Dry Bones

by Margaret Mayhew

  ‘No chance of that. Everybody will expect to be invited. Ruth’s the squiress.’

  ‘Everybody?’

  ‘Everybody. And we haven’t had a decent wedding in years so it’ll be a good excuse to tog up. I hope you can still get into your morning suit, Hugh.’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  He had no idea even where it was – probably among the things he’d consigned to the cottage loft. The last time he had worn morning dress had been at Marcus’s and Susan’s wedding, when Laura had still been alive. He could remember singing Love Divine, all loves excelling and praying to God that, for his son’s sake, Susan wouldn’t grow into anything resembling her mother.

  ‘By the way, Naomi, there was something I wanted to ask you.’

  ‘Fire away.’

  ‘It’s something I’ve been thinking about . . . but I wanted to ask your opinion first.’

  ‘Well, spit it out, Hugh. I’m all ears.’

  ‘Would you have any objection if I bought a garden shed – to go where the old privy was? I don’t think you’d be able to see it from your side.’

  ‘Of course I wouldn’t object. Men seem to love sheds. I’ve never quite understood why, but I expect it’s because it’s somewhere to go and get away from women. Cecil always used to disappear for hours in his. He had rows of old jam jars on shelves, full of nails and nuts and bolts and screws. Dozens of spanners and hammers and saws and all the rest. I don’t think he ever actually used any of them.’

  There were times when he felt a sneaking sympathy for Naomi’s late husband.

  He said stiffly, ‘As a matter of fact, I do need somewhere to put the garden tools and the lawnmower.’

  She cackled at him. ‘I was only teasing, Hugh. By all means, have your shed. Have you found one yet? Some of them are simply hideous – more like Swiss chalets.’

  ‘There’s a place outside Dorchester that makes and delivers sheds. All sizes and perfectly plain. It’ll need putting together, of course.’

  ‘Well, Jacob can do that for you. And he could start your sundowner terrace at the same time.’

  The terrace had been Naomi’s bright idea and the old flagstones that he had tracked down at the local reclamation place on her recommendation, had been stacked ready by the back door since early January.

  ‘No rush.’

  ‘Summer will be here before we know it.’

  She would keep coming back to the subject again like a dog to a well-chewed bone. He wondered why on earth he had gone along with the idea in the first place. He slid a little further beneath the eiderdown and closed his eyes again. Naomi took the hint.

  ‘Well, I’ll be off, Hugh. Thanks for the drink. Hope you feel better soon.’ At the door she delivered her parting shot. ‘I’ll put the chicken soup in your fridge. Be sure and have it soon. It’ll do you good.’

  He kept his eyes shut.

  Tom Harvey called the next day. He let himself in at the front door which the Colonel had left unlocked and came upstairs.

  ‘Naomi told me you’re not feeling too well, Colonel. I’ve come to have a look at you, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘No need for that, Tom.’

  ‘It won’t take a moment. Flu can be a nasty thing. People think of it as a kind of bad cold, but it’s not like that at all. Specially as you get older. Better safe than sorry.’

  He wondered how many GPs were left who still made house calls and took so much trouble. All in all, he thought, as the young doctor reached for his stethoscope, it would be a thousand pities if Ruth backed out. Both for her sake, and for the village.

  ‘Well, your chest’s clear, so that’s a good sign, but I’d stay in bed for at least three or four more days, if I were you, Colonel. Then take it easy indoors for a while. Give yourself plenty of time to recover properly.’

  ‘It was good of you to call.’

  ‘Not a problem. By the way, Ruth sent a message. She’d have come round herself, but she didn’t want to disturb you. She’s got a favour to ask.’

  ‘A favour? If there’s anything at all I can do for her, I’d be only too happy. What is it?’

  ‘She wants to know if you’d mind giving her away to me. At the wedding.’

  For a moment he was speechless. Quite overcome. He cleared his throat, recovered his croaky voice.

  ‘I’d be honoured. If she’s sure she wants me.’

