Polly Read Online Free Page B

red-rimmed owl-frame spectacles.
    â€˜Hullo Bogey!’ Polly declared, flopping to her knees and encircling her arms about the oversized Airedale’s neck while he slurped at her cheek. ‘As in Humphrey?’ she asked Kate.
    â€˜Sure thing,’ Kate confirmed, trading the dog’s lead for Polly’s trolley.
    â€˜I’m Fenton as in Roger and James,’ Polly explained, jigging to keep up with Kate who was slaloming effortlessly through the concourse towards the exit, ‘although I’m related to neither. Unfortunately.’
    â€˜That’s too bad,’ rued Kate kindly, coming to a standstill, cocking her head and nodding at Polly, ‘I’m kinda partial to British photographers
and
British poets.’
    Polly was most impressed.
    â€˜I’ve had rampant affairs with
both
species,’ confided Kate through the side of her mouth while she walked. ‘Rampant!’ she all but growled. ‘In the sixties,’ she said, by way of justification.
    Polly laughed.
    I like this woman!
    What’s she like then?
    She’s head of art at Hubbardtons. I suppose she must be in her early fifties, but she’s quite trendy with her hair cut into a wonderful feathery crop and her face framed by these wacky specs. She has a round, sparkling face and chipmunk cheeks when she smiles. She’s wearing a lovely old leather jacket – which has obviously known no other owner – checked trousers and funky chunky boots. She walks incredibly fast and, oh how funny, she’s just clicked and winked at the newspaper-stand chap. He must be a hundred and twenty. Ha! Here’s her car and it’s a real slice of America – what they call a station-wagon, I think, with that faux wooden panelling along the side?
    Do you know, I’m actually here! I’m in America, in the car park at Logan Airport. It’s not frightening, it’s fantastic. Can’t believe it. Wow!
    â€˜All right! Here we go, luggage in the trunk, Bogey in the back, Polly up front with me.’
    â€˜How long will the journey take?’
    â€˜About three and a half.’
    â€˜Bet that’s just round the block for you – rather than London to Liverpool for me. Is it scenic?’
    â€˜Round the what? I’ve been to Liverpool, you know, in the sixties, of course. And yup, the route’s pretty.’
    â€˜Fantastic! I’ve never been to America.’
    â€˜You’re gonna have a lot of fun,’ said Kate, nodding sagely and tapping Polly lightly on the knee. ‘You’ll never want to leave.’ Polly tapped Kate back.
    Oh yes I will. Everything I am is in the UK.
    â€˜I like your checked trousers,’ she said instead.
    Kate laughed, short and sharp. ‘They’re plaid pants over here.’
    The journey passed quickly, Kate talking nineteen to the dozen while Polly’s eyes, like her ears, worked overtime to take in all she could.
    School on Saturdays – nightmare!
    Wooden houses. Big cars. Sidewalks. Very fat people. Fantastically thin people.
    So I’m to have a room at Kate’s house for the first term.
    Driving on the wrong side. Policemen with guns and cool glasses.
    Term started last Thursday but the first weekly faculty meeting is this Thursday evening.
    The most enormous trucks imaginable, huge radiator grilles quite menacing. Truck drivers up in the gods with baseball caps. Kids with baseball caps back to front.
    There’ll be no more than twelve in a class – that’s phenomenal.
    The Charles River. Sculling. Harvard round the bend and out of sight. Concord River. Connecticut River.
    Kate, lovely Kate, stopping at a tiny bakery just across the state line, buying me a cinnamon bun and a double decaff coffee.
    â€˜We’re gonna have a whole lot of fun. You’re gonna just love school, you’ll fit in a dream.’
    Will I? Hope I live up to your expectations – you seem to have decided an awful lot