by Jim Bennett
Wanting to be helpful, Julie started grabbing handfuls of the soil that had deposited themselves on the floor and returning them to the pot.
'Julie, Julie, please', Mr Peg said desperately, waving his hands. 'You're putting clay into the soil'.
Julie stood there impotently still grasping two handfuls of dirt.
'It doesn't do well in clay', Mike added helpfully.
'Oh', Julie said, 'sorry'. She bent back down to the ground and tried to find somewhere discreet to put the soil. As the seconds ticked by, she felt herself becoming more and more flustered. As she walked over to the flowerbed and deposited the dirt, Mike and Mr Peg stood watching like she was a madwoman.
'Right', Mr Peg said as Julie rejoined them, 'now that we've got that sorted, shall we start the team meeting?' He eyed her with irritation as she batted the dirt from her trousers. Julie knew he wouldn't say anything, he was much too passive aggressive for that.
When they got inside, Julie's heart sank slightly at the effort that Mr Peg had made. He had moved the larger plants from the centre of the room and brought the table from the staff room through. In its centre was something small covered by a cloth. In front of each of the three chairs there was a notebook and a pen. 'We can only keep the shop closed until 11', Mr Peg said, shooting another angry glance at Julie, 'otherwise we're going to start losing business. But I wanted to talk to you both about a very promising idea that I've come up with'.
Mr Peg leaned over the table and revealed a small container of sand that had been covered by the piece of fabric.
'Now', he said with animation, 'what do you think of when you see this?'
In anticipation of being asked something ridiculous, Mike had looked down at the table as soon as the sand had been revealed. Julie had gone to follow suit, but had been too slow. Mr Peg made eye contact with such a ferocity that it was impossible to break it.
'Sand?' Julie asked, hoping it was the right answer.
'I'm not asking what it is, I'm asking what you think of when you see it'.
'Time?'
'Time? What on earth are you talking about?'
'Time goes through an hourglass'.
A look of exasperation crept over Mr Peg's face. 'Can we only have sensible answers please?' He looked over to Mike, who was still looking down. With nothing better to work worth, he returned his attention to Julie.
'When did you last see sand?' He asked in the tone of a teacher who was starting to realise his pupil was useless.
'You mean those big bags that have been outside of the shop for the last few weeks?'
'Away from work', he said angrily. It wasn't clear whether he was enraged by Julie specifically or by the realisation that his pitch wasn't as winning as he'd originally thought. Either way, he was starting to look a bit pink.
'Probably Blackpool, about five years ago'.
Mr Peg clicked his fingers and pointed at her. 'There you go', he said, his eyes excited, 'and how did you feel when you saw it?'
'Not great', Julie mumbled.
'Come on, I bet you were like a pig in mud'.
'Not really'.
His shoulders slumped and he let out a great intake of breath. He made such a show of it that she felt the need to explain herself.
'It was our last holiday', she said quietly.
'I'm sorry?' Mr Peg said, sounding haughty now.
'It was my lost holiday with Greg. Before he died'.
Mr Peg looked mortified. He stood motionless for what felt like a painfully long time before his brain re-engaged.
'Michael'. He turned his attention to his other employee, no doubt reasoning that literally anything else would be better than this. 'What about you? When was your last trip to the seaside?'
'I took my Aunty Jean to Bournemouth'.
'There we go. Lovely family trip away', Mr Peg said, sounding excited again.
'Before we had to put her in the home'.
'Still a treasured memory together', he said, sounding less sure of himself now.
'She took all her clothes off and went in the sea. Caught pneumonia. Weren't sure if she was going to make it."
'Christ', he said instinctively, probably louder than he meant to. 'Could someone please tell me a happy memory that they have had at the beach?'
All three of them sat in silence. When it became clear that Mr Peg wasn't going to let the topic slide, Julie said 'we took Harry to Cornwall when he was a baby. He took his first steps on the beach'.
Mr Peg held his hands up to the heavens. 'Fantastic, absolutely fantastic. Well done Julie, that's exactly what we need. Think about that every time you're selling Backdoor Beaches'.
Dumfounded, Julie looked over to Mike, but he appeared to be as baffled as she was.
'Backdoor Beaches is the newest innovation in home relaxation. A way to ensure the pleasures of paradise in your own garden'. Mr Peg recited the clearly memorised text with a worrying intensity in his eyes. 'Does anyone have any questions?'
Mike put up his hand and waited for Mr Peg to ask him to speak. 'Are we doing the installation?'
'We will. Depending on demand we may have to hire a few extra hands'.
'I don't know how to do plumbing though. What are we going to do until then?'
'We are only in the business of beach installation, although hopefully in time we can build a partnership with a pool installer'.
'So we're just going to be dumping a bloody great amount of sand in people's gardens?'
'Would you say that a waiter dumps food on people's tables in restaurants?'
Mike thought about it for a few seconds. 'I guess so?' He said, as if he wasn't entirely sure.
Mr Peg sighed. 'If that's how you want to look at it, then yes, that's what we're doing'.
'It sounds a bit like fly tipping', Julie said. She put her hand up as an afterthought.
'It's not fly tipping if someone asks for it'.
'How are you going to keep the sand in place?' Mike said, keeping his hand raised this time after he spoke. He was obviously anticipating that he would have further questions.
'I'm sorry?'
'How are you going to keep the sand in people's gardens?'
'How do you keep sand in place at the seaside?'
'You don't'.
'Exactly. An authentic experience in your back garden'.
'But that's not one of the good parts about being at the seaside, is it? Sand blowing in your face? Are we going to get a big dog to shit in the sand and encourage people to walk through it too?'
A little chuckle escaped Julie's mouth. Mr Peg looked at her unimpressed.
'Are we going to top the sand up? When it blows away?' Buoyed by Julie's amusement, Mike was more sure of himself now, and left his hand resting on the table instead of putting it in the air again.
Mr Peg didn't answer him. Instead he went to the table in the corner and came back with two thick paper booklets. He handed one to each of them.
'These are your scripts. Julie, I want you to spend the afternoon learning yours while Mike, you set up the prototype out in the yard'.
'Mr Peg'. Julie stood up and put a hand on his arm. She was speaking more kindly now. 'If this is all just because you don't have anything else to do with the sand, you really don't need to'.
'This is a winning business model, my girl. We need to get a corner on the market before everyone starts doing it'.
'Don't you think that's something to think about? That no one else has thought to do this before'.
'I'm sure they said that about Jacuzzis to start with. Sitting there, boiling in your own waters. Look at those chaps now. Millionaires'.
Julie thought that Mr Peg fundamentally misunderstood what a Jacuzzi was if he thought it involved boiling in your own waters. She has to remind herself that this was a man who had just told her that he thought killing all life in your garden with half a ton of sand was a winning idea. With that in mind, she sat back down and picked up her script.
The afternoon had dr
agged on much in the way that Julie expected it to. Once she had finished reading through his booklet, Mr Peg had threatened Julie with having to make cold calls. She had therefore asked him to give her a bit more time to come to familiarise herself with the material. As soon as he left the room, she settled herself down on the table and promptly went to sleep.
'Big night, was it?' A voice said as its owner gently rocked her awake by the shoulder.
She sat up with a start before realising it was Mike who had woken her up.
'Something like that', she said. Sitting up and rubbing her eyes, she looked at her watch.
'Christ, it's already lunchtime. I haven't made any calls. What am I going to tell the old man?'
'Tell him you've called everyone already'. He walked over to the kettle and filled it up. 'Not just the people on the return customer list. Everyone in the country. Tell him every one of them told you that it was a shit idea and they were not interested'.
'I don't think that would go down very well'.
'Is this normal? These grand schemes?'
'He went through a phase of trying to sell jam once, but that was fairly short lived'.
'That, and it didn't put any of the customers in any real danger'.
'I don't think it's as bad as all that'.
'You tell that to Mrs Brooks. He basically frog marched her into that so called prototype of this. To cut a long story short, she slipped on a wet patch and Mrs Fig is now driving her to A&E with a suspected broken hip'.
Julie shook her head. 'It's not a bad idea in theory. The problem is that the execution is absolutely horrendous and no one in their right mind would buy it. Have you read this?'
Mike poured boiling water over the teabags and then returned to the table taking the catalogue from Julie.
'Common questions to expect from customers'. Mike read aloud, 'will the sand kill my plants? Is this bad for the environment? How will I keep the sand clean?'
He flicked through a few pages and then returned to the page he had been reading from. 'Wait, where are the answers?'
'There aren't any! That's my point. He must have spent the evening writing a list of everything conceivable criticism of his ridiculous plan and then couldn't think of any way to refute them'.
'Listen, I wanted to talk to you about the other day. At the home, with my Aunty Jean'. He handed Julie her tea and she smiled at him in thanks.
'I’m sorry for unloading on you. It’s just that sometimes I feel like I'm the only sane person in the world and I can't get anyone else to see sense'.
Julie took a sip of the hot, sweet tea. While it made her stomach lurch, it still made her feel better. There was something comforting about it that she wouldn't be able to define if someone asked her to.
'Are you sure you're not just being over protective? I get a bit like that with Harry sometimes'.
'Who's Harry?'
'My son. Sorry, I don't know why I thought you'd know that. I forget I've only known you a few weeks sometimes'. Julie said it instinctively and because she meant it, but immediately wished she hadn't.
'Oh right. Well, that's nice. I mean, me too. I mean, I don't mean me, obviously. I feel like I've known you a lot longer too'.
'Well', Julie said, feeling awkwardly. 'That's good then'.
They sat for a few moments in not quite an uncomfortable silence, but definitely one that had an uneasy air about it. Thankfully it was broken when Mike remembered Julie's question.
'If your boy started copping off with someone who you thought was wrong though, you'd say something wouldn't you? It doesn't matter how many people tell you that you're being crazy. If you thought that person you loved was going to get hurt, you would have to do something about it'.
