‘I’ll ask you again. Will she let me join?’
‘I think so. I don’t see why not,’ Meryl mumbles.
An unsatisfactory reply, I feel. I am less concerned with what Meryl thinks and more with what she knows. ‘But what about Agnes? What does she think?’
Meryl draws a long breath, holding it in her chest for a moment, before releasing it with a string of creaky vocals. Dunno, is the word finally extruded.
‘Jim’s joined?’ I am asking after Jim Wagner, Agnes’ husband. Historically, Jim has been excluded, but I have heard that he was recently given his green card; Agnes’ own design. I have never held one, though glimpsed Meryl’s earlier; no name, just a scientific looking word and a picture of Agnes’ profile in white silhouette against a background of sage green. I thought it looked like an exceptionally thin rectangular cameo brooch, and I want one.
Meryl again draws and releases a breath, but this time does not say anything. I have been trying to extract information for the last ten minutes. Meryl is about as much use as a nematode in a drought.