Tableland

by D. E. Harker

  ‘Right, sir, we’ll see what we can do. We’ll keep him here for a fortnight and if nobody has claimed him by then you may keep him.’ And he vanished with the dog through the door before I had time to say, ‘No way.’

  Anyway, the whole matter is off my mind now and before I went to work I visited a garage to see what could be done about the dashboard.

  ‘We’ll need to have your car in for a whole day,’ said the assistant. ‘How about Wednesday?’ ‘No, impossible I’m afraid,’ I replied. ‘Can we make it next Tuesday?’

  I shall have to arrange for Brimcup to pick me up from the garage and return me there in the evening. I hope he will be able to do this.

  Feel quite shaken by recent events and after ‘phoning Derek Wineglass and arranging for us all to go over to Heaton Moor next Saturday – which will be Easter Saturday, decided to have an early night.

  April 7th – Tuesday

  Bumped into Brimcup this morning as I was about to go on my rounds and was able to arrange the visit to the garage next Tuesday – he is a good chap.

  Had not forgotten to enquire about some off-cuts for Steve at the mill and contacted Mr Treddle, the foreman, who was most obliging.

  We could just make ourselves heard above the noise of the circular saws whining.

  ‘Will this be enough?’ he said as we loaded it carefully on to my roof rack. ‘I think this will be ample, and thank you very much for your trouble,’ I replied and slipped him the price of a couple of pints, which seemed to please him.

  Steve was delighted with the wood. He was just off to squash when I called. He said, ‘Just leave it in the garage, there’s a good fellow.’

  April 8th – Wednesday

  Received a letter written on personally printed notepaper this morning from our old friends the Elkes.

  Dear All,

  As we shall be passing quite near you on our way up to the Lake District on the 20th, we thought we’d stop by and say hello. Looking forward to seeing your new home and having a good laugh about the old days in Southmere.

  Should be with you about six.

  Joe and Pam

  What a cheery couple they are. It will be good to see them again and talk over old times.

  Julie and I started to reminisce. ‘Do you remember our trips to Knock-Offs Discount Stores and the funny little Chinese restaurant nearby?’

  ‘Yes – the night when the lights went out and all the waiters started hissing’

  ‘You can laugh about it now, but I remember you being terrified at the time and nearly poking Jo’s eye out with a chopstick,’ I reminded Julie.

  April 9th – Thursday

  Kept awake last night by sounds of revelry coming from the Butts’ house. A very noisy party with discotheque – made our whole house vibrate. Would most certainly have gone next door to complain but, remembering the incident with the dog, thought it wise to keep silent this once. Thank goodness they are off to Majorca tomorrow and there will be some peace and quiet in the road.

  Slack day at work as everyone is in the Easter holiday mood including myself.

  April 10th – Friday – Good Friday

  Spent most of the day tinkering with the car, in readiness for our trip to the Wineglass’ tomorrow. Trev helped me to polish the chrome and the only thing which mars the appearance is the ruined dashboard, which I hope will not be noticed.

  April 11th – Saturday

  We were due at Moor Top at 12.30 but were somewhat late due to Easter traffic and, more especially, Julie’s hopeless map reading. Derek had sent a fairly detailed plan of how to get there but we took a wrong turning twice. In desperation I handed the map to Trev but that wasn’t much better.

  ‘There should be a church there,’ he announced, pointing to a pub.

  I stopped the car. ‘It is now half past twelve,’ I said, consulting my watch. ‘We should be ringing their doorbell at this very minute, and here we are.’

  ‘Where?’ asked Trev.

  ‘That’s just the point,’ I said, ‘we don’t know.’

  We stopped some children and asked the way but they just made faces at us. We had more luck with an old lady carrying a bag of fish and chips, which smelt delicious and made us realise how hungry we were.

  ‘Turn right at the traffic lights, then take the third turning on the left and that will bring you into City Road,’ she said.

  Somehow the names Moor Top and Heaton Moor had conveyed a less urban scene than now confronted us, although I suppose we should have been prepared by City Road.

