Peppercorn Street

by Anna Jacobs

  ‘Not quite. I’ve got some rusks. She’s teething and loves to gum them. It’ll keep her busy for ages.’

  Millie remained in a sunny mood, charming Mr Shackleton with her smiles, chewing the rusk happily. She only smeared it over the bottom half of her face, which was tidy eating for her, and she managed to get quite a bit of it down. Janey pulled out a sippy cup to give her a drink of water.

  Mr Shackleton brought out a folding table on which he placed a teapot and two mugs next to the packet of biscuits. Then he brought out a milk carton and sugar in a plastic container. ‘I’d rather do things properly when I have a guest. My wife always used to have very high standards when she set a table for guests. Only I don’t keep china sugar bowls and milk jugs here. No room to store them, you see.’

  ‘The tea will taste just as good.’ He’d spoken of his wife in the past tense, she noticed. ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking, but is your wife dead?’ His face grew so sad she wished she hadn’t spoken.

  ‘Peggy’s in a home. Dementia. The poor love doesn’t even recognise me now.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Yeah. Me too. I miss her something shocking. Fifty years we’ll have been married next month. We’d such plans for celebrating it.’

  ‘Do you have children?’

  He nodded. ‘Two sons, but one lives in Reading, so I don’t see much of him and his family. The other lives here in Sexton Bassett so I see him more often. Both of them are doing well: fancy houses, wives working, holidays abroad, children at private schools. But they never seem to have time to stop and chat.’

  She nodded, but she didn’t really know how it was for people who had money, lived in fancy houses and had big four-wheel drives. She saw them sometimes as she walked along the posh end of the street, but they didn’t even notice her. Her mother worked in a shop and her father worked on an assembly line. They’d always had to be careful with money in order to buy their own house and have enough left for her father’s beer.

  They weren’t loving people and had shouted at her all through her childhood for the slightest thing. She wasn’t going to become a misery like them with her daughter, she’d promised herself that.

  Taking a sip of tea, she changed the subject. ‘What are you going to plant this year, Mr Shackleton?’

  ‘The usual. Carrots always do well, peas, beans, cabbages, lettuce – and a few flowers, just because they look pretty. My Peggy used to love flowers. See that rose bush? It might look like a few thorny sticks now but it’ll be a mass of pink flowers come the warmer weather.’

  Janey let him talk, enjoying sitting in the sun which had no warmth but was bright and cheerful. She was always happy to learn more about gardening.

  Millie dozed for a while, then woke up squirming uncomfortably. Janey knew the signs. ‘I’d better go now. She needs changing. Thanks for the tea. You make a good cup.’

  ‘Stop by any time you’re passing. I’ve always got a cuppa for a friend. Oh, just a minute.’ He vanished inside the hut then came back with a cabbage, which he gave her. ‘One of my own. Still good eating once you take the outer leaves off.’

  ‘I wasn’t hinting for you to give me food.’

  He grinned. ‘I know that. I can tell a cadger a mile off. I only give my stuff away to people I like. You take it, love.’

  The cabbage was huge. Janey didn’t particularly like cabbage but free vegetables were a big help when you had to watch every penny and she’d read somewhere that you could use cabbage in stir fries and salads. She’d have to borrow a cookery book from the library or buy one in a charity shop. ‘Thanks.’

  She felt quite optimistic as she walked back. Perhaps it wouldn’t be bad living here if the locals were so friendly. Perhaps she might even make some friends her own age. She’d go to the next meeting at Just Girls, see what the others were like, at least.

  On Sunday, Janey got up early, did all the housework and washing then found it was still only nine o’clock. She heard church bells pealing and stopped to listen. Should she go to church? Why not? She’d been brought up to attend regularly, but hadn’t gone for a while, not after her oh-so-Christian parents had abandoned her in her time of need.

  She wasn’t quite sure what she believed these days but suddenly there seemed something very comforting about a church service. And anyway, it’d get her out of the flat and somewhere with other people.

