by Tara Ford
Another time that Joe had forgotten to mention before, was the hot air balloon ride. They had been in town, in the morning, doing some Christmas shopping for their families. By the afternoon, Tiff had found herself clinging, desperately, to the side of a wicker basket, 3000 feet away from the ground. The ride had been arranged the previous week by a friend of Joe’s at the rugby club. Joe had excused his lack of forethought and pre-warning, by saying that he thought Tiff wouldn’t have gone if she’d known about it beforehand. She should be more spontaneous and grab life with both hands. At the end of the ride, Tiff nervously explained that she had ‘grabbed life with both hands’ literally. A lack of blood had left her fingers white, cold and numb as she had gripped the sides of the wicker basket in pure terror.
“It’s a bit early to start painting the fence,” said Tiff, gazing into her first coffee of the day. “Let’s have some breakfast and then I’ll help you bring all the stuff in from the car.”
“OK. Toast?”
Tiff nodded her head and peered out of the patio doors. “It’s going to be another lovely day.”
“Perfect for getting the fence painted. Jam?”
“Marmalade – I bought some on Thursday.”
“Oh good. Marmalade it is then.” It was Joe’s favourite. If he had his way, he would eat marmalade with a spoon. Tiff however, would not allow him to indulge often and constantly reminded him about the amount of sugary foods he ate and how bad it was for his teeth, his waistline and his overall health. Since retiring from playing rugby, Joe had had to watch his weight as it could all too easily shoot up, turning his stocky frame slightly plump. But for now, he was in perfect shape.
“Not too thick, Mr Frey,” Tiff mocked. “Don’t want your trousers getting tight again do we?”
Joe laughed. “I’m a lot more active now – those young lads at the rugby club make sure of that.”
“I know they do. Go on then, as it’s a beautiful Sunday morning.”
“Yes it is, and I’ve got so much to do around this house and outside that I could probably get away with eating a jar a day. And what’s a beautiful Sunday morning got to do with it anyway?”
Shrugging her shoulders, Tiff grinned. “Just thinking about that picket fence outside. It’s going to take all day to do both sides of it.”
“It’ll probably take you all day to do your craft room too.”
“At least you’ll be getting a tan,” joked Tiff. “I’ll be stuck in a tiny room breathing in paint fumes all day.”
“I said I’d help you do it. Let’s do both jobs together.”
“No,” Tiff replied sharply. “No, I’m joking. I can’t wait to do my little room.”
“Are you sure?”
She peered at him thoughtfully. “I’m sure. Just don’t get too burnt out there – wear a hat and make sure you cover your scar too.”
“Yes Mother,” Joe replied in jest. “I’ll get the Factor 50 out.”
The old scar around the back of Joe’s neck wasn’t usually visible and certainly not noticeable when he was dressed but Tiff knew that it would become sore if it got sunburnt, like it had before. The long white mark curved around his neck, from ear to ear. Originally the weal had gone all the way around his neck and it had looked like he had tried to hang himself with a thin rope. Over time, thankfully, the scar had faded at the front, leaving just the back of his neck disfigured.
When Joe first received the wound, years ago, he’d tried to hide it from his parents but his mum, Alex, had known something was wrong when he wouldn’t remove his hoodie. He had just returned from a walk with their family dog and was acting peculiar and somewhat cagey. Joe’s mum had been horrified when she discovered the deep burn marks on his skin and had rushed to the cupboard to get her first aid box. She always said that the burn cream she applied immediately, had lessened the scarring, particularly around the front of his neck and it had saved him from having to tell his crazy tale to anyone who asked. It had also saved him from looking like a suicidal failure.
“It still makes me laugh you know,” said Tiff, eyeing Joe’s neck. “Imagine how stupid you would look now if the burn hadn’t healed so well around the front. It would have been so noticeable.”
“Yes, all right. I’ll get the sun cream when I’ve finished my toast.”
