by Vivien Brown
‘Donny, where is all this going? What is it you wanted to ask me?’
‘Well, seeing as you’re famous … well, known anyway … I wondered if you could help me. You know, tell me how to make a show. Practising it, and getting the right sort of costumes to wear, and how to get people to come and see it. Because I do think it’s important that people come, if we go to all the trouble of doing it, don’t you? I thought maybe we could use the hall here if it’s free, and give the ticket money to charity …’
‘What’s all this then?’ Tom had returned, carrying a tray laden with cups and food, which he placed carefully on the table. ‘Did I hear something about charity?’
Donny went to stand but Tom put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and eased him back down. ‘Don’t go on my account, lad.’
‘Donny was just running an idea by me,’ Madi explained, picking up a knife and spreading a good-sized splash of jam onto a big fat scone. They looked so inviting, the sandwiches could wait. ‘A very good idea, as it happens, about putting on some sort of a performance here in the hall, for charity, but I’m afraid I won’t be staying here long enough to be much help. Maybe it’s something you’d like to be involved in, Tom? You did tell me how much you fancied getting into amateur theatre in some way.’
‘Me? I wouldn’t know where to start!’
‘How hard can it be? A group of eager teenagers who just need a bit of adult guidance, that’s all. And what a great way to keep them occupied, and off the streets.’ Tom didn’t look convinced. ‘And away from the bell tower!’
‘Ah, now you’re talking.’ He winked at her. ‘There is a small stage in there, as it happens. And a little back room that could work as a changing area. We did have a panto once, years ago, that went down very well. Cinderella, if I remember rightly. My wife helped make the costumes. All the brainchild of our old postmistress, Aggie – a sweet old thing she was – but somehow the impetus got lost after she died. God, that must be all of twenty years back. How time flies …’
‘Would you, Mr Bishop?’ Donny said, eyeing the bowl of cream with undisguised interest. ‘Only, it’s not something we can do on our own. And my mum and dad are always too busy, and not really into that sort of thing at all.’
‘I don’t know. I’ve never …’
‘What was it you were saying to me, Tom, about living your dreams, about grabbing the here and now? Go on, give it a try. The smell of the greasepaint, remember? Something you’ve always wanted to do. I’ll help you get started, while I’m still here.’ She gazed at him as he wielded his spoon, plonking a large helping of clotted cream onto his scone. ‘And why are you putting the cream on first?’
‘I always do it that way. Don’t tell me you’re a jam-first girl?’
Madi took a big bite, the jam dribbling out from under its cream topping and down her chin. ‘Just proves how different we all are,’ she said, swallowing her first mouthful and rootling in her bag for a tissue to clean her face. ‘We don’t even say it the same way. It’s scone like stone, not scon like gone! But there’s room for all sorts in this world. Go on, Donny, help yourself to one. I won’t tell your mum, if you don’t. And from the way Mr Bishop here is smiling, it looks as if we may have something to celebrate.’
Chapter 21
PRUE
When Prue heard noises down below and peered out of the bedroom window, she was pleased to see there was a young man making a start on cutting the grass. This could only be the famous Simon, who by some miracle had turned up the very day after she and Aaron had been talking about him.
Well, there was no time like the present to get out there and introduce herself, even if she was still wearing her pyjamas and hadn’t yet got around to brushing her hair. It was only when she was dressed and halfway down the stairs ten minutes later that her nerves began to kick in. She really wasn’t all that good at talking to complete strangers, and, to be honest, she hadn’t given any thought to exactly what she was going to say. ‘Hello, I don’t even live here but I have this great idea for transforming this overgrown tip into a garden’ did sound a bit presumptuous, if not totally mad.
She stopped on the middle landing, half hoping that Aaron might emerge from the door of his flat and go with her, but all was quiet, so she plodded on alone. There were muddy footprints across the floor down in the hall and the door to the back was propped open, a long electrical lead snaking its way out from the socket under the stairs. Prue could hear the drone of the electric mower getting louder and then softer as it struggled to work its way up and down the grass.