  ‘I imagined we’d all go for a walk over the moors and perhaps find a little stream,’ said Julie.

  ‘There’s your stream,’ I replied, pointing to a sluggish, olive- coloured canal.

  We found the bungalow at last and rang the musical chimes doorbell. Derek appeared most resplendent in an Aran sweater. I had forgotten what he looked like as we had only met once, however, he soon made us feel at home and introduced us to Marlene, their two sons – Sheridan and Crispin – and their mynah bird called Reg, who kept giving ear-piercing shrieks. The boys all went off to inspect a railway layout and Derek said, ‘Can I offer you two good people a drink?’

  ‘That’s very civil of you, I must say. A gin and tonic would slip down very well as it were.’

  ‘Ah, we have something better than that, haven’t we, Marl?’ he said and, going to a small cocktail cabinet in the sitting room, he threw open a door to reveal bottle upon bottle of homemade wine – all meticulously labelled and dated.

  ‘Now what is it to be?’ Beer freshly brewed two weeks ago some Sloe Gin or some of the boy’s speciality – ginger beer?’

  I gasped with amazement and admiration. Julie settled for some sloe gin and I thought I would try home-brewed beer. Very good it was too. Derek topped up my glass while we went on a tour of inspection of the bungalow.

  ‘And this is my brew house,’ said Derek, opening the door of what I guess should have been the cloakroom. It was full of large glass containers with tubes coming out of the top, packets, boxes and paper bags marked Yeast, Sugar etc. Suddenly a bottle in the corner exploded and gave me quite a start. ‘Ah, that reminds me, the ginger beer – I must tell the boys to feed it.’

  With our meal we had a choice of Chateau Moor Top (a blackberry and elder wine) or a light, dry crab apple. I ended up by sampling both and afterwards while we talked “shop” in front of the flickering logs of the electric fire, and the girls did the dishes, I had an excellent glass or two of homemade raspberry liqueur.

  Derek was explaining Mr Woodnut’s latest plans for expansion and the proposed visit of Mr Grappling from head office, when I must have dozed off. The mynah bird gave a sudden scream and I came to my senses. Don’t think Derek noticed anything amiss, although he did say, ‘How about a spot of fresh air, then?’

  We explored the small back garden, which Derek has great hopes of turning into a vineyard.

  Felt that perhaps my chat had become a trifle indiscreet. Remember cracking a joke at Woodnut’s expense and also at Grappling’s well- known habit of picking his teeth, and hope Wineglass will have the decency never to repeat any of my remarks. I would not like details to get back to respective parties.

  As we left and expressed our thanks for such a pleasant day, Derek, while promising to visit us in the near future, pressed a package into my hand, whispering, ‘Beetroot.’ Thought perhaps he was referring to the colour of my face, which certainly felt somewhat flushed, but was pleasantly surprised to find package contained a bottle of beetroot and parsnip plonk.

  April 12th – Easter Sunday

  Raging headache this morning. Took two aspirin and felt little better after cup of strong black coffee. Attended church in nearby village for morning service. Apparently the Price-Potters also worship there but did not see them this morning.

  A stirring sermon taking the theme “Love thy neighbour” was delivered by vicar suffering from bad catarrh. Was earnestly resolving to make a friendly approach to the Bu
tts – even thinking about inviting them to join us in a glass of beetroot and parsnip wine sometime – when my eyes were drawn to the back of a woman sitting two rows in front of us and to the right. She was wearing a red coat with a black fur collar, not unusual in itself – but out of the top of the collar protruded the top of a coat hanger, of which she was obviously completely unaware. I nudged Julie and indicated the coat, and we stared at each other not knowing what to do. It was obviously my responsibility to draw the woman’s attention to the hanger as, there being no one in the row in front, we were the nearest.

  I tried a discreet cough, then blew my nose loudly and dropped my hymn book. This only succeeded in making a gentleman with ginger hair and large moustache, who was sitting three rows in front, turn round and glare at me fiercely.

  Next I tried three short, sharp coughs and received a nasty look from the vicar and a dig in the ribs and a frown from Julie.

