by M J Johnson
"Okay, toe-rag, you win!"
The indomitable Spike perked up at once.
9
Felix and Kate Blatt lived in a beautifully renovated oast-house, just on the edge of the village of East Peckham, about twelve miles south-east of Sevenoaks.
The Blatts' door was rarely, if ever, locked during the daytime, so Gil and Spike went straight in as they always did. "It's only us!" he called out.
Spike charged through the entrance hall and disappeared up the flight of stairs ahead. A moment later Gil heard Kate's voice raised in adulation.
When Gil reached the kitchen on the first floor, Spike was already stretched out on Kate's lap. She was sitting alongside a pine table at the centre of a light and airy kitchen.
"That dog is a slut," said Gil.
"He's a lovely boy," Kate defended, "And how's my other lovely boy?"
"Not happy," he replied as he reached down to plant kisses on both her cheeks.
Kate Blatt was in her mid-sixties. Her almost translucent skin and sparkling deep blue eyes ensured that she would always remain an enchanting woman. Gil had never known her make any effort to disguise her age, her shoulder length hair was grey, drawn back into a pony tail, and she never wore make-up. Her clothes were casual, jeans and a white shirt with a red and gold scarf about her neck for colour and that indefinably feminine touch.
"A generalised post-Christmas ennui, or does this melancholy have deeper significance?" Kate asked.
"Take a look at my car," he said, fishing out from his pocket a print of the digital photograph he'd taken that morning.
Kate gasped at the sight of his vandalised car.
Gil explained about finding it in this state on Boxing Day. He told her too about Sally arriving scared on his doorstep.
"Sally? Who's Sally?"
"She's a girl I met at the beginning of December."
"You dark horse! Sounds like romance may be in the air, Harp."
"I thought so maybe too, at least until she rang up and blew me out of the water."
"Angry? At you? Why?"
Gil explained. "Seems I should've consulted her before suggesting her 'ex' was the budding Leonardo."
"More Jackson Pollock, I'd say," said Kate referring to the print of the car in front of her.
At this point, they heard the front door open and close downstairs. Spike sped off excitedly in response. This was followed by the sound of greetings, footsteps ascending, and Spike's re-entrance in Felix's arms. Felix was dressed for outdoors in waterproof coat, hat and scarf, having been for a Sunday morning stroll.
"Harp!" the elderly man cheerfully cried out as he entered, "I suspected we had guests. But didn't recognise the car. Feared the worst. Thought of my detestable nephew and his appalling wife. Almost didn't come in, briefly considered running away to sea." Felix gently transferred the supine Spike into Kate's arms and gave Gil a welcoming hug.
"Harp's had car trouble," understated Kate.
"Mechanical?" inquired Felix.
"Hardly," said Kate passing the print to him, "See if you can diagnose."
Felix peered down at the photo and without registering even a flicker of surprise said, "There have been reports of low-flying pterodactyls over Sevenoaks."
"I can believe it. If extinct flying reptiles came to life you can bet my drive would be their number one site for target practice."
"Harp needs cheering up," said Kate, slipping an arm under Gil's and depositing a kiss on his cheek.
"Right. Come with me, Harp. We're going to the cave for some male bonding," he told Kate as they started to descend.
"Lunch will be ready in about an hour. Leek and potato soup," she announced.
"Soup? Men like us need meat!" exclaimed Felix; Felix Blatt was a lifelong vegetarian.
"There are a couple of bison steaks in the freezer," Kate volleyed back.
"Rare!" asserted Felix.
Spike made no effort to leave the kitchen with its culinary possibilities and Kate, so easily corruptible by such a charming fellow as himself. The two men went via the back door into a courtyard surrounded by one storey brick outbuildings. They took a door to the right. The space they entered, originally stabling for horses, had been converted a quarter century earlier into a workspace for Felix.
