by Jim Bennett
She found him outside the main entrance sat on the front step.
'Mike?' she said, approaching him from behind.
'I'm not apologising. He can fuck off'. He didn't turn around. Julie did a little cough, hoping that this would prompt Mike to take notice and realise his mistake. Unfortunately this wasn't a Jane Austen novel, and Mike continued to sit huddled over facing forwards.
With considerable effort, Julie managed to lower herself down to the floor. The ground below her was strewn with small rocks. She had to prop herself up on her haunches to knock some of the larger ones away.
'You really need to be more careful with old people, you know. It doesn't take much to give them a heart attack. They have to turn the soaps off five minutes before the end in case the big reveal does one of them in'.
Mike turned his head incrementally towards her and realised it was Julie. 'Fucking hell', he said, startled. 'Shit, sorry, didn't mean to swear. Shit, I mean…'
'Don't worry about it', Julie said. She feared if she didn't cut him off immediately, he would get so wound up that he would start dropping c-bombs. 'It looked like a pretty stressful situation. Not surprising that you lost your temper'.
'Yeah. Well, he's not a nice man'.
'Do you want to talk about it?'
'Not really. I mean, I don't want to bore you'.
'It might do you some good', Julie cajoled. If the display inside was anything to go by, the story was set to be sensational.
Mike let out a deep breath and launched into his story. 'Roy, he's the little bloke that looks like a raddish, he arrives on the scene a few years ago and gets his claws into my Aunty Jean right off. Fifteen years younger than her if you can believe it'.
Julie couldn't, although that wasn't surprising. He had the complexion of someone who spent most of his life at the bottom of a pint glass and slept on the table it was served on.
'Anyway, all of a sudden he proposes to her. Jean's always been the maiden aunt. Courts all and marries none as my nan used to say. It's a bit quick, but it's not exactly like they're getting any younger. So great, we're all happy for them.
About a year goes by without them setting a date. Aunty Jean has always had some money set aside. She's not rolling in it. She always had this plan though, spent her life working hard so she could retire at 55 and see the world. They can afford it, and as I say, the almighty might come knocking at any moment, so what's stopping them?
I didn't know my dad, not really, and I lost my mum young. Now that Nan and Aunty Kath are gone, I'm all that she's got left, you know? I've got to look out for her.
Anyway, one Sunday lunch, I press her on it. Force her to tell me what's going on. It turns out they can't get married because he's got a wife back in Australia who won't give him a divorce’.
'Because she's religious?'
'That was my first question too. No, says he can't find her. Says that he hasn't spoken to her since he left ten years ago'.
'There isn't a relative who can put them in touch?'
'Not a dickybird. She keeps going on and on about how the wife is in Australia, and that it's understandable that he can't find her. I ask her why they haven't spoken to a lawyer. Surely they could give them some advice if they're serious about getting married. Roy says he has and there's nothing that they can do. She says she doesn't mind. They love each other and a piece of paper isn't going to change anything'.
'We have a few months of this. Me trying to convince her to look into it, and her having none of it. But then she starts getting forgetful. Wandering off at odd times of the night and causing all sorts of mischief. When she nearly set the house on fire, I knew something wasn't right. The doctor said that it isn't anything diagnosable, she's just getting old'.
'So I got Roy to agree to put her in this place'.
He nodded his head backwards in a gesture towards the care home.
'He put up a fight, but what's he going to do? Of course he wanted her to stay at home. She was cooking all his meals for him, washing his clothes. He's useless without her. Did you see him today? Egg caked down the front of his shirt. The staff probably won't let him leave. Duty of care and all that. You can only almost set your house on fire so many times before someone has to do something'.
Problem is, since she’s been here, it hasn’t stopped. She keeps wandering off. It's a bloody nightmare'.
'Don't they have someone checking that they're staying in their rooms?' Julie asked.
Apparently not. Too few of them they say. Got to focus on the high risk cases'.
'Higher risk than walking around by herself in the middle of the night?'
'They say that she's not likely to do herself any harm. She's not demented, she's just confused. That old berk Roy isn't helping either. The first time it happened, he agreed that we should keep Aunty Jean in her room. You should have seen it. The scene he caused was like something out of a Greek tragedy. How could we do this to her, it wasn't worth being alive if she couldn't be with her flowers. The woman lived in central London for ninety percent of her life. She's used to having a few potted plants on the windowsill. I said I'd get her a few daffodils and put them in a vase, but apparently that's cruel.
So now we're in this ridiculous situation where the home are forced to let her run free like stig of the sodding dump because Roy somehow managed to wangle his way into getting her right of attorney and he thinks keeping her indoors would be tantamount to incarceration without the chance of parole'.
Julie felt a bit bowled over by this flood of narrative. They sat in silence for a few moments before Mike said 'sorry, too much information'.
'No, don't be silly. I wouldn't ask if I didn't want to know. I was just thinking about how selfish I've been'.
'I doubt that'.
'Maybe not selfish then. More silly. Betty, that's my husband's mum, she's as good as gold when you think about some of the others. But I'm so bloody big and important that when I do occasionally take the time to come and see her, all I can think about is the inconvenience of it all. It's not right, especially when...'. She paused and checked herself. 'Especially when she doesn't know any better'.
