Be Careful What You Wish For

by Vivien Brown

  ‘I don’t know. It would feel like intruding.’

  ‘Nonsense. Any friend of mine is a friend of hers. Always been that way. Although she did take things a bit far the first time she met my mate Ken.’

  ‘Ken, as in Ralph’s dad, you mean? And Joe’s?’

  ‘Yep, that’s the man. We were nothing more than kids back then, of course. I was just a teenager, trying to impress the girls, blagging my way into pubs, and he was a few years older. We hung about in the same groups, often found ourselves at the same football match or the same youth club. I met her first, or that’s what I’ve always argued, although to be honest it was only about thirty seconds before he did. It was a disco, in a neighbouring village, just a small summer thing, and all over by about ten. And he was the one who walked her to the bus stop that first night, and shared a bit of a snog, so she told me later. Didn’t last though. Well, how could it once I’d decided to make my move? A pretty girl, my Barb, back then. Still is, mind you. And it was me she chose.’

  ‘And Ken didn’t mind?’

  ‘How could he? He’d only known her for a few hours. Hardly stealing the love of his life, was I? And he met his own wife soon after anyway. The lovely Janet. Gone now, sadly. I keep hoping he might hook up with someone else, but no joy so far. The boys became his life for so long that he just pushed any idea of another romance aside. Probably too late now, which is a shame. He’s a good bloke. I don’t suppose you …?’

  ‘Trying to match-make now, are you?’ She prodded his arm. ‘No, leave me out of it. Men are off my agenda. Except for my son, and a bit of matchmaking there wouldn’t go amiss if you can work some magic and get us back together, or talking at least. I’m not doing a very good job of it myself.’

  ‘Have you tried, Madi? Really tried? Calling once, and hanging up without leaving a message … well, I think you may have to make a little more effort than that.’

  ‘What size? Eight to nine and a half? Or ten to twelve?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Socks, Tom.’ She held up two different packs, side by side.

  ‘If I didn’t know better I’d say you’re trying to change the subject.’

  Madi didn’t answer.

  ‘And I’m a ten, by the way. You know what they say. Big feet, big …’

  She wanted to laugh, but this time her heart wasn’t in it. What with fretting over Joe’s secret, worrying that Tom was about to palm her off on Ken, and having to deal with George’s obstinate silence, she sometimes couldn’t help but think men were more trouble than they were worth.

  Chapter 23

  So, I’m going to meet her at last. The visitor at number nine. She’s certainly made her mark on the young men around here. First Aaron, and now that boy who does the mowing. Flirting, spreading herself about. It can’t end well.

  And now she’s been shoving notes through doors, trying to get support for some scheme or other, inviting everyone into the flat she’s taken over as if it’s her own, and it seems she wants me there too.

  I’ve never been invited in before. There’s never been any occasion for it. The actress and I have never been friends. She keeps herself to herself, and so do I. Before that solicitor came, I would never have believed we had anything in common. How wrong I was!

  But I’ll have to be careful. Act like it’s all unfamiliar, the inside of her flat, like I don’t know where her fancy sofa is until I sit on it. If I turn up at all, that is. But I’d be crazy not to, wouldn’t I? Although sometimes I think that must be exactly what I am. Crazy. To have kept my silence, let her carry on as if nothing ever happened. She needs to pay for what she did. The actress, that is. Not the other one, although she’s shaping up to be no better.

  She’s still away. I’m hoping something might be said, about why she left, when she’s coming back. If she ever is. Because it’s time I confronted her. It really is. She thinks she’s got away with it all this time, that nobody knows who she is. That’s the trouble with the likes of her. She thinks the past can be put away in a drawer, like her posh knickers or her old theatre programmes. That it can all be written over, wiped clean. Thinks that nobody got hurt, except her. Huh! If only that were true.

  I lost him too. And when someone dies before their time, there’s usually someone to blame. Someone who set them on that path, someone who pushed them over the edge. She was faceless before, but not any more. Now I know her for who she is. For what she is.

