George strolled along to the popular bakery, collected a loaf and returned to his car. He climbed in and drove down the street. Only five minutes away from the busy shopping centre was the quiet tree lined road in which he lived. He pulled up in front of an elegant detached house.
‘I’m home, dear,’ he said, opening the front door.
Joan was bending over the washing machine as George walked into the kitchen. He was about to give her an affectionate pat, when some apparent sixth sense caused her to straighten up.
‘Did you get the bread?’
‘Yes. I got a French loaf.’
‘You know white bread isn’t good for you. You need the fibre.’
‘I thought it would make a nice change,’ George defended himself.
‘I hope you’re not going to interfere with the way I run things, now you’re home all the time.’
He sighed.
‘Goodness knows, Joan, the last thing I want is to encroach on your domain.’
‘As long as you know I’m not intending to change my routine. I managed when you were at the office, and I’ll carry on managing. Why don’t you take up golf or something, now that you’re at a loose end?’
‘I thought we’d do things together,’ he said, a little hurt at her eagerness to find him outside occupations. And she still hadn’t remembered the birthday.
‘Well, of course we’ll be doing some things together,’ she relented. ‘But not all the time.’
George sat himself down and picked up the paper.
‘Before you settle down...,’ she said.
He looked up.
‘I’ve got a confession to make.’
‘Yes?’
‘I meant to send some bits and bobs for the church sale, and I completely forgot.’
‘You don’t really expect me to go back again. Your bits and pieces can’t be that important. Give them to a charity shop.’
‘George, I promised the vicar. I can’t let him down. And – there is another reason.’
‘Well, what is it?’
‘Betty’s popping over for coffee. We’ve got some new recipes to discuss. You won’t want to be bothered with us girls and our gossip, will you? But I’ll make a really nice lunch, so get home at twelve thirty.’
She dumped two carrier bags of clothes at George’s feet and he put down the paper and glowered. He didn’t argue - just picked them up and left the house. He couldn’t believe her charitable donations were that important. He wondered, for a moment if she had a lover, rather than a visiting neighbour, but that at least made him laugh. The truth was, she just wanted to get rid of him. He’d been evicted.
Feeling angry and impotent, he went back to the high street. He found a parking place. He stomped into the church, and delivered the carrier bags to a pair of willing arms, aware of being amongst a large quantity of young mothers and middle aged women. He noted the paucity of men of any age. Where did they all go? What did they do when their working lives were over and their wives didn’t want or need them?
The vicar approached him. No doubt he appreciated seeing another male.
‘Ah, Mr Harkness. I’m so glad that you’re supporting us. Have you bought a ticket for the tombola?’
George took out some change and dipped into the container of tickets. One of them was a winning number and rewarded him with a jar of pickle.
‘Thought I might get the champagne, Vicar. Though goodness knows I haven’t got much to celebrate.’
The vicar’s face became solicitous. ‘Not problems with the family, I hope, Mr Harkness. I was so sorry to hear of your daughter’s divorce.’
‘Well that’s water under the bridge now, Vicar. She’s making a new life for herself. No, I’m afraid I’m being entirely selfish. I’m an active man and I don’t know what to do with myself. I’ve only been retired a week and it’s driving me round the bend!’
‘DIY?’ suggested the vicar, his voice hesitant.
‘You must be joking.’
‘Bridge, perhaps.’
‘Vicar, I don’t need pastimes. I want a whole new life. I want something to get my teeth into.’
The vicar looked at him over the top of his half-glasses. ‘It was rather remiss of your company to let you go without any retirement preparation, Mr Harkness.’
‘They had seminars,’ growled George. ‘To tell you the truth, Vicar, I couldn’t take any interest. I didn’t feel as if it was really going to happen.’
‘Retirement doesn’t suit everyone, Mr Harkness. But let’s keep things in perspective. It’s a problem, not a tragedy.’
‘And how am I going to solve it, Vicar?’
The vicar scratched his head. ‘Mr Harkness, I will look around, though I have to say that nothing springs immediately to mind. There are so many people with more acute problems at the moment. Recession, house repossessions. One sees terrible tragedies caused by debt.’ He lowered his voice slightly. ‘Take that young man over there.’ He nodded in the direction of a thin worried youth, pouring over second hand children’s clothes. ‘His wife’s just had a baby. He’s lost his job. No money coming in. How can we help someone like that?’
‘Those sort of problems need careful management. Isn’t there some sort of financial advice centre where you can send him?’
‘I’ve recommended the Citizens Advice Bureau, though I know they’re overwhelmed with people with the same problem. They need more expert help themselves.’
He stopped short and stared at George.
‘That’s an inspiration, Vicar. That’s somewhere I might be needed.’
He strolled around the hall thinking, and browsing through the products on sale at the same time. There were some home baked cakes, but he dared not take any of those, or Joan might think he was getting at her. The white elephant stall revealed some old china that was rather attractive, and he wondered if he should start collecting antiques and visit the Antiques Roadshow. But most of the stuff on display was decidedly tatty. He hurried past the pile of musty smelling second hand clothes.
