by Suzie Twine
Lois returned an hour later to find everyone out in the back garden having a picnic. Pippa had, much to everyone’s amazement, successfully strimmed a large area of the lawn and raked the trimmings into a pile for burning. Annie had delivered the most fantastic assortment of picnic food she had bought from the deli in town, presumably at great expense, as a peace offering for Pippa. Lois pulled her to one side. “Annie, this must have cost a fortune, you didn’t have to do this, she would have forgiven you…eventually!” The two of them started laughing.
“I can’t believe the dogs did that, they don’t usually steal.”
“I don’t suppose they usually have a meal left so accessible to them either,” said Lois as she squeezed a twenty-pound note from her purse into Annie’s hand. Annie tried to refuse it, at the same time being very grateful to Lois as she really was trying to hang on to every penny.
“Come along Lois, do come and eat!” called Pippa, adopting her most exaggerated upper class accent with great enthusiasm, generated by her successful morning of gardening. “Look, sit on one of the rugs I bought with me, I knew they’d come in useful. Are you all right on the floor Lois, or would you prefer a chair? Of course I never made a fuss about anything when I was pregnant, but you never know how other people deal with such situations,” she said, giving a knowing glance to Annie. As she looked away Annie and Lois looked at each other, both raised their eyes to heaven and stifled giggles while Chris buried his head in his hands, shaking his head.
The lunch was delicious. Lois and Annie cleared away as quickly as possible and Pippa went straight back to strimming. Dean called to Lois as Annie left, to discuss what she wanted doing, if anything, with the spiral staircase.
Lois had already expressed her opinion of the staircase to Dean. It was the one thing about the cottage, other than the bathroom suite and the decor, which she really didn’t like. “I’ve looked into replacing it with a conventional staircase, but under present day regulations there isn’t space for one,” Dean said, as the two of them stood contemplating the sixties monstrosity. Lois’s face dropped with this news. “But I do have a good idea,” said Dean, looking more animated than Lois had ever seen him.
“Go on,” said Lois, unconvinced that anything could transform the hideous thing standing before her. The staircase consisted of a cream coloured metal central pole, stair supports and uprights supporting the handrail. The handrail itself was covered in black plastic. The stair treads were wooden with large ‘ornamental’ bolts on the underside and, to top it all, there were huge gaps between the uprights making it a potential death trap for children.
“Well, first we take the plastic off the hand rail, then paint the whole thing matt black, including the steps. Then I get this special metallic powder paint and scumble glaze, dab it all over, varnish over the top and Bob’s your uncle, you’ve got a cracking centre piece for your living room. Oh, and I think I can get some swirly fillers very reasonably too, we’ll decorate them the same way and weld them in place.”
“I can’t imagine it’ll transform it that much, but I’ll leave it to you Dean, whatever you think. Give me a list and I’ll go shopping.”
“Eager to get out the house again, are we Lois?” Dean laughed, glancing out of the window at Pippa, who was trying her best to start up the chainsaw.
“No, what ever gave you that idea?” Lois thrust a note pad and pen into his hand and gesticulated for him to get on with the list, fast. The moment he had written it, she thanked him, snatched the list and her bag and ran for the door. As she went out of the front door, Pippa came in through the back, asking where Lois was as she needed some petrol for the chain saw. Lois’s MG flew down the bumpy track just as Dean was apologising for the fact that Mrs. A. had just missed her.
Whilst she was in town, Lois got a phone call from Tom, “Hi Lo, I’m so sorry about earlier, I was in a really stressful meeting.” Lois was quite surprised; Tom generally wasn’t one for apologies. He went on to say, “And for leaving you to deal with my parents single-handedly. I left the office early, I’ll be home within half an hour and be able to give you some support.”