  She’s the one. Not the only one, but the only one I can still do something about. The one I can never forgive.

  Chapter 24

  PRUE

  The handful of people who turned up at Prue’s meeting were a varied bunch. She had picked a time when the other tenants should be back home from work, although guessing what their usual evening activities might involve had been a bit of a hit-and-miss affair. Too early and they could still be cooking or eating, too late and they could be getting ready for bed. Ideally, she would have liked to hold the meeting out in the garden itself, but it was dark and cold and they wouldn’t be able to see much, so there didn’t seem a lot of point. Inviting them into Madi’s flat had felt like a bit of a cheek, but Madi had insisted when they’d first made their swapping arrangement that she must treat it as her own, and so she had. She just hoped they weren’t the sort to spill their drink on the carpet or start nicking the silver.

  The leaflets were easy enough to produce on her laptop, with the help of Aaron and his printer, and pushing them through the remaining doors in the block had only taken minutes. Now all she had to do was wait and see who turned up.

  ‘We did say eight o’clock, didn’t we?’ Prue circled the flat again, too nervous to sit down.

  Aaron was busy with his phone and didn’t look up. ‘You know we did.’

  ‘But it’s already five to, and nobody’s here.’

  ‘Exactly. It’s only five to. It’s not as if any of them have far to come, or buses to catch. They won’t have to come out of their doors until eight, will they? Or maybe a minute to, if they want to be on time.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  She went through to the kitchen and re-boiled the kettle, fiddled with the cups, lining all the handles up the same way round, and rearranged the biscuits she had already put out on plates. When the bell rang it made her jump.

  By quarter past eight, six strangers were dotted about the living room, among them Aaron’s mum Suzy, who was nothing like the woman she had imagined. She was quite chubby but attractive in an almost girlish way and could easily pass for ten years younger than her mid-forties, despite the thin scar that ran across her forehead and poked out beneath the fringe of her short blonde hair, which was obviously dyed and, although she probably didn’t know it, was noticeably darker at the roots. She walked carefully across the crowded space, holding her son’s arm, and sat down next to him, one hand resting on his knee. Whether it was to lay claim to him or merely to anchor herself in an unfamiliar room Prue could not be sure. The others all seemed to know her but in a vague sort of way, which wasn’t surprising if she had lived here for a few years but had spent most of them stuck indoors. Prue made a mental note to pay Suzy a visit soon, now that the ice had been broken, and try to get to know her better, especially as she apparently spent so much time alone.

  The youngest amongst the others were Beth and Rob from number 2. They, it appeared, were the ones whose pink baby buggy spent so much time propped against the hall wall downstairs. Their daughter Carrie was spending the night at Beth’s mother’s, meaning they could actually both come out together, which they assured her was a very rare occurrence. Prue got the impression she was probably keeping them from their bed as they both kept yawning and she caught Rob looking at his watch on more than one occasion. They did love the idea of a garden though, especially as an outdoor play space for Carrie, who was just about to turn three, and most of their ideas revolved around getting a swing or a slide and making sure there was enough space to ride a bike.

  Also from t
he ground floor was Stan, who was probably only about sixty but acted as if he was at least twenty years older. A miserable old bugger, he had clearly come along with the sole intention of complaining. All those people banging the garden door and throwing balls against the walls and windows, even though his were at the front and didn’t even overlook the garden. The noise, the disruption, the smell from the barbecues … and for what? A poncey new garden they had all lived perfectly well without all these years. There was grass already. What more did they need? As she refilled Stan’s cup Prue found it hard even to look at him for fear of doing something he could find fault with. Tea too hot, not enough milk, the wrong type of sugar …

  ‘And as for the absent Miss Cardew,’ Stan went on, ‘I wouldn’t bother asking what she thinks of it all. Never see the woman. She’s away half the time.’

  ‘Yes, what interest has she ever shown in the garden?’ Suzy replied. ‘Or in what the rest of us want? You’re right, Stanley. She’s too busy with her play acting.’

