Stranger in Paradise

by stan graham

  "Hopefully that won't be necessary if we contact the Warden and inform him that she is planning to introduce a young man to our community. Perhaps I should go over there and speak with her?"

  "I think she goes to church this morning, and when she gets back she watches television" said Julia.

  "How can anybody watch afternoon television?"

  "I watch it", murmured Julia.

  Up to her old tricks mischief making, always had a good sense of humour did my Jan. Can’t say as I approve of this Jack Pope fellow though, giving her ideas.

  Tomorrow the no smoking law comes into force and the landlord has already put up no smoking notices everywhere.

  They read ‘It is illegal to smoke in this building.’ There is a picture of a circle with a cigarette and a line going through it. At last.

  ***********

  Chapter 5. JULY

  Today the first of July is the day when nobody is allowed to smoke in enclosed areas. To think this is all down to my letter to Mr Whateverhisnameis. What a wonderful man, almost as good as dear Winston and Margaret. Just a pity he belongs to the wrong party. Such a shame that he had to leave us last week, but I think it was probably for the best. He’s has also resigned as a member of parliament I think he wants to spend more time with his wife,, such a caring family man, so he handed it over to his best friend.. Anyway I am sorry to see him go. I have sent him a card wishing him well in the future.

  I do wish it wasn’t raining. They say that if we have rain on the first of July then we can expect it for most of the month. You may say it’s just an old wives tale but it is oh so true.

  They have a car boot sale every month in the market square. I went this morning. Dave Tontine was with Toby his black and white mongrel buying plants so I stayed out of sight until he moved off elsewhere. That’s the trouble with a place like this it’s like living in a goldfish bowl. “Been to Tesco’s have you Mrs Bond? “ and later “Been to Tesco’s again Mrs Bond?”

  “No I just like carrying shopping bags advertising them.”

  “No need to be like that.”

  I bought a nice print at the car boot sale for 50p. It is by Paul Klee of some camels. A reddish picture that blends with my lounge carpet.

  It was a July Arthur and I got engaged and I seem to remember that it poured with rain that month. Two years later when we were both twenty-one and had reached the age of majority we were married at St Margaret Church in Upper Stripford.

  A full white wedding with all the trimmings, so that there could be no doubt that I was not pregnant. My father gave me away despite the objections of my mother that he had never shown much interest in me up to now.

  I’m afraid that I did tell him that his new wife wasn’t invited though. Anything to keep the peace with my mum. He understood and said that it was okay. Our friends gave us some lovely wedding presents. A Teasmade that I still have to this day and it still works perfectly. Cutlery, towels, table lamps, a toaster. We had a reception at the Co-op hall and displayed them all on a table. I am sure that somebody stole the kettle that Aunt Lily gave us because we never saw it again. As we were not going on honeymoon we danced the evening away. Arthur had decided that the money would be better spent as a deposit on a house.

  We sent an invitation to June care of her mother’s address but she never replied. Jealousy I would guess. We moved into a nice three-bedroom house on the newly built Armstrong estate, it was much more posh then, and settled down to domestic bliss.

  Arthur continued to have a night out once a week with the boys and as long as he did not get drunk I raised no objection. I would invite my friends round to the house while he was out.

  I later heard through a friend of Arthur’s that June had had a baby boy whom she had called Joshua. Rumour was that Billy had been arrested for fraud and sentenced to two years in prison. We speculated that June would return home but it never happened. A couple of months later we passed June's old house and the windows were boarded up.

  Arthur said June had invited her newly widowed mother to stay with her and help her to bring up little Joshua, although how he heard that I don’t know.

  You don't tell them everything if you've an ounce of sense in you.

  It’s been very hot for the last week. I wish I could go to Liddlemouth and get some sea breezes but the place is packed with tourists with dogs and children running along the promenade. I get frightened that they might knock me over. The last time I went we had a new bus driver and I just took against him. The bus was packed and I had a job getting a seat. The town depresses me. Everyone wearing shorts and sandals. Varicose veins on display like ancient blue maps. I hate going anywhere at this time of the year.

  Dave Tontine has lived at Paradise Lodge for seven years. A tall thin man in his late seventies he was generally seen wearing denim jeans and a baseball cap with an NY emblem on it. Ever since his wife Rosy died, he hadn't wanted to live alone with his dog in the three bedroom council house he and his wife had lived in since they were married. When the chance of a flat at the sheltered housing unit for the fit but elderly came up, he had been glad to move.

  He had fitted in quite well as he was willing to make himself available to the elder residents, after all he would say "I might need help myself one day."

  Lately however he had started to feel resentful. It's all take and no give he told himself. Even those who offered him a cup of tea passed it out through the window rather than invite him inside, and it was invariably the prelude to a request to get a little bit of shopping for them. He had hoped that he might find a new soul mate but most of the ladies weren't interested. He had had the temerity the previous summer to buy himself a skateboard and had been seen flying down the road to the shops on it, with Toby in hot pursuit, until he fell off and knocked himself out. He hadn't been seen on it since and rumour was that he had given it to a charity shop.

