a thing for older men! She's trying it on for a second time without knowing it was you last time.

tommytoomy (70) No, honestly Sab, it's not like that at all. And I didn't ask her to pose naked! She is just trusting and friendly, and a bit lonely over here this week. She thought my drawing was very good. She's very young and doesn't even know who Lucian Freud was!

copperygirl: (32) Who's he?

tommytoomy (70) Oh Sabat! Only the best and most famous painter in the country! Google him! Mind you, I suppose most people aren't interested in paintings nowadays, but give him a try he was a genius.

copperygirl: (32) Only joking! Mind you I don't like his stuff much even though I can tell it is clever. It's a bit cruel I think.

tommytoomy (70) If you and me ever got stranded together on an island, one of us would kill the other before long! Lol!!

copperygirl: (32) I can take care of myself, remember!

tommytoomy (70) But I think he was a bit cruel. They say he had eyes like a hawk and would stare at you intensely, seeing everything! A bit scary, but pulled loads of women apparently!

copperygirl: (32) Yes some women love the cruel type! Not me though. That's why I like you! X

tommytoomy (70) Sab, I never really thanked you for taking care of me when I lost my girl. You were very naughty with me, but you really helped keep me going. And sane!

copperygirl: (32) My pleasure!

tommytoomy (70) And now are you safe in the bosom of your family?

copperygirl: (32) Not at the mo. I'm in France with the Man who shall be nameless. He has a chateau and he likes a bit of protection even at home. I get paid 300 euros a day when we're off the road, and I can't afford to turn up my nose. He's getting a Frenchman in to replace me in a few weeks, ex para, but I'll be back on the road with him in Autumn. I'll still be on a retainer of 500 a week even when I'm not working. Not bad, eh? Better than the force.

tommytoomy (70) Be careful baby! Oh god I worry more and more about people as I get older. My granddaughter and now you. Where in France are you?

copperygirl: (32) North of Montmorillon, very ordinary village. He thinks he needs a bodyguard, but nobody here takes much notice of him and he likes that. Plays boules with the other old boys and drinks in the bar.

tommytoomy (70) Is he old then?