emma and company - Sheila Hocken

by Emma

  'A hole! What do you mean?'

  'You'll see it when you get home. There's a great big hole

  chewed in the side.'

  'What are you going to do?' i asked him.

  'What do you mean, what am i going to do? There's not a

  i7

  lot i can do. I'll try and stick a bit of the floor back down.

  We'll have to see if we can get some more pieces. What I'd

  like to do to Bracken isn't repeatable over the telephone.'

  i could well understand what he meant, but how could

  that little innocent puppy do so much damage? i wondered.

  We knew it wasn't Buttons. She had been a chewer, but not

  for very long and she was over a year old now. She had grown

  out of that habit. Labradors, i hate to admit, do tend to be

  very destructive. Not all of them, just some, but then i

  suppose some of every breed are destructive, so i mustn't

  condemn Labradors. But if i were to tell you what Bracken

  has eaten, chewed up and ruined it would take the whole of

  this book, so i won't bother. Luckily for us, we only have one

  Bracken. Buttons had chewed, as i mentioned. Only once,

  but a very important once.

  i had done a lot of television programmes about the book,

  Emma and I. Emma had gone with me and we'd had lots of

  fun and met some really nice people, but there was just one

  programme i really wanted to be on, one that i enjoyed

  watching every week, and that was the Michael Parkinson

  chat show. There wasn't a hope in hell's chance of me getting

  on there. i mean, they only have famous people on - film

  stars and the like - but secretly, i hoped. My publishers told

  me they'd sent the book to the programme to see if there was

  any chance of my getting an interview and, by a sheer fluke,

  it came off. They weren't interested at first. They said they

  had plenty of material like my book and a big star was

  coming from America (i can't remember who it was now)

  but then i saw a rainbow. You might think this very silly, but

  i have great faith in rainbows. After the operation on my

  eyes one of the things i desperately wanted to see was a

  rainbow. I'd heard so much about them and they sounded so

  beautiful. It was six months before i saw one and it was

  marvellous, impressive, stirring, romantic, and every time i

  see a rainbow something really lovely happens to me. So i

  am always on the look-out for them. And i saw a rainbow in

  Leicester. Not a real one, but a pub called The Rainbow. It

  i8

  had the same efrect. i knew something marvellous was going

  to happen, ljust didn't know what. Then that very evening i

  had a message from the publishers to say that we had been

  accepted for the Parkinson Show, as the American film star

  had let them down. Could i go down on Saturday? i could. i

  was only left with three days to worry and think about it. They

  were going to send a taxi - a big one they assured me, because

  of Emma. Emma was coming up for fourteen years old and

  her comfort was uppermost. If i wanted to go anywhere with

  her, i had to make sure that she was going to be happy and

  comfortable. She had always been very adept at curling up

  into tight spots as a young dog but now she became stiff unless

  there was plenty of room for her to stretch out, and that meant

  a decent car for her to travel down in.

  'Yes,' they kept saying, 'we'll send a nice big taxi for you.'

  'Lovely.' And i said to Don, 'Perhaps there'll be enough

  room for somebody to come with us.'A big taxi to me and him

  meant a big taxi. The sort of Daimler-type that can seat three

  or four, even five, in the back and still have plenty of room.

  'What about asking Deirdre?'

  'Yes, that would be nice,' i said. Deirdre was John's wife.

  John is Don's partner in his chiropody practice. johii had

  been to America with us and we had asked Deirdre if we had

  anywhere exciting to go, television-wise, would she like to

  come~'It's amazing how you get used to this sort of thing. The

  inside of a television studio is old hat to me now but i

  remember when it was a very excl tlng happening, and friends

  always want to see what they're like, to see what's on the other

  side of the camera.

  'What about Sylvia and Mick as well?' Don asked. 'There

  would be plenty of room, wouldn't there?'

  'Yes, of course.' Mick was Don's brother, Sylvia his wife.

  'I'll get on the phone to them right away,' he said.

  i could see it was going to be a right old outing. Mick, Sylvia

  and Deirdre were all absolutely delighted. just like me,

  though, Sylvia and Deirdre were in a panic about having

  hair-dos, and getting dresses for the evening.

  'What are you wearing?' Sylvia rang me back to ask.

  ig

  i

  'I don't know yet, haven't really thought. I'll go and have

  a look in the wardrobe. If there's nothing suitable, i suppose

  I'll have to go down to the shops.'

  'Mm, I don't know what to wear. Do you think it'll be

  warm?'

  ' i think so,' i said. 'It usually is in television studios. In

  fact, it's boiling hot with all those lights.'

  'I've got a nice summer dress. Anyway, let me know what

  colour you're wearing first, will you?'

  'Yes, fine, Sylvia.'

  i looked in the wardrobe. There was nothing i really

  fancied wearing for the Parkinson Show. After all, it had to

  be something extra special. i was lucky though - i saw

  something really nice in one of the local shops: a velvet suit

  in wine colour. I'm crackers about velvet, probably because

  it feels so good. Touch is still an all-important sense to me.