  ‘And now we will sig hyb dumber 508,’ announced the vicar. As we stood up for the final hymn, Trev suddenly gave such an enormous sneeze that the woman actually turned round and we came eye to eye.

  Quickly I patted the back of my neck and pointed urgently to my jacket but, after giving me a concerned look, she turned away. She was obviously intrigued, however, and turned round again, whereupon I repeated my urgent gestures. This time, I believe she thought I was drawing attention to her dandruff as she started patting her shoulders absentmindedly. Her fingers suddenly froze as she touched the coat hanger and I felt a wave of relief pass over me and grinned at Julie. But now came the dilemma.

  I think the whole of the congregation behind her was aware of the predicament by now and we awaited the outcome with bated breath. Would she remove the offending article (and, if so, how) or would she brazen it out?

  The hymn was a long one – eight verses – during which time her hand frequently stole round the back of her neck to touch the hook but no decision was reached.

  The service ended and, to my amazement, she darted away without so much as one word of thanks.

  ‘You’d have thought,’ I said to Julie, ‘that she would have had the decency to come over and express her gratitude, wouldn’t you?’

  The ginger gent was standing nearby and said loudly to his companion, ‘People with germs should keep themselves to themselves, that’s what I always say,’ and looked meaningly at us.

  April 13th – Easter Monday

  Trev sick all night due to eating three large chocolate Easter eggs yesterday, one after the other.

  Was just putting some vegetable seeds into our plot under the kitchen window when I heard Steve getting his car out of the garage. Thought I would go and say a friendly ‘hello.’

  ‘What ho,’ I shouted, ‘not working on the old barbecue this morning?’

  ‘Just going for a round of golf with Alan,’ he replied and I could see, when he got out of the car to adjust his wing mirror, that he was indeed all set for the game. His natty check trousers and matching blue sweater were “set off” by a tartan Tam-o’Shanter cap with a large red pom-pom on top.

  ‘What do you think of these?’ he asked, pointing to his bag of golf clubs propped against the garage wall. On top of each club was a scarlet hood with “Crundle’s Ketchup” emblazoned on it.

  ‘We’re doing a spot of advertising for Crundle’s, I’m handling the account myself,’ Steve said.

  ‘They’ll be joining our stand at the Open in July for a spot of the old dolce vita.’

  I used to play a bit of golf myself. As a matter of fact, I was just on the point of joining Southmere Golf Club when we moved. ‘Where do you play?’ I asked.

  ‘Alan and I have joined Oxborough – they have a very good pro there. I have a lesson each week. How about a game sometime?’

  ‘I’d like that,’ I replied and then wondered if I’d been a little hasty. Steve’s golf is obviously in a different class to mine. Maybe I, too, had better have a refresher session with a pro.

  Now we have the house straight, I shall have a bit more time to devote to my hobbies.

  April 14th – Tuesday

  What a dreadful day this has been. My arrangements started out well enough with Brimcup picking me up at the garage after I had made my instructions clear to the petrol attendant, who was the only person at the garage at 8.45 am.

  ‘Yes, sir, I’ll tell Lefty as soon as he gets here – you want the dashboard making good, the squeak on the brakes seeing to, the windscreen wipers adjusted and a general service.’

  ‘That’s correct,’ I said. ‘I’ll be here to collect it at 5.30.’

  As we drove off, I remember saying to Brimcup, ‘This is a reliable garage – I have it on very good authority.’

  Spent rather dull day at the office catching up on paperwork and was pleased to see Brimcup at 5.15. He was in a hurry as he goes to Italian Renaissance classes on Tuesday evenings – and he dropped me off at the garage.

  I could see my car waiting at the side and was looking forward to seeing it restored to its former glory, but no sign of anyone. I went over to the car, it was open but I could see no key. Anyone could have stolen it. I could feel myself getting annoyed.

  Then, as if from nowhere, the petrol lad suddenly appeared.

  ‘Why is there no one here with my car keys?’ I demanded.