The accident had happened whilst out walking his family’s dog, Misty. Joe had bumped into an old college friend, on a nearby field. They had decided to sit down on the grass to chat about the old days, like they were two old men reminiscing about the past. They’d only left college the previous year but for the two young men it had felt like a lifetime ago. Misty was sitting next to them, attached to her retractable lead. During the conversation, Joe had casually draped the lead around his neck and dropped the handle into his lap, while Misty basked lazily, in the afternoon sunshine.
Moments later a huge Labrador had arrived on the field. Bounding around, the sable coloured retriever played fetch with a ball.
Misty’s ears pricked up. Energetically, she jumped to her feet and shot off at a 45-degree angle to Joe. The whipping sound of the eight metre cord, reeling out from the handle, was accompanied by a deep guttural squeal. The leash wrapped tightly around Joe’s neck and burned deep into his skin as it was pulled away with the dog at considerable speed.
Joe’s family had desperately tried not to laugh, once the initial trauma was over. But who wouldn’t laugh at such a daft act? Especially when the victim was almost 20 years of age. It wasn’t like he was a young, innocent child with no forethought.
The car was empty by the second trip. Tins of paint, skirting board, nails, glue and tools cluttered the hallway. It was ten o’clock and Tiff decided that this was a perfectly acceptable time, on a Sunday morning, to start doing some DIY. Besides, painting was a quiet job. The only noisy part for Joe, would be the banging in of nails to repair a couple of the fence posts.
“Babe, you really shouldn’t worry so much about things,” said Joe, reaching for an old t-shirt from his drawer. “We haven’t made any noise at all since we’ve been here. A few nails being banged into a fence is hardly going to annoy the neighbours – and so what if it does – this is our house and we’re doing it up. It’s not like it’s seven o’clock in the morning so stop fretting about what other people think.”
“OK, OK,” replied Tiff. “You’re right, I do worry too much. And the little girl next door makes more noise than anyone around here.”
“There you go then,” said Joe. “Right, I’m going. We’ll meet for lunch shall we?” Smiling cheekily, he continued. “Let’s say one o’clock, at the dining table, at number 4 Sycamore Close.” Winking a long lashed eye, he leant over and kissed her softly on the lips. “Give me a shout if you need help in your little craft room.”
Tiff smiled and nodded her head. A warm glow filled her body. He was adorable. Sexy. Strong. He was hers and she loved him immeasurably.
The skirting board, previously cut by Joe at the exact point where Tiff had marked it, fitted perfectly. Now it was time to paint. Tiff had never painted a wall before and although she was very talented when it came to stone craft painting, decorating walls with rollers, was a whole different ball game.
The potent smell of the Gripfill wafted up her nose and filled the room. Stepping over to the window, she peered out towards the garden next door before opening the window to let the warm breeze in. The woman was not in her garden today but Tiff guessed that it may be a little too early in the day to be sunbathing – topless.
Opening the tin of lilac paint, she admired the rich colour and smooth texture. She stirred it with a stick, as instructed by Joe earlier, and poured a small amount into the roller tray. Here goes, she thought to herself and carefully rolled the roller through the thick liquid.
It was hot work painting four walls as the heat of the sun poured through the open window. Standing back, Tiff lovingly regarded her workmanship. It was a bit patchy though. This afternoon she would have to start all over a
gain and apply a second coat. Peering down at her t-shirt and jeans, she puzzled over how she had managed to get covered in so many lilac dots and smudges.
Taking another glance out of the window before she left the room, she could see that the garden next door was void of people, pets and more importantly, breasts. Not that she was obsessed by the woman next door. She’d only peered out of the window about 28 times during the whole morning and that included the time when she was painting the wall surrounding the window. It was more a case of curiosity, rather than an obsession. Tiff wondered whether the elderly couple, who lived next door on the right, could see the woman’s garden from their first floor windows too.
Washing her hands in the bathroom, Tiff looked up at the small mirror, precariously hanging from a bent nail (Another little job to do – get a decent mirror and hang it on a proper hook). She was surprised to see the newly acquired lilac streaks in her long, brown hair. She giggled to herself and decided to leave them there. She was bound to get a lot more paint on herself before the day was out. Joe would be amused by it too.
