The Quality of her Voice by Fern J

Author:Fern, J. [Fern, J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-05-21T16:00:00+00:00

Pam’s thoughts

I always had problems memorizing the French names of vegetables. Michèle has as much trouble with their English names. We often go to the local market together. I love the Brixton market. It is like any other markets, but I like knowing that I can find videotapes next to the stall selling potatoes so close by, even if I have no use for them.

This morning we are there, more distracted than usual. I don’t know how to count my cash and I don’t even care. Michèle talks about shallots instead of garlic, strawberries instead of leeks. I know she is preoccupied with the video editing. She is afraid of failing, she wants to be conscientious and focused. Even though, her mind is in the antipodes. Or in the heart of the subject, depending on your angle. How could I be resentful when a bag of potatoes slides out of her hands, or if she doesn’t hear half the time. I am no better. Should we start a crisis programme to counteract our love stories? Well, personally, I am not complaining, even if it boycotts all my activities. I have difficulties focusing, and writing ‘Cube’s Idea’. I mix up P.D. James’s crime novels with philosophy manuals. Doesn’t love drive one to metaphysical considerations?

“What?” I might have been thinking out loud. I feel now embarrassed and confused, in Michèle’s stare. “Oh, sorry. I was just thinking.”

“About love? I am astonished.” She turns away, looking for a drink in the fridge, to give herself something to do.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“About love?” She smirks, still foraging.

“About Zenna. I think I’m in love with her…….”

​ She stops her foraging for a few seconds. I would like to tell her that I am not in love with her anymore, but I had never told her that I was.

“Does she reciprocate?” She has found a can, but her back is still facing me.

“It is because of you that I met her.”

“What do you mean?” Her back tenses. I know I have to be cautious.

“Well, because she is Trish’s sister.”

“I have to go. Sladie is waiting for me to do the editing.” She abandons her Cherry Coke, retrieves her jacket from a chair. Yesterday it rained. Her eyes run away from me. She leaves.

​ I know it isn’t true. She has several hours to kill. She’ll probably drink tea at the Belgian patisserie near Charing Cross. I know one of the waitresses there. Michèle will write in her notebook, or read a newspaper.

​ I don’t think I’ve hurt her. I think she is permanently hurting. I think I am lucky. I don’t know why Zenna is in love with me. I just know that my body feels on fire when she touches me. I know that I am afraid and that I want her. We spent part of the night talking, before eventually falling asleep in each other’s arms.

How does one describe passion?

​ We talked about Trish and Michèle. I had tried to avoid the subject.

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