She went outside and stood for a few moments watching, the young man totally unaware of her presence behind him as he guided the mower around the bench at the base of the tree and carried on his way, with no attempt to move the bench or mow the patch of grass underneath. As he reached the end and turned back, flipping the trailing cable over his shoulder to keep it out of the way of the blades, he saw her.
He let go of the trigger on the handle and the machine shuddered to a halt. ‘Hello,’ he said, leaving the mower where it was and wiping his sleeve over his forehead as he walked towards her. ‘Can I help you?’
He was tall, fair-haired, about her own age or maybe a couple of years older, and his skin had that weathered look that so many of the men back home had, that marked them very much as someone used to working outdoors.
‘I don’t know. Maybe you can.’ Prue took a deep breath and ploughed on. ‘My name’s Prue Harris and I’m staying in number nine. Madi Cardew’s flat. You might know her?’
‘Of course. Everybody knows Madi. Or of her, anyway. Used to be on the telly, you know. I heard she was ill. Not seen her for a bit. Oh … she hasn’t died, has she?’
‘Oh, God, no. Nothing like that. She’s just gone away for a while, and I’m here instead.’
‘Well, that’s good. That she’s okay, I mean. So, what can I do for you?’
‘The garden …’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, I was wondering if you … or the landlord, I suppose … had ever thought of making it more usable, if you know what I mean.’
‘Usable?’
‘More user-friendly. Not just a scrap of tatty grass. Make it somewhere the residents could actually enjoy.’
‘What, flowers, you mean?’
‘Flowers, yes. Shrubs. Maybe a little paved area to have barbecues on. And seating.’
‘They can bring their own chairs out if they want to sit.’
‘No, I meant proper outside seating, that could stay out here in all weathers.’
‘You’ve got the bench …’
Prue walked over to it and gave it a gentle shove. It wobbled and she could feel a splinter from the rough wood at the back slice straight into her finger. ‘The wood’s rotting. I bet it’s never had any preservative on it. And one leg’s shorter than the other!’
He grinned. ‘It’s not exactly perfect, I agree. Bit of a Long John Silver, with legs like that! Here, let me take a look at that finger. It’s starting to bleed. I keep a first-aid box in the van.’
‘My finger’s fine. Or it will be, once I get a needle to it. It’s only a splinter.’ She instinctively popped the finger into her mouth and sucked. ‘And it was just an idea. Doing up the garden. It could all come to nothing.’
He nodded. ‘I’m Simon, by the way. The landlord’s my uncle. I do all the odd jobs around here, and at two other blocks he owns. Oh, not full-time, mind. Usually only at the weekends, or after work. I do have a real job too, but I’m on leave this week.’
He tested the bench for stability, brushed away some dead leaves and sat down at one end, beckoning Prue to join him.
‘It wouldn’t have to cost a fortune,’ she said, returning to the subject of the garden. ‘I just wondered if your uncle might consider it as an investment. You know, keeping the place looking nice, and his tenants happy. In fact, I’m hoping the other residents might all chip in a few pounds or give up an hour or two of their time, at least to get t
hings started. It is for their benefit, after all. Not that I’ve met many of them yet, so I know I’m jumping the gun a bit. I’ll need to get some discussions going, but I’m happy to get my hands dirty and do some digging and planting. I might need help with the heavy stuff though.’
‘I want to say you’ve thought this through pretty well, but I kind of get the impression you haven’t. Not properly.’
Prue blushed. ‘I did say it was just an idea. To be worked on.’
‘Well, let me get on and finish the grass while I have a think about it, eh? A cup of tea would be nice. And a biscuit, maybe?’
‘You do know I’d have to go up two flights of stairs?’
‘True.’
‘And back down again, carrying hot tea? And me with a poorly finger.’
‘Ah, but a man can’t think well on an empty stomach, and you do want me to think, don’t you?’
‘I suppose I do.’
‘And our Madi must have a tray up there, to help you carry. So … hot and strong, please. And no sugar. I’m sweet enough already.’