It was no use. He couldn’t kill any more time here. George ambled towards the door, past the tombola stall which was almost the only thing worth putting money into. He felt embarrassed to be leaving so quickly. ‘I’ll have some more tickets,’ he said holding out a pound to the Vicar.
‘Two hundred and nine. That’s a winner. The bottle of red wine someone brought in this morning. That’s poetic justice; she said you told her to donate it,’ said the Vicar, obviously pleased with this outcome.
George peered at the label on the bottle. Reading glasses or their absence were another irritation brought on by the passing years. He could just make out a heart and arrow motif, but it wasn’t a logo he recognised.
He wandered out and, placing the wine in his car, strolled on to the library. He was not a great reader, but the thought of returning so soon to Joan and her friend was off-putting.
He walked up to the librarian, a blonde woman of about thirty with an ample bosom, kept in check by a severely buttoned blouse.
‘Have you got the book of that TV serial that was on some time back - can’t remember the name - about this middle-aged man - bit of a rough diamond - that has an affair with a University lecturer.’
‘“Nice Work”,’ replied the librarian without hesitation.
‘Nice work if you can get it,’ said George, giving her a meaningful wink.
‘The book is called “Nice Work”,’ said the librarian. She returned his twinkle with a cold glance.
‘Snooty bitch,’ murmured George. ‘The woman in the story, I mean. Where will I find it?’
The book in hand, he returned it to her for stamping. ‘Oh, by the way, where’s the CAB office? Is it round here?’
‘Right next door,’ answered the woman. ‘But I doubt if they can help you with your problem.’
He laughed and made a mental note to return. He liked a woman with a bit of spirit. And the buttons on that blouse were almost asking to be undone.
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He looked at his watch. Lunch at twelve thirty. There was still plenty of time to call in at the Citizens’ Advice Bureau.
It was literally the building next door. A pleasant middle aged woman was just about to put up a closed sign.
‘We’re closed until two thirty now, sir.’
‘But it’s not even midday yet.’
‘Yes sir, we can’t get the advisers.’
‘Well, that’s the very reason I’m here. Your luck is in. I’ve come to help.’
‘Hold on a minute. What sort of help are you offering?’ she asked, smiling, an engaging dimple appearing in her cheek.
‘Well, I’m - I was an accountant. Financial help or advice, I suppose.’
‘Financial advice.’ Her eyes gleamed. ‘Look no further. We could certainly do with that sort of help. Since interest rates rocketed, we’re getting a mass of people coming in with terrible debts. Most of them have no idea how to sort themselves out.’
He relaxed and smiled.
‘When can I come?’ he asked.
‘It’s not that simple. I’ll have to arrange for a panel interview.’
‘I was hoping we could talk about it now.’ George said, used to getting his own way.
‘Look, I’ve got a lot of paperwork to get through - that’s why I was shutting up shop - but I could give you a broad idea of some of the problems we’re dealing with. If you’ve got a half an hour now, we could have a cup of coffee and talk about it.’
His smile broadened. He felt instinctively they were going to have a good working relationship.
He arrived back home in much better spirits. He was surprised to see his daughter’s car in the drive.
‘Joan, I’m home. Is that Elaine’s car outside?’
‘You’re late,’ replied his wife, coming into the hall. ‘We were worried about you. Elaine and Alex have come to join us for a birthday lunch.’
His daughter followed her mother out of the dining room and hugged him, and her small son approached, fists at the ready for a ritual exchange of punches.
‘My birthday. I’d forgotten,’ he lied, ruffling the boy’s hair, pleased that he had been wrong. ‘We can celebrate with this bottle of wine that I won.’
‘I can do better than that,’ said his wife. ‘I’ve got some champagne.’
He followed the women into the dining room. The table was laid for lunch with the bone china dinner set and silver cutlery, which they saved for special occasions. A platter of dressed salmon, a dish of asparagus tips and bowls of various other salads met his eyes. The champagne rested in a bucket of ice.
‘Well, you’ve pushed the boat out,’ he exclaimed, now really surprised.
‘I didn’t mean to be unkind this morning,’ said Joan smiling. ‘I just wanted a chance to get everything ready. And of course, it is more difficult to do things with someone under your feet.’
She was a good wife, really, George thought; she was like the salmon - good quality plain fare. One could say she just lacked a little mayonnaise but, fortunately, his additional activities acted as the dressing and enhanced their marriage.
He smiled at his wife, warmly, guiltlessly.
‘Why don’t you open the champagne, George? Did you get any ideas while you were out?’
The cork shot across the room and George poured the sparkling liquid into the waiting glasses.
‘Yes, I’ve been digging around a bit and I’ve got a few new ideas. Might even involve some evening work,’ he added, wondering how long the librarian would take to loosen up.
‘Well, that’s wonderful. Happy birthday, George,’ said Joan, lifting her glass.
Elaine raised her glass and said, turning to her parents, ‘To your future and new interests.’
George smiled, a small twinkle in his eye. ‘Bottoms up.’
The trio clinked glasses.
