often married young, so a young widow wouldn’t seem odd. But even a widow would be expected to have a household, servants, children, otherwise she would be expected to serve in another household. A young woman living by herself was often seen as a problem, and might be asked to leave the town or, if there was any suspicion of prostitution, sent to jail.
‘You have no idea how lucky you are to be a twenty-first century girl. The last fifty years have been the best of my life. I can live alone, without people watching and judging my every movement. I can go out shopping by myself, spend my own money, make myself look absolutely fabulous. I can drive a car! I can even go to university and get a degree, which may sound like a strange thing to say, but the first time I got a degree I couldn’t stop crying for three days.’
‘Why would getting a degree make you cry? And what do you mean, “first”? How many degrees have you got?’
‘My first degree was history. It sounded like an easy thing for me to do, but my actual experience of history made it more complicated and frustrating than I had anticipated, and in the end I didn’t really learn anything useful. Did you know, Oxford University didn’t award degrees to women before 1920? Real degrees, that is. Cambridge was later, 1947 I think. London University started back in the 19th Century, but it wasn’t until the 1960s that universities started to open up. I studied at Goldsmiths’ College, and graduated in 1965. I was holding a piece of paper in my hand that said women were not inferior to men, and that I, Olivia Bartlett, had achieved a position of respect in human society.
‘And, no, that’s not my real name, nor was any of the names on any of my degree certificates. I know what I have achieved, and it is astonishing after so many years of desperately trying to survive in a man’s world to discover the world has opened up, and that I can be a part of that change. It gave me life. It made me feel almost human. But it doesn’t take away the essential problem of my immortality and the need to continually create new lies about myself. What practical use is a degree I got years ago under a different name?’
‘Not much, I guess.’
‘No, but the great thing about universities these days is the chance to mix in with thousands of people from around the country, from around the world even, all looking about the same age as I do, all away from home and full of energy and new ideas. Why on earth study history when now is what matters? So of course I went back, and keep going back, but it’s physics, and computers, that I find endlessly fascinating. I mean, look at this.’ I hold up my iPhone. ‘A hundred years ago this would have been inconceivable. A hundred years ago they were still struggling to invent a calculator.’
I pick up my coffee and give it a sniff, but it’s cold now, and doesn’t do anything for me. ‘I will take you home now if you want, Cleo, but I really don’t want to. What I really want to do is take you back to mine and fuck you senseless.’ Cleo blushes, and looks uncomfortable. ‘Okay, instead, why don’t we go into town. I really need a drink, and you probably have a hundred questions you still want to ask me.’ She nods agreement.
I take her arm as we leave, and she doesn’t try to pull away, and we walk along the street in silence but arms entwined, and take the Northern Line to Embankment. Gordon’s Wine Bar is another of my favourite places and usually busy, but there’s a table free against the back wall. I order a bottle of Chateau La Fleur without looking at the list or bothering to check with Cleo. She doesn’t complain.
‘How come you drink wine?’ she asks.
‘I drink all sorts of things, although only in small quantities. I drink about half a litre of water every day, sometimes I have orange juice but I have to filter it first. I love the smell of coffee, but if I drink it I’ll throw up very quickly. Fizzy
‘You have no idea how lucky you are to be a twenty-first century girl. The last fifty years have been the best of my life. I can live alone, without people watching and judging my every movement. I can go out shopping by myself, spend my own money, make myself look absolutely fabulous. I can drive a car! I can even go to university and get a degree, which may sound like a strange thing to say, but the first time I got a degree I couldn’t stop crying for three days.’
‘Why would getting a degree make you cry? And what do you mean, “first”? How many degrees have you got?’
‘My first degree was history. It sounded like an easy thing for me to do, but my actual experience of history made it more complicated and frustrating than I had anticipated, and in the end I didn’t really learn anything useful. Did you know, Oxford University didn’t award degrees to women before 1920? Real degrees, that is. Cambridge was later, 1947 I think. London University started back in the 19th Century, but it wasn’t until the 1960s that universities started to open up. I studied at Goldsmiths’ College, and graduated in 1965. I was holding a piece of paper in my hand that said women were not inferior to men, and that I, Olivia Bartlett, had achieved a position of respect in human society.
‘And, no, that’s not my real name, nor was any of the names on any of my degree certificates. I know what I have achieved, and it is astonishing after so many years of desperately trying to survive in a man’s world to discover the world has opened up, and that I can be a part of that change. It gave me life. It made me feel almost human. But it doesn’t take away the essential problem of my immortality and the need to continually create new lies about myself. What practical use is a degree I got years ago under a different name?’
‘Not much, I guess.’
‘No, but the great thing about universities these days is the chance to mix in with thousands of people from around the country, from around the world even, all looking about the same age as I do, all away from home and full of energy and new ideas. Why on earth study history when now is what matters? So of course I went back, and keep going back, but it’s physics, and computers, that I find endlessly fascinating. I mean, look at this.’ I hold up my iPhone. ‘A hundred years ago this would have been inconceivable. A hundred years ago they were still struggling to invent a calculator.’
I pick up my coffee and give it a sniff, but it’s cold now, and doesn’t do anything for me. ‘I will take you home now if you want, Cleo, but I really don’t want to. What I really want to do is take you back to mine and fuck you senseless.’ Cleo blushes, and looks uncomfortable. ‘Okay, instead, why don’t we go into town. I really need a drink, and you probably have a hundred questions you still want to ask me.’ She nods agreement.
I take her arm as we leave, and she doesn’t try to pull away, and we walk along the street in silence but arms entwined, and take the Northern Line to Embankment. Gordon’s Wine Bar is another of my favourite places and usually busy, but there’s a table free against the back wall. I order a bottle of Chateau La Fleur without looking at the list or bothering to check with Cleo. She doesn’t complain.
‘How come you drink wine?’ she asks.
‘I drink all sorts of things, although only in small quantities. I drink about half a litre of water every day, sometimes I have orange juice but I have to filter it first. I love the smell of coffee, but if I drink it I’ll throw up very quickly. Fizzy
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