She laughed at the sheer cheek of the man. ‘That is such a corny line!’
‘Still made you laugh though, eh?’
Prue went back inside and sorted out the tray of tea and biscuits, carrying it carefully down the stairs and out into what she had trouble making herself call the garden.
‘Ah, lovely, thanks.’ Simon pushed his hair away from his eyes and grabbed the bigger of the two mugs, blowing on the surface before taking a swig. ‘I’ve got a mate,’ he said, ‘that does carpentry. I reckon he could make you a couple of basic benches if that’s what you’re after. Maybe a table or two. It’ll cost you though, even if I ask him nicely and he gives me mates’ rates. And, to be honest, I can’t see my uncle coughing up. He’s not really what you’d call the generous sort. There was an old girl before, used to own a couple of the flats. She might have been more on your wavelength but she died, I think. Not sure who took over, just that my uncle’s mad as hell he can’t persuade them to sell. Not owning the whole place bugs him!’
‘I suppose it would.’ Prue gazed up at the block in front of her, where most of the windows remained closed and the rooms behind them showed no obvious signs of life, although she was sure she saw the edge of a curtain twitch in the ground-floor flat, then just as quickly go still again. ‘So, what else? Any more suggestions?’
‘You’d need some decent paving for under the benches, so you could lose some of the grass, which would certainly make this mowing lark a bit easier for me. And somewhere for that barbecue of yours to sit too. Plants are the easy bit.’
‘I’m biting off more than I can chew, aren’t I?’ Prue sipped at her tea and lowered her gaze to the mangled lawn beneath her feet. ‘Stupid idea …’
‘No, it’s not. And I can see where you’re coming from, but you’re going to need to get a few of the others … well, preferably all of the others … living here to get behind it, if you really want something done.’
‘I know, and I’ll work on it, but I don’t have very long. I’m only here another couple of weeks.’
‘Can’t really see why you’re bothering then. Not if you won’t be sticking around. And it’s not as if it’s even planting season yet, is it?’ He gulped down the rest of his tea and put the mug down on the path. ‘Still, you know where I am if you want any help. I’m a builder by trade, so I can probably help out with the slabs and stuff if you do go ahead. Here, let me give you my number.’ He pulled a pen out from the inside pocket of his jacket and hastily scrawled a row of digits on Prue’s arm, just above the wrist. ‘Sorry, no paper!’ he joked as she tried to pull away. ‘Just remember to copy it down before you wash it off, eh?’
And then, stuffing a biscuit into his mouth, he went back to his mowing.
Prue sat for a while and watched him, until she’d finished her tea. ‘This mate of yours? The carpenter?’ she said, as Simon drew near enough to hear her. ‘Would he be up for a bit of bartering, do you think?’
He cut the engine again. ‘Bartering? Like beads and pebbles, you mean?’
‘Of course not. No, it’s just that if there’s no money for the garden stuff, maybe we could trade favours in some way? He’s not getting married or anything, is he? The carpenter? Or has a new baby maybe? Only, I’m a photographer and I could do a free shoot, in exchange …’
‘Not that I know of. But it’s not a bad idea. I can ask around for you. Some free paving slabs, wood, plant pots … who knows what people might be willing to swap for a good set of photos? I don’t suppose any of the other residents have anything to offer as well, do they? Any secret skills? I know my mum and dad are after someone to make them an anniversary cake. Something special for their twenty-fifth.’
‘No idea, but leave it with me and I’ll find out. I do know that Aaron’s mum in flat six is into sewing …’
‘Suzy, you mean?’
‘Oh, do you know her?’
‘Yeah, but I doubt that she’s up to much sewing somehow.’
‘Do you? Why’s that?’
‘You haven’t met her yet then?’
‘No. Why? Is there something I should know?’
‘Only that I wouldn’t let her near you with a needle if I was you, not even to get that splinter out of your finger.’ He looked up towards the closed window of flat 6 and lowered his voice. ‘Poor woman had some kind of accident a few years back. She’s totally blind.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me about your mum?’ Prue had invited Aaron up to look through the photos he’d taken by the river, now that she’d finished editing them.
