Fisher of Men

by Pam Rhodes

  “You seem to have found time to mow the grass. Not much more, though, as far as I can see…”

  “The church gardener deals with this garden too, as the house is church property.”

  “Is he an old man? He hasn’t put a lot of energy or thought into those flowerbeds!”

  “She is not old – and she doesn’t spend much time here because she is busy elsewhere. And I think what she does is fine. I appreciate that she comes at all.”

  Iris sniffed. Obviously gardeners should be men too! Her glance strayed over to the garage which ran along one side of the back garden.

  “What’s in there?”

  “Do you want the list? Lots of stuff – my bike, that fitness equipment I bought and never used, empty boxes that I’ve unpacked…”

  “You mean you don’t keep your car in the garage! Surely that’s what garages are for?”

  “Actually, I don’t know anyone who keeps their car in the garage. They’ve usually got too much junk in it to have room for a car.”

  “May I remind you, Neil, that I helped you buy that car? It may have little value to you, but I can assure you it was a very large undertaking for me!”

  Neil saw little point in answering. His mother immediately assumed his silence was an admission of guilt.

  “Do you get the car regularly serviced?”

  “Of course.”

  “And valeted?”

  He stared hard at her.

  “No.”

  “Surely you have a position in the community to consider now, Neil! Whatever will people think of you if you can’t even keep a tidy car?”

  “My car wasn’t untidy when I picked you up from Paddington.”

  “Cleaned it out this morning, did you?”

  “Don’t you go picking those flowers!”

  A man’s voice cut across both the conversation and the garden with a suddenness that surprised them both. Neil’s face softened.

  “Hello, Alf.”

  “Don’t you let that fat woman pick those flowers!” Alf repeated from the next-door garden, staring pointedly at Iris.

  “I beg your pardon!” she spluttered with indignation. “How dare you speak to me like that!”

  “Well, you dare pick those flowers, and I’ll… I’ll…”

  Alf frowned as he tried to think of the worst thing he could inflict on her if she didn’t do as he asked.

  “I’ll tell Maureen!” he announced with triumph.

  “Tell me what, pet?”

  Alf’s carer, Maureen, came up to slip her arm through his as the two of them looked across the garden fence at Neil and his mother.

  “I do apologize,” she said with a smile. “Alf is very protective about flowers. Not just his own – anybody’s!”

  “You could hardly call a spindly shrub or two and a handful of dahlias flowers!” retorted Iris, her voice brittle with coldness. “And I suggest you confine your interest to your own rather pathetic garden display before you start criticizing the achievements of others.”

  Maureen’s smile didn’t drop, but Neil almost laughed out loud as he realized that, with her experience, the carer was more than capable of summing up Iris accurately.

  “Oh, this has got nothing to do with the real state of the garden, either yours there or ours here. Alf just likes to see things neat and tidy, that’s all.”

  “Flowers are for gardens!” announced Alf. “You shouldn’t pick flowers from gardens. Flowers belong in gardens.”

  “Quite right, Alf,” agreed Neil, ignoring with a degree of pleasure the look of sheer annoyance shooting at him from his mother’s direction. “How are you today?”

  “I’m drawing a picture. I’ve got coloured pencils.”

  “What’s in the picture?”

  “Flowers!” replied the old man, who obviously thought Neil was very daft not to have worked that out for himself.

  “Shall we go inside and do a bit more drawing then, Alf?” asked Maureen gently. “And I’ll make you a sandwich…”

  That certainly caught Alf’s attention.

  “With ham in?”

  “Uh-huh,” she nodded.

  “And butter?”

  “Yep!”

  “And brown sauce?”

  “Lashings of it.”

  But Alf was already on his way up the path to his kitchen door. With an apologetic wave and a smile, Maureen turned to follow him.

  “What’s that? Care in the Community? Fancy them putting you next door to a mad old man like him!”

  “Alf isn’t mad. He’s beginning to suffer from the effects of dementia, but in fact he’s always been a highly intelligent and well-qualified man – an architect, I believe. That’s why he likes drawing so much. And Maureen – she’s his carer – she’s endlessly patient and imaginative with him.”

