by Marie Browne
“Hello?” I didn’t recognise the number.
“Oh hello.” A cheery female voice on the other end of the phone chirped in my ear. “You’re on call this week and we have a blaring unit on the children’s ward can you attend?”
I sighed and then laughed. “Well, yes I probably can.”
“ETA?”
“About three minutes.” I laughed.
“Really?” My answer shocked her out of her professionalism. “Have you moved? It usually takes at least an hour for a call-out.”
“No, I haven’t moved.” I locked the car and trotted back across the road toward the back entrance. “The hospital has become sentient and is exerting an unusually powerful force on me tonight. I can’t seem to get away.”
“Well you were either in A and E or the staff bar,” she laughed.
“Bingo!” I slowed down as I walked past the travel agents and the solicitor’s office, Addenbrookes is a large hospital and has its own tiny village. “A and E.”
“Oh dear,” she said. “If you’re sure you’re all right, I’ll tell them you’ll be there very soon.”
It took me about an hour to fix the television. Under normal circumstances we were just supposed to cut the power and leave it till the morning but leaving a child without a television just seems to make the parents crazy. Before I left I called Bill to find out if she needed a lift home, she didn’t.
“They’re keeping him in,” she said. “He’s asleep.”
At least some of us are, I thought. I stifled a huge yawn and checked my watch. Midnight, wonderful. “I’m working here tomorrow – give me a shout.”
She said she would and let me go. I staggered back into the boat at about one o’clock in the morning. Geoff was fast asleep and even the dog only opened one eye and then ignored me. My last thought before oblivion took me was that my car was still full of very smelly substances and that would all have to be cleaned out before I took the kids to school.
‘They’ do say that no good deed goes unpunished. ‘They’ may well be right.
Bill and Drew turned up the next evening. With two broken wrists, a mashed shoulder, and high as a kite on prescription pain killers it didn’t take Drew very long to run out of steam. Bill helped him back to their boat and then popped back for the shopping that she’d left on our front deck.
Helping her with the bags I had a sudden thought. “I take it this means that Drew won’t be working for a while?”
Bill shook her head. “I’m not really worried about him working,” she said. “With no hands and a broken shoulder he can’t do ‘anything’.” She frowned. Not one to usually let the irritating little dips in life get her down she was obviously worried about this. She turned to look at me. “This is going to be very difficult I think.”
I contemplated all the things that we do on a day to day basis. She was right, it was going to be very difficult. I looked up at the cloud-filled sky. It had rained yesterday, today, and more was forecast for the rest of the week. So much for a drought, we were rapidly turning into a swamp. Without the use of his arms and hands Drew was going to find even simple things like climbing out of the boat and walking down the hill to the cars impossible. He’d do it, no doubt, but he would be in very real danger of face planting himself into the mud and breaking something else.
“Whatever you need.” I handed the shopping bags over the front deck to her. “Tell you what, I’ll give your number a different ring tone so that I know it’s important and won’t ignore you like I do everyone else.”
“Oh!” She raised her eyebrows in mock outrage. “So that’s why I can never get hold of you, is it?”
I decided to just pass that question by and laughed. “Any time for anything, OK?”
She nodded. “Thanks. I’ll see you at the weekend.”
With a wave she disappeared into the dark depths of her boat, no doubt in an attempt to go and put Drew to bed.
I stared at the side of their boat. A broken Drew was very likely to be a grumpy Drew. I hoped the pain killers kept him asleep for a good long while, otherwise Bill was going to have her hands full of frustrated tantrums.
As I wandered back towards the lights of Minerva it started to rain again. This life is great as long as you are completely fit and healthy. It’s hard enough to do what we need to do with all limbs working. It’s no wonder that a lot of us are rather obsessive about safety. One false slip and it’s not just a case of sleeping in an armchair for a week. It’s your whole life that gets thrown into disarray. I thought about those that boat alone, and, unusually for me, just sent a little request to anything that might be listening that they’d be kept safe.
The next morning Geoff was all smiles.
“What’s got you so cheerful?” I’d just peered into the coffee container and found only damp smears at the bottom; I was not a happy bunny.
Geoff dug around in one of the cupboards and emerged with a dusty box of ‘real’ coffee in one hand and an ancient cafetière in the other.
Oh, you had to love the man.
“I’m working at the RSPCA today,” he said.
“Which one?” I stared at the thick black liquid in the cafetière, willing it to brew faster, the smell was fantastic.
“Wildlife,” he said shortly. “I’m cleaning out their extractor fans and replacing some lights. I always like it there. Last time they had some seal pups in and a young fox.”
“Lucky you.” I finally managed to get a mouthful of coffee, it was bliss. “I’m taking Sam to the dentist, then back to school, then I’m going to the launderette, then I’m walking the dog, doing the shopping, bringing up those last two bags of coal, going back to pick Sam up from school, and then we’ve got a doctor’s appointment to see about his nose bleeds. Wonderful day.”
Geoff laughed. “What are you moaning about? It’s your day off.” He scuttled out of the boat before I could decide what to throw at him.
Standing in the launderette I realised that we didn’t really get ‘days off’. Living like this you just have to group everything together and do it whenever you can. Hoping that no one would mind, I dumped all my washing into one of the big dryers and then did a very fast supermarket run. The only way to fit everything in is to make sure you have excellent time management. I got back just as one elderly lady was about to take my dry washing out of the dryer.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I panted as I rushed in. “I hope it wasn’t in there too long.”
“You can’t just leave your washing in there and wander off you know, it’s very selfish.” She glared up at me from about four inches below my chin and then shook a gnarly finger at my nose. “We’re all waiting for that dryer.”
I looked around, there were at least four other dryers standing empty and silent. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I murmured at her.
“Make sure you do,” she snapped at me. “I’m just going across to the shop to get some washing powder. I’ll expect you out of that dryer when I come back, it’s the best one you know and you’re hogging it.”
Well, there wasn’t really anything I could say in the face of such righteous ire so I nodded and watched her leave.
“Don’t mind her.” A woman reading a newspaper spoke up. “Your washing must have finished about a minute before you walked in through the door; she’s just a cantankerous old misery.”
“Thanks for telling me.” I gave her a smile. “I thought maybe I’d miscalculated and it had been about half an hour or something.” I began taking the dry washing out of the machine and piling it on the side ready to be folded and put away. “Mind you, I’m not going to argue with her, scary little thing.” I folded a towel and placed it in my basket. “It was like being told off by the wicked witch. I half expected her to wave a stick and turn me into a toad; I bet she’s a demon with her family. Husband terrified, kids buried in the back yard.” I laughed.
“She’s my mother.” The woman glared at me.
The following loaded silence obviously he
lped me work; I’d never packed up washing so fast in my life. On my way out to the car I decided I probably needed to find another launderette. Or at least fit myself with a muzzle.
When Geoff walked in that night I couldn’t wait to tell him about my mishap with the witch in the laundry and moan that if we had a washing machine like normal people this sort of thing wouldn’t happen. I recounted the story and he laughed.
“One of these days,” he said, “you’re going to just keep your mouth shut.”
“Well it’s been nearly fifty years, I haven’t managed it yet,” I said. “You look a bit ruffled yourself. Did you have a rough day?”
“I did a bit.” He took a long sip of tea.
“Oh yeah?” I plonked myself down next to him on the sofa. “So who did you mortally insult?”
“No one.” He sighed. “I got taken captive.”
“What?”
Now, to most people, this would be taken as a joke but I was the office manager for a maintenance company when one of our engineers was held at knife point. The rather confused lady on the other end of the very large, very sharp knife, rang me to tell me that I could have my engineer back when the parts for her boiler were delivered and not before. We’d had to get the police involved. I’m sure this sort of madness happens more than people can believe. “I thought you were at the RSPCA, what grabbed you, an injured badger?” I was being serious, I’ve been backed into a corner by a grumpy badger – those things can be quite scary.
“Ducklings,” he said.
Silence fell for a good thirty or forty seconds.
“Sorry, for a moment there I thought you said you were taken captive by ducklings.” I swivelled around to get a better look at him. He didn’t appear to be joking.
He nodded. “I was up a ladder replacing an extract fan in a pen with about thirty orphan ducklings in it.”
“O … K.” I was still baffled to see how little fluffy ducklings could have grabbed him. I mean, knock you unconscious and try to steal your soul, sure, but captive? They were certainly branching out their nefarious activities.
“Well I was up there about ten minutes,” he said. “When I’d finished, I looked down and the ducklings had decided to climb the ladder. They were completely packed on to the two bottom steps. Those that couldn’t get on were just running around and around the ladder. Those things move pretty quickly you know.”
I started laughing. I tried to keep it to myself but I had this mental image of my rufty tufty husband stuck up a feather filled ladder, I knew exactly what he was going to say next and sure enough I was right.
“Well, I couldn’t jump over them because with my great feet I was sure I would land on one of the ones that were rushing about trying to get on the ladder. I certainly couldn’t climb down the steps because they were all packed on to them like little fluffy sardines, so there I was – stuck.”
I snorted gently.
“The staff were at lunch and every time I called for help, it startled the ducks and they all shifted about, one was pushed by the others and it fell off,” he said.
“Oh no!” I couldn’t help it, I just couldn’t keep a straight face. “Was it all right?”
“It seemed to be.” He took another swig of tea and shuddered. “It just bounced down the steps, fluffed itself up at the bottom and came around and started climbing the flaming ladder again.” He shook his head. “It was like that flipping penguin run game where the penguins climb up the iceberg and then slide down and another takes its place.”
My face began to hurt just a little bit. My poor husband looked so mournful it was hard to keep it straight.
“So anyway, there I am, stuck at the top trying to whisper for help, I can’t move because I don’t want to shake the ladder, I’ve got a box of tools that’s precariously perched on the top with me.” He paused for a moment and rubbed his leg. “I was up there for about half an hour. I’d just got to the point of attempting the long jump when they started feeding whatever was in the next pen. With one clatter of a pail all the ducklings leapt off the ladder and rushed over to the door.” He frowned and settled himself deeper into the sofa. “One of the staff came in and just looked at me, I must have looked completely insane, white and shaking at the top of these flaming steps. She asked me if I was OK, well there was no way I was going to tell her what happened so I just nodded. She gave me a very odd look as she walked out.”
That was it, I howled with laughter and spilt my tea.
Geoff looked hurt. “That wasn’t the end of it, my next job was in with a woodpecker.”
“Well they’re only little.” I managed to get the words out between taking gulps of air, my sides hurt and my cheeks felt stretched.
“Little and angry.” Geoff widened his eyes as he remembered his day. “I walked into the pen and this thing started screaming at me at the top of its little lungs. You could tell that it was using every woodpecker swear word it knew. It didn’t shut up once the entire time I was in there, just kept screaming and swearing. By the time I left I had the shakes and a headache.” He held his cup out with a sad look. “More tea?”
I managed to stop laughing long enough to take the mug.
“Thank God I don’t have to go back for another month,” he said.
I handed him his refilled mug. “I thought it was me that any wildlife, big or small, wanted to traumatise. I didn’t realise it was a family thing,” I said.
“I’m going to need all that time to get over the nightmares,” he said. “I think I have post-duckling-stress-disorder.”
I laughed and rubbed my head where the dent was still evident. “Don’t we all, honey,” I said. “Don’t we all.”
As the rain continued to fall we began to notice a strange smell permeating the boat. As soon as you walked in through the door this faintly sickening odour hit you in the back of the throat. I began to use scented candles, joss-sticks, and even aerosols. Anything that didn’t smell of rotting meat.
Eventually I’d had enough. “What the heck is that smell?” I finally cornered Geoff.
He looked faintly surprised. “What smell?” He sniffed the air. “I can’t smell anything.”
Sam looked up from where he was doing his homework. “I can’t smell anything either.”
“I can.” Charlie got up from where she was watching a film and opened one of the kitchen cupboards. She peered into the darkness. “I thought maybe some veggies had escaped and begun to form their own civilisation in the back of here, like last time.” She got up and dusted her knees off. “But there’s nothing in there.”
Charlie and I wandered about sniffing like bloodhounds while Geoff and Sam watched us, both wearing identical looks of bemusement. They are very similar in looks and obviously neither has a good sense of smell.
“It’s definitely here.” Charlie tapped her foot on the front step.
“I think you’re right.” I stooped to take a final sniff of the step. “Is it the carpet, do you think?”
Charlie shook her head and took the top of the box that formed our front step. She wandered into the kitchen and sniffed at it. “Nope just smells like dusty carpet.”
“Is it really that bad?” Geoff wandered over and began sniffing. “I honestly can’t smell a thing.”
I nodded. “It is that bad. What’s under this box?”
Geoff shrugged. “Just those water catching mats, and then there’s the floor and below that we’re into the metal bottom of the boat.” He lifted the box up and took it away. The sweet, nauseating stench wafted up at us.
“Oh YUCK!” Sam grabbed his nose. “I can smell it now.”
Geoff looked irritated. “I’m going to have to get that bit of floor up,” he said. “There’s a possibility that a mouse or a rat has managed to get in and then couldn’t get out and died under there.”
The rest of the family all took a good couple of steps back.
He looked up and grinned. “I take it that means that the man with no sense of smell is on hi
s own for this one?”
We all nodded frantically. If you’d put us in the back of a car we could have sold insurance.
“Whoever makes me a cup of tea doesn’t even have to look in the hole,” he said. There was a rush and scrabble as we all leapt toward the kettle.
“You’re all pathetic.” Geoff laughed and went to get his jigsaw.
It took him about an hour to find the source of the smell. A mouse; a very long time dead mouse by the level of decomposition that had already happened. Unfortunately, all that was left was lying in about half an inch of water which, presumably, had managed to get in via the same hole as the mouse. It was a stinking soup.
By this time the smell was so bad that Charlie, Sam, and I had taken refuge in Charlie’s boat. I took the opportunity to complain about her lack of housekeeping and irritated her by collecting stray socks that seemed to be trying to inch themselves under every available surface.
“Oh for goodness’ sake, stop it!” Charlie grabbed the socks from me and shoved them into her dirty washing bag.
On the front of the bag it read, in stages, ‘One week, two weeks, three weeks, naked’. By the way it bulged Charlie should have, by rights, been running about in the buff at least a week ago.
“You always do this, you always come in and take over,” she said. Glaring at me she folded her arms across her chest. “This is why I’m moving out next week.”
I nodded and coaxed another sock from beneath her sofa.
“I am!” She snatched the sock away. “One of the healers that comes into the shop said that I can rent a room from her if I hate living with you lot so much.”
That got my attention. “You tell people you hate us?”
Charlie had the good grace to blush and, dropping the sock, she hurried over to give me a hug. “I don’t tell them I hate living with you ,” she said. “I just tell them that I hate living so far out in the country. I want to live in town.”
“But you’re only just seventeen,” I said. “You’re supposed to hate living with us, can’t you put up with hating being here until you’re at least eighteen?”