  ‘I think she takes it a bit more seriously than that, Mum. She’s done Shakespeare and all. Look, she even won an award.’ Aaron picked up Madi’s statuette from the mantelpiece, eager to come to her defence, and read out the words on the base. ‘The Hamlet Society. Best newcomer. Presented to Madalyn Cardew, 1979. Do you want to hold it, have a feel of it? It’s very shiny, and engraved …’

  ‘Huh! Why would I want to do that? Hamlet Society, indeed. Hardly the Oscars, is it? Put the damn thing down, in case you break it. Besides, that was more than forty years ago. What has she done since, eh? Off round the country, playing little theatres nobody’s heard of. Such a waste, leaving this lovely flat empty so often when we—’

  ‘Okay, Mum. Not now.’

  An air of awkwardness descended.

  Across the room, in Madi’s best armchair, sat Miss Parker from number 3. She was a very small, quiet woman, probably in her eighties, with wrinkled skin and a long straight nose which somehow, in the absence of any first name being offered, lent itself to the obvious nickname of Nosey Parker, which had rapidly sprung into Prue’s head and now refused to go away. Whether the woman was actually nosey remained to be seen as she said very little, just held her cup rigidly, inches above her lap, and turned her head this way and that, like a curious bird, towards whoever happened to be speaking. Which, once Suzy had said her piece and retreated back into silence, tended to be Betty.

  Betty Bloomfield lived at number 8, right next door to Madi, although Prue had never seen her before, not even coming in or out. She gave the impression of being one of those women who lived alone, with nobody to talk to for long periods, and who then can’t stop chattering away nineteen to the dozen the minute they are let loose among a captive audience. By the time she left, Prue knew all there was to know about Betty’s job at the library (probably another reason she talked so much, having to be so quiet all day long), her attempts at line dancing, the crime book she was currently reading, the pills she was on, and her rather erratic thoughts on the government, the church and the weather. Had she actually said anything about the garden? Prue’s head was aching too much to remember.

  ‘So …’ Aaron took the used cups through to the kitchen after everyone but he and his mum had gone, and left them all precariously piled up in the sink as Prue nibbled on the last of the biscuits. ‘Any joy, do you think? Are you going to make anything of the garden, with that lot involved?’

  ‘No idea. I just feel a bit shell-shocked, to tell you the truth. There were still three flats who were no-shows and I’m not sure, for all their turning up and having their say, that any of those who came actually volunteered for anything.’

  ‘Betty did say she could lay her hands on some gardening books, for ideas.’

  ‘Yeah, from the library. Which any one of us could go and borrow just as easily.’

  ‘And Miss Parker sounded like she was up for the bartering thingy. As soon as you mentioned baking an anniversary cake her eyes lit up like candles!’

  ‘If she’s any good. Imagine if it turned out to be some soggy old lopsided sponge with gooseberry jam or something equally hideous sandwiched in the middle! How many planks of wood is that going to get us?’

  ‘Well, she did invite you up for a tasting, so you’ll know soon enough.’

  They returned to the living room and Aaron immediately gravitated back to his mum.

  ‘And that Stan was so negative about everything, I think he could be trouble,’ Prue went on. ‘I can just imagine us planting some flowers and him creeping out there after dark and pulling them all up again. And the couple, Beth and Rob, all they want is a kids’ playground they don’t have to walk down the road to.’

  ‘Giving up then?’ Suzy said. ‘It was worth a try, but if nobody’s interested …’

  ‘Is that what you think we should do? Give up?’

  ‘Depends how much you want to do it really,’ Aaron said, cutting in. ‘We can’t let Stan’s negative attitude rub off on the rest of us, can we, Mum?’

  ‘He’s always been a cantankerous old devil, stirring up trouble, that one. But I still don’t really see why you’d bother, Prue, when Aaron tells me you’ll be leaving so soon.’

  They all fell silent, until Aaron stood up and nudged his mum to do the same.

