by DH Smith
Or her own, if it came to that.
All she could do was watch. Poor man. Say sympathetic things. Which was in truth why she stayed. She had compassion for the man, while Ian, although accepting the ambulance had to be called, regarded the man as a nuisance, getting in the way of the proper work of the park. A dosser, though not a foreigner which Ian would have preferred, being the unquestionable cause of all the country’s problems. At such times, Ian seemed to have a flagpole up his back, the red, white and blue flapping over his head to the tune of Rule Britannia. Though she had to admit, he could be pragmatic. The ambulance had been called. And she’d heard, not altogether clearly, that Zar was going on day release. So maybe, she was too hard on Ian.
‘The ambulance’ll be here soon,’ she said to the man. ‘I’ll just give your face a wash.’
‘Yes,’ said the man weakly, ‘don’t want to stink out the place.’
She took the flannel from the bowl of warm water by her side, squeezed it out and wiped gently round the man’s face. The grime eased away. She wrung the flannel again and went back over.
‘You’re not bad looking under that lot,’ she said.
‘Gonna take me out to the pictures then?’ said the man, ending in a fit of coughing.
‘You’re not going anywhere for a while,’ she said. ‘Don’t talk, and give me one of your hands.’
The man held a hand out and she washed it with the flannel. The water in the bowl was dirty, maybe she was just moving the muck around, but it was easier than talking to Ian. Not after his ultimatum. Marry me or I’ll get you thrown out on to the street. Well, she could leave, of course. Resign before he exposed her. And once she’d left might he not bother with the worst? Might she still get a reference?
Who knows? She had the feeling, though, he’d go for the jugular. And she’d lose her lovely house, and any chance of a job in her field. How could she talk to the man, in any civilised way? She either wanted to claw his eyes out or prostrate herself before him, beg to keep her life.
She mustn’t simply give in. In the mess hut, she’d been aggressive and given him no room. In her own place, the right atmosphere, she might get a better deal out of him. Some halfway house. Was that possible?
She heard Ian shuffling over her shoulder.
‘Where’s that damned ambulance?’
She’d thought once, she could change him. Gradually draw him down from his superior plinth. It must be possible. But then you don’t have to sleep with someone for that. Well she had, and he was who he was. Put her error down to loneliness, to living in the park, associating him with it, the cottage, the space, wanting somehow to control it, own it almost, and with him, the two of them, somehow it would be hers too.
It had all been so ill thought out.
But now, she must be clear headed. Get the best she could out of this. Choose the place, make the occasion.
‘Ian,’ she said, putting the flannel back into the bowl. ‘I’ve been thinking… Will you come to lunch at my place?’
‘Of course,’ he said, a little warily.
‘I don’t want to say anything now,’ she said holding up a hand, ‘as I’m not totally clear, but I will be by lunchtime.’
‘I’ll come,’ he said. ‘And I hope we can settle things.’
‘So do I.’
Ian bent forward. ‘Liz,’ he said, ‘we could do so much together, make this park ours. It’ll all be different. I’ve changed a lot.’
‘Lunchtime,’ she said. ‘This is not the place.’
‘Of course.’ Ian straightened himself as if he’d just been proposing, which perhaps he had been. He looked down at the prone man. ‘He should be at the Salvation Army. Not in the park.’
She tipped the dirty water into the grass and wrung out the flannel.
‘They won’t have you with drink,’ said the man croakily.
‘We won’t have you drunk or sober,’ retorted Ian. He turned to Liz. ‘I’m going to get a cup of tea. Lunchtime then. I know you lay on a good spread. I’ll send Amy out here with a cup of tea and a chair.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘Would you bring a glass of water for him?’
Ian nodded and glanced at his watch. ‘The ambulance shouldn’t be much longer.’ He bent down to the man. ‘It’s more than you deserve, mate, but you’re in good hands with Liz.’
He left them, crossing the lawn and disappearing behind the marquee, accepting the man was no competition.
She sighed with relief. That was done. Now she had to think what to say to him. To salvage something. Though, she was certain of one thing; she wasn’t going to marry him.
‘A fine mess we’re in,’ she said to her patient, and half chuckled. ‘How did you get here?’
‘Over the fence from Balaam Street,’ he said, flapping a hand in its vague direction.
Which was an answer, but not to the question she was really asking. How did you get to the point where all you own are a sleeping bag and two carrier bags? Could this be her if she said no to Ian? Jobless, homeless. On the skids.
A tear slid down the edge of her nose. She wiped it away with a finger. It was for the man, not for herself. She would cope, somehow. She needed to accept the worst that could happen to her. Even so, she would not be here, laid out in the park. It might be a close call, but not now. Ten years ago perhaps. She could get a van, do private gardening. She had a way forward; all the better to face Ian. Not helpless, but with a possible path.
Say goodbye to the park.
She looked down at the man, the veins in the white of his eyes. She smoothed his brow. He smiled back at her. Someone’s child, someone’s brother. Jesus would say hers. My heavens, that was a lot to take on. A responsibility for others. Time perhaps that she should. Instead of just painting the world, shouldn’t she be part of it? Change things a little. Instead of saying what a shame it’s such a mess outside this park and her cosy cottage.
Even if she lost it.
She heard the siren. At last. The medics had come to take him away, to a ward of white coats and nurses’ uniforms, to patch him up and send him back out to drink himself insensible.
‘Somewhere warm and dry tonight,’ croaked the man. ‘That’ll be good. Hot food in the hospital. Might spin it out a couple of weeks… Eh love?’
And she thought how long she might spin it out for. She could of course accept Ian and accept all that came with. And keep her house and job. But she knew she couldn’t. And once she’d told him that, if Ian exposed her lie to HR, then she could be sacked on the spot. No notice. Instant dismissal. She might get a few weeks in the house. But elephantine thought of moving everything. Furniture, crockery, linen, clothes. And where to?
‘You can’t beat hot grub,’ said the man. ‘Three regular meals a day. In the warm. Getting chilly these nights.’ He gave her a toothy smile. ‘I hope it’s Newham General, not Whipps Cross.’
‘I’m sure it’ll be Newham,’ she said giving his hand a squeeze. ‘It’s only half a mile away. Warm and dry for you there. Good food. They’ll look after you.’
‘Just like a holiday,’ said the man.
Chapter 10
Jack sat on the wall, a few feet from the section he was taking down, which was now just a few brick courses from ground level. His thermos and bag of sandwiches were beside him on the flat top. It was warm, he hadn’t wanted to stay in the mess hut for his tea break, though he’d been invited to when he went in to wash his hands. He’d pleaded the sunshine, and that was true enough, but he’d rather be alone with his thoughts.
Liz was still a maybe. He’d clocked that much from the look she gave him, the smile by the side of the sick man, though she was too caught up in her Florence Nightingale ministrations for conversation. It somewhat disgusted him that he could consider sexual adventures on such occasions. But hormones are psychopaths. Just as well no one could read his mind. His selfish forebrain, sprinkled with a deceitful flavouring of sympathy to make him appear civilised.
If she d
idn’t happen, then he should invite the leafy woman over. Or would he be confirming the invite she’d already made for herself? Either way, he could press her to make a date of it or at least be straight with him. He could go and see her at lunch. Though she might be in the mess hut with everyone else and he’d have to entice her out somehow, with everyone watching. So what? He’d be away in the next few days. Let them say what they liked about him. She was racy, no doubt about that. But a manipulator too. Who was calling the kettle black? Working out his chances with either of the two women. But he’d seen Leafy on the phone a little while back, her machine switched off, in animated chat. Either fixing up something for this evening or teasing some other berk.
How can you trust anyone?
Commonsense told him Liz was the better of the two. They’d talked, not sparred. She was attractive and listened. Arty too. She’d hinted at a telescope session in the park. Could be arranged, she’d said. More than a hint. But the other, the leaf woman, was up front and asking for it. Or a hot tease.
