Last Train to Polmouth

Colin said: ‘Well, you live in Polmouth. I live in Polmouth. Unless you have a better idea, I suggest the ferry across the estuary, and try to work out what on earth Ingram was thinking of. I mean, I hardly know you.’ ‘No better idea, Mister Penpolney.’ Petra giggled, reverting to her bubbly self. ‘I can’t go on calling you that, it’s a jaw-breaker! Will you settle for Colin?’ He smiled. ‘Zabrinski is barely any better! So it’s Petra and Colin, then.’ She nodded. They reached the harbour and boarded the ferry as it was about to depart. ‘I’m afraid I remember nothing about you.’ Petra’s impetuous giggle was inevitable. ‘Well, you certainly know how to flatter a girl! Nothing? Nothing at all?’ ‘Uh… you were in the hockey team… whoever designed hockey skirts must have been blind, or a cruel pervert.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘I do remember you were the only girl with nice legs… in a hockey skirt. All the others were running around on tree trunks.’ She giggled again. The white ferry belched black smoke from its smokestack and inched its way at a snail’s pace towards the harbour exit. ‘That’s the best you can do?’ Petra’s blonde ponytail was dancing in the breeze. ‘What about “A Servant of Two Masters”? When you were Head Boy and I was a hockey skirt flirt.’ Colin reddened. ‘Oh Lord, of course! You were my daughter, Clarice. I was Pantalone. So sorry… hey, you know what? I can only remember the very first line, I had it as the curtain went up. You were sitting on a chair and I was standing half beside, half behind you… d’you remember?’ ‘So you do remember me.’ She was playful. ‘Do you remember what happened on the first night?’ Colin blushed again. ‘Unfortunately, yes. As the curtain went up my first line was to you, it was “Come, come, my dear, not so shy now!” It’s the only line I remember. And at all the rehearsals I’d let my hand hover over your shoulder. But when it was the real performance, I thought “what the hell” and lowered my hand to put it firmly on your shoulder. But you shifted on your chair and my hand came down on top of your head! And all the cast froze… thinking “My God, he’s touching her!” For Heaven’s sake, it wasn’t a screen kiss!’ Petra’s giggle seemed irrepressible. ‘Everyone remembers that. But afterwards, everyone was saying that’s how real actors do it. I thought you were brave.’ Colin was sitting next to her on deck in the sunlight, the wind across the bay ruffling his long hair. ‘I’ve never been brave in my life. But I have a feeling that, with what Mr. Ingram has thrown at us, we’ll need to be. This ferry is hopeless!’ he observed. ‘It used to take just 30 minutes to cover the 6 miles. But we’re hardly moving…’ ‘You don’t read the papers then!’ Petra poured omniscience. ‘It’s the rationing, petrol and diesel. They minimise consumption, meaning minimise speed. You could row across more quickly.’ ‘I’ve never rowed a boat in my life, either,’ observed Colin sadly. ‘If you’re feeling like me, you’ll probably be wanting some time on your own, after all this. I know I do. But may I invite you to dinner this evening, “Crab and Lobster”? We have a lot to discuss.’ She nodded, and tightened the band on her ponytail. Having announced that she would not use the jawbreaker surname, being a woman she now proceeded to do just that. Frequently. ‘Well, yes, and no, Mister Penpolney. Dual signature means we go Dutch. Each pay half.’ This time it was Colin’s turn to laugh, which he rarely did. ‘And don’t go thinking you’re the senior partner, just because you’re a man, were Head Boy and are older.’ He gave an exaggerated artificial shudder. ‘Please tell me you’re not a feminist?’ Another giggle. That evening: Petra saw him from a distance, looked down at herself. She realised that she had misjudged. She was wearing a daring, flared purple miniskirt and a blouson that hugged her generous contours. Oh well, too late now. She joined him at the door. Whatever Colin was thinking he kept to himself and followed her in. She perched herself on a bar stool and tried to pull the skirt down an inch, but it resisted her best efforts. Colin glanced down. ‘That’s a lot better than a hockey skirt,’ he observed quietly. She was privately flattered but determined not to show it. ‘So I’ve got nice legs. You told me.’ She sipped her drink. Colin glanced down at her skirt, then studied her face. ‘You still have. You’re very pretty, too. Now.’ She jumped on this with relish. ‘Now? Now?! So you’re saying that by the time I’m thirty I’ll be a raddled old bag! “Pretty, for now!” You really know how to flatter a girl, Mister Pen-pol-nee!’ She examined his face. ‘Actually, you’re not too bad yourself. Pity about your hair, though!’ ‘What? What’s wrong with my hair?’ ‘Far too long.’ She was definite. ‘Needs a cut. And middle parting, brushed back from the forehead. Then you might even look like an intellectual.’ He sighed. ‘Well, now I’m shaggy Samson, and you’re bossy Delilah. You’re definitely a woman.’ ‘What powers of observation, Mister Penpolney! What’s that supposed to mean?’ ‘I spent a year in Germany. I had a girl-friend, Helga. Spent half her time getting me to change my appearance, my dentist, my clothes, my shoes… Why do women always want to change a man, as if he’s her pet poodle?’ Petra was fired up. She took a risk. ‘So that was half the time. What was she doing the rest of the time?’ Colin looked at her thighs again, and didn’t answer. Then: ‘You know what we’re doing, don’t you?’ She nodded. ‘We’re running away from talking about what really matters.’