  ‘She says she’d much sooner have you than anyone else she knows. Her father’s dead, as you know, and there’s only some old uncle left whom she hasn’t seen for years.’ Tom Harvey smiled down at him. ‘So, can I tell her you’re on for it?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Looks like it’s going to be the end of June, if that’s OK with you.’

  Naomi needn’t have worried, he thought, sinking back on to the pillows when Tom had gone. And Mrs Cuthbertson would be able to sport her pink tulle dustbin lid.

  He was deeply touched by Ruth’s request. He was still virtually a stranger to the village, after all. Most of the inhabitants of Frog End had lived there for years, some of them for all their lives. This was indeed an honour.

  Unfortunately, there didn’t seem much hope that he would be called upon to give away his own daughter. If Alison ever did decide to get married – unlikely in her high-flying world – he couldn’t imagine her going for a full-blown, traditional church wedding. This would be his one and only shot at the role and he hoped to God that he was worthy of it. The very first thing he’d do when he was up and about again would be to hunt for the morning suit.

  TWO

  By the end of May, the Colonel was fully recovered from his flu.

  The new garden shed was up, Jacob had levelled and prepared the ground for the sundowner terrace and the first flagstones were in place. With his shambling gait and furtive manner, the poor chap might look a bit strange but when it came to doing a thorough job of labour, Jacob was second to none. The Colonel knew that if he had tried to do either task himself, he would almost certainly have made a hash of things.

  The front doorbell rang and when he went to answer it he found Freda Butler, from across the green, standing outside.

  She said anxiously, ‘I’m so sorry to trouble you, Colonel . . . so sorry.’

  Poor little Miss Butler, he thought. Always anxious, always apologizing. She had been dealt a poor hand in life: bullied and despised by her late father, a fearsome Admiral of the Royal Navy, while she had followed a rather unsatisfactory career of her own in the WRENs. She had once, in extremis, confided in the Colonel – an occasion never referred to by either of them again.

  He smiled at her reassuringly. ‘It’s quite all right, Miss Butler. Would you like to come in?’

  Her cheeks went pink. ‘Oh, no. I shouldn’t dream of it . . . I’m sure you’re very busy.’

  Very busy were not words that generally applied to his normal day.

  He said, ‘Not at all. As a matter of fact, I was just going to make myself a cup of coffee. Will you join me?’

  The pink went a shade deeper and he could see her wavering. ‘I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.’

  ‘It’s no trouble. Shall we be informal and go into the kitchen?’

  She tiptoed after him down the hallway. ‘If you’re really sure . . .’

  He filled the kettle and switched it on. ‘Do you mind instant coffee? It’ll be quicker. And probably better.’

  ‘I wonder if I might have tea instead, Colonel? I very seldom drink coffee.’

  ‘Of course. I’ll just see if Jacob would like a cup, while we’re at it.’

  She looked round, apparently surprised. ‘Oh, is Jacob here?’

  He smiled to himself. Miss Butler would know very well that he was.

  And she would know all about the shed and the sundowner terrace, too.

  With the sitting room windows of Lupin Cottage in pole position on the village green, and aided by the U-boat commander’s binoculars somehow acquired in wartime by her Admiral father, not v
ery much escaped her notice. She would certainly have observed both the flagstones’ and the shed’s delivery.

  ‘He’s putting down my new terrace.’

  ‘Really?’ Miss Butler edged a little towards the window for a better view. ‘What a clever idea of yours.’

  He didn’t mention that the idea had been entirely Naomi’s, put forward from her entirely selfish motive of quaffing his Chivas Regal in the evening sun.

  ‘I have a new shed too.’

  She peered out and feigned more surprise. ‘So you have. It looks very nice. And how useful.’

  He had already introduced the lawnmower to its new home, and hammered in a row of big nails for hanging the garden tools on the wall. He had also found himself sorting through all kinds of useful oddments and putting them in tins and screwtop jars and boxes in an orderly row along a shelf. After all, that was what a shed should be – full of things that he wasn’t quite sure what he’d do with, but which would be bound to come in handy one day. He realized, with satisfaction, that there was room for quite a decent-sized workbench under the window. He could use it for doing odd jobs, mending things, even trying his hand at some woodwork, perhaps?

