Life In Parks

by P R Johnson

  Chapter 2

  The next morning, Matthew was awoken by the sound of curtains being parted and by the sunlight that subsequently flooded the room. As his eyes adjusted to the glare, he saw the old lady standing with her back to him, hands on her hips and looking out the window.

  ‘Time to rise, my boy,’ she said, watching the street. ‘It’s a glorious day outside. Far too nice to spend all day in bed.’

  Matthew peered at the digital clock on the video recorder and calculated that he had slept for scarcely five hours. It was a quarter past nine, and although he did not feel entirely awake, his mind was lucid, untroubled by the images that had stayed with him throughout the night. His belly continued to ache, however, and his mouth felt dry and stale.

  ‘Would you care for a cup of tea?’ the old lady asked, turning to face him. ‘I find it’s the only civilised way to start the day.’

  ‘Yes, tea would be good,’ Matthew mumbled, and coughed to clear his throat.

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’

  After the old lady had departed, his mother came into the room and shook her head despairingly when she saw that he was wearing his clothes beneath the duvet.

  ‘I take it you slept OK.’

  ‘No, not really, thanks.’

  ‘I’m not surprised, especially as you couldn’t even be bothered to get undressed. But you’ll just have to make the best of it; it’ll only be for a couple more days.’

  As Matthew sat upright, she attempted to straighten the sofa cushions that had been misshapen during the night.

  ‘About what we were saying yesterday,’ she said. ‘It’d be nice if you took your grandmother into town later on. Maybe showed her round the shops. In fact, it’s market day today. She’d probably like a look round. You could even stop in town for a bite to eat, if you wanted. My treat, of course.’

  ‘Treat?’ he questioned. ‘Fine, whatever. I still don’t see why I get lumbered.’

  ‘We’ve been through this already, sweetheart. You know the reason. If your grandmother and I spend any length of time together, we’re liable to end up throttling each other. One thing, though, if you’re going into town, you’d better take the bus. She claims she can’t walk long distances and gets easily out of breath.’ She finished plumping the cushions and nodded at him. ‘Is that all right, then? You’ll take her out?’

  ‘I said I would, didn’t I?’

  ‘Good. I’ll let her know.’

  Alone again, Matthew reclined on the sofa and disturbed the cushions that had been freshly arranged. He stayed that way until a voice called out that his tea was being poured.

  Finally making the effort to arise from his makeshift bed, he proceeded into the dining room where he found the old lady sat to the table, shuffling a deck of playing cards in her bony hands. His mother, meanwhile, was standing a few yards away, next to the patio door, cradling a mug of tea.

  ‘Is this mine?’ Matthew motioned to a mug that had been left on the table.

  ‘It is,’ the old lady responded. ‘I added two sugars, as I figured you’d have a sweet tooth.’

  ‘That’s fine.’ He sat and watched as the old lady began spreading the playing cards face-down across the table.

  ‘I hear we’re going on an outing,’ she said without looking up. ‘Your mother says you’ll show me the delights of your little town.’

  ‘Only if you want to,’ Matthew answered hopefully, taking a sip of the strong, sweet tea.

  ‘I would very much like that. We can head out as soon as you’ve had your breakfast.’ Having laid out the cards, she began turning them over systematically, her eyes fixed in concentration. With several of the cards exposed, she finally looked up from what she was doing. ‘Are you interested in cards, Matthew?’

  ‘Not particularly. I don’t know many games, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘Games, is that all you youngsters think about?’ The old lady shook her head. ‘There are plenty more things you can do with cards than just play games. Indeed, if you know how to use them properly, a deck of cards can reveal all manner of secrets and truths.’

  ‘What, you mean like fortune-telling?’

  ‘For example.’

  ‘I thought you had to use special cards for that.’

  ‘Most people use Tarot cards,’ his mother interrupted, without averting her gaze from the garden, ‘but not your grandmother. She’s far too gifted. Palms, tea-leaves, it doesn’t matter to her. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if she could read someone’s fortune from a specimen of their wee.’

  The old lady smiled. ‘That is something I’ve never tried, my dear. I’ll bear it in mind for the future. But no, Matthew, it doesn’t matter what sort of cards you use. An ordinary set will do.’