The room itself was about fifteen foot wide by thirty foot long. It was divided into two distinct areas: a carpentry workshop at the rear, where Felix often whiled away the early hours restoring furniture or carving bowls on his lathe, and his writing study where they now stood. A slim glass partition separated the two spaces. Unlike Gil's workspace and its nod at least in the direction of technology, here, there was only a telephone to suggest the room belonged to modern times. There was a couch strewn with cushions and a dishevelled array of blankets in case Felix required a nap during a writing session. There were two comfortable armchairs, a wall of shelves bearing reference books, an antique writing desk on which was resting a pad of lined A4, a fountain pen and a pot of ink.
Despite having visited this space many times during the years of their collaboration, Gil never failed to experience a sense of awe and wonder when entering the great man's domain; to Gil, Felix Blatt was not only a fine writer of children's books but also a staunch friend, and as Gil would readily acknowledge, something akin to a father figure too.
Felix Blatt would reach eighty years of age in the summer, and although the years had bowed him slightly, at six foot three he was still an imposing presence. His marriage to Kate had lasted forty contented years. It was one of those happy unions that had only been slightly marred by an unresolved wish to have had children.
The two men sat across from each other in the armchairs. Felix asked, "How were Marjorie and George?"
"They were fine. I tried to look like I was having a good time. I really don't understand why they put up with me."
Felix smiled, "Well, Harp, you're not altogether a disagreeable type, even if you do find it a bit hard to look cheery about Christmas."
"Marge thinks it's time I let go of Jules and found myself a new partner."
Felix nodded but said nothing.
"I told her I'd been seeing someone."
"You're a bit of a dark horse, aren't you, Harp?"
Gil smiled, "That's exactly what Kate said."
"Where did you meet?"
"Tonbridge Library. She was doing historical research on costume design and I was brushing up on my physics for Pete's Pirates."
The answer struck Felix as marvellously absurd. His fertile imagination immediately conjured up images of discotheques and singles bars losing out to public libraries, along with muscle-bound librarians in velvet tuxedos and frilly shirts imposing a strict dress code at the door.
"The green shoots of romance perished under an early frost, I'm afraid," said Gil. He went on to explain in less florid detail exactly what had happened.
"I can see you were really smitten with her."
"I suppose I was. She's the first person I've met since the accident that I actually wanted to be with."
"Then it's down to you, old thing."
"What can I do? She doesn't want anything to do with me."
"All's fair in love and war. Take a crack at wooing her back!"
"How?"
"For heaven's sake Harp, how should I know? Ring her. Get talking again. Tell her how keen you are. You think of something, you're the one with the problem!"
"Thanks for the benefit of such profound wisdom."
"Not such bad advice," laughed Felix, amused by the look of despondency on his friend's face. "I do have some experience in these tender matters, you know. Nobody wanted me to marry Kate; I think her father would almost have preferred giving her away to white-slavers. My own family seemed to regard me as barmy at best.
"Kate's father had connections in the Foreign Office and organised a job in Canada for her lasting a whole year. Kate, to her credit, wasn't about to be pushed around like that. I proved the softer touch, so they went to work on me. T
hey made what seemed at the time quite reasonable appeals, pointing out the difference in our ages, which I was of course already well aware of.
"Her father invited me to his club one evening, it was the first time he'd been anything other than openly hostile towards me. In fact, on this occasion, he was extremely civil. I should have guessed what was coming, 'Kate's still very young, if you truly care about her you'll allow her this year to think things over, for the duration of which you must agree to have no contact with her. If at the end of one whole year, you both feel the same about this match, which both her mother and I know will prove disastrous, then I will not stand in your way'."
Gil had never heard any of this before, "Did Kate go to Canada?"
"Not on your frickin' life, Harp! I wasn't prepared to lose the first woman I'd ever wanted to marry to some damned Mountie in his cabin out in the back of beyond."