  She’d noticed a small church just off High Street in the other direction from the library. It didn’t seem quite as threatening as the ancient parish church, which sat squarely in the heart of the town and had a leaflet all to itself in the pile from the library.

  The small church had a plain board outside that said in red letters on white, ‘All are welcome in God’s house’.

  Would she and Millie be welcome? Would anyone even notice their presence?

  She wasn’t sure about doing this, but the thought of spending the whole day on her own decided her. She desperately needed to be among people. If going to church didn’t work out, she’d only lose an hour or so. But you had to try everything you could till you made a new life for yourself, they’d emphasised that all the time in the discussion groups at the hostel.

  She decided to get there a little early and suss the place out, see where she could sit with the buggy, ready to make a quick escape if Millie started to cry.

  But as she walked through the gate and up the path, a woman minister opened the double entrance doors and smiled at her as she fastened them back.

  ‘I’ve not seen you here before, have I?’

  ‘No. We’ve … um, just moved into town.’ She gestured towards the buggy.

  ‘Then I’m happy to welcome you and your baby to our church.’ She looked down at Millie who was drowsy, ready for a nap. ‘We have a crèche for the morning service. Would you be happy to leave your baby in it?’

  ‘I didn’t realise.’

  The minister leant closer, still smiling, and said in a low voice, ‘It’s probably sexist to say so, but I’ve children of my own, so I do understand from experience how hard it is for a mother to get time to worship in peace.’

  Janey let out a sigh of relief. ‘That’d be great.’

  ‘I’m Louise, by the way.’ She turned and beckoned to someone. ‘A new customer for the crèche, Barbara.’

  An older woman with a grandmotherly air beamed at Janey. ‘How lovely! Oh, what a pretty baby! What’s her name? Millie. I love that name. And you’re … Janey. Well, come and see our facilities, dear. They aren’t fancy but they’re bright and clean.’

  There was a little side room, with a tiny baby lying fast asleep in a buggy, its face pink and peaceful.

  ‘He belongs to Marcie, who does the flowers,’ Louise said.

  Barbara came closer, touching Janey on the arm, which made her realise how rarely anyone touched her now, except for Millie, of course.

  ‘I used to be a children’s nurse, so your baby will be quite safe with me, dear.’

  ‘That’s wonderful.’ Janey explained about Millie’s needs then went back into the church. Just to sit on her own was wonderful. She could feel herself relaxing and enjoyed watching others file in. There were more people attending than she’d expected, which suggested that the church was quite popular. And everyone who sat nearby smiled and nodded at her.

  She really did feel welcome here. That realisation brought tears to her eyes.

  When the service started she joined in the first hymn, mumbling awkwardly at first, then getting used to singing aloud again. She’d once wanted to be in the school choir, but her parents hadn’t liked the thought of her staying late at school and ‘getting up to mischief’.

  At the end of the service she slipped out to get Millie and thank Barbara for looking after her daughter.

  ‘She was no trouble, slept most of the time. You could get a coffee before you leave, chat to a few people. I’ll still be here.’

  But she didn’t feel confident enough to do that in a group of complete st
rangers, so smiled and said, ‘Another time, perhaps.’

  Another woman came in just then and picked up the tiny baby. ‘Has he been good?’

  ‘As good as gold.’

  ‘They always are for you. Thanks, Barbara. My husband’s useless if Thomas starts crying, so it’s blissful to be free for an hour. I’ve changed all the flowers and I’ll be in on Tuesday to see to them.’ She smiled and nodded to Janey. ‘You’re new here, aren’t you? I hope you enjoyed the service. We’re a friendly lot, so do come back.’

  Janey walked home feeling happy. Perhaps she wouldn’t be so lonely after all? Perhaps she could find a few friends here and there. That’d make so much difference to her life.

  On Sunday morning, Winifred’s nephew rang. ‘I’m back in England a bit earlier than I’d expected. How are you keeping, Auntie Win?’