  With a shake of her head, his mother slid open the patio door and took a step outside.

  While Matthew continued drinking his tea, the old lady gathered the cards and shuffled them with a skill that suggested experience. After several shuffles, she placed the deck in a neat pile in the centre of the table.

  ‘I’d like to try something on you, if I may.’

  Matthew’s back straightened. ‘I don’t really want my fortune told.’

  ‘That’s all right, because I’m not about to tell you your fortune. No, I want to show you a little trick, if that’s acceptable.’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘Good. What I want you to do is think of a card. Any card. It doesn’t matter which, the choice is entirely yours. Just try to empty your mind and reach deep into your heart. It doesn’t have to be a number, of course; it could be a king or a jack. Just don’t choose a seven because that would be too obvious. Now, concentrate solely on that one particular card.’ She waited, not taking her eyes off him. ‘Have you done that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Excellent. Without changing your mind, I’d like you to tell me which card you were thinking of.’

  ‘The queen of hearts.’

  ‘Now, count how many cards are in the deck.’

  While the old lady kept her hands by her sides, Matthew did as instructed and picked the deck from the table. He proceeded to count fifty-one cards. On the old lady’s bidding, he re-counted to make doubly sure. He still had the deck in his grasp as the old lady slipped a hand inside the neckline of her dress and fumbled round her chest region for several seconds. Eventually she produced a playing card and, when she held it before him, he could see that it was the errant queen of hearts.

  ‘How did you do that?’ he asked, genuinely awed.

  ‘Let’s just say that there are plenty of tricks in this old dog.’ She tossed the card onto the table. ‘To be frank, though, the trick is nothing special: just something I picked up on my travels. The only difficult part is deciding which card the person is going to choose.’

  ‘And how did you know which I would choose?’

  She smiled. ‘Everybody chooses the card that mirrors their dreams. And in your case there could be no alternative.’ While Matthew pondered in silence, the old lady stood. ‘Right, once you’ve drunk your tea, go get yourself ready. I’d like to head out as soon as we can.’

  Finishing his tea unhurriedly, Matthew proceeded upstairs and directly into the bathroom. He stood for twenty minutes beneath the cascading water of the shower, and afterwards felt surprisingly good. Gone was the ache in his belly, and despite the brevity of his sleep, he was clear-headed and focused. He dried himself and went to his bedroom to fetch some clothes; and there he discovered for the first time the extent to which the room had been invaded.

  The instant he passed the threshold he was hit by a wall of cologne and almost stumbled over the old lady’s brown leather suitcase, which was lying just inside the door. He moved the suitcase aside and glanced at the sideboard, where a row of lotions and potions was set, none of which belonged to him. Although not one of the bottles was labelled, when he came across a perfume bottle containing a liquid the colour of vinegar, he only had to raise it to hi
s nose to discover that it was filled with the harsh cologne that so dominated the house.

  Once dressed, he went downstairs and found the old lady and his mother in the dining room, chatting with a cordiality that had been lacking before.

  ‘I’m ready when you are,’ he said.

  ‘Fine,’ the old lady answered. ‘Let me grab my hat and we’ll be off.’

  Leaving the house, they walked leisurely to the bus-stop at the end of the street. They waited only a couple of minutes before the bus arrived that would carry them the mile or so to the town centre.

  The old lady wore the same dress and sun hat that she had arrived in the day before, while her costume now included a pair of sunglasses that obscured her piercing eyes. On her lap rested a small white handbag.

  During the journey, Matthew spoke only to comment when they passed a building of note: like the school where he had studied in his infancy and the supermarket where his mother purchased her weekly shopping. All the while, however, he could not escape the absurdity of his situation: the fact that he was travelling on public transport, escorting a lady whose attire made her stand out like a beacon on a cloudless night.

  The old lady seemed content just to listen to the commentary.

  While Matthew was heartened by her reserve, it was not until they arrived at their destination and disembarked from the bus, that he began to suspect that her refinement had as much to do with energy-saving as wilful restraint.