'I'm sure she appreciates it, Mike said with a kind smile. 'Your husband too. It's not easy when they start to fade away'.
She thought about correcting him and instantly began to feel depressed. 'That's kind of you to say, thank you. Anyway, I should probably go back in for a bit longer. I'll see you tomorrow?' She attempted to stand, but instantly fell backwards again. Mike jumped up with an embarrassing lack of effort and helped to pull her up.
'I thought you’d booked it off?'
'I had, yeah, but Mr Peg said he had something important to tell us'.
'Oh yes, his big plan to put the garden centre on the map! How exciting. We'll be buying out B&Q before we know it'.
'And here we are getting in on the ground floor'. Julie said goodbye and walked back through the double doors. She left Mike standing there, looking a little lost.
When she walked back into the day room, she saw Jean and Roy sat together. Jean remained in her chair, with Roy perched on one of the arms. Her head was resting against his shoulder as Roy rhythmically stroked her hair.
Julie walked back over to Betty who was still looking out of the window.
'Oh hello', Betty said, noticing her for the first time. 'Are you new?'
Chapter Five
In the three weeks Jack had been staying with Julie, they hadn't spoken about their almost liaison of the first night once. Julie expected that she had been relegated to the league of lost causes. Or perhaps Jack thought that it was too much effort for such a modest prize.
All in all though, Jack wasn't a bad house guest. Yes, she did find herself cooking for him more than she would care to. There was also often a definite smell of marijuana in the upstairs hallway first thing in the morning.
But Jack was always appreciative and never failed to be kind to her. More than that, Julie found that now there was someone els
e living in the house, she had a reason to make more of an effort. Gone were the days of her leaving empty bottles of wine on the living room floor for a few days at a time. Although truth be told, her and Jack often went through a fair quantity in the evenings when he wasn't working.
On one Saturday morning, she walked into the kitchen and was surprised to find Jack standing in front of the cooker. Normally their paths dish cross before at least eleven.
'I met this guy on the way to Machu Picchu a few years ago', he said when he noticed that she had come into the room. 'He'd given up everything when he was properly old and moved to South America. Seriously, he was like fourty or something'. He remembered himself for a moment. 'Oh, sorry. Only old relatively speaking if you know what I mean. Anyway, he'd opened this restaurant and the food in there was the fucking nuts'.
He hadn't started swearing in earnest until a few weeks into his stay. Julie wondered whether Jack spoke to his own parents like this, and came to the conclusion that he probably didn't. It made the fact that she had brushed her hair and done her makeup before she came down for breakfast worthwhile. Of course she wasn't actually trying to impress him, she told herself. She just didn't want to be ridiculous in his eyes.
'Anyway, he taught me how to make this amazing paella'. He'd set a place for Julie at the table and gestured for her to sit down. 'And now, Mrs Giles, it is my small gift to you'. The dish slid from the pan onto her plate so perfectly that it was if it had agreed in advance.
Julie thanked him and began to eat. Jack stood over her, watching her take her first bite. She was reminded of the many a disastrous Mother's Day breakfasts that Harry had put in front of her and then instantly tried to banish the thought.
'It's really good Jack, thank you'. Julie said between mouthfuls. Jack continued to stare at her in anticipation. She followed up with 'the mushrooms are especially well done', but thought it was unlikely that this was the specific feedback he was looking for.
'Some people have said that they think it's like professional standard'.
'Is that something you might want to do when you settle down?'
He harrumphed at this. 'What, be a chef? I told you Mrs Giles, it's all about the music. The only 9 to 5 I'm going to be doing is in my grave'. The line had been rehearsed, and he looked to her for a reaction.
She gave him a little laugh and hoped that would be the end of it. It was his ego rather than the man himself that she sometimes found exhausting.
Julie was sitting in the living room with a cup of coffee when there was a frenzied banging on the door. She wasn't surprised to find Mrs McGrath standing on the front step. Julie had considered ignoring the incensed knocking. However, she thought that it was inevitable that the old woman would find her way into the back garden and then, through sheer determination, into the house.
'Where's the gigolo?' Mrs McGrath said in the way of greeting.
'I'm sorry?'
'Your young man. Where is he?'
'He's over at Brian's. Helping him with the garden'.
'The pervert can't cut his own grass, is it? Or is he letching at small boys now as well?'
'He's had a broken leg for months. Didn't you notice?'
'Bigger things requiring my attention'. She shook the newspaper that she was carrying in the air. 'Need to show you something'. Without being asked, Mrs McGrath pushed straight past Julie and walked into the living room.
Julie took a moment to compose herself on the threshold before closing the door and joining her unwanted guest. Mrs McGrath had spread the newspaper out in front of her and was now leaning forward over it, inspecting the print.
'There', the old lady said. She tapped a column of type in the bottom right hand corner of the page. 'Read that'.
Julie took a seat next to Mrs McGrath and leaned in to have a closer look. The article detailed an investigation that the financial watchdog had started into a large telecoms company due to the misappropriation of funds. It alluded to the fact that several of the organisation's most senior members were currently suspended and would most likely need to resign.