  Mrs Johnston whose husband had died recently had made her feelings plain to him "I am not looking for a new romance, I can’t be doing with all that stuff,

  I shall remain loyal to my Bert".

  After sixty years together and at age eighty-three, she had just celebrated her birthday, that was understandable, he thought. She was a bit old for him anyway and should have been grateful for any offer. Some of the younger ones weren't too bad though. You wouldn't kick them out of bed he was often heard to declare.

  That snooty Mrs Bond for instance, skinny cow but kept herself smart and clean. Very important cleanliness was. His Rosy, shower or good wash down every day until the last few years when she had not been up to it. How she had cried when she found herself letting things go. She had even encouraged him to wash down several times a week, which was several times more than his friends and he still did it although there was no longer any need, old habits die hard.

  He had tried experimenting with after-shave although you had to be careful.

  He remembered a friend of his who had been thrown out of his rented rooms during the fifties for using aftershave as the landlord had told him only poofs wear that sort of stuff. Remembering using Bay Rum in his youth he had been surprised to find it still being sold in his local pharmacy. He had bought a bottle but it hadn't seemed to have the effect it had had in his teens for apart from prompting a comment from the Widow Bond that someone should take a look at the drains nobody had taken any notice.

  He had invited Mrs Bond to his flat to watch a DVD with him but she had refused. Served her right she had missed a brilliant film that he had got off the market. Return of the Killer Zombies. It had scared the life out of him and he told the Captain that he reckoned that if she had come it would have scared the knickers off of her.

  Still it had only cost a £1 off the woman who copied them onto discs from the originals that she told him she borrowed from the Video shop. So it helped her pay for her rental fee.

  That Captain Smythe was a jumped up little so and so with all his airs and graces. You would think he was still in the army the way he trie
d to bully everybody.

  Dave had been a corporal during the war even if he had been quickly demoted back to private for black-market dealing and knew how to deal with career soldiers like Smythe. Anyone could become a Captain if they had the education and signed on for long enough.

  Would be very surprised if he was a real captain at all. Must admit though that he carried himself well. Very upright and all that, like he had a broom stuck up his backside. Always asking me to fetch this or that from the town, as he was busy. Not too busy to go to the betting shop though. Never asked me to collect his winnings for him did he? Oh no.

  Today was another day just like all the others. No post, not that any was expected. The only post he got was a bill from the gas or electric. Never seemed to go down, always up and up. The fault of that Thatcher woman, privatising them, and that new bloke in the Labour hadn't done anything about re-nationalising them.

  Couldn't even afford a train ride nowadays. Still he did have his bus pass. That was a real bonus being able to get the bus for free. Sometimes he just got a bus and stayed on until the end of the journey then came back. He gazed wearily across the compound.

  The gardener has cut the grass too short again and brown patches are showing. I’ll have to have a word with him. The whole garden looks tired. Roses will need dead heading soon, shouldn’t have needed doing for ages yet. Livingstone daisies are making a nice show turning to face the sun. He rolled another fag.

  This global warming would be the death of the garden, what with water rationing and suchlike. Mind you it's nice to sit out in the garden if only people didn't keep disturbing you talking all the time.

  Dave liked a pint and spent his time between helping Smythe organise the activities, enjoying a pint at the Red Lion a couple of evenings a week. Rosy would have understood. It was just that he got so lonely without her. One day followed another. Nothing happened. Except the gradual decline and transfer to residential homes or death for the lucky ones.

  There were times when he wished it would all end. Life lacks any sense of purpose. I just wish God would come and take me. Some nights he just cried himself to sleep, although he would die before he let anyone ever know. An air of desperation hangs over everything. The grass is dying, so are the flowers and so are the people. The heat will be killing more than the winter frosts. Death and desolation everywhere, perhaps I should turn it into one of them Zen Gardens where they just have a lot of stones that they rake.

  The garden certainly needs a bit of work done on it but every time I get stuck in along would come ‘The Captain’ wanting to talk or trying to get me to do jobs for him. That man can be a pain in the backside at times.

  Captain Smythe, the Warden, had lived at Paradise Lodge since it opened twenty years previously. He had moved here with his good lady Grace who had taken on the position of Warden. He had never actually held a job in civilian life, explaining to Grace that people were prejudiced against old soldiers. “Well you certainly know how to play the old soldier aright,” she had said during one of their rare arguments.

  On her death of cancer five years ago he had been threatened with homelessness until someone had suggested that he ask whether he could take over as the warden and the landlord had agreed.

  It had been a sinecure, leaving much of the day to his self after his early morning rounds spent checking nobody had died on him during the night.