  ‘I’m afraid we’re going to have to take things easy,’ she warned as they stepped onto the high street. ‘My legs aren’t what they used to be and my lungs are all but shot. A lifetime of smoking has seen to that. Mind you, this body has served me well, so I shouldn’t complain now it’s ready for the knacker’s yard.’

  ‘Do you still smoke?’ Matthew asked.

  ‘Not any more. Doctors put paid to that.’ A smile came to her lips. ‘They can be proper killjoys sometimes. It turns out that most things that feel good in this life will kill you in the end. All apart from sex, perhaps. Having said that, in my younger days I knocked about with this real nasty fellow. I started sleeping with his best friend behind his back, and when he found out, he beat me till I was black and blue. I got off lightly, however; he sliced off the other man’s little finger. So sex, too, can be dangerous at times.’

  Despite maintaining a slow and deliberate pace, the old lady would still demand a breather every few minutes. And she scarcely spoke throughout, seemingly too concerned with her own well-being to waste energy talking. Nonetheless, once they reached the outdoor market her mood did brighten markedly. Walking slowly among the stalls, she benefited from numerous pauses, taking time to view the wares on each in turn. She stopped at the linen-seller and felt the quality of his fabrics; she paused at the watch-seller, inspecting his inexpensive timepieces; and she lulled over the fruit-seller, squeezing his peaches and commenting that they were far too ripe to buy.

  ‘My peaches are fine as they are, my love,’ the trader quipped, motioning as if to fasten his trouser-fly.

  ‘Take it from me, sweetheart, I’ve handled plenty of peaches in my time and yours are nothing special.’

  After spending close to an hour looking round the market, the pair proceeded to the periphery and found a wooden bench upon which the old lady could rest. It was there that she reached into her handbag and handed Matthew a small plastic box.

  ‘I got this for you,’ she said. ‘It’s nothing much, just a present to thank you for showing me around town. I’m sure there are many other places you’d rather be.’

  ‘Thanks, but you didn’t have to get me anything,’ Matthew replied. ‘I haven’t exactly done much.’

  ‘Go on, take it. I insist.’

  He accepted the box and carefully flipped it open. Inside was an old-fashioned silver pocket-watch with a hand-written price-tag attached to the chain.

  ‘Just a little something to remind you of the importance of time,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t go on forever, so make sure you don’t waste it.’

  He looked at the curious gift – of which he had neither desire nor need – and experienced a crisis of confidence. He closed the case with a snap.

  ‘I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but did you just get this from the market?’

  ‘That’s right.’ She nodded. ‘From the stall over there on the corner. He had some lovely items and I couldn’t resist.’

  ‘But ... I was with you all the time, and I didn’t see you buy anything.’

  With a laboured effort the old lady climbed to her feet. ‘I never said I bought it,’ she said and began to walk slowly away.

  As Matthew sat motionless, the box felt suddenly heavy in his hand. Quickly coming to his senses, he slipped it into his pocket and stood. Setting off after her, his eyes darted about anxiously, wondering if somebody had witnessed the theft. Only when he was assured that nobody was eyeing them was he able to suppress the paranoia.

  He quickly caught up with her and followed her through the throng of shoppers, back along the main high street. They soon arrived outside a cafeteria close to the bus-stop where they had disembarked.

  ‘I noticed this place earlier,’ the old lady said and grasped the handle on the cafeteria’s door. ‘I don’t know about you, but my stomach’s telling me it needs something warm and sugary inside.’

  The cafeteria in question was a traditional tea room named The China Cup, whose refined décor and classical background music were clearly aimed at a mature clientele. The old lady selected a table in the corner and Matthew sat with his back to the majority of patrons. He needed only to glance round once, however, to realise that he was by far the youngest customer. In spite of feeling slightly out of place, he was pleased to be beyond the public gaze and away from the market stall-holder who was one item light in stock.

  As he began to read from the menu, he attempted to block the sound of his companion’s laboured breathing. Although she kept on her sunglasses all the while, he became convinced that her eyes were boring into him, scrutinising his unease. It made him feel intensely cold and naked.