Julie finished reading and turned to look at her visitor, waiting for some further explanation. Mrs McGrath was leaning back on the sofa with her arms folded, looking smug.
It became clear that an explanation wasn't going to be forthcoming. 'I'm sorry, I don't understand', Julie said, readying herself for the old loon’s diatribe.
'It's them, the wrong 'uns who were tapping our phones'.
'The police told you that? They were definitely tapping our phones?'
'The bloody rozzas?' She made a dismissive noise, blowing air through her closed lips. 'Nothing but a group of glorified secretaries these days. Bobby Peel would sack the lot of them all off. It's all here', she tapped the story again. 'You've just got to know what to look for'.
Julie looked at the story again as critically as she knew how, but there was nothing. No hidden meaning or surreptitious plots suggested themselves to her.
After a silence of a few moments, Mrs McGrath became impatient and jumped into her explanation. 'That's what all that business with the phones was about. They were expanding their criminal empire'.
'How?!' Julie exclaimed, trying not to laugh.
'Why does everyone think I'm a bloody engineer? I don't know phones, but I do know crime'.
'Have you called the police?' Julie suggested, before realising her mistake.
'Haven't you been listening to a word I've been saying?!' She shuffled forwards on the sofa and stood up with the help of her stick. 'You can't wait for someone else to fix it for you. You've got to sort it out yourself'. She walked towards the door with such purpose that Julie was scared of what she was going to do next. That was until she heard Mrs McGrath taking a mug from the cupboard in the kitchen and pouring herself a drink. Resigning herself to her fate, Julie followed her, in the hopes that there would still be some hot water left in the kettle.
It had taken the best part of an hour to get rid of Mrs McGrath. She has spent most of the time contentedly ranting more to herself than to Julie. Even after so much vitriol, it still wasn't clear what slight the telephone company had inflicted on Mrs McGrath, or what she intended to do about it.
Julie took the opportunity of being alone in the house to have a bath, spending an hour or so luxuriating in the tub. After she had got dressed, she had donned her summer dressing gown over her clothes. She felt relaxed and happy, but a little hungry. Putting her slippers on, she made her way downstairs to make some lunch. As she walked past Jack’s room, she went to look at the windowsill she’d give him a couple of quid to paint. Not the neatest job in the world. Then again, what could you really expect if you were going to pay your wayward lodger to do house repairs?
She found Jack standing in the front hall. The slippers had masked her footsteps, and he only noticed her when she was a few paces away from him.
'Oh hello', he said, not as sure of himself as usual. He was holding a wedge of bank bills that he tried to unceremoniously cram into his pocket. The volume of them was so great that it took two or three attempts. A few broke away from the spool and dropped to the floor. Julie picked the nearest one up, and was surprised to see that it was a £50 note.
'Bloody hell, I think I'm in the wrong field’, she said, giving him a little chuckle.
Julie looked up at him from the note and smiled. He snatched the money from her hands before she knew what was happening.
'Yeah, well, I've been doing a lot, haven't I? Done Mrs Sinclair's garden a few times too now', he said, sounding a little sulky'. He was so petulant that Julie felt like she had caught him doing something he shouldn't have been, although she didn't really know what. ‘It’s hard work, you know'.
'I’m not saying it isn’t. Is that your money from the bar too?'
'Just leave it, yeah?' Julie didn’t have a chance to question him any further. He pushed past her and went straight upstairs, his feet hitting each step heavily as he did.
Julie stoo
d there slightly bemused, wondering whether she should go after him. Deciding that she hadn’t in fact done anything that she needed to apologise for, she remained true to her original errand, and went to see what they had for lunch. She was irritated to find an empty cheese packet in the place of the full block that she had picked up a few days previously, and a jar of pickle that only had the scrapings down the side available. Having someone else in the house may have its benefits, but this certainly wasn’t one of them. Julie took off her slippers, replacing them with a pair of sandals and hung her dressing gown on the hook by the door before exiting the house.
The summer had been especially hot, and today was no exception. The sun beat down on her and she immediately felt herself getting sweaty under the arms. The more nutritious meals that Julie had been making for her and Jack had been having a positive effect on her waistline, but not drastically. When the days were warmer , she felt her bulk was something so disgusting that small children would point and laugh at her in the street. Luckily, there were none in sight currently, allowing her to make her way to the shops undeterred.
She stopped for a moment before crossing the road to let the mobility bus carrying Mr Sinclair home to drive past. The two familiar orderlies unloaded the poor man from the vehicle, and delivered him to a waiting Mrs Sinclair outside number 32. Next door at number 30, Brian was closing his front door and struggling down the path on his crutches. He was so distracted that when he reached the street, he almost barrelled into Julie.
‘Watch where you’re going’, he spat instinctively. He then looked up and saw that it was Julie who he had almost knocked over. His face instantly softened. ‘Sorry my darling’, he said, his voice as clawing as ever. ‘Didn’t realise it was the most beautiful girl in the world’.
‘That’s alright Brian’. It became clear that they were walking in the same direction. Julie attempted to speed up slightly in the hopes that Brian wouldn’t be able to keep pace.
