Arden

by Nick Corbett

  David smiles and nods. Luke throws the clothes over to Joe and disappears again. Joe struggles to maintain some dignity as he put the clothes on.

  As soon as Joe is dressed, David looks up from his book.

  “It’s good to see you this morning, Joe. How are things with you? How’ve you been coping, since the loss of your parents I mean? I hope you don’t mind me asking?”

  “That’s a long time ago now,” replies Joe softly.

  “Well, yes, I know, but I lost my parents in the war. That’s a very long time ago, but I still think about them, surprisingly often actually.”

  “Well, I do think about them. I dream about them too.”

  David nods reassuringly, and he smiles warmly.

  “It’s your grandfather that you live with now isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. There aren’t too many rules, so it’s okay.”

  “I see, and you live on the…Broadway estate, don’t you?” David appears to be slightly uncomfortable as he asks this. Joe feels a shudder go through him. He had been prepared to share about the loss of his parents, given David’s similar loss, but now the ground beneath his feet begins to move. The question has made him feel uncomfortable. In fact, it is almost like a betrayal for David to pry into the Broadway estate, especially when he lives in such splendour. Joe feels old insecurities coming to the fore. That one question has brought his two worlds colliding. He feels a need to protect himself from embarrassment, even to protect David from the brutal reality of what the place that he calls home is really like. Joe decides that he isn’t going to give much away. He is going to remain silent about the fact that his grandfather, who used to be the caretaker for the estate, has been forced to retire, and has taken part-time work in a shop. Joe tries to control his face; the ends of his mouth are pulling down. It’s been such a good night, why does reality have to arrive so brutally?

  “Oh, it’s not too bad,” he lies.

  Joe has a sinking realisation that his dignity is finally flying out of the eighteenth century sash windows. Now he really feels exposed. In an attempt to salvage some respect, he decides to mention his most important piece of news.

  “I leave for university in a few days.”

  “Ah. Now that’s exciting. What are you going to study?”

  “Gardening. Ugh, no, I mean landscape architecture.”

  “Oh. Interesting. At which university?

  “Sheffield.”

  “Oh.”

  Joe feels he is moving onto firmer ground. “Aren’t you an architect, Mr Rogers?”

  “Well, in a way I suppose. I’m a developer really. I’m just a simple builder. Do call me David by the way.”

  “I’d like to make sure we never build anything like the Broadway estate again,” says Joe, a little more confidently.

  David shifts uneasily in his leather chair. He looks away and scratches the back of his neck. Joe wonders if he has said something wrong, or is this another sign that landscape architecture isn’t a good choice? Joe mulls it over and then decides to change the topic of conversation.

  “How big is the forest?” he asks.

  David sits forward in his chair. This is one of his favourite subjects.

  “Our surviving bit of the forest is about two thousand acres. That might sound big, but it seems to be getting smaller as I get older. Shakespeare used to visit this part of Arden, you do know that don’t you?”

  “Yeah, he got caught for poaching didn’t he?”

  “That’s right. Lullingdon would’ve been pretty remote back then, a day’s ride from town.” David looks rather downcast. “Now you can see the lights of the city from our attic windows. I’m sure those lights are getting a little closer every year.”

  Joe feels a shudder of disappointment go through him. Of course, he knows it’s just a remnant of the old forest, and that the city with its run-down council estates, and his own home in one of them, isn’t very far away. But the summer has been spent with his friends in the forest, it’s been another world, they have had little need for anywhere else.

  Joe is feeling hot and bothered, and the borrowed clothes are uncomfortable. He turns around, for a moment he leans against the windowsill, staring out at the brightening world. He looks over manicured lawns and garlanded borders tumbling down to a lily-filled moat. The morning sunshine glitters on the water. Beyond the gardens are open meadows, bathed in gold. Sudden movement catches Joe’s eye. He watches a brown pony cantering effortlessly through the meadow, tail held high like a banner. It is one of the wild ponies from the forest, with pleasing Arab proportions. Joe feels the same sense of physical energy as when they were driving through the forest listening to U2.

  David leans further forward in his chair.

  “Humble beginnings can be a great blessing you know, Joe. I guess you must be eighteen now, the same age as Luke. You’re young men. Here, let me read you this, it might help at university.”

  With considerable effort, Joe breaks away from watching the pony. He turns around and nods.

  “Sure.”

  David continues. “It’s a proverb of Solomon. ‘Above all else, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life.’”

  There is an awkward silence. David turns a page.

  “Oh, thanks,” says Joe, searching for what to say next. He scratches his head. “You know, I’m not sure landscape architecture is a good choice.”

  David raises his eyebrows. “Well, choose what brings you joy, so you don’t have regrets when you’re as old as me.”

  There is another awkward silence. Joe looks puzzled. He is trying to digest David’s words.

  “How do you mean, like…?”

  David looks exasperated. “Try to be clear about what you enjoy doing, that could show you the way to go. Life’s all about the heart. If your motives are good, everything works out in the end.”

  David shuts his book; the interview has come to an end. Joe is touched by David’s kindness, even though he is unsure how helpful his advice has been. He feels that he can trust David, as if he could confide in him, about his struggles in life, and even that he has come to the conclusion that he’s got a hole in his heart, that will never be filled.

  Luke comes bursting into the drawing room, grinning, with a tray of steaming coffees. David gets up from his deep, comfortable seat with considerable effort, and he takes his coffee in a mug with Dad written across it. He walks over to Joe, places a strong hand upon his shoulder, and looks him in the eye.

  “I asked about your estate earlier because I had an odd dream about it last night.”

  “Oh, what was in the dream?” asks Joe, cautiously.

  “It was all very strange as dreams often are.” David turns and stares out of the window, as if contemplating whether or not to continue. He turns back to face Joe.

  “I do remember, there was a river flowing by your estate, by that impressive Gothic gatehouse. There isn’t a river there really of course, but in the dream you and Luke needed to cross this raging torrent. One of you was reluctant to cross it. Nonsense, I’m sure. I wouldn’t have mentioned it but it was so vivid and it’s such a coincidence to see you here this morning, dripping wet! Anyway, look Joe, do remember, you’re always welcome here at Lullingdon.”

  With that, David leaves the room. Joe is uncertain how he feels about featuring in that dream; he wonders what it could possibly mean. Do dreams actually mean anything? The words he remembers most clearly are: You’re always welcome here at Lullingdon.

  Luke speaks up, shattering Joe’s introspection.

  “Don’t worry about my dad. He’s always going on about his dreams and weird things. Just the other day he was telling me about his death; you can imagine what a cheerful chat that was!”

  Luke and Joe make their way outside. They find Archie sitting on the bonnet of the Mini. Some colour has returned to his face.

  “I’ve been sick,” he announces proudly.

  Luke is curious. “Really? Did you put your f
ingers down your throat?”

  “Yeah,” Archie replies, sounding earnest.

  Luke and Joe look at each other, eyes wide, eyebrows raised. They turn back to Archie, who is much more cheerful now he is getting proper attention. There follows a detailed conversation on the colour and content of Archie’s vomit. There is some relief from Luke that he doesn’t need to clean it up. Archie has already covered it all with gravel. Then an unexpected silence descends. The three friends just stