Merceline was everything Amarin wasn't. She was organised, for a start.
"What a cold wet day today huh!" Amarin exclaimed loudly as she plonked herself down next to a very straight, very thin elderly woman wearing a long crisp red coat that bunched in at the waist giving her a look of French fashion know-how and high dark green boots.
Amarin breathed in sharply as she took in Merceline's dress, and she felt something drop deep down into an unused space that had long ago held ambition mixed with sparks of energy. Like a penny falling through the opening of a glass jar full of cobwebs.
Merceline gave a small smile and said, "Indeed."
Suddenly, Amarin felt rather small, like a baby pine cone, so she waved her arm around her in a wide gesture and asked, "Where do you live then?! Far from here?"
Merceline looked at her with raised eyebrows and a bit of a smirk. "I live down there," she pointed to the right, and Amarin said quickly, "Oh me too!" even though she didn't.
"Have you also experienced that awful mailboy?" Merceline asked with distaste.
"Oh! I have!"
"Have you really, well he is just god awful. Throws my papers into the puddles and expects me to pick them up. Me! I pay my taxes! I expunged four children! Didn't I!"
"Did you?" Amarin asked in alarm. She had no idea what 'expunged' meant, but could only guess it was something foul. Her pulse quickened. Murder, she thought.
"This is the thanks I receive! Letting my hard earned catalogues air out for days on my dish rack, unable to complete my dishwashing, unable to buy anything within sale times... good for nothing hooligans!" Merceline looked like she was about to raise her arm in a shake of protest, but caught herself just in time.
"Oh yes," Amarin heard herself say, as her heart continued to beat as loud as a drummer-boy playing right next to her ear, "Oh, I have that trouble all the time!"
"Isn't it the crows feet?"
"Crows feet?"
"Yes, exactly."
"Well-"
"And what are you doing today that you must catch a bus for?" Merceline leaned in a little closer with a friendlier, wider smile, her silver-streaked dark hair catching the little sun that was glimmering through the clouds.
"Oh, well, umm..." Amarin wondered if she should say that she was, in fact, going out to buy ham and bread rolls for lunch to commemorate her husband's fourth year dead, because she'd rather eat his favourite meal in front of the tv than sit at a grave while it rained on her tatty raincoat as she described to his headstone how she was going to eat his favourite meal, but she suddenly had a lot of things to consider. Firstly: was this woman a child-killing lunatic who needed locking up? Secondly: the woman's boots and coat made her undeniably self-conscious about her own bright pink blouse and tie-dye skirt that reached her ankles. Thirdly: how exactly did this woman manage to curl her hair and then also pin each curl to her head as if dressing up for some kind of old-fashioned play? Amarin was dying to know so she, too, could disguise her own grey hair in a sheer blanket of elegance.
"Is it that complicated?" Merceline asked in horror.
"Oh, no! It's just, I- I'm going to mourn my late husband and wa-"
"Good heavens!" Merceline cried. "What are you doing in that outfit?! You don't wear pink and hippy drag to a mourning! It's not on! I'll show you, come on."
Merceline stood up and beckoned Amarin to do the same. "Oh my! That is, if you'd take my assistance?" she peered down at Amarin in a concerned, faintly motherly, way, and Amarin was lost for words. Her fingers unconsciously pulled at her skirt while she had visions of herself and this well-dressed woman walking around the gardens picking flowers, having high-tea in a country club where everything was white and floral, sharing a laugh while walking this woman's two well-behaved dogs, and chattering over a roast dinner about the rude young boys of the newer century.
"Of course you ca-" she started but Merceline cut over her.
"Of course I must! How would you refuse such a request? Come along, I'll straighten you out, come on..."
Amarin stood up and swung her handbag over her shoulder as Merceline stuck out her hand in the most daintiest gesture Amarin had ever seen. She supposed her skin felt soft, smooth, and supple, like a baby's talcumed bottom.
"How rude of me, I haven't introduced myself. My name is Merceline."
"Hello, I'm... I'm- uh, well, my name is... Josephine. Yes, my name is Josephine." The rush Amarin felt was probably akin to doing ecstasy, she supposed as she had never tried. It felt pure and simple. And also like fireworks going off.
"Oh, wait I'm sorry! Why were you catching the bus? I'm taking you away from your plans."
"Me?" Merceline laughed. "Oh, I was just going to the casino!"
