Keeping Up Appearances
by Charlotte Neumann, ex-staff at O'Hanlon House
'Carfax' is an old (and slightly mysterious) word meaning a place where four roads meet, and we have our own Carfax in the centre of Oxford. Perhaps, with the new traffic system, it should not be so busy and dangerous as once it was. But pedestrians and drivers alike must still exercise considerable caution in negotiating the area since unfortunate accidents - and unusual incidents - are not uncommon. There are always a fair number of people around Carfax. As well as the inhabitants of this old place, waiting for their buses, you get the language students, tourists and others, waiting for each other, their guides or just waiting to pass the time.
I am old enough not to get surprised easily, and I tend to take irregular events in my stride. There is nothing much else you can do, really. But nevertheless, I was slightly taken aback by bumping into Thomas McGuire at Carfax. Thomas and I were at school together; middle school in Abingdon. Our teacher, Mrs Wonton, always treated us fairly. She wasn't afraid to use the cane, but she could also be encouraging and made sure we knew our manners.
At first I did not react. It is always noisy, and so many people about Carfax, at any point of day, any day of the week and my name is not uncommon, so I did not react immediately. I had just picked my paper up from Tim's on High Street and was on my way across Carfax, towards Christchurch when he grabbed my arm.
"Bob? Robert Jones! I can't believe it's you!" he beamed up at me. "How are you?"
I told him I was well, thank you, and expressed my surprise, meeting him here in Oxford, at Carfax.
"I'm in Oxford for an interview. How do I look?" He swirled, and I complemented his appearance, though I noted to myself that he had something rugged about him; the sleeves of his jacket looked slightly shiny about the elbows and it seemed like he had been putting off his barber's appointment.
"Listen, are you free in about an hour? It would be great to catch up. Twelve-thirty in the Mitre?"
I said I would be delighted and wished him good luck.
I was there in good time, and as lunch hour was merely beginning I managed to get a good table for two in the corner where I had a nice view up the High towards Carfax. But I had barely got to the leaders' page in my Daily Telegraph when he sat down rather clumsily beside me.
"Didn't go too well, I think. I don't know. It's kinda hard keeping up appearances. You know, they kinda sense your desperation. I've been out of a job for so long now, and every time you go for an interview, it gets harder. And you don't get any younger, do you? They want you to have all the experience, but they don't want the years to go with it, do they?" He tapped the beer mat while he was talking, underlining what he was saying.
We both ordered the bargain lunch menu and he requested a pint of bitter. Then we spent the meal exchanging names. He seemed to have kept tabs on most of our old classmates; some were married, some were not, someone was in the City, someone was dead …
"But you seem to have done alright for yourself," he smiled. "Specially considering … you know." I shrugged and smiled back. Then he fell silent, looking down into the table.
"I've had my strokes of bad luck, but you can't give up, can you? I don't know … I married Laura, from the year above us, remember? We were happy, you know. We had Kyle, and then Jenna, I worked in Coxeter's as a sales rep, and she was home with the kids. We had a house, a corgi and an old Rover, no less, and then she just didn't want me anymore. She got the house and I outstayed most of my welcomes, before I moved in with my old mother. It didn't work out really. I lost my job, and then …"
I felt slightly awkward when he buried his face in his hands. I looked at the clock at Carfax and found it was already one forty-five when I patted him on the back to reassure him. He composed himself, and when the waiter brought the cheque I offered to take it, which he accepted. He scribbled down a phone number on a receipt from Odd Bins; "if you feel like keeping in touch." I was wondering whether I looked as old as he did, when he shook my hand and thanked me for listening.
"If you hear of anything, if there are any openings, perhaps, if you would think of me … Give me a ring, eh?"
I saw him walk down St Aldate's to catch the bus and waited a while before I left.
The afternoon was warmer than usual for March when I walked down Speedwell Street. It was quiet around the public toilets, and no one bothered me on my way towards the entrance. The new Night Shelter was certainly a change from the old one, gleaming crispy and white in the sunshine. The smiling woman at the reception wasn't.
"Hello Robert!" She chirped. "By golly, you look smart, as always! I haven't seen you all day, been out have you? Beautiful weather for it."
"Yes," I replied, "You mustn't let yourself go." As I paid my three pounds, I for some reason told her, "I had lunch with an old friend today. It was very nice."