  ‘You did say 5.30 and it’s only 5.25, sir.’

  (I definitely did not like the way he said “sir”.)

  ‘I expected Mr Leftburke to be here himself in person to hand over my keys.’

  ‘Oh,’ he replied very casually, ‘Lefty had to go out on a job. Here are your keys – catch,’ and he threw them at me. I missed them, of course, and was really furious by this time. I retrieved them from a puddle and, in what I hope was a dignified manner, said coldly, ‘Well, tell your Mr Leftburke I will be getting in touch with him tomorrow.’

  I started the engine and swept out of the forecourt. To my further annoyance, the brakes made just as much, if not more, noise than before, causing several heads to turn on the way home. The dashboard, when I glanced down at it, looked as if it had just been given a thin coating of varnish – the scratch marks still very visible – and the windscreen wipers seemed to be covered in oil. I could only hope that they had spent their time giving the car a good servicing.

  About a mile or two from home, I had a terrible shock – out of the blue something sprang onto my shoulder. Something hot and furry and with claws.

  Luckily, I kept my head and was in a quiet road at the time. I screeched to a halt and, as I did so, a large marmalade cat jumped down on to the passenger seat. It must have been asleep on the floor in the back. How long had it been there and where did it come from?

  I decided to drive on home and have a stiff drink.

  ‘Pour me a stiff drink,’ I said to Julie as soon as I got through the door. She reappeared with a tumbler of brick-red liquid.

  ‘It’s the beetroot and parsnip,’ she announced. ‘It smells a bit peculiar.’

  I was not amused. I was even less amused when, after describing the day’s harrowing events, all Julie could say was, ‘It’s probably the garage owner’s cat. You ought to take it back right away and apologise.’

  April 15th – Wednesday

  After returning home from the Cock and Bull last night, I decided that the best thing would be to put the cat in the garage and take it back the next day. I rehearsed what I would say to Leftburke and I was still going over the words this morning when I opened the garage door. The smell that greeted me was unpleasant and, finding no box, I had to pick up the animal and carry it out to the car.

  Across the road, Steve was just setting off for work.

  ‘Hello, hello,’ he shouted through his car window. ‘Going into the tennis racquet business, eh?’ I couldn’t even give a cheery wave with the cat wriggling in my arms. I don’t know how people can be so bright and jolly so early in the morning.

  Leftburke was there in person this time. Without saying a word, I picke
d up the cat and advanced towards him. The words ‘Now look here, Leftburke’ were just forming on my lips when he bore down on me with a roar which took the wind out of my sails.

  ‘So there she is – what do you mean by taking our cat? Do you realise my wife has been frantic all night. Nearly mad she’s been. I’ll have you reported.’ He snatched the cat very rudely and hurled some more verbal abuse at me, flung himself into his own car and drove off at great speed.

  Out of the corner of my eye I could see the petrol attendant; he’d been listening to every word, of course. I said loudly, ‘Well, he needn’t expect my custom any more.’

  April 16th – Thursday

  Still brushing cat’s hairs off my suit and off the carpet in the back of the car. Went to Ted’s Clip Joint for a haircut at lunchtime. Had to wait about thirty minutes. Became very interested in a copy of The Catering Times.

  ‘Not too much off the back,’ I told Ted. I always have this fear that the barber will scalp me if I don’t keep an eagle eye on him.

  After chatting about this and that, Ted delivered a bombshell. ‘Getting a bit thin on top, aren’t we, sir?’ I couldn’t believe he was talking to me.

  ‘Just a little,’ I replied. He was unaware of the turmoil he had caused in my mind and continued to air his views on the political scene, a football match he had seen on TV, his holiday plans and so on, but all I could think was, I’m going bald, I’m going bald. What I’m wondering is, who else has noticed?

  April 17th – Friday

  Julie remarked that I took longer than usual brushing my hair this morning, but I didn’t say anything.

  April 18th – Saturday

  Due to the imminent arrival of the Elkes, Julie had deemed it necessary yesterday to completely alter the furniture arrangements in the living room.