  “But a man like that could become a real danger. He shouldn’t be allowed to live right next door to decent people.”

  An angry red flush shot across Neil’s face.

  “Alf is a perfectly decent neighbour. In fact, he’s a Neighbourhood Watch scheme all on his own!”

  But Iris was bored. She turned to walk back towards the house.

  “Which is my room?”

  “I’ve put you in the quiet room at the back.”

  “I hope the curtains are backed. I’ll never be able to sleep in a room where the curtains are too see-through.”

  Neil watched his mother disappearing from view for a few seconds before he could muster the enthusiasm to follow her. This was plainly going to be a very long weekend…

  CHAPTER 8

  “Madam.”

  Harry bowed slightly as he took Iris’ hand.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you. Neil has told us so much about you.”

  “Has he, now?” asked Iris suspiciously, although Neil could tell from the way her face had flushed that she was rather enjoying such a gracious greeting.

  “Mum, this is my very good friend and neighbour, Harry Holloway.”

  “And I have come, my dear lady,” continued Harry, “to escort you to the Harvest Supper. Neil has to be there much earlier than either of us, so he suggested that, as we have to walk past my house on the short journey to the church, you might do me the honour of taking a stroll around my garden for a while first.”

  “Harry’s being modest, Mum. His garden is absolutely beautiful!”

  Neil could see Iris was torn. Was she infuriated that Neil had apparently “fobbed her off” with a total stranger – or was she charmed by the gentlemanly offer Harry was making? And his effort to impress didn’t stop with his words. Harry was dressed in his best suit, with a crisp white shirt, shiny black shoes and a striking red rose in his lapel.

  “And whether or not you choose to accept my invitation,” continued Harry, “I have a little gift for you.”

  He laid into her outstretched hand an exquisite corsage of dainty roses, their petals apricot-coloured with a splash of deep red frilling around the edges. The buds had been woven into a delicate bed of silver and dark-green foliage. It was plainly made with great skill and care. Claire, thought Neil. I bet that’s her handiwork.

  Iris melted as she looked at the blooms – and the two men glanced at each other in silent relief.

  “Mr Holloway, how very kind of you. Did these roses come from your garden?”

  “Of course,” replied Harry with a smile.

  “Then I will be delighted to accept your offer. Run along, Neil. Go and do whatever it is you have to do, and we’ll see you there.”

  The church hall was buzzing when Neil arrived a few minutes later. The edge of the stage and the window-sills were draped in golden garlands of leaves and fruits, and on each table, surrounding large candles which glowed inside glass bowls, was a display of conkers, nuts and pine cones. Soft orange and gold lights discreetly placed around the hall gave the whole room the feel of Autumn.

  “This is an absolute triumph!” Neil said to Cyn, who had volunteered to be in complete cha
rge of the Harvest Supper arrangements. “The hall is transformed. It looks wonderful!”

  Cyn beamed with pride. “That’s one of the blessings of being the matriarch of such a large family,” she said. “I sat them all down, told them what I wanted and left it to them. This is what they came up with! Not bad, is it?”

  “The cooking smells good too,” said Neil, his nose twitching to identify the warm aromas coming from the kitchen.

  “Ah well, Frank is in charge of that. Margaret detailed him off for the job, and he’s loving every minute of it. He’s got a bevy of beautiful assistants peeling the spuds and doing the washing up. He’s in his element!”

  Neil laughed. “Well, I’m in charge of background music, so I’ll go and sort out the sound system.”

  “For heaven’s sake, you’re far too young to be in charge of music for a Harvest Supper! Don’t you go putting on any heavy metal or songs with inappropriate language, will you?”

  “Cyn, I have to admit that when it comes to music, I am the child of my mother. The Rat Pack and ‘Songs from the Shows’ were her favourites – and sad as it is, I know the words to just about every song that falls into that category!”

  “Right.” Cyn looked doubtful.

  “But I’ve called in the help of a few folk at the church who know a lot more about everyone else’s taste than I do, and together we’ve compiled a CD that has got a lovely selection of music on it – all quite well known from the radio, the odd hymn or worship song – a nice mix, really. I think you’ll approve.”