Between musings, he’d kept half an eye on the paramedics. The ambulance had pulled into the park a few minutes ago. The vehicle had parked maybe thirty yards beyond Jack, by the side of the tennis courts. A man and a woman had jumped out of the cab, he would’ve shown them where to go, but Ian had come out of the yard and immediately taken over. He directed them across the grass with their stretcher, one or the other coming back every so often to get bits and pieces out of the ambulance. He couldn’t see what was going on with the invalid because of the marquee in the way.
An old man was coming towards him, walking slowly with a briar cane. He was wearing a greyish suit and what they called a pork pie hat. Jack hadn’t seen one of them for years. An odd item to perch on your head. It didn’t seem very stable. The man had passed the ambulance and stopped for a little while by the tennis courts to watch what the paramedics were up to before continuing his stroll.
Jack thought about having a bite. He was peckish. Maybe half his sandwiches now with a second cup, save the other for lunch.
‘Good morning,’ said the old man when he reached Jack.
‘Morning,’ said Jack. ‘What they doing down there?’
‘Couldn’t see much.’ The old man shrugged. ‘An injection maybe and getting him on the stretcher… I live over there you know. That house. My son’s the manager here. He said it’s another of those Eastern Europeans.’
Jack could see the man’s false teeth slipping. The old man pushed them in.
‘We get a lot of them sleeping in here. They climb over the fence at night. We should have Alsatians wandering about. That’d keep ‘em out.’
‘He’s English,’ said Jack. ‘From Hertfordshire.’
The man was disappointed, not knowing what to say about natives of Hertfordshire.
‘Makes a change,’ he said at last.
‘How long you lived over there?’ said Jack, hoping to change the subject.
‘Five years. Since I retired. I was a foreman myself, sort of like my son. I got another son, he’s a teacher, his marriage blown to bits. Lives up in Manchester.’ He sniffed, looking at the wall Jack was working on. ‘You’re doing a good job cleaning them bricks.’
‘Thank you,’ he said, grateful to have got the man off his diatribe. ‘I’m going to reuse them.’
‘I was a brickie myself, before I got made up to foreman.’ He wagged his finger, reminiscent of his son, ‘I could hump twenty bricks on a hod, and run up three ladders with ‘em.’
Jack didn’t believe him, having heard this too many times on sites. A stupid boast anyway, with too many old builders ending up with back trouble.
‘One in each hand is enough for me,’ said Jack with a smile.
The man blew a raspberry. ‘I’d’ve sacked you in five minutes.’
‘I’d get the union on you.’
‘Bleeding unions!’ His stick was waving fiercely to battle off union tigers. ‘Rainy day payments. Health and safety, this, that and the other. All a way of skiving off.’
‘People die on building sites,’ said Jack.
‘People die everywhere. I’m going to die. You’re going to die.’
‘I don’t have to die because scaffolding falls on me.’
‘Codswallop. A load of softy tosh. You and your lot cause all the trouble.’
‘Fine,’ said Jack wearily. ‘And if you don’t mind, I’d like to have my tea in peace.’
From behind the marquee, the paramedics appeared, stretchering the ill man, followed by Ian and Liz.
‘How much is that costing us?’ exclaimed the old man. ‘Ambulance, doctors, nurses, drugs… All coming out of our taxes.’
‘I’m having my tea,’ said Jack in annoyance. ‘That man is ill. Why don’t you go off and kick a tree? And leave me alone.’
‘Filth,’ exclaimed the old man and spat by Jack’s foot. ‘Union scum.’
‘And Merry Christmas to you too, pal,’ said Jack with a cheery wave.
The paramedics had laid their charge in the ambulance. One of them was putting a blanket over him, the other climbing out of the back. And then the doors were pulled shut from the inside. The paramedic outside, a woman in mauve overalls, ran round to the front and was quickly in the cab. The vehicle started up and began to back slowly up the drive beeping, on its way to the main gate. The old man pressed against the wall to give the ambulance room.
Once the vehicle had come past, Ian and Liz were approaching, watching its progress along the drive.