“Okay, that’s great,” Lois paused, still feeling slightly taken a back, “I’m just finishing off the shopping, see you there.” She hung up and slipped her phone into her pocket. As she ambled her way around the DIY shop, she suddenly had a vision of Tom arriving home to a scene resembling the Texas Chainsaw Massacre, blood and limbs scattered over the back lawn and her being to blame. She gathered the last two items on Dean’s list and ran to the checkout, where there was a long queue. Lois started to tap her foot impatiently as she waited her turn. She heard an ambulance siren outside and immediately imagined it was on the way to their house to collect up the limbs and torsos of Pippa and her victims. Lois huffed and puffed. As the manager passed Lois, she said, “Would Madam like to use the self check-out if Madam’s in a hurry?”
“Oh, yes,” said Lois, feeling somewhat embarrassed, “I hadn’t noticed them.”
For once, she managed to make the checkout machine beep first time for all her items, paid and made for home. Ridiculous visions of the disaster at home pounded her mind. Tom blaming her for the death of his parents. Their life together being over. Her being alone for the birth of the baby. A single mum. She was in tears as she passed the manor. She rounded the bend and as she approached the house, she saw Tom hugging his mum and then shaking hands with his father. She breathed an enormous sigh of relief, delved through her bag for a tissue and carefully dabbed her eyes.
The remainder of the afternoon was spent with Lois, Tom and his parents doing what they were able to in the back garden. Tom wasn’t at all worried about his mother with the strimmer from the point of view of injuries, either to herself or to others. He was more concerned that in her enthusiasm she would damage the machine. He thought it was great that she was tough enough, to handle such a machine and Lois had to admit that she had made a huge impact on the back garden. Lois and Chris had a go at tackling the brambles while Tom supervised and occasionally pulled out a weed. Lois snuck into the shed early on, when no one was looking, removed the chain saw and hid it between the back of the shed and a large shrub that she was unable to identify. She had a horrible feeling that Tom would be desperate for a go with it, despite his injuries.
Late in the afternoon, Pippa and Lois between them, raked the rest of the grass cuttings into the heap that Pippa had started and Tom went and got petrol and matches from Dave. “It’s a bit gusty for that guv’nor!” George called as he walked around the back of the house, just as Tom was removing the cap from the petrol can.
“Do you think so?” Tom licked his finger, boy-scout style, to test the direction of the wind. Thinking that George was meaning the fire might damage the silver birch, he ignored the comment, the wind was blowing in completely the opposite direction. But he found out what George did mean, to his cost, when he chucked a few splashes of petrol onto the heap of grass. A gust of wind blew some of the petrol back splashing onto his trousers. “Oh well,” thought Tom, “I’ve got a change of clothes upstairs.” And he lit a match and threw it onto the fire.
In a flash the petrol caught alight and within seconds the grass on the heap, the grass still attached to the ground, and Tom’s trousers, were all on fire.
“Help!” shouted Tom and he started running towards the house shouting, “Help, I’m on fire!” Fortunately, George, who had had a similar experience himself as a youth, had been watching from the kitchen window and had filled up a bucket of water, just in case. On seeing Tom, flames licking up towards his crotch, George shot from the kitchen, bucket in hand and threw its contents at Tom, successfully drowning the flames.
Lois, who had run faster up the garden than she would have thought possible, stood looking at Tom in disbelief, her heart still pounding. “Bloody hell Tom!” was all she could say at first. Then she managed, “Are you ok?” Tom nodded, looking very shocked. Chris retrieved the bucket from George, filled it from the
outside tap and went and stood over the bonfire in an attempt to make sure nothing else went wrong. Pippa who had been strimming throughout the entire crisis, carried on, blissfully unaware.
When Lois had calmed down she thanked George for his quick response and lead Tom by the hand into the kitchen, where she made him take off his dripping trousers and tossed them into the sink. Then she took him upstairs, looked his legs over closely and was astonished to see that they looked fine. “Are you in pain?” she asked. Tom was still in shock and shook his head, numbly.
Unfortunately, although he had apparently suffered no burns, the dousing had turned Tom’s plaster into a soggy mess, resulting in a trip to casualty.