'I suppose so'. Julie thought about when Harry had been a baby, and how true the sentiment that Mike was expressing would have been. How she would have happily murdered anyone who threatened to hurt her little boy. Of course she still felt that instinct now and if he ever needed her, she would instantly be there. But there was something more detached about their lives now. She wondered whether she would even know if he was in any serious trouble. Would it even occur to Harry to let her know? Probably not.
Mike said something to her that she'd missed.
'I'm sorry?'
'I said, you have a friend of his staying with you at the moment, don't you?'
In the odd parallel space that was Mr Peg's shop, she had almost managed to forget the shame of the night before. With Mike's words, she felt her brain swell and rage at the realisation that in a few short hours, she would have to confront the living embodiment of her recent ridiculous behaviour.
She nodded meekly and felt a wave of nausea rush over her again.
‘Must be hell having someone else living in the house after getting used to being by yourself’.
Julie made a small noise in the affirmative and pretended to return her attention to the printed booklet before her.
‘Sorry, have I said something wrong?' Mike asked.
She smiled down at the pages but didn’t look up. ‘Just trying to give this another look before Mr Peg gets back’.
‘Okay then’, Mike said, looking confused. ‘I guess I better get back to the prototype then’. He waved his hands mockingly and smiled as he said ‘prototype', in the hopes of recapturing the comradery of a few moments ago. Julie gave Mike another small smile but did nothing else to encourage him.
Disheartened, the animation fell from his face and he headed out the double doors.
Chapter Eight
Julie arrived home to find the cul-de-sac in its normal subdued state. The weather hadn’t been unseasonably warm. However, there was definitely an awareness that it was the height of summer, and that no relief should be expected in the immediate future. Parking up in her normal space, the heat met her instantly when she opened the car door. Brian was leaning against the front wall of his garden, his crutches propped up against him. He had his arms crossed over his significant gut. He was staring across the road with a furrowed brow.
Julie readied herself against his normal seedy onslaught, but was unexpectedly met by silence.
‘Alright Brian?' Julie said, wondering what on Earth was wrong with her for voluntarily entering into a conversation with the man.
‘Alright thanks’.
Julie was torn. She desperately didn’t want to speak to Brian, but this sultry silence was so out of character for him, that she felt she had no choice but to persevere.
‘Jack’s done a good job of the garden, hasn’t he?' She peered over the wall and inspected the small rectangle of grass that lay beyond. If she was honest with herself, he had done a perfunctory job at best, but it served as a decent talking point.
Brian moved his head towards her with a jerk and gave her a dirty look. Before she could ask him what she had done wrong, he was limping back up to the house.
Unsure what had just happened but not entirely convinced that she cared, Julie crossed the road towards her own house. As she walked up the garden path, she could see Jack talking to someone across the threshold. When Jack saw her over the shoulder of his visitor, he looked startled. Julie couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it was obvious from their body language that there was something furtive in their exchange. The man that Jack was talking to briefly turned to look at her and Julie thought that she recognised him, although for the life of her she couldn’t think where she would have come into contact with such a character.
Julie got within a few feet of them and the conversation abruptly ended. The other man gave Jack something in a cupped hand and then went to leave. His jogging bottoms were so loose that he kept one hand on the waistband as he walked. He leaned to one side as he went and, while he may have thought this gave him the air of a gangster, it did nothing but confirm Julie’s expectations that he was a prized prat.
He passed Julie at the garden's narrowest point, coming within a few inches of her. With no warning, he jerked his head forward as i
f he was making a move to kiss her. Startled, Julie took a step away from him and slipped off the garden path. She stumbled as her foot hit the grass behind her at an awkward angle.
‘Easy sweetheart’, he said, sounding pleased with himself, ‘just trying to be friendly’.
Before Julie could form a response, he was down the garden path and through the gate.
By the time that she reached Jack who was still standing at the front door, Julie was no longer shocked, just irritated.
‘What the bloody hell was all that about?' she said sharply.
‘Don’t mind him. He’s a bit of a wind up merchant’. Jack’s tone was playful. The casual observer would think that he was talking to a toddler who had smeared mashed potatoes down the kitchen wall. He took a step backwards, allowing Julie to enter the house.
‘What are you doing messing around with people like that?’
‘What do you mean people like that?'
‘You know’. Julie struggled to define what she meant. The words ‘chav', and ‘common', crossed her mind, although she couldn’t bring herself to say them. She became more irritated because Jack knew exactly what she meant, as anyone else would when faced with someone who was so unpleasant.
‘People who make life harder for everyone else’. She noticed that the flowers that she had rescued from Mr Peg had shed the majority of their petals, and yet were somehow still going strong. Thinking it about it again, Mr Peg was probably right in his conclusion that they were a weed. No flower could last for almost four weeks in a dank hallway.
It was only after that she had picked the stray petals up that she remembered how they stained your fingers. She wiped her hand down the side of her trousers, and wanted to yell in frustration as they left a messy mark on one side.
‘Jesus, Julie. He’s just a mate and he didn’t even come inside. I don’t get what the problem is'.
‘The problem is that this isn’t your house Jack and you can’t be inviting criminals round’.
‘Oh, so just because he’s wearing a tracksuit, that makes him a criminal, does it?’
