Read Online 06 Educating Jack by Jack Sheffield - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jack Sheffield
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nearby, we called into a coffee shop. We ordered filter coffee with hot milk as well as the local delicacy, a rich, round toasted brioche bun based on the famous recipe of the young French refugee, Sally Lunn.
Above the counter, in preparation for Hallowe’en, a huge orange pumpkin had been hollowed out. With a sharp knife, circular holes had been carved for the eyes, plus a triangular nose and a rectangular mouth complete with tombstone teeth. A candle flickered inside. It was a gruesome sight and we both smiled. It was good to relax together and I realized we had eased smoothly into holiday mode.
‘Happy?’ I asked.
Beth grinned and blew on the surface of her hot coffee. ‘Perfect, Jack, simply perfect.’
A short while later we stared in wonder at the historic Roman Baths, dating from the first century AD. It seemed a pity that the city was now a spa in name only. Sadly, a few years ago the ancient pipework had revealed serious contamination and, since then, the precious hot mineral water had been simply diverted into the River Avon.
‘Look at this, Jack,’ said Beth, pointing to the guide book with a smile. In 1668 Samuel Pepys had written in his diary, ‘Methinks it cannot be clean to go so many bodies together in the same water’. I recalled the shower Beth and I had shared this morning but kept this precious thought to myself.
Then we continued up the hill to the Assembly Rooms and enjoyed browsing in the Bath Antiques Fair. From there we continued round the elegant curve of the Circus up to the magnificent eighteenth-century Royal Crescent, a semi-elliptical terrace of thirty grand houses, complete with over a hundred giant Ionic columns. We stopped and looked in awe. This really was a triumph of eighteenth-century geometric engineering. ‘Isn’t it wonderful, Jack?’ said Beth, holding my hand. Above our heads a scattering of squirrels darted with quick and nimble steps along the branches of a gnarled oak tree. Her soft hair touched my cheek as I kissed her and we walked on, happy in our private world.
Finally we returned to the Abbey Churchyard outside the Pump Room where Pippa and Laura were waiting for us. Afternoon tea was a brief, simple affair as the three women planned an afternoon’s shopping together which held no interest for me. Schoolwork seemed a long way off and, as we sat there, I watched the people passing by and listened to a local busker playing Paul McCartney’s ‘Yesterday’, which really did feel so very far away.
‘See you back here in a couple of hours, Jack?’ said Pippa. It was another of her rhetorical questions and I smiled, grateful for the opportunity not to be involved. The three women set off shopping and I settled down with another pot of tea and a copy of the
Bath and West Evening Chronicle
. The local news seemed to be dominated by an article about two hundred members of the Wiltshire Motor Cycle Action Group who were protesting against the wearing of helmets. It looked as though the days of the open road and wind in your hair were numbered.
After a while I decided to get some fresh air and enjoy the last of the low afternoon sunshine. The nights were drawing in now and soon it would be dark. I stood outside the Pump Room under the Colonnade, nine equal bays studded with ten classical Ionic columns, and looked at the busy shoppers in Stall Street.
To my surprise, Laura was walking towards me, carrying a variety of smart womenswear bags. As usual she turned heads in her beautifully tailored narrow skirt, a checked blouse and a fashionable Sherpa woollen quilted waistcoat. Her silk scarf matched her eyes. She looked as if she was about to be photographed for the cover of
Cosmopolitan
. ‘Jack,’ she said, ‘we hoped you might look after these for us while you’re waiting.’ Her high cheekbones were flushed as the warmth left the earth and cool darkness spread its cloak.
‘Yes, fine,’ I said, ‘I’ll take them back to the tea shop and stand guard.’
Above the counter, in preparation for Hallowe’en, a huge orange pumpkin had been hollowed out. With a sharp knife, circular holes had been carved for the eyes, plus a triangular nose and a rectangular mouth complete with tombstone teeth. A candle flickered inside. It was a gruesome sight and we both smiled. It was good to relax together and I realized we had eased smoothly into holiday mode.
‘Happy?’ I asked.
Beth grinned and blew on the surface of her hot coffee. ‘Perfect, Jack, simply perfect.’
A short while later we stared in wonder at the historic Roman Baths, dating from the first century AD. It seemed a pity that the city was now a spa in name only. Sadly, a few years ago the ancient pipework had revealed serious contamination and, since then, the precious hot mineral water had been simply diverted into the River Avon.
‘Look at this, Jack,’ said Beth, pointing to the guide book with a smile. In 1668 Samuel Pepys had written in his diary, ‘Methinks it cannot be clean to go so many bodies together in the same water’. I recalled the shower Beth and I had shared this morning but kept this precious thought to myself.
Then we continued up the hill to the Assembly Rooms and enjoyed browsing in the Bath Antiques Fair. From there we continued round the elegant curve of the Circus up to the magnificent eighteenth-century Royal Crescent, a semi-elliptical terrace of thirty grand houses, complete with over a hundred giant Ionic columns. We stopped and looked in awe. This really was a triumph of eighteenth-century geometric engineering. ‘Isn’t it wonderful, Jack?’ said Beth, holding my hand. Above our heads a scattering of squirrels darted with quick and nimble steps along the branches of a gnarled oak tree. Her soft hair touched my cheek as I kissed her and we walked on, happy in our private world.
Finally we returned to the Abbey Churchyard outside the Pump Room where Pippa and Laura were waiting for us. Afternoon tea was a brief, simple affair as the three women planned an afternoon’s shopping together which held no interest for me. Schoolwork seemed a long way off and, as we sat there, I watched the people passing by and listened to a local busker playing Paul McCartney’s ‘Yesterday’, which really did feel so very far away.
‘See you back here in a couple of hours, Jack?’ said Pippa. It was another of her rhetorical questions and I smiled, grateful for the opportunity not to be involved. The three women set off shopping and I settled down with another pot of tea and a copy of the
Bath and West Evening Chronicle
. The local news seemed to be dominated by an article about two hundred members of the Wiltshire Motor Cycle Action Group who were protesting against the wearing of helmets. It looked as though the days of the open road and wind in your hair were numbered.
After a while I decided to get some fresh air and enjoy the last of the low afternoon sunshine. The nights were drawing in now and soon it would be dark. I stood outside the Pump Room under the Colonnade, nine equal bays studded with ten classical Ionic columns, and looked at the busy shoppers in Stall Street.
To my surprise, Laura was walking towards me, carrying a variety of smart womenswear bags. As usual she turned heads in her beautifully tailored narrow skirt, a checked blouse and a fashionable Sherpa woollen quilted waistcoat. Her silk scarf matched her eyes. She looked as if she was about to be photographed for the cover of
Cosmopolitan
. ‘Jack,’ she said, ‘we hoped you might look after these for us while you’re waiting.’ Her high cheekbones were flushed as the warmth left the earth and cool darkness spread its cloak.
‘Yes, fine,’ I said, ‘I’ll take them back to the tea shop and stand guard.’
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