The department was hideously busy, but as Tom only needed a cast replacement, the plaster technician managed to fit him in almost straight away. “How did you manage to get it so wet?” the technician asked.
Tom went red and glanced at Lois. “Uh, someone accidentally threw a bucket of water at me?”
“Yeah right, whatever.” said the technician, knowing that wasn’t quite the truth from Tom’s tone, but not worried about delving further. As he finished applying the new plaster he said, “Well, whatever it was, don’t do it again!”
“Don’t worry,” said Tom smirking, “I won’t.”
By the time Lois and Tom got back to the cottage, George and son had left. Pippa and Chris were crashed out on the sofa, but got up to welcome them home. “Perfect timing,” said Chris, “just booked a table at the restaurant in the village, Chez somebody or other. I was hoping you wouldn’t be long. We’re starving! So, a nice meal and we’ll be off home.”
“Perfect!” said Lois and Tom in unison.
12
Tuesday had a very much more relaxed feel without Pippa and Chris there. Dean had put the first coat of black paint on the staircase by mid-morning. The “House Martins” had completed the wallpaper stripping upstairs and prepared the walls for painting. There were several areas in all the rooms which appeared to have needed patches of re-plastering, Lois didn’t ask why, she suspected it was due to the “House Martins” over enthusiasm in their wall paper scrapings. Anyway, it all looked fine now.
Lois went out and bought the paints she and Tom had decided on the previous evening, tucked up in their blow up bed. Having presented them to one of the Martins, she decided her mission for the day should be to meet one of the previously unmet sets of neighbours.
Lois was not born gregarious, but during her working life she had gradually increased in confidence, to the extent that she felt able, with a small amount of internal coaxing, to go and knock on the door of one of the houses and introduce herself. Which one to choose though, that was tricky? Lois had written down the names of all the cottages in a little notebook and had filled in any details she knew about the residents living in them.
“Rose, Bramble or Holly?” she called to Dean.
“Rose.”
“Right, Rose it is!” and off Lois went, Dean completely oblivious to what she was talking about.
It was a beautiful sunny day. Lois wore a pair of lightweight cotton shorts and a vest top stretched over her bump and was still very hot as she walked up the lane. Rupert and Reaver caught sight of her and came trotting up, both curling their bodies to the left as they wiggled a greeting. Lois fussed them briefly, then told them she had to get on, she was on a mission.
On arrival at Rose Cottage, Lois ‘patiently’ negotiated the ancient garden gate, which looked like it could well be the same age as the Victorian cottage to which it was the portal. Struggling with the rusted latch, she pushed and kicked to gain entry. The gate looked even more warped when she attempted to close it. She guiltily stroked it in an unconscious attempt to make it better. Then, realising what she was doing, glanced round to see if anyone was watching and hurried off towards the house.
The cottage looked tiny from the front. Squashed between Bramble and Primrose, an ancient looking rose creeping up the brickwork by the front door and covering most of the front of the cottage. A passageway ran to the left of the house, presumably, Lois thought, giving access to the garden. Lois knocked enthusiastically on the rather tired-looking front door, using the tarnished doorknocker. She felt far less anxious than she had when she’d called to introduce herself to Doreen and Jack. Having had Bert and Betty described as ‘a sweet elderly couple’, Lois decided there couldn’t be too many surprises behind this door.
After a few moments, Lois heard a man’s loud voice issuing from some way behind the door. “Come in, come in, doors open, give it a shove!”
Lois tentatively pushed the door, wondering, as she did so, whether Bert and Betty were also disabled. The door opened half way then stopped, as if something, or someone, was blocking it. The voice returned; “Come on in, give it a good push, who are you?”
