The Menstrual Season

Two women, sisters I thought, sat nearby. They were dressed up, one in yellow, one in red, freckled cleavage on show. Their men brought them half lagers and I watched them settle and look at the territory they were making with their drinks put down, packets of fags.

One of the women looked a bit like my first “serious” girlfriend, Tricia. She was something—blonde, fat legs and a smooth, elegant face. She smoked Consulate out of the side of her mouth, called me “soldier”. We lasted almost a year. I had money then, left to me by my dad, and we both gave up work and lived off it. A grand time.

There were others, but none of them lasted even that long. There was Jan, a chocolate fiend (“food of the Gods” she used to say), but it didn’t show on her. Thin as string. She wore a lot of red I remember—belts, handbags, shoes. Then there was Carmen, who changed her name by deed poll and liked communal living so much she tried to introduce another boyfriend into the household. Carol, Jill. They’d all move in with me, get themselves organized and leave within four months. I used to wonder about that—four months—was it some kind of cycle, a menstrual season?

Alan Beard’s stories have appeared in many magazines (London Magazine, Malahat Review), anthologies (Neonlit, England Calling), ezines (In Posse Review) and on radio (BBC 4). His first collection Taking Doreen out of the Sky was published by Picador in 1999, and he recently edited a collection of stories from Birmingham (UK) writers Going the Distance (Tindal St Press 2003).

[ alan.beard@uce.ac.uk ]