10
At lunchtime, over soup, salad and garlic bread, they had talked about what Felix claimed would be his final written work, his autobiography, which was to contain illustrations drawn by Gil. After lunch, they adjourned to the downstairs sitting room, appropriately decked out with a Christmas tree etcetera, and exchanged presents. The Blatts insisted that he stayed to dinner, and he and Spike finally returned home around nine.
11
Gil was thinking about turning in for the night when the doorbell rang. It was shortly after 11 pm. He had left the light on outside in the porch when he got back, so this time it came as no surprise who his late caller was.
"Hallo Sally, you got back earlier than expected then?"
She looked uncomfortable, "Yes, I'm sorry to call on you so late again, Gil. I wanted to see you. I thought perhaps we could talk things over ..."
"Of course we can. Come in."
She remained on the doorstep, head drooped on her chest, staring at her feet. "Gil, I feel really awful about the way I spoke to you, I wanted to apologise. You must think I'm a complete bitch."
"I don't think that at all, I think I can understand why you got so upset ..."
She looked up at Gil; she seemed so vulnerable standing there, "If you meant it, what you said on the phone … about getting to know me better ... I just want to say, I'd like that too. In fact, I can't think of anything I'd like more."
Gil took Sally gently by the arm and pulled her into the hallway, flicking the front door shut behind her. A moment later they discovered themselves in each other's arms, embracing with a passion Gil had not known for a very long time.
12
Sunday 28 December
Just think, all I had was your house number and street name.
It took about two minutes to get your postcode, with this I got your name off the electoral register and then your telephone number. The satellite pictures of your house and garden are charming and informative – just so nice to see how it's all arranged.
You are Gil Harper. You appear to live alone. You are an artistic type – a book illustrator. You are mostly associated with the work of a children's author called Felix Blatt. Judging by the number of hits on your website you must be popular. Your house suggests you must be successful too.
Never heard of you myself!
But isn't information technology a marvellous thing?
13
Gil awoke shortly before eight. In the first moments of consciousness he recalled the passionate scenes of the previous night, the intensity and heat of love-making. He felt wholly content; he just wanted to lie there, to watch her sleeping, bathe in the shared warmth of their bodies as they embraced. It was so long since he had lain with someone in his arms, an Ice-Age.
Gil would probably have remained exactly as he was if it hadn't been for Spike. The dog nudged open the bedroom door, with what Gil interpreted to be a disdainful look on his canine features. He let out a low growl which usually meant he wanted something; possibly the toilet.
Gil extricated his arm from beneath Sally without disturbing her, took his dressing-gown down from a peg on the bedroom door, and followed Spike who led the way.
The dog showed no interest whatsoever in stepping out into the garden when Gil opened the back door. Spike had been letting Gil know it was their breakfast time.
Throughout the making of their porridge Gil felt the need to voice feelings of resentment, "You just couldn't let me enjoy the moment. You're like some kind of mini dictator, a canine Napoleon," and wondered how to draw a dog with one paw across its stomach.
An hour later, Sally surfaced. By this time, Gil was reading the paper in the conservatory.
"Hi," she greeted him tentatively.
"I thought I'd let you sleep. You seemed tired."
"I wonder why?" she replied with a knowing smile.
At this, Gil was unable to suppress a boyish grin.
Sally was wearing a bathrobe of his; somehow the masculine design and the coarseness of the towelling increased her femininity. She planted a kiss onto his lips.
"Mmm ... coffee flavour," she said, smacking her lips together.
"Want some?"
"Can't a girl get any rest around here?" she asked.
"Coffee too, if you like," Gil replied, getting in on the double entendre act, but a touch late on timing.
She laughed, "Yes, please. Hallo there you gorgeous boy!" she told Spike.
Spike, sprawled on the chair beside Gil, offered up his tummy.
'Low life!' thought Gil.
After pouring coffee, Gil made Sally some scrambled eggs. They chatted and joked while he got them prepared.
"So why exactly did you have to rush off to Birmingham?"
"I'd designed and made these rather complex ballgowns for the Ugly Sisters. They had lights sewn all over them."