  Then coffee mornings which once he had collected everyone’s money he could ignore, until the afternoon when he was expected to organise and mix in their social activities.

  Even that had not been difficult. Organising Bingo two afternoons a week, charging them £1 and then using the money to pay out as prizes. He usually managed to slip a pound or two into his own pocket. The occasional Whist on Thursdays, and the television whenever they required. Dave took a lot of the work off his hands; acting as a gofer for the ladies and doing a bit of gardening to keep the place looking a bit cared for. Yes every home should have a Dave.

  Martin Smith had come a long way since his youth. Seven years in the army as a valet and dogsbody to General Cambell-Mc'Gregor before being advised to resign over a suspected theft, had stood him in good stead, teaching him that work was not something that he wanted to get involved with. He had learnt how those people behaved and aped their mannerisms so well that he would defy anyone to not mistake him for the real thing. That was when he decided to change the spelling of his name to Smythe.

  He settled down with his mug of tea and copy of the Racing Post. He needed to pick something that would pay good odds as he was finding it a job to make ends meet.

  Grace had done all the housekeeping. Giving him an allowance each Friday so that he had a bit of independence. She had turned a blind eye to his little excursions to the bookies on a Saturday afternoon and shared in his gloom over a loss and joy over a win. In fact the wins had been a bit on the short side lately.

  'Diodes Boy in the first race at Wolverhampton, second favourite at three to one, followed by The Major evens favourite in the 3.50 and Pimp Me in the four o clock at Lingfield at seven to two, another second favourite. Finally Dave's Delight in the 4.30 at Cheltenham at five to one. Put them in a £1 Yankee and he would have eleven bets. Six doubles, four trebles and an accumulator. That should bring him in a tidy sum if they all won'. He calculated on a sheet of paper. First two horses would bring in £6, first and third would bring in another £11 that would then go onto the other horses. He couldn't lose. But then all the other horses he had placed bets on this season had also been dead certs.

  Now he had already lost £30 this week. He would have to have another word with George.

  George Peers and he had got together over a pint when George had told him about this new computer program he had obtained which guaranteed winners. Some of the tips George had passed on had won a few pounds although they tended to be at such short odds that it was hardly worth making a bet. That was when George had explained about Yankee bets to him. His first bet of that type had cost him £11 but had returned £100 after a few nail-biting moments.

  The bookie had said, "Looks like you've got a winning system there mate, don't forget to give us a chance to win it back."

  He had a few wins and then had decided to win big money. That was when things had started to go wrong.

  Well he didn't have time to check this one out with George, the first race began in thirty minutes and the program took about two hours to set up and compute all the horses. He rolled another fag, how did that Joe Harness manage to afford those fancy foreign tailor made cigarettes?

  I have decided that perhaps I ought to register with a Doctor after all I am not getting any younger and you never know when you might need one at my age. I saw a surgery in the town that looked quite clean so I went in to enquire how I could get onto their books. Once I told them that I had recently moved into the area there was no problem. I had to see a nurse and the receptionist said that if I was prepared to wait for a little while the nurse would fit me in this morning.

  A plump middle-aged lady called me through and introduced herself.

  “Hello Mrs Bond, please take a seat. I am Teresa Cowbell the practice nurse and I understand you wish to register with this practice. Is that right?”

  “Yes I recently moved here and thought I better had.”

  “Yes always a wise move. How are you finding it here? I see you have moved from the Midlands, do you have relatives here?”

  “No but I think the area is very nice.”

  “Good, well I will just take your blood pressure, height and weight. Are you on any medication at the moment?”

  “No I’m feel fine.”

  “Yes you certainly seem to be healthy, I just wish more of our patients were like you.”

  “I have always looked after myself. Don’t think I’ve had a days illness in my life so I won’t be bothering the doctor much,” I explained.

  “That’s good, some older people can be so tiresome, but we will still have to acce
pt them. I will send off to your previous health authority for your medical notes.”

  “Yes of course I understand. Thank you.“

  Later that day I asked Pamela if she could contact Arthur as I had some questions I needed to ask. She let me into her flat, it’s the first time I have been inside. It was painted Magnolia throughout. On one wall were two geese in flight with a space between them where another had been. She saw me looking and remarked sadly.

  “The other one flew away. Now how can I help you?”

  “I would like you to contact my Arthur.”

  “Very well I will try but I am not always successful. Besides not everyone likes the answers.”

  “If you could just do your best, I would be most grateful.”

  There was a large bookcase fitted into an alcove and filled with all sorts of books. Many of them Mythologies, books of spells and Tarot. A crystal ball stood on the middle shelf with a Buddha statue either side of it. The carpet was a sort of yellow and red pattern with a dragon in the middle and tassels on the end.

  We sat across from each other at a circular table.

  Pamela lay back in her chair and seemed to go into a stupor but apart from gurgling nothing happened.

  “Could you give me something that belonged to him?