Margaret Drabble

The Seven Sisters

2002. Penguin Books, 2003.

Eventually I reached the large formal round pond at the end of the avenue leading from the Rose Garden. There was nobody on any of the benches. Rain fell on the wet statuary. A white plastic bag was floating in the shallow water of the fountain...It seemed to sum up my despair. It floated, half-submerged, yet not sinking, in miserable suspension. I decided to try to remove it...but it was just beyond my reach. I looked for a stick, but I could not see anything suitable in that trim, well-tended public garden...I looked around me, but could see nobody...I took off my sandals, and rolled up my wet trousers, and waded in.

Candida, at her 'lowest ebb' after her divorce and a subsequent move to London, has forced herself to go out on a wet day in the hope that the rain will let up.

The water was shallow, and within two steps I had the bag in my grasp...As I clambered out, I looked around again, guiltily, and saw that by now somebody was watching me. An elderly black man, muffled up in raincoat and hood, had arrived upon the scene, and was standing, hunched, as a witness. The expression upon his face was of unutterable dejection...I felt that we were kindred spirits, but I could neither speak nor smile. Solemnly, clutching the bag, I thrust my feet back into my wet slippery sandals, and then made my way across the gravel path to an elaborate black and gold ornamental dustbin, where I deposited the bag. I felt better for this pointless act