  ‘I may be wrong, young Matthew, but you seem a little on edge,’ the old lady said, lifting her hat and placing it on the seat beside her. ‘I trust you’re not worried about the watch, because I’m sure that nobody saw us take it. And even if we’d been caught, I wouldn’t have let you take the blame. You are my only grandson, after all.’

  Matthew faced her stoically, trying to gauge her eyes behind the darkened shades.

  ‘There’s obviously something bothering you,’ she continued. ‘You may as well get it off your chest.’

  He shrugged and looked away. ‘I’m all right.’

  ‘So, it’s not the watch you’re worried about.’

  ‘Not particularly.’

  ‘Then, what’s the problem?’

  He hesitated, assertive thoughts flowing to the forefront of his mind. ‘To be honest, I’m just having a bit of trouble with this whole situation.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘The situation between you and me. It’s like, you say that I’m your only grandson, but until yesterday I barely knew you existed. You’ve never visited and, as far as I’m aware, you’ve never called; you’ve not exactly been a major part of my life. And now you turn up and expect us to be all pally. Let’s face it, I know nothing about you, and you know nothing about me.’

  The old lady eased the sunshades onto the tip of her nose and peered over the plastic rims. ‘We share the same blood. That is all we need to know.’

  Even though he was discomforted by the old lady’s manner, Matthew’s unease increased tenfold when the waitress arrived at the table.

  ‘Hi, what can I get you?’ he heard her say from over his shoulder and he recognised who it was immediately.

  Matthew looked round and saw Carla North standing with a notepad in her hand, and his heart began pounding to a rhythm that jarred his whole body.

  The girl’s pale, cherry-blossom
complexion was prominent against her long, jet-black hair. Her slender figure was clothed in a simple white blouse and dark pencil skirt and she wore a small apron around her waist.

  ‘Carla! Hello.’

  ‘Hi, Matt,’ she said and flashed a handsome smile. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Fine. What ... what are you doing here?’

  ‘Three guesses.’ She wafted the notepad before her face in a fanning motion. ‘I’ve been working here all summer.’

  ‘I never knew.’

  ‘Yeah, well, it’s not the sort of thing you go broadcasting round school, is it? Waitressing in a tea room is hardly exotic. And what about you? I wouldn’t have thought this is your scene either.’

  ‘No, I was just showing my … nan … around town.’

  The girl smiled and nodded to the old lady. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

  ‘This is Carla,’ Matthew said in introduction. ‘She goes to my school.’

  The old lady extended a bony, ring-less hand. ‘It’s always a pleasure to meet one of Matthew’s friends.’

  ‘Likewise,’ Carla said, shaking it limply. ‘Anyway, are you ready to order?’

  ‘We are indeed,’ the woman replied. ‘But tell us, young lady, is there anything you personally would recommend?’

  ‘Iced tea is popular in this warm weather.’

  ‘How quaint!’ The old lady nodded. ‘I’m sorry, my dear, but where I come from tea is drunk one way, and one way only: piping hot and with enough sugar that it’s almost like treacle. And that’s how we’ll take ours: in a pot with two of those china cups that your shop is keen to boast about. And two buttered scones, if it’s not too much trouble.’

  ‘No trouble at all.’

  With the order scrawled on the notepad, the waitress withdrew and disappeared behind the counter, allowing Matthew to breathe easily once more. He thought he should be pleased to see her after so many weeks of absence. But his emotions were tempered by the embarrassment of the situation, as well as the shock of a meeting for which he had had no time to prepare. He was thankful, however, that his grandmother seemed oblivious to his unease. Indeed, she did not appear to notice the times when he would peer over his shoulder so that he could observe her while she worked.

  ‘I hope you didn’t mind me ordering for us both,’ the old lady said while they waited. ‘You cannot go wrong with tea and a buttered scone.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ Matthew shrugged.

  ‘And what we were saying before, about the watch. You shouldn’t be so naïve. When you’ve been around as long as I have, you learn to take whatever’s on offer. If nobody’s willing to offer you anything, then you learn to take it anyway. And you shouldn’t look so innocent, as I’m sure that you have stolen before.’