  “No second helpings of pudding for you if you get it wrong!” she warned with a grin. “By the way, did I hear that your mother is coming this evening?”

  Neil grimaced. “I’m afraid so.”

  He saw the look of surprise on Cyn’s face.

  “Oh, don’t get me wrong. She can be charming…”

  He struggled to know how to continue, as Cyn’s expression changed to one of understanding.

  “You’re an only child, aren’t you?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And is she pleased at your choice of career?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “And this visit is to check you out – and probably us too?”

  “That’s about the measure of it, yes.”

  Suddenly she stepped forward to envelop him in an affectionate hug.

  “Don’t you worry, Neil. We promise to be on our best behaviour. We’ll take very good care of her, just you wait and see!”

  Someone called Cyn’s name from the other side of the hall just then, and with a wink she turned, leaving Neil wondering whether the small amount of relief he felt after her words was any match for the knot of dread which sat in the pit of his stomach every time he thought of his mother being here, amongst these people who were becoming very dear to him.

  “You made it out the door, then?”

  Claire laid down a tray full of glasses on the table beside him.

  “Harry worked his magic on her!” returned Neil with a grin. “You should have seen him, all dressed up and so gallant as he gave her the corsage. I assume that was your handiwork?”

  “It took minutes,” said Claire dismissively.

  “Well, it was a lovely thought and Mum was plainly charmed by it. Thank you, Claire. And I assume that a lot of these garlands and table decorations are your work too?”

  “I enjoy it. Anyway, we all did it together.”

  “Well, it’s clear that a huge amount of work has gone into getting everything ready for this evening.”

  “It’s been fun.”

  “And no Sam tonight?”

  Her face lit up as she thought of her son. “He’s very excited because he’s having a sleepover across the road at the house of the couple he calls Auntie Jan and Uncle Paul. Their boy, Brendan, is a bit older than Sam, and Beckie is about a year younger, so they’ve grown up together, really.”

  “I bet he’ll love that.”

  “Neil, there you are!”

  Wendy smiled directly at Neil as she approached, completely ignoring Claire.

  “The music group are all here now. Where would you like us to set up? And am I right that you want us to play for about a quarter of an hour after the meal has finished?”

  Claire discreetly moved away, leaving them to it.

  “That would be lovely, thank you.”

  “And because timing is everything, I’ve arranged to sit next to you on your table. That way we can make sure everything runs smoothly.”

  She smiled warmly, aware that she was looking particularly pretty that evening in a slightly sparkling gold-coloured top that perfectly complemented her gleaming brown hair and hazel eyes.

  “What a good idea,” replied Neil. “I’ll just go and sort out the background music, and see you at the table later.”

  Neil made his way up on to the stage where he began plugging in and checking the sound system. Looking up to survey the busy scene in the hall beneath him, the sound of laughter from the far corner caught his attention. Peter Fellowes was taking direction from Val in the art of laying out place settings, and their heads were almost touching as they shared something that had made them both laugh.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” said a familiar voice to one side of him. “They look very comfortable together, don’t they?”

  Margaret had joined him as they looked towards the churchwarden and the palliative care nurse who plainly enjoyed each other’s company very much.

  “They are both such nice people,” said Neil carefully.

  “And Glenda is a nightmare!” was Margaret’s curt response.

  “I have to agree with that.”

  “Poor Peter,” said Margaret softly. “He’s had a rotten time for years, yet he never complains.”

  “So it’s good that he has such a friend in Val.”

  “Speaking as their friend rather than their Vicar, I can’t help thinking it would be even better if they could be the couple they were meant to be.”

  Neil turned to look at her. “But he’s married!”

  “He is, and he never forgets that. There’s nothing going on there. They are far too committed to their faith to overstep the mark. They are both very decent people – but I do feel for them.”

  “Do you think Glenda notices anything?”

  “Does Glenda ever notice anything that’s not about her? She’s so full of that job of hers.”

  “It sounds very glamorous! She runs the office of a big fashion house in London, she was telling me…”

  “Well, she answers the phone and makes the tea. And her boss is the only other person in the office.”