‘What about her?’
‘I was talking to Simon, the odd-job guy.’
‘Oh, yeah? Simon, eh? On first-name terms with the hired help!’
‘Stop it. And don’t change the subject. He told me about your mum, that she’s blind.’
‘Oh, that. Yeah, it just didn’t come up, I guess. She is who she is. My mum. Anything else isn’t really relevant, is it?’
‘Maybe not, but I just thought you might have said something, when you were talking about her. The sewing, the buttons …’
‘She doesn’t do any of that stuff now. Can’t, obviously. We’ve still got the box though, of buttons. Ones she cut off my old baby clothes, her wedding dress before she binned it, and Nan’s. And one or two that came off my grandad’s old shirts. Not the sort of thing she’d ever throw away.’
‘I can understand that. So, how did it happen? Losing her sight? Simon said something about an accident?’
‘It was a car crash. Five years ago now. She was over the limit – the speed limit and the alcohol one – and drove headlong into a tree. Her head hit the windscreen. Hard. Blunt trauma, they call it. She was lucky to survive it at all, I suppose. It was touch and go for a while.’
‘That’s awful. Was anyone with her? Your dad?’
‘No. It was after they’d split up. He didn’t really want to know. Said she wasn’t his problem any more. It drove a wedge between us for a while, my dad and me. I hardly saw him during the first year or so after it happened, but it wasn’t his fault, was it? Although, to listen to Mum, it was. If only he hadn’t got mixed up with this other woman, if only he hadn’t left, then she wouldn’t have been there, would she? Driving at night, by herself? That was her logic anyway. But it wasn’t Dad’s fault. He didn’t make her get behind the wheel after too many gins. So I sort of forgave him eventually. Missed him, really. The Sunday meet-ups, the burgers and all that, even though I was too old by then for an afternoon at the swings. No, it was my nan who swept in and took over while Mum was in hospital and after she came home. There was nobody else, really. Only me, and I wasn’t up to the job. Not then. Mum doesn’t have any brothers or sisters, you see, and the few friends she had just kind of shied away after …’
‘That’s a shame.’
‘People can’t deal with it, can they? Don’t know what to say, so they don’t say anything. Anyway, Nan practica
lly lived with us for a long time, made sure I kept going to school, ate properly. She went back to her own place for the odd day or two, weekends mainly, just to keep it going really, but she more or less gave up any life of her own for us. I don’t think we’d have coped without her.’
‘They’re great, aren’t they? Grandmothers? In times of crisis. I still miss mine.’
‘Yeah. Me too. She died just six months ago. Her heart. Mum thinks it was the worry and the strain of it all, but she’s like that, my mum. Everything has to be someone’s fault.’
‘She blames herself for your nan dying?’
‘Oh, no. She blames Dad, and his fancy woman. Lauren, she’s called. He’s married to her now. The wicked stepmother! You can imagine what Mum has to say about that.’
‘It can’t have been easy though. A divorce, and then the accident. On her, or on you. God, I can’t imagine what it must be like, losing your sight. And with a teenager to take care of too. I guess it explains a lot about you not really knuckling down at school. Too much going on at home.’
‘Exams seemed like the last of my worries.’
‘Have you always lived here?’
‘No, we came here after the divorce, when our old house had to be sold. The previous tenant of the flat here had just died, which was lucky. Well, no, I don’t mean lucky that she died. She was a nice old lady, from what I’ve heard. Some sort of dancer, in her day. But it was good timing for us, stopped us being homeless! The block had been owned by my grandad way back, see, but Nan sold most of it off to some property company bloke after he died. She had to, to clear his debts I think. He was a bit of a gambler on the quiet, my grandad, although he died before I was born, so I never actually knew him. He had no head for money, apparently, even though he’d earned a shedload of it over the years. Lost most of it on dodgy stocks and shares, days at the races, being over-generous to his friends, that kind of thing.’