"Sounds technical."
"I didn't have anything to do with all that stuff, 'the sparks' got the lights to work. It was very effective. They flashed on and off whenever Prince Charming walked past. Unfortunately, and unbeknown to anyone else, the actor playing Buttercup, that's the sister in question, had put on about a stone and a half since his costume fitting in October. Somehow, he'd managed to shoe-horn himself into the dress, but on Christmas Eve, during a very physical dance routine, he burst forth, so to speak. Unfortunately, the actor was wearing hardly anything underneath."
"Bloody hell!" exclaimed Gil, "They weren't dancing to Great Balls of Fire by any chance?"
"No. But you're getting the picture."
"What did the audience make of it?" he asked.
"A few complaints but mostly they loved it apparently. They appeared to think it was part of the action."
"So you needed to do a rapid dress repair?"
"No. The girl who runs the wardrobe could have done that. The director thought the moment worked so well he wanted the dress rigged so it could fall apart at every performance.
"Presumably with the addition of some appropriately over the top underwear?"
"Of course. In the true spirit of British pantomime, girls being boys and men grotesquely prancing about as women."
"All in the best possible taste."
"The best," Sally echoed, "Incidentally, the number they'd been hurling themselves about to, which probably clinched the moment, was June is bustin' out all over."
"You're having me on?"
"No, I'm not," she chuckled.
Gil put the plate of eggs on the table before her.
"Any ketchup, please?" she asked.
"Yes, I think so."
He found an unopened bottle, and watched with fascination as she dribbled it across the eggs.
"Do my eating habits gross you out?" she asked anxiously, "I've eaten them like this since prep-school."
"Not at all, it reminded me of someone ... that's all." He felt embarrassed; it seemed a dead-cert romance-killer to mention his late wife at this early stage in the relationship.
"Julia?"
"Yes, sorry."
"Nothing to be sorry for. We've both had relationships before. From wh
at I've been able to gather, your marriage was really good, a genuine marriage of minds," Sally shrugged, then smiled philosophically as she nibbled the corner off a slice of toast, "whereas all my relationships have ended in tears."
"Surely not all?"
"No, not quite all … but the truth is I've done a pretty neat sabotage job on every man who didn't want to hurt or abuse me."
"You must have a fairly low opinion of men?"
"I hope not ... least, not anymore. Although, I took a pretty good shot at wrecking our chances of ever getting together when I bawled you out on the phone." She smiled wryly, before going on, "By my late teens I was well on the way to becoming whatever the female equivalent of a misogynist is. I'd inherited such a lousy pattern from my parents. My mother was prepared to suffer any humiliation to save her marriage to a man who set out to bed, without exhibiting an ounce of remorse, any tart that ever wiggled her rear-end at him. Her submissiveness didn't work though ... he still dumped her, just as soon as he found a replacement doormat - a younger version of my mother. I never saw him again after he left. I was thirteen."
"He really did desert you."
Sally shook her head, "Actually it was me. I wouldn't let him come anywhere near me. I wanted to punish him for what he'd done to her … and me."
"Do you regret taking that action?"
"Probably," she replied. "Both my parents died within a month of each other. Mum died of a rare form of stomach cancer, it consumed her in a matter of twelve weeks from the time it was diagnosed. He telephoned me right out of the blue. He wanted to come to her funeral. But I still couldn't forgive him for what he'd done to us. He actually pleaded with me, said I could never understand how much he'd loved her. After he said that I really let him have it, proceeded to list all his crimes and misdemeanours ... at least the ones I knew about. By the time I'd finished, he was sobbing." She scanned Gil's kindly face with the dark pools of her eyes, tears had collected in them. "But you know about my temper, don't you?"
"It was insensitive of me to give that policeman Michael's name."
Sally made a gesture to suggest the whole thing should be confined to history. She collected her thoughts again, "Twenty-eight days after my mother passed away ... Dad was dead too."