  Jacob shook his head vehemently at the offer of tea or coffee, and the Colonel and Miss Butler sat at the kitchen table from where she would be able to observe progress with the flagstones.

  ‘Is there anything I can do for you, Miss Butler?’

  There must have been some good reason for her call. Naomi would happily barge in at any hour but not Miss Butler; she was far too shy.

  The pink appeared again in her cheeks. ‘My goodness, how stupid of me! I almost forgot. I was wondering, you see . . . but, of course, you might not care for the thought at all . . . I’d ask Major Cuthbertson, only he’s rather unreliable . . .’

  ‘What thought?’ he prompted gently.

  The words came out in a breathless rush. ‘Helping with our collection for Help the Homeless. House to house, you know. Like you so kindly did before, for Save the Donkey. They do such a wonderful job – soup kitchens, finding rooms in hostels, providing blankets and warm clothing. But, with you having been so poorly lately, I expect you’d much sooner not have the bother.’

  ‘I’m fully recovered,’ he said. ‘And, of course, I’d be delighted to help. A very worthy cause.’

  ‘Yes, it is, isn’t it? There are so many poor people with nowhere to go. Living on the streets and sleeping in doorways and under arches. It’s quite shocking to think of it happening in our country. Only the other day I saw a young man sitting on the pavement outside Boots in Dorchester, begging for money. It was very chilly and he didn’t even have a coat. I felt so sorry for him and gave him a pound that I happened to have in my purse. Of course, when I mentioned it to Major Cuthbertson, he said it would only be spent on drugs.’

  It was an opinion that the Colonel had frequently heard voiced.

  ‘Just let me know when you want me to collect for you, Miss Butler, and I’ll do my best.’

  ‘Thank you so much, Colonel. It won’t be until late June, so there’s plenty of time.’ She gave him a timid smile. ‘You did so well for the donkeys. It will be most encouraging to have your support.’ She sipped at her tea. ‘Is this Earl Grey, by any chance? It tastes delicious. What a treat!’

  He doubted if there were many treats in her life. Her naval pension wouldn’t allow them. Come to that, his own army one didn’t either and he was very fortunate to have some private income to supplement it. He could manage to afford such things as Earl Grey tea and Chivas Regal whisky.

  They chatted politely for a few more minutes and then Miss Butler finished her tea and gave a final glance out of the window where the strong-armed Jacob was heaving another flagstone into place.

  ‘I think it’s going to look very nice, Colonel.’

  ‘You must come and have another cup of tea with me when it’s finished. If the weather’s warm enough we’ll be able to sit out there.’

  She blushed again. ‘How very kind.’

  He escorted her to the front door and, as he opened it, she said rather archly, pulling on her gloves, ‘A little bird told me that you will be giving dear Ruth away at her wedding, Colonel.’

  ‘Yes, she asked me to do so.’ He hadn’t mentioned it to a soul but it was no surprise that the news had spread.

  ‘I hear that Major Cuthbertson’s just a teeny bit put out not to have been asked. But that would never do, of course. There’s always the risk that he might overindulge. Whereas with you, Ruth will be in very safe hands.’

  He thought wryly that while it was nice to be thought of as so safe, it was also rather dull. How could they be so sure that he wouldn’t turn up roaring drunk? Behave appallingly badly? Give an obscene speech? Presumably for the same strange reason that people were always confiding in him and trusting him implicitly with their deepest secrets. It was a mystery to him.

  Miss Butler hesitated on the doorstep. ‘I meant to ask if you happen to have any old clothes that you would care to donate to the Help the Homeless cause, Colonel. They would be most gratefully accepted.’

  Most of his clothing was old – some of it going back thirty years or more – and the recipients’ gratitude could be open to question.

  ‘I’ll see what I can find, Miss Butler.’

  She eyed him uncertainly. ‘Though, of course, with you being such a tall gentleman, there might be a problem.’

  ‘I’m sure I have some things that might be useful.’

  ‘And, apparently, toothpaste, shampoo and soap are always welcome – so they say.’

  He was tempted to ask her gravely which particular brands were preferred, but it would be extremely unkind to tease her.