Popping her head around the bedroom door, she glanced at Joe’s alarm clock, perched on an upturned cardboard box. She didn’t want to be late for her date at one o’clock. Their bedroom was pretty basic at the moment. A king-size bed and two boxes, posing as bedside tables, furnished the back end of the room. There was a rickety set of old wardrobes, two sets of drawers that were barely holding together and an old dressing table that they’d managed to buy for £6 in a second-hand shop, scattered around the rest of the room. Tiff and Joe had discussed the order of rooms to be decorated and furnished and had come to a decision that their bedroom would have to be one of the last rooms to sort out. After all, no one would be going in their bedroom. Apart from their parents maybe, when they came for their initial inspection of the couple’s first home.
Noting the time was approaching one o’clock, Tiff was about to go down the stairs when she heard voices coming from the front of the house and one of them was very familiar. Stepping back into the bedroom, she made her way over to the slightly open window and peeped out. She was right. One of the voices belonged to Joe. He was sitting on the pathway which went round the edge of the green, providing easy access to each house. He’d already painted over half of the picket fence on one side. He looked hot and sweaty, his damp hair spiked up untidily. He looked particularly handsome, sitting on the floor, cross-legged, with a paint brush in his hand, smiling up at someone.
Moving closer still, Tiff could see a figure leaning over the unpainted part of the fence separating her house from her neighbours. It was the woman with the tits. Smiling, laughing and flirting. Her arms folded in front to push the swell of her breasts out the top of her low cut t-shirt.
Tiff froze on the spot. She held her breath as she tried to hear what the woman was saying. In her right hand, the women held her dog’s lead. The dog was panting as it sat in the hot sun and had obviously been for a walk already, by the way it idly waited by her side.
“So…” said the woman. “… two married?”
Joe shook his head. “No…”
Tiff struggled to hear every word.
“Kids?”
Again, Joe shook his head and smiled up at the woman.
“… handful… off without any.” The woman stood upright, dropped the lead on the floor and tied her long blonde hair up in a loose bun. “… dog instead.”
Joe laughed and then nonchalantly stroked the paint brush up and down the length of a fence post. “Suppose… answer back, do they?”
This time the woman laughed. “If you annoy… they will.” Then she peered up at the blue sky for a moment before turning back to Joe. “Better go… bit of sunbathing… back garden… too hot… love… sun.”
Tiff held her breath again. Had the woman just told Joe that she was going to be sunbathing in her garden? Had she told him she would be topless? A lump caught in Tiff’s throat. She didn’t like this woman. She didn’t even know her. Breathe. Breathe. Keep calm. Keep calm.
Watching as Joe rose to his feet, Tiff’s heart beat rapidly.
“Time for lunch,” said Joe, looking down at his watch. “You’ll… come over… meet… girlfriend… get on… together”
The woman nodded. “Thanks… will.” Tugging at the dog’s lead the woman turned around and disappeared up the path to her house.
Placing the lid on the paint tin, Joe carried it into the front garden and left it by the side of a small bush, in the shade. He put the brush on top, stood back and studied the fence with his hands on his hips. Then he went indoors.
“Tiff,” called Joe as the front door closed. “Lunchtime.”
Tiptoeing out of the bedroom, Tiff crept back to her craft room and stood in the doorway. “What did you say?” she shouted.
“Are you stopping for something to eat?”
“Oh yes. Coming right now.” Slamming the craft room door shut, she sighed heavily and made her way down the stairs.
By the time she reached the kitchen-diner there were already two tall glasses of iced lemon on the table. Joe had removed his t-shirt and was busy making thick-cut ham and salad sandwiches.
“How did you get on?” asked Tiff, grabbing the salad cream from out of the fridge.
“OK – you?”
“Done one coat all the way around already.”
“That’s good babe.” Joe slapped a slice of bread on top of each of the sandwiches, placed one on top of the other and cut through them diagonally. “Oh damn – forgot the salad cream.”