  ‘Not that I can remember.’ Matthew raised an eyebrow. ‘My parents always taught me that stealing was wrong.’

  ‘What about that secret bar of chocolate, the one your mother had kept hidden? The one you stumbled upon and couldn’t resist, promising you’d replace it before she noticed it gone.’

  He coughed. ‘Well, maybe something small like that. But it’s hardly the same thing.’

  ‘Is it not? Stealing is stealing, whatever the motive or circumstance. But one thing we should make clear: I never steal from those who can’t afford the loss.’

  ‘And how do you know which people can afford it?’

  The old lady tapped a finger against the side of her head. ‘My Gypsy intuition.’

  Matthew’s heartbeat re-quickened when Carla brought their order. But once she had gone and he started nibbling a scone, serenity returned to his body. His thoughts were further distracted as his grandmother spoke of other things she had ‘acquired’ during her years on the road. She claimed that the most valuable thing she had come by was a diamond necklace, which she had given to one of the Traveller girls who was about to be married. The largest item that she had managed to acquire, she said, was a hat-stand from a department store, although she failed to divulge how the feat had been achieved.

  ‘I take it you learned how to steal from the Travellers,’ Matthew said, fidgeting with a teaspoon.

  ‘Not at all. Most of the Travellers I’ve encountered have been straightforward, honest folk. If anything, it was me who was the bad influence, teaching them my bad ways.’

  He fought to suppress a smile. ‘As we’re on the subject, do you mind if I ask you a question?’

  ‘Depends what it is.’

  ‘Did you really spend all those years travelling?’

  ‘What are you insinuating? I have been called many things in life, young man, but I can assure you ‘liar’ has never been one of them.’

  ‘It’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s just that, around here, not many nans join up with a group of Gypsies.’

  ‘Well, be thankful that I am not like most nans.’

  Matthew hesitated. ‘So, what made you want to travel in the first place?’

  ‘Let’s just say that the Traveller’s lifestyle is ideal if you want to forget and be forgotten.’ The old lady drew the teacup to her lips and swallowed the last droplets. ‘Anyway, that’s enough about me. I haven’t come all this way to learn about myself. I want to hear about your life.’

  The last thing Matthew wanted to talk about was himself. But as the old lady poured another cup of tea, he began talking about his school career for lack of a more interesting theme. He told of the year that remained at his present school, after which he would either go to university or have to find a job. He talked of the Literature class he enjoyed, and mentioned his loathing of that hour each week when he was forced to do sport. In a moment of weakness, he even admitted that, by and large, he enjoyed school; yet he failed to reveal that the reason he liked it so much was because it gave him access to Carla North.

  All the time he was talking, even though his mind was occupied, he was forever conscious of the proximity of that girl as she went about her work. At the same time, however, he was managing to unwind and was even enjoying the company of a lady whose shamelessness provoked stirrings of amusement. And still he had no reason to suspect that his grandmother was aware of the desire that was pounding his heart whenever Carla was close by. That all changed, however, when the waitress came to clear the table and leave them with the bill. Just as the girl was heading back towards the counter, her serving tray adorned with dishes, the old lady leaned across the table.

  ‘She’s an attractive girl. An attractive girl, indeed. It’s a shame she’s not right for you.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Matthew sat upright with surprise.

  ‘The waitress. I can see why you like her. But I’m afraid you’ll never get anywhere with someone like that. She’s far too strong-willed for you.’

  ‘She’s just a girl from school. I never said I liked her.’

  ‘You didn’t have to.’ The old lady tilted her head. ‘It’s plain for all to see. Has nobody ever told you that infatuation has its own special aroma? You can sense it a mile off. And I, my dear boy, have an excellent nose. However, I’d forget about Miss Carla, if I were you. She’s not the girl for you, and never will be.’

  An instant feeling of nausea descended as a stream of blood surged to Matthew’s head. Suddenly all he wanted was to flee the establishment, to escape from Carla and the old woman. Yet he had to wait several minutes while the old lady settled the bill – leaving nothing extra for the waitress – and then as she aligned her hat. Finally, fastening her handbag, she motioned that she was ready to leave and they moved towards the door. Carla was nowhere to be seen as they exited, and for once Matthew was not disappointed. Only when he was outside did the nausea begin to drain as the embarrassment of the encounter subsided.