‘What’d they reckon?’ said Jack to Liz who’d stopped close by.
She shrugged. ‘Heart attack. He’ll probably need an operation. And then he’ll be back out on the streets. And then what? Winter’ll be here in a few weeks. No one should be on the streets.’
‘Poor bloke,’ said Jack, lacking the mental wherewithal to remedy the country’s injustices.
The old man was talking to his son and waving his stick in Jack’s direction. Jack wondered what the old man was telling him. Not likely to be complimentary, but then the manager already had his own views, so what did it matter?
‘I’m sorry about our tea,’ she said.
He turned to her and smiled, pleased to have someone more pleasant than the cantankerous old man to converse with.
‘These things happen,’ he said.
‘I couldn’t do much for him really,’ she said, ‘but I didn’t want to leave him with Ian. Not that he’d have kicked his head in or anything. But he just hates anyone trespassing in his park.’
‘So does his old man.’
‘They take it personally,’ she said. ‘As if they own it.’ She sighed. ‘And now I’d better get some work done.’
‘Might I come over with my telescope this evening?’ She looked at him, eyes arched. ‘You said earlier…’
She was thoughtful, biting her lip. Was she going to slam this one away?
‘I’ve got an evening class this evening,’ she said at last. ‘You could come about nine. I’ll make us a bite of supper…’
‘And I’ll show you Mars and the Andromeda Galaxy.’
Chapter 11
Rose wondered who else she might text. Or maybe go for that builder. He wasn’t a bad looker and seemed keen enough. She didn’t want another night in the bowling green pavilion. It got so cold in the early hours. She shivered to think of herself last night with all her clothes on and her knees huddled to her chest. There’s the payoff for a cheap sleeping bag, OK for a midsummer night at Glastonbury but not much else.
She’d make a play at lunchtime. Firm up the invite. And if one of her texts came up, maybe drop him or maybe not. Why not give him a try? Couldn’t be worse than some of the fumblers she’d had. OK when stoned, unbearable in the light of day. It was inviting them back to Liz’s which got her kicked out. Her sister was as staid as a nun; five years older but you’d think Liz was her mother. Still, it had to be admitted the cottage was warm. Lovely and warm, no fares, and Liz always had food in the house, and di
dn’t bug her for money, well – not that much. The hassles were about cleaning up and the racket at four in the morning, with men who came and went.
The problem was, useless men or otherwise, she was a night person. Could she help that? She could function on three hours’ sleep. Day wasn’t her time.
Back to the builder, she had yet to suss out the basics. Typical, her mother might say, if she ever gave her the chance. Anyone can flirt; that proved nothing. The guy might be married with three screaming kids. So check it out that he had a place on his own. She wasn’t pushing for a screw in the back of his van, and then to be bundled out into the cold night air.
Jack of All Trades, she’d seen it on his van. That gave her a chuckle. She might just test it out.
There were maybe a dozen children present in the playground as she came in with the vac, all pre-school, with their mothers. She’d hate to be trapped with a sprog all day. Her idea of hell, stuck with a pushchair, fully attendant on a two year old, grasping and hollering. She shuddered. Even worse than a leaf vac.
A couple were gossiping as they pushed their toddlers on the swings, a regular haunt, she recognised them. A child of unknown sex was expertly climbing the net rope pyramid, watched by a mother who pleaded with him/her to be careful, Frankie.
Frankie had reached the top with Mummy pleading with him/her to come down. But Frankie was smart, and was sticking it out as she upped the offer: a bar of chocolate, sausages and beans for dinner, an ice cream. Frankie came quickly down.
Amy came out of the playground office, hardly an office really with its single chair and small table. She was a short, heavy woman who’d put on extra weight since being put on a regime of diabetic pills over the last year. All those steroids, she’d said, instead of making her into an Olympic athlete had made her a puffball. Though to her surprise, she’d discovered her husband preferred her big, which just went to show. Over her blonde, streaked hair, she wore a green woolly hat that she’d crocheted to go with her park’s overalls. She saw Rose, gave her a wave and crossed to her.