Tiff smiled weakly. “Don’t worry. I’ll squeeze it in.”
Fetching two plates from the cupboard, Joe placed the sandwiches on them and carried them over to the table. “Bring it over, I’ll squeeze some in mine too.”
“Did you get much done then?” quizzed Tiff.
“Not as much as I’d hoped and it’s bloody hot out there. Wanna swap?”
“No – but I’ll help you if you want. I can do the second coat another day.”
Joe paused thoughtfully. “Thought you wanted to get the walls done and finished today.”
“I can do them next weekend…”
“No, we can do them next weekend if you’re going to help me outside.”
Tiff gulped down a piece of bread without chewing it properly and froze momentarily as it stuck in her throat. “I…” she coughed. “I’m sure you’ll have more jobs by next weekend Joe.” The lump slowly slipped down her throat and disappeared. “No, I want to do the craft room myself, you know… just to say that I did it all. But I’ll come and help you this afternoon. You never know, we might meet some of our neighbours.”
“OK,” said Joe, agreeably. “Get your bikini on though – it’s hot out there.”
Feigning shock, Tiff wondered when or if Joe was going to tell her about the woman he’d been talking to. “I’m not wearing a bikini out there, Joe Frey.”
“Ahh, go on. We could have a paint flicking fight. Looks like you’ve been in one already – and lost.” Joe laughed and leant over the table to peck her on the cheek. “It’s in your hair too.”
“I know. Not quite sure how it got there.”
Raising his eyebrows, Joe rolled his eyes and tutted before continuing to eat his sandwich silently.
From the corner of her eye, Tiff watched as he devoured his lunch hungrily. Was he going to mention the woman from next door? When would he tell her about it? Surely he would have said something by now if he was going to say anything. A queasiness crept over Tiff, putting her off her sandwich. Did he fancy the woman? Was he hiding the fact that he had been talking to her? Tiff fought with her envy-monster as she nibbled her way through the sandwich, in silence.
Chapter 4
The afternoon sun beat down on Sycamore Close casting picket fence shadows around the edge of the front garden. It was so picturesque. Almost as soon as the brilliant white paint touched the surface of the wooden panels, it became tacky. Joe and Tiff had spent almost an hou
r, in silence, painting different sections of the fencing. Only once had Joe gone over to Tiff to top-up his paint tray from the five litre tin. It was a relaxing job, sitting on an old cushion, painting narrow slats while soaking up the heat from the sun. Tiff had had to put her sunglasses on due to the glare of the paint and Joe had removed his t-shirt for the second time today. But still, there had been no mention of the woman next door. Tiff had struggled with her jealous insecurity, through the silence. It was like torture.
“Do you need more cream putting on your back?” asked Tiff, breaking the silence.
“No, I’m good. I’ll go and get us some more drinks in a minute.”
Tiff nodded and smiled, waveringly.
The front door of number five opened and an elderly man hobbled down to his front gate. Wearing a greying-white, short sleeved shirt, unbuttoned half way down his front and khaki shorts, the extremely hairy, rotund man leant his legs against his gate. “Afternoon,” he said in a croaky old voice. “You’re doing a fine job there, young man.”
Joe stopped painting and looked up. “Cheers. First job of many.”
The old man smiled. “Poor old John didn’t have it in him anymore – let the place go.”
“John? Was he the man who lived here before?”
“Yes. Saw his last days out in that house,” said the man, waving a crooked finger towards Joe and Tiff’s new home. “Ninety-six I do believe, or was he ninety-five, coming up for ninety-six? Anyway…” said the man, shaking his head puzzled, “he couldn’t do much at the end, as I said before. He outlived most of his family and there wasn’t anyone left to do things for him. God rest his soul.”
“He lived to a very good age then,” said Joe, rising to his feet and towering over the old man. “My name’s Joe and she…” Joe pointed through the fence to where Tiff was sitting on a cushion, “is Tiff.”