  ‘I shall be happy to contribute some.’

  ‘They mentioned disposable razor blades, too. I’m afraid I don’t know much about those.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.’

  She thanked him profusely and scurried away.

  ‘Hallo, Father. I’m ringing to see how you are?’

  ‘I’m very well, thank you, Susan.’

  He braced himself for a lecture from his daughter-in-law.

  ‘You must take care not to overdo things after that horrid flu, you know.’

  ‘I’m not overdoing anything,’ he said mildly. ‘I’m sitting down with the newspaper.’

  ‘That’s good. But are you eating properly?’

  He moved the receiver a little further away from his ear. Susan’s lectures were always delivered fortissimo. He longed to tell her, but never had, that he wasn’t yet stone deaf.

  ‘Rather.’

  ‘And taking those multivitamins we sent?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ The bottle was at the back of one of the kitchen cupboards. He had swallowed a few of the capsules which were the size of horse pills and then forgotten all about them.

  ‘It’s so important to have a good diet. Fresh fish and vegetables – no red meat and nothing fried or fatty. If we were closer, I could bring the right sort of meals round for you. Have you thought any more about moving up here, Father? Norwich is very nice, you know.’

  He wished to heaven that she wouldn’t always call him Father. Hugh would do so much better.

  ‘No, I can’t say I have.’

  ‘There’s a bungalow for sale just down the road. You could come and stay the night with us and view it. It’s a very nice property.’

  Why were houses for sale always properties and why did one always view them and not simply go and see them? It was estate agents’ speak – like nestling and boasting and featuring. Never plain language and often downright misleading. Pond Cottage had been described as having potential – which, translated, meant that it was extremely dilapidated and would cost a great deal of money to put right.

  ‘Perhaps not just at the moment, Susan. I’m having some work done in the garden. I need to keep an eye on things here.’

  ‘Oh? What sort of work?’

  ‘A te
rrace at the back.’

  ‘Goodness. That sounds expensive.’

  ‘It’s only a small terrace. It will get the afternoon and evening sun, so it should be rather nice to sit out there in the summer.’

  Wiser not to mention the sundowner drinking part of it; Susan never touched alcohol and would certainly think it was bad for him. And better not to mention Naomi either. His daughter-in-law, who had never met his next-door neighbour, was always on the alert for predatory women who might ensnare him. He changed the subject smoothly.

  ‘How are the children?’

  ‘Eric has an awful cold and it’s gone straight to his chest.’

  ‘I’m very sorry to hear that.’

  He genuinely was. Once he had found it hard to appreciate his overprotected five-year-old grandson who, Susan claimed, was delicate and sensitive. Then Eric had come to stay at Pond Cottage on his own while Susan had been in hospital with a threatened miscarriage, and a visit to the Bovington Tank Museum had formed a firm male bond between them.

  ‘How about little Edith?’ His granddaughter was only two weeks old and he had yet to see her. She had been named after Susan’s mother, with Laura as her second name. He hoped, for her sake, that she would take after Laura in looks.

  ‘She’s put on four pounds. And last night she slept for six hours. She’s much easier than Eric was, thank goodness.’

  ‘Well, I’m looking forward very much to meeting her. Perhaps you could come and stay when she’s a little older.’

  He could take Eric off to Bovington Museum again, if they could manage to slip their leashes.

  ‘I don’t think I could cope with the journey yet, Father. It would be easier if you came here. Then Marcus could take you to view properties for sale in the area.’

  Women were the very devil about clinging to ideas, he thought. Nothing would shake them off. Bulldogs were feeble by comparison.

  ‘How is Marcus, by the way?’

  ‘Well, they keep him working all hours at the new job.’

  ‘I hope he’s enjoying it.’

  ‘He doesn’t really say much.’

  At least it was a job. When Marcus had been made redundant, Susan had gone back to her mother in Essex, taking Eric. The marriage had been on the rocks but, fortunately, the job with the pasta company had turned up and things had been sorted out. Times were tough for young people. His own career in the army had been straightforward, by comparison. He’d been lucky.