  ‘I’m fine, Bradley.’

  ‘I thought you might like a little trip out to the garden centre this morning.’

  ‘I’d love that.’

  ‘I’ll pick you up in about half an hour, then. And afterwards you can tell me if you’ve anything that needs fixing. Think about it.’

  Pleased at the thought of an outing, she went to get ready and waited in the front room so that she could see his car arrive and not keep him waiting. He was a busy person but he did make an effort to see her every time he came back to England.

  But it was two hours before he arrived and when she asked him what had delayed him, he looked at her in puzzlement. ‘I told you two hours.’

  ‘No, you said half an hour.’

  ‘You’re getting a bit forgetful. Doesn’t matter. I won’t tell anyone. You’re looking better than last time. You’ve stopped trying to do the gardening now, I hope?’

  ‘Yes.’ She waved a hand at the front of the house. ‘Can’t you tell?’

  ‘The house is too much for you.’

  ‘Please don’t start that again. I shan’t change my mind about moving.’

  As he started his car, he hesitated then said, ‘I’ve met someone new.’

  ‘Oh? You mean a woman?’

  ‘Yes. We’re going to move in together.’

  She didn’t approve of the way young people lived together without being married, but she didn’t say that. Who cared what old people thought about the world anyway?

  ‘Can I bring my new lady round to introduce you? I think you’ll like her.’

  ‘Of course you can.’

  They had a pleasant half-hour at the garden centre and she bought herself a new house plant, but she could see that Bradley was getting a bit impatient by then. Well, he had no real interest in gardening. Suppressing a sigh, she suggested they go home. ‘I’m sure you’ll be ready for a piece of cake now.’

  He brightened. ‘I’m always ready for a piece of your cake, Auntie Win. What sort is it this time?’

  She wished he wouldn’t talk to her in that tone, jollying her along sometimes as if she was a child. She didn’t say that. At least he came to see her.

  Bradley ate a huge piece of her walnut cake but Winifred wasn’t hungry. She was still thinking about all the beautiful plants she’d seen so briefly and wishing there had been time to see more.

  When he’d finished eating, he looked out at the garden and shook his head. ‘I’m not going to have time to do anything this break, but next time I’m in England I’ll find someone to sort out your garden. Maybe we should have some of it paved, or covered with gravel. What do you think?’

  She hated gravel and searched her mind for a reason not to have it. ‘Not gravel. It’s a bit chancy to walk on. I don’t want to risk a fall at my age.’

  He repaired a drawer handle that was loose, frowned at her fridge and suggested buying a new one.

  ‘Oh, I think that one will do me for a while yet.’

  ‘You don’t want to risk it shorting out and starting a fire. Old appliances can be dangerous.’

  ‘This one’s never given me any trouble.’

  He wasn’t fooled. ‘Not got enough money to spare for a new one?’

  ‘Stocks and shares haven’t been doing very well lately, so I have to be a bit careful. What do they call it? Asset rich and cash poor?’

  ‘Your stocks will rise again. Don’t rush to sell them, give them a year or two. I’m sitting on mine, keeping a careful eye on the stock market. And the offer’s still there. I’ll manage your stocks for you if you want.’

  ‘Oh, I think I’m doing all right. I enjoy keeping an eye on the prices in the newspaper.’ She didn’t say the other obvious thing: she might not have a year or two left. She tried always to stay cheerful and positive, especially when Bradley was around. So many old people moaned and complained.

  That was one of the reasons she didn’t enjoy going to meetings for the elderly. She didn’t like being called ‘aged’ or ‘elderly’ either. People talked about care of the aged as if no older people could look after themselves, and the burden of the elderly as if they were all a cost to the taxpayer. She could care for herself, thank you very much.

  She waved Bradley goodbye with a smile on her face, but leaned against the door when she went inside, feeling suddenly very much alone. Still, she might make a new friend. Oh, she did hope it would work out with Dawn’s mother!

  She had a lot to be thankful for, really. Her health, most of all. Without that you couldn’t do much with your life.