  Not only must a thing look good, it must feel good. i would

  have preferred green but wine is my second favourite

  colour. i love green because of the grass and the trees. There

  are so many different shades of green, I never cease to be

  surprised at them. The spring and the summer, even the

  autumn, turn up different shades of green and there's always

  a different shade when snow has been down. That was one of

  my big surprises. The grass stays there underneath the snow.

  Anyway, I settled for the wine-coloured velvet suit, which

  meant that i had to buy new shoes. i decided to buy black

  patent ones because they'd match everything.

  Saturday came and we were all waiting for this lovely big

  taxi they had promised to send us. Don and i, Deirdre, Mick

  and Sylvia and Emma. When the taxi man arrived, we

  rushed out with great excitement. It was almost like

  emigrating, let alone doing a television programme. When i

  saw the car that stood at the bottom of our drive, i was

  horrified. I looked around to make sure there were no other

  cars standing nearby, but when the driver opened the door, i

  realized that it must be the one. It looked more like a heap on

  wheels to me, something that Mr Ford had invented back in

  the igios. It was incredibly old, incredibly battered and

  20

  incredibl-,, dirty. We had to put newspaper down in it before<
br />
  we dared to sit down and as for room, well, i stood there on

  the pavement trying to work out how we could all get in. i

  was completely unable to accept the fact that it was

  impossible. All i could hear was the Michael Parkinson

  theme tune and him standing there saying i hadn't arrived.

  As no one else seemed to be doing anything, i took charge.

  'Right, Deirdre, Sylvia and Mick in the back.' i think

  they were so shocked, they didn't protest. They all squeezed

  in the back. i had ajob shutting the door.

  'Emma, you get in the front. Oh no, no. That won't work,

  I'll sit in the front.' i got in the passenger scat. Emma, by this

  time, had climbed over into the driver's scat. i looked round

  to see Mick, Sylvia and Deirdre settled in the back, a little bit

  like sardines in a tin but, nevertheless, they were in. Then i

  noticed the driver. He was leaning on the bonnet of the car

  gazing into the distance, with a Park Drive hanging out of

  the corner of his mouth. Don tapped on the window.

  'Petal, the driver's not in, let alone me.'

  'Oh no,' i groaned. 'Itjust won't work.' i got out of the car

  and, undaunted, tried again. 'Right, i think you'd better get

  in first,' i said to the driver. He walked casually round to the

  driver's side and sat in behind the wheel as if we had all day.

  'You get in the back, Emma. Right, I'll sit in with you.

  That's better, we've plenty of room.' But there were still four

  people to get in one front passenger seat. i climbed out on to

  the pavement again. 'It won't work,' i said to Don. 'It just

  won't work. What are we going to do?'

  Then Mick stepped in. 'Of course it'll work,' he said. 'I'll

  take my car. Me and Sylvia and Deirdre can travel down in

  our car. That will leave you plenty of room.'

  i saw the look of sheer relief on Deirdre's face. Without

  any argument she went straight back to their car. It was all

  right for those three. Poor me, Don and Emma had to be

  rattled and bashed and skidded all the way down the M i to

  London. It was a terrible experience, and one i don't wish to

  repeat in a hurry. Now, if i ever get asked down to television

  shows, my first question is what sort of transport will there

  2i

  be? - and i mean a detailed account. i woii't settle for, 'Oh,

  it'll be okay, there'll be plenty of room.'

  It wasn't until we were about half-way down the M i that i

  began to notice something strange about one of my feet. It

  didn't seem to be very comfortable any more, so i had a feel.

  i was stricken with horror to find out that one of my shoes

  had been half chewed away. The heel had gone out

  completely. Instead of being normal shoes, I'd got one sling

  back and one ordinary. i couldn't believe it. i took it ofrmy

  foot to examine it.

  'Don!' i said. 'Look at this shoe!'

  'Good grief, what's happened to it?'

  'It looks as if somebody's chewed it,' i said.

  'Who? There's only Emma in the car and she's been fast

  asleep.'

  'It must have happened before i put it on.' i couldn't

  imagine how i could possibly have put a half-chewed shoe on

  without realizing it.

  'You must have noticed,' Don said, as if he was reading

  my thoughts.

  'Yes, i would have thought so. i was probably so excited

  and in a hurry, liust didn't. ljust slung them on my feet and

  hoped for the best.'

  'What are you going to do? You can't go on the Parkinson

  Show with a half-chewed shoe, can you now?' he said.

  'There's only one thing for it,' i said. 'We'll have to find a

  shoe shop.'

  He made a pretence of looking out of the window on the

  M I. 'Can't see any round here,' he said with a smile.

  'No, you wouldn't, would you? But there's bound to be

  one somewhere when we get off the motorway.'

  'I don't think we're going on a shopping route.' He leaned

  over and asked the driver. 'When we get off the M i, do you

  think you could find a shoe shop?'

  'A shoe shop!' he retorted. i think he thought he was

  hearing things.

  'Yes, that's right. We want a shoe shop desperately.'

  'Oh, a shoe shop. Well, I'll have a look.'

  22

  i

  We took an earlier exit ofT the motorway. We knew Mick

  and Sylvia following us would be rather surprised, but they

  followed us. We kept looking round and seeing Mick

  mouthing things like, 'This isn't the way to the BBC,' and

  waving his hands furiously. It was very difficult for him to

  understand our signs through the back window. It was so

  dirty we could barely see out. So they just had to be patient

  until we stopped outside a shoe shop. Mick, Sylvia and

  Deirdre immediately rushed out of the car and over to us.

  'What's the matter?' Mick said. 'What's happened, is

  there something wrong?'

  Instead of explaining, i picked my shoe up and showed it

  him. He looked at the shoe and then down at Emma.

  'Good heavens, did she do that?'

  'No, of course she didn't. It could only have been Buttons.

  She must have sneaked upstairs while we were having lunch

  and found it in my bedroom.'

  'It would have been cheaper to give her some of your

  lunch,' Mick said, laughing.

  i wasn't in the mood to see the funny side at the time, especially

  as the shoe shop turned out to be quite an expensive one.

  i was pleasantly surprised when we arrived at the

  television studios with plenty of time to spare and still in one

  piece. It was awe-inspiring to discover that I was to appear

  with Peter Alliss, the professional golfer, and johnny

  Mathis, the brilliant American singer. Emma, as always,

  was oblivious to the importance of Michael Parkinson and

  she confidently led the way down those terrible steps.

  Everybody dreads those stairs on chat shows - i wonder why

  they have them? As Michael Parkinson began to ask me the

  questions, Emma started to snore.

  'Do you mean to tell me that that dog,'he said, pointing to

  the chocolate form at my feet, 'actually knew what a post

  office meant?'

  As if in answer, Emma got up, looked at him, gave one of

  those snorts that she's famous for, turned her back on him

  and went to sleep. If Michael himself didn't take that as an

  answer, the audience certainly did.

  23

  i

  CHAPTER TWO

  BOOKS, TELEVISION PROGRAMMES, visits to radio

  stations, children, dogs and cats - my life seemed to be so

  hectic i hardly knew where i was going or what i was

  doing. And then there was the other side of it, the horrible

  side. i suddenly discovered that i was self-employed and

  I'd got to do something about it. There was no Pay-AsYou-

  Earn where tax had already been taken from my wage

  packet. How simple it had been when i was a telephonist!

  Now it was up to me to sort it all out. Well, i couldn't. It's

  as simple as that. i haven't the brain for that sort of thing.

  So Don and i d
ecided that we would employ an

  accountant. i had heard that there was a nice friendly one

  down in Stapleford so i rang him up one day and asked if it

  would be possible for him to come and see me.

  'I've got a young baby,' i explained, 'and no one to look

  after her at the moment.'

  'Yes, that's fine. i can pop down tomorrow afternoon if

  you like. It'll only take about an hour to sort out what you

  need doing.'

  Mr Summers duly arrived. Since I've been able to see,

  I've found that gradually I'm falling into the trap of all

  sighted people -judging on first sight, as it were. As a blind

  person I could never do this. i would go on voice, of course,

  but i found i usually waited till the real character, the real

  inside person, came out. i look at someone and instantly

  form a judgement (i might add that it's often completely

  wrong), but I've found I'm going I'Urther than that and

  categorizing people. You know the sort of thing: I imagine

  all lorry drivers are big, burly fellows with curly hair. And i

  had a very clear picture of how i expected my accountant to

  look: very small, thin, balding on top, steel-rimmed spec

  24

  tacles and a long parrot-like nose. So, you can imagine my

  surprise when the man i opened the door to was tall, very

  well-built, had dark "-avy hair and a moustache. To be

  honest, he looked more like a gun-slinger than an

  accountant. 'Mr Summers?' i asked rather tentatively.

  'Yes, how do you do. Call me Ray.' He gave my hand a

  firm shake, walked into the lounge and made himself at

  home on the settee. 'Right then, shall we start at the

  beginning?' he said in a lovely Nottinghamshire accent. 'Can

  I have a look at your books?'

  'Erm ... books. Erm ... you mean ... book. You'd like to

  have a look at the book.' i picked a copy of Emma and I ofrthe

  shelf and handed it to him. He hadn't read it then. i am one

  of those writers who always assumes no one has read their

  books and if i ever get stopped in the street or receive letters

  saying that people have, i still can't help being surprised.

  It's marvellous that they've actually chosen my book out of

  all those hundreds on sale in the bookshop. Mr Summers