  “But he’s quite well known in the fashion world, isn’t he? She seemed shocked that I hadn’t heard of him.”

  The expression on Margaret’s face as she turned to answer him was one of disbelieving indignation.

  “He sells ties! She’s talks it up, but the truth is that she works for a tie salesman, nothing more.”

  Neil struggled not to laugh before the sadness of the situation struck him.

  “Peter works too, though, doesn’t he?”

  “He’s retired now, which is why he’s able to help out so much as our churchwarden. He ran his own estate agency here in Dunbridge for years, but sold out to one of the big chains several years ago. He really struggled to get used to not having the responsibility of the business any more. It had claimed so much of his energy and time that he was like a duck out of water when he first sold up. Being churchwarden has really filled the gap. I used to worry that he was putting in far too many hours, but now I realize that’s the way he wants it.”

  Neil looked across to where Peter and Val were companionably setting tables together. Following his gaze, Margaret said softly, “That’s where his heart is.”

  “Will he do anything about it, do you think?”

  “Break up his marriage? No, I don’t think he would ever be the one to do that. It would be against everything he believes.”

&
nbsp; “And Glenda? Can she possibly be happy with a situation like that?”

  “I honestly don’t think Glenda will ever be truly happy, and Peter is very useful as someone to blame for all the wrongs in her life. To her mind, her husband is little more than a failure – and yet I know him as one of the most sincere and sensitive people I’ve ever met. He’s a friend I’d trust in every situation, a good man through and through.”

  “How sad that Glenda doesn’t recognize that.”

  “I honestly don’t think she cares enough about Peter to notice. She’s the one who needs all the attention in their marriage.”

  “They loved each other enough to marry. If their vows are important enough to them to keep them together in spite of everything, then perhaps they could rekindle that love. Counselling, perhaps?”

  “Maybe,” replied Margaret thoughtfully, “but I doubt Glenda would see the need for that. I spend quite a bit of time with her one way and another, and I don’t detect any element of doubt in her mind that Peter is to blame for the demise of their marriage. For her, that fact doesn’t merit further discussion.”

  “Poor Peter.”

  “Indeed. I do pray for them.”

  “I’m glad. What do you pray for?”

  “Oh, a happy ending, I suppose…”

  “For who? Peter and Glenda?”

  “In a way, yes. I can’t help hoping for an outcome which brings fulfilment and happiness to all three of them – Val too. You only have to watch her and Peter together to see what happiness they find in each other’s company. I hope God can see a way to help them out of this unhappy situation – but then, I’m a Christian minister, and I shouldn’t really advocate that, should I? But I can’t help thinking that at the heart of the God I know and worship is love – and how can you have love unless it goes hand in hand with forgiveness and compassion? Not everyone will agree with me – but strictly between ourselves, that’s what I hope for.”

  Neil gazed across towards Peter and Val until Margaret suddenly broke the mood.

  “Come on, the hall’s beginning to fill up. I need to go through tonight’s programme. Coming?”

  And with a shared smile of complete understanding, the two of them rejoined the crowd below.

  An hour later, the Harvest Supper was in full swing. Neil was sitting on a table of eight, with his mother to one side of him and Wendy on the other. His mother was in surprisingly good spirits, and for that Neil knew he had to thank Harry, who was simply charming the socks off her. They arrived looking like old friends, especially as Harry introduced his mother to various members of the church community in a suitably gracious way. Iris held her hand out to each of them in turn as though she were a dowager duchess, smiling and chatting briefly before moving on to the next face. A cold trickle of fear coursed its way down Neil’s spine when he thought of the snippets of wisdom about her beloved son which Iris was no doubt imparting to Harry and anyone else who would listen. Still, there was nothing he could do about that this evening, so with resigned relief, he left Iris in Harry’s capable care. In the end, as one of the “hosts” of the evening’s event, Neil’s supper was interrupted several times by calls for him to talk to someone about this, or deal with that. On every occasion, when he made his way back to the table, he could see that Iris and Wendy were talking animatedly across his vacant seat. It was nice that Wendy was taking the trouble to keep his mother company.