  With the flush of humiliation lingering on his cheeks, he followed the old lady to a jewellery shop across the street. He stood idly while she studied bangles and brooches in the window. As he waited, however, the pull of desire proved too strong and he gazed back at the tea room. Hi
s eyes narrowed on the building and he spotted Carla inside, loading empty cups and saucers onto her serving tray. As his eyes lingered, she suddenly stopped what she was doing and looked up. She gazed out through the window, seeming to monitor the people that were passing, until finally her eyes came to rest staring directly towards him. Matthew stood rooted, unable to look away. Through a haze, he noticed a smile brush the girl’s lips as she nodded to him. It was only a fleeting gesture, yet it sent ripples of ecstasy through his body.

  ‘So, where to now?’ the old lady asked, turning from the jeweller’s display. ‘What else has this town got to offer?’

  ‘Not much,’ Matthew replied. ‘I suppose we could go to the top of Orchid Hill.’

  ‘And what’s up there?’

  ‘Nothing, really, but the views are pretty amazing. You can see for miles.’

  ‘All right, we’ll go up this hill of yours, as long as you don’t expect me to walk.’

  ‘There’s a bus that can take us to the top.’

  From the nearby terminus, they caught the number fifty-two bus away from the town centre and up the winding road that ascended the prominent hill. At the top, they disembarked beside the picnic area. The bright sunshine had brought hordes of people to the hilltop attraction, but they managed to find a vacant bench on which to sit.

  No sooner had they settled than Matthew began pointing out various landmarks. From where they were positioned, they were able to see almost every aspect of the town that nestled below, the town that shared the name of the clay knoll that reached towards the east: Orchid Hill. They could see most of the town’s twenty-five thousand homes that housed its seventy thousand residents. They could see all three of the town’s supermarkets, two on the outskirts and one near the centre. Also visible were the twelve state schools, the three churches of different denominations, the four petrol stations and the two public parks. He pointed out the shops that nestled in the town centre – from where they had just arrived – and the small railway station situated beyond the bus terminus. He guided his grandmother’s gaze towards the sprawling housing estate on the western side of town, where every house had been built in the same grey brickwork and all following the same basic blueprint. South of that, in what he claimed was the better part of town, he tried to pick out the two-bedroom semi-detached house where he had spent every one of the near seventeen years of his life.

  ‘So, where are the famous orchids?’ the old lady asked, seemingly unimpressed with the view.

  ‘There aren’t any orchids. Not anymore.’

  ‘It seems a very strange name for a hill if there aren’t any orchids.’

  ‘There used to be plenty, back when the town was founded. But they disappeared a long time ago. There’s a superstition round here that when the orchids return, the town will be blessed with a hundred years good luck.’

  As the old lady cast her gaze over the urban oasis before them, her voice suddenly hardened. ‘You know, it really is a shame.’

  ‘About the orchids?’

  ‘No, no. I was just thinking that a godforsaken town like this doesn’t deserve such a pretty name.’ She turned to him, her eyes impenetrable behind the sunglasses. ‘You know, it doesn’t surprise me that you can’t find what you’re looking for, not in a shit-hole like this.’

  Matthew continued staring ahead, aware of the bitterness in the old lady’s tone. ‘What do you think I’m looking for?’

  ‘Love, of course. But you’re not going to find it here; especially not with that little waitress of yours. I mean, how do you expect to find love in a town with no soul?’

  Once again he felt the blood surging upwards. ‘What makes you think I’m looking for love?’

  ‘Oh, to be innocent again! I’m afraid, dear Matthew, that you cannot keep secrets in this life. Everything can be known.’

  As Matthew peered to the ground, he noticed an army of ants crawling over the discarded stick of an ice lolly. There was a joke printed on the side of the stick, which he was unable to read because of the mass of insects.

  ‘Have no doubts about it,’ the old lady continued, ‘you will find love eventually – before you’re ready, before you’re a man. And the sad thing is that only then will you begin to understand how rubbish life can be.’