Lois pushed the door harder and poked her head around it, calling out, “Hello there! I’m Lois, I’ve just moved into…” But, as her eyes saw what was in front of her, Lois’s mouth momentarily seized up in shock. The front door opened straight into, what presumably would have been the sitting room. But, cardboard boxes and crammed bin-liners filled the space from floor to ceiling. That is, except for a tiny corridor down the side of the room, less than two feet wide, which had books piled up on both sides to hip height. Papers, magazines, old milk cartons and all sorts of other rubbish littered the space, mounding up to a couple of feet high at one point. Lois pulled herself together on noticing the little man, presumably Bert, standing at the other end of the corridor, “ummm… into Honeysuckle, I’ve, we’ve, that’s me and Tom, my boyfriend,” Lois, suddenly worried that co-habiting might offend him, said, “husband, yes, husband, we’ve just moved in, wanted to come and introduce myself.” Lois stopped, realising she was having acute verbal diarrhoea.
“Come on in love,” called Bert, “steady as you go.” With that Bert turned and walked in the opposite direction. Lois pushed the door open a bit further to allow her body to follow her head through, wondering how best to tackle the obstacle course that lay ahead of her.
She was relieved that there was enough light coming through the glass panels of the front door for her to see the brown banana skin and the hole created by a missing floorboard, before they caused her a problem. Slowly and carefully she scaled the mountain of papers, supporting herself with her right hand on the wall and her left on the surprisingly solid barricade of boxes and bin liners.
As she approached what appeared to be the kitchen, Lois heard a little voice call out, “Hello dear, come on in.”
The kitchen floor, much to Lois’s relief, was not strewn with debris. There were however, mounds of pots and pans covering the surfaces, interspersed by cutlery and crockery. Bluebottles were lazily buzzing around the unwashed utensils heaped up in the sink. When the smell of rancid milk hit Lois, she felt vomit rise into her throat. Determination not to embarrass herself or her hosts took over and she forcefully swallowed it back down.
“Where are you Love?” called the little voice. Lois turned to see a tiny little lady sitting in a small alcove set to the side of the kitchen. She held out her hands to Lois. As Lois walked towards her she noticed that her eyes were milky white with cataracts. Bert meanwhile struggled to pull a fold-up chair from between the fridge and the dresser, then using it as a walking support he hobbled over to where Lois stood, her hands ensnared in Betty’s, and unfolded it for her.
“Here you are love, you sit opposite Betty, she’ll hear you better then.” Lois thanked him and sat down. “Right, I’ll get the kettle on. Nice cuppa tea?”
Lois remembering the advice Adam had given her at the dinner party and the stench that had hit her as she came into the kitchen, which amazingly, she seemed to be growing accustomed to, requested a black tea.
“You youngsters, always worryin’ about yer figures. Nearly all our guests have their tea black, don’t they Betty, I don’t know, really I don’t.” Bert said as he shuffled off to make the tea.
Loi
s turned the best of her attention to Betty, trying not to worry about the cleanliness of the cups. She reminded Lois of a baby dormouse, tiny, curled up and blind. Fine wisps of white hair adorned her head and chin. Betty continued to clasp Lois’s hands, as if Lois would vanish if she were to let go. “Now sweet ‘eart, what did you say your name was?”
Lois introduced herself and briefly told Betty about her and Tom’s purchase of Honeysuckle, the ensuing renovations and their plan to move in, prior to the baby’s arrival. On hearing that Lois was pregnant, Betty became very excited. “Oh, such a shame I can’t still knit dear.”
“Bert!” she called, “when you’ve made the tea, would you get me old shoe box, so as I can show, sorry love, what did you say your name was?”
“Lois, sorry it’s quite unusual isn’t it?”
“It is love, quite unusual, but I’ll get Bertie to write it down, then he can remind me what it is.”
Bert arrived with two cups of tea; about a third of each was sloshing around in the saucers. He put them down on Betty’s table, then, one by one, emptied the contents of the saucers back into the cups. Lois got a whiff of the rancid milk from Betty’s tea and had to, once again, swallow hard to staunch the vomit rising in her throat. She thanked Bert and off he shuffled to find the box for Betty.