  ‘We’ll leave you to have a think, Prue, about the garden. But, knowing you, this won’t be the end of it.’

  ‘No, you’re right. Because when I start something, I want to see it through.’

  ‘But you haven’t started, have you?’ Suzy said.

  ‘True, but I’ve been thinking about it so much I can almost see it, and smell it! Of all the ideas knocking about, I can’t get the idea of a sensory garden out of my head. Surely that’s something you could benefit from, Suzy, something you could enjoy … Well, everyone could, and will, I hope. And I don’t think it will take long to do, once we get started. I thought maybe at the weekend, if I can get hold of Simon.’

  ‘And what about Carrie’s swing?’

  ‘I’m really not sure about that. I was hoping for something more tranquil, somewhere where everyone can relax, not have a toddler squealing and kicking her legs in their faces.’

  ‘I don’t think they’ll be living here much longer anyway. Theirs is only a one-bed, and I should think the little girl’s going to need a room of her own pretty soon, never mind a garden.’

  ‘Maybe a sandpit then? Easy to cover over again if it’s not needed in the future. A token gesture, to keep them happy for now? And it’s relatively unobtrusive … and quiet! Can’t go upsetting Stan now, can we?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Suzy said, with more than a hint of sarcasm. ‘Nobody must upset Stan. Never mind the rest of us …’

  ‘She didn’t like me, did she?’

  Aaron shrugged. ‘I’m not sure she likes anybody very much. You notice she didn’t say a word to Miss Parker, or to Betty. She keeps her distance, pretends that because she can’t see them she doesn’t know they’re there, but that’s rubbish. And she certainly can’t stand that miserable old bugger Stan. He can be difficult, but so can she. And she doesn’t like change. I think that comes down to not being able to see things change, if you know what I mean. In her head, everything’s still the way it was when she last set eyes on it. And that includes that scrappy bit of grass outside. Change them and they become alien things that she can’t picture. So, no, I don’t think it’s you she’s taken against. It’s more what you’re hoping to do. And the fact that she doesn’t know you, or what you look like, doesn’t help.’

  Prue nodded.

  ‘I think her main reason for coming to your meeting last night wasn’t really to offer much in the way of help, but to make sure she knows what’s going on and to veto any suggestions the others might come up with, just out of spite. She’s always said Stan’s a scheming old busybody, and you’d think that Miss Parker from down below us was some old witch the way she talks about her. It’s just Mum, I’m afraid. Just the way she is.’

/>   ‘She does sound quite bitter. Do you think it’s some kind of depression? She’s had to go through a lot, and without any real support network around her.’

  ‘She’s got me.’

  ‘Of course she has. Oh, don’t get all defensive. But a woman of her age needs … a life of her own. Friends. Fun. It’s not really healthy is it, staying in all the time, not meeting anyone, relying on a teenaged boy …’

  ‘Boy?’

  ‘Okay, man. I meant man!’

  ‘Right. Well, I only came up to say hello. I really need to get some sleep in today if I’m going to be anywhere near fit for work tonight. When are you going to see Miss Parker?’

  ‘About three. She said to call in for afternoon tea. If I don’t appear tomorrow you’ll know I’ve come down with food poisoning.’

  ‘Harsh, Miss Harris. Very harsh. Don’t look a gift horse in the gob, as my dad always says. Free cakes. What’s not to like? And if they’re any good you just might have found the way to get your garden started. Oh, and don’t forget to take photos. If I don’t get to eat any of the baking, I can at least see what I’ve missed!’

  Prue sat for a while after he’d gone. Aaron might only be young but he always seemed to know what to say to cheer her up, to make her feel good about herself, to make her laugh. If anything at all had come out of her escape to London, it was meeting him, making a true friend. Of course, she would take photos. He knew she would. Because she always did. Of everything. Photography was what she did, what she lived and breathed for. It had been her hobby, her job, her passion for a long time now. She could give up village life. She could give up Joe Barton, although to be more accurate it was he who had given her up, but even so … The one thing she could never imagine being without was photography.