The Serial: Far From the Rowan Tree Day 71

There was one real comedian among the ladies (up till now I had not met up with many in Canada). Rose was her name

On the whole entertainment outside the home was sparse so it was with enthusiasm that I accepted an invitation from Carmen one day. It was just a week or so before my baby was due. It didn’t matter. I was desperate to get out – get away from children and constant chores for a short while. The entertainment was rather a strange one but it was free.

The way Carmen put it was this. “You sure don’t need to come if you don’t want to but I’ve got two tickets from the mental health board to attend a talk by a fashion model.

“I guess it’s going to make folks feel better to learn how to make the best of themselves. She is also going to give us a few exercises and advice on how to keep slim and fit.”

I laughed, “She’ll have a problem with me at the moment,” I said patting my heavily distended stomach.

“Oh you sure won’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” Carmen said. “It’s a scheme thought up by the mental hospital that I was in.

“They like you to bring a friend along if you can but, of course, not everyone wants to go to a thing like that – afraid it might be infectious or something.

Impressive “You’re very welcome if you want to come. The class is to be held in the Tower Building downtown in the evening. It sure is an impressive place.”

A night out for free. I didn’t hesitate. It sounded as if it might be fun – different anyway!

Carmen got her mother to look after her children and Ronald looked after our lot.

Carmen and I set off in the bus. I had a few faltering pains in my stomach but I didn’t say anything.

I had had similar pains for quite a while before the other children were born. Besides it couldn’t be born tonight.

“No baby for a day or two until the Chevy is repaired,” Ronald had warned jokingly.

As Carmen had said, the Tower Building was impressive, stretching far up into the darkness, tonight all black glass and concrete.

Our meeting room was on the third floor. Fortunately for me there was a lift which saved me from puffing up all these stairs.

The gathering was very odd indeed. The model, Miranda by name, who was to talk to us, was indeed elegant – a beanpole who had wriggled herself into in a knee length dress.

Her long finger nails were red to match the dress – the identical shade – platinum bobbed hair completed the picture with not one hair out of place.

The rest of us were a strange and motley crew of all shapes and sizes. Apart from the model, Carmen was by far the neatest and prettiest there.

There were excessively thin women with bulging eyes, squat women, fat women, tall women, tiny women – some that were excitable and some that seemed calm to the point of almost falling asleep.

I think that during the talk one or two did actually nod off.

The talk was lively, interesting, helpful and sometimes very entertaining when Miranda had nearly everyone down on the floor doing exercises.

Happy knack She never talked down to us and the women laughed at their own ineptitude as much as they did at each other.

Everything was taken in good part and there was a feeling of camaraderie in the air.

There was one real comedian among the ladies (up till now I had not met up with many in Canada). Rose was her name. Anything less like a rose was hard to imagine.

She was dark haired and squat with a plain face and what I can only describe as a Glasgow humour although it was doubtful if she had any Scottish connections.

With it she had the happy knack of bringing everyone together.

The evening passed so pleasantly that Miranda had forgotten to look at the elegant gold watch round her elegant slim wrist.

“Holy gee!” she said eventually, “look at the time. It’s 10 o’clock. We were supposed to be out of here by 9.30. We’d better get down them stairs quick.”

As it was we took the lift. There was no one else about – a deathly silence reigned as we slipped down the floors – the only thing to be heard was the mechanical sound of the lift. For once the women were silent.

We went toward the huge doors of darkened glass – they were closed, locked. Realisation dawned on us all. We were locked in and were the only people in the building.

Miranda tried various doors on the ground floor, but they were all locked. Rose made an outrageous statement.

“A bunch of loonies locked in a tower!” she said. Everyone laughed.

Miranda kept cool. “Right folks upstairs again, back to the room we were in. I’ll find a phone and we’ll be out of here in two tics.

“Rose, you take over and do some more exercises with the ladies. Carmen, Margaret you come with me and we’ll look for a phone.”

We searched through the rooms on the third floor and finally found an office that was open and had a phone.

Cynical Miranda eased herself lithely on to the edge of the desk sitting with her elegant legs crossed and dangling. She lifted the receiver and dialled the police station.

After a short pause the phone was answered. “Officer” she said tentatively, “you’re not going to believe this but my name is Miranda. I’m a model and I’m locked in the Tower Building with a bunch of women, mostly ex-patients, from Strathblane Mental Hospital.

“I’ve been giving a talk on fashion. I didn’t notice the time and the caretaker’s gone off and locked us in.”

There was silence from the other end of the phone for a moment and then I heard rather cynical laughter after which there came the scathing tones of a male voice.

“Oh yeh! I sure have had a of a lot of funny hoaxes in my life but this one takes the cookie. A hostess with a bunch of mental patients locked in the tower!”

(More tomorrow.)