Having finally found the control within the depths of all this clutter Mrs Wookcock turns the CSI eposode she was watching to mute and turns to look at me with a badly conceiled look of worry. Looking around for something to say she says “I’ve got some fizzy’s in the fridge….” Her sentence falls short, as if by a sudden change of mind she turns the TV off and tries to tidy a bit of the mess around her.
“I’m fine thanks” I reply, making my way towards the closest sofa.
“Not there, that’s the dog’s chair. You’ll get dog hairs all over you.” Leaping up I turn around and closer inspected the sofa. It was covered in pale yellow hairs. Cringing at the thought of what that dogs rolled in and my brand new Calvin Klein leather jacket.
Settling myself upon the only other couch, after checking the cleanliness of it, I turn to see Colleen’s eyes watching me.
“Sorry about that. I think she’s malting at the moment. Getting her winter coat, you know.” Mrs Woodcock looks lovingly at the yellow lab who, noticing the attention starts to pant again and rolls around on her back.
Forcing what I hope was a reasuring smile I begin without any further hold-up’s.
“So, to start off, what do you prefer pickle’s or chutney?” my normal, easy question (which I use to lull people into a false sense of security, normally works to leave them ungaured for more personal questions).
“Ohh” oviously relieved for such a mundane question. Laughing quietly to myself I try to keep the satified smile of my face and turn my attention back towards my victim. She seems to be concentrating on her answer now, and takes time doing it.
“Well, I didn’t know. What type of pickles? Chutneys quite sweet…” she continues to ramble on like this until I get the chance to intervene
“Like a Branston or Picked onions” getting the ideal that it was a straight forward question she answers with a little hint of sullnence in her voice.
“Branston then”.
“Okay, and what would be your ideal pet?” another simple one, but even so it takes her time to come up with an answer.
“A dog I guess” she says finally.
“care to elborate?….” I say, needing something to write about.
“well…I like labs, golden labs..actually make it retrever. Retrievers are very loyal and reliable.” She says looking down at her (labrador, may I add) dog. Yea, like checking the postman for cocaine, I think, also looking at the mange old dog in the centre of the room.
Moving quickly on to a more substantial question for her to answer I challenge her with one of my favourite qustions, the one that normally tells me the most about the person. Though I didn’t think I could know more about her.
“Tell me, if you could live the life of one person, a celebraty or a friend, anyone you can think of.” Looking at her confused face I try to elaborate “ Like maybe someone you idealised or looked up to, maybe a singer or a close friend…”
“Ohh, well…I liked Danny Kaye a lot in my youth. He was a singer, entertainer really. He used to do a lot of toungue twisters…” chuckling slightly at the memoir she goes off ranting again, giving me the complete biography of Danny Kaye.
Pretending to listen and write I take the chance to look at some of the more finer details of her place. I notice a narrow shelf behind the door full of books, Susan Sallis novels seem to be a favourite, an author who’s books are renowed for their pedictable endings and the housewife’s favourite. There don’t seem to be many other things on the self, except a small woven box full of the Daily Mail’s freebie’s, covered in a lot of dust most of them look as if they have never been played.
“…the operation went fine, but he sadly died because they gave him the wrong type of blood afterwards.” Breaking out of my analasyse of her music selection I turn my attention quickly back to her with a sudden saddened expression on my face.
“Oh yes, that’s really upsetting”.
Making some more notes I notice the time on my watch. Better wrap things up, I say to myself, or else I’ll never get to reach my deadline.
“And one final question Mrs Woodcock” I say with a sugered tounge “What is your Goal in life?” A pathetic question I know, but I just needed an easy escape route.
She seemed to be amused by it, being 71years old I guess it was a rather stupid question to ask.
“ To live as long as I can” she said with only a hint of sacasm in her voice. I warm to her slighty, not the complete OAP I had her down for then.
“Well thank you for your time, it was great meeting you” packing my notepad (containing only half the things she said) I get up and starting towards the door.
“No problem” she’s obviously as pleased it’s over as I am “Bye then love”.
As I walk out the door the old lab escorts me out, puffing all the way.
Emma Murton