Chapter 10: Going Solo
(Friday)
‘I’m glad you brought Alex over,’ Joan said. ‘Your father loves having his grandson here. Makes him feel young again, playing those boys games.’
They were in the kitchen loading the dishwasher, whilst George and Alex were indulging in a noisy game of cricket in the garden.
‘Does that mean he was disappointed that he only had a daughter?’
‘Now you know better than that, Elaine. You always were the apple of his eye.’
She means he spoiled me, thought Elaine, without commenting. Her instincts told her that her mother was leading the conversation towards some sort of a lecture and she should find some way of diverting her.
She closed the dishwasher and smiled, ‘Shall we treat ourselves to a cup of tea, whilst the boys are having fun?’
‘Good idea,’ replied Joan, filling the kettle and placing some cups ready. ‘Of course, he misses Tony. He was really upset at your divorce.’
So the conversation was headed in the usual direction. It was one of her mother’s, “You never had it so good, so why did you let him go?” lectures.
‘I wouldn’t have been able to bring Alex, if it hadn’t been half term holiday,’ she commented, again trying diversionary tactics.
‘I wondered why he wasn’t at school. How did you manage during the week? You know you could have brought him here.’
‘I took two or three days off work, and of course he’s been with friends as well. He likes to be in his own home. He has enough disruption.’ The words were out before she could stop them. Cue for mother.
‘Divorce is always hard on children, especially at his age. Young people today don’t work hard enough at it. Didn’t Tony have him this holiday?’ Joan asked.
‘Tony’s collecting him tonight and having him for the weekend.’ Elaine sat down at the kitchen table.
‘He’s a good father.’
‘I’ve never disputed that.’
‘You should have hung on to him. Women have to turn a blind eye to a small indiscretion.’
‘I suppose you mean a few small indiscretions.’
The kettle boiled and Joan poured the water into the teapot and brought it to the table. She put some assorted biscuits on a plate and sat down.
‘You’re so naive, Elaine. Men are different to women. Even the best of them have only one thing on their mind. Surely it’s better to have a quiet life and let them get their needs sorted out somewhere else?’
Elaine picked up a bourbon biscuit and took an aggressive bite.
‘I never had a problem with sex, Mother. I just didn’t like Tony bringing someone else’s perfume into my bedroom.’
‘You didn’t know when you were well off. You had a nice house. Plenty of money.’ Joan poured some milk and tea into the cups. ‘He never minded your spending it. He was generous to you and Alex. You always looked good. Now look at you.’
‘Thank you,’ said Elaine, tightening her lips.
‘And you work all the hours God made. What sort of a life do you have?’
‘I happen to like my job very much, Mother. And my independence.’
‘Are you still taking sugar?’
‘Yes please.’
‘You should use saccharin. You’ll put on weight.’
Elaine ignored this statement and took a Jaffa cake, before Joan continued.
‘He had a lot of good ways, your Tony. Look, he sent your father a birthday card.’
‘He is not my Tony, any more. Yes, I know he has a lot of superficial charm. That was always his speciality. Don’t think I’m totally immune to it.’ She paused to drink a mouthful of tea. ‘But I am not going back to the life I had with him. Disappearing for hours on end, and telling me lies about where he was. Why, he even brought one of his women home once, when he thought I was going to be out all day.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘When I came in, Tony came to the door all flustered. The kitchen door slammed and then I heard a car drive off. Later, I found her French knickers in our bed.’
Joan sniffed and changed tack.
‘S
o you’re off men for life.’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘Well, why don’t you go out a bit more? You’re not going to meet many men on a woman’s magazine.’
‘You’d be surprised how many men work there,’ smiled Elaine. ‘Anyway, I told you, I’m getting away for the weekend. I’m off to stay with Ginnie, tonight, once Tony’s collected Alex.’
‘Ginnie?’
‘Yes, you remember, mother. Ginnie Lawson. Virginia.’
‘Oh yes. I remember now. Quite a nice family, the Lawsons. Well, all I can say is if you’re going off there for the weekend, you’d better smarten yourself up a bit. Didn’t she have a brother? Why don’t you wear some nice green eye shadow instead of that dull grey? It would bring out the colour of your eyes.’
‘I just happen to prefer subtlety.’ Elaine felt her patience wearing thin, now. ‘And the brother works in France.’
‘I’m only telling you for your own good,’ Joan scolded. ‘And as a matter of fact, you want to take more care of your skin. You redheads have very dry skin. You should use some Oil of Ulay. I’ve got some upstairs. I’ll get it for you.’
‘Mother, for heaven’s sake, stop trying to organise me. I’m a grown woman now.’
‘I’m only trying to help. If you’re not careful, you’ll get lines and by the time you’re my age, you’ll look ten years older. Your grandmother had that sort of gingerish hair, and her face was like old parchment. You just put a little on night and morning.’
Elaine stopped smiling and tried to restrain her temper.
‘No Oil of Ulay, mother. READ MY LIPS.‘
‘Why do you use that silly expression?’
‘It was good enough for George Bush. I thought you favoured the Republicans.’
A Bottle of Plonk Page 9