  She frowned, quite certain Bradley had said half an hour. He was the one who’d forgotten, not her. This had happened before and he’d insisted she’d forgotten what he said, but she knew she hadn’t.

  In fact, she didn’t look forward to his visits nearly as much these days. They always seemed to leave her doubting herself.

  Chapter Five

  On Monday Nicole waited impatiently for Sam to leave for work. She was up by six, but he didn’t go till half past seven, which seemed a long time to wait. He gave Nicole a reproachful look when he met her on the landing, but didn’t say anything. If he’d just spoken … tried to communicate … But he’d left it to her to make the first overture, as usual. She wasn’t going to do that this time.

  Once he’d driven away, she had a quick shower in the en suite, which further strengthened her resolve. Did Sam never put anything away these days? He hadn’t even rinsed away the toothpaste he’d spat out.

  She packed everything from the spare bedroom, but didn’t dare start elsewhere until she was alone.

  A short time later the boys went clattering downstairs and she could smell toast. Sam had bought a loaf, butter and jam yesterday. He and the boys seemed to be living off bread and jam, plus takeaway pizzas. She refused to feel guilty about that.

  ‘’Bye, Mum.’

  Tears came into her eyes as Paul yelled goodbye – the only one to do so. She’d always been closer to her younger son, try as she might to love them both equally. He’d been such a sunny-natured baby, while William had been a colicky infant, crying a lot.

  As soon as they’d gone, Nicole went into the master bedroom and began to pack frenziedly, praying her lists were well enough thought out. She’d already written a note to Sam, telling him she was going away for a few weeks to think about things. It had taken her several attempts to write it. One note had been spoilt by tears. She hadn’t even realised she was crying until the paper blistered. Her final effort was the best she could manage but still didn’t express all she wanted to say.

  She debated jotting down her mobile phone number at the bottom, but didn’t. He should know it well enough by now! He used to call her on it quite often during the day, but hadn’t done that for months.

  She was terrified William would come home while she was packing, because he’d skipped school a few times. No, why should he do that so soon after getting into trouble? Even he would have more sense. She stuffed clothes and other items into rubbish bags any old how. If they needed ironing she could do that later. She was taking the iron because she was the only one who used it.

  The pile of bags mou
nted up in the sitting room, where the fragments of broken ornament were still scattered across the hearth, a reminder to her and, she hoped, to them of why she was leaving.

  She moved the smaller pieces of furniture she was taking into the hall and dining room, making sure she had the list handy for the bigger things she couldn’t manage on her own. She was taking the computer desk and bookcases, as well as her favourite armchair and all her books. No one else in her family seemed to do much reading and she didn’t want to lose her collection of favourite books.

  When the doorbell rang at quarter to ten she jerked round in shock. Had one of the boys come home? Or Sam? What would she say to them?

  But when she opened the door, she found two young guys in jeans and thigh-length overalls with ‘Mini-Movers’ written in big red letters against the beige twill.

  ‘Mrs Gainsford? We’re a bit early. Is that all right?’

  ‘Fine with me.’

  They moved her things into the van more quickly than she’d expected and she had to rush out of the house to go and let them into the flat. She’d have to come back to the house to finish off.

  The whole move took less than two hours. How could an earth-shattering change happen so quickly?

  After the men had gone, she stood in the living room of her new flat, surrounded by piles of bulging bin-liner bags and a jumble of furniture, tears rolling down her cheeks.

  When she was a little calmer, she went back to the family house to make a final check, gathering together more of her little treasures, in case those got smashed as well. She tiptoed round, feeling like an intruder in the place that had been her home for nearly twenty years, jumping at every noise.

  Working quickly, she went into each room, taking extra small items now, a cushion, another pillow, a Persian rug that had been her grandmother’s. She raided the kitchen cupboards systematically, taking spices, herbs, a few of her special jars and tins. It wasn’t as if the others were going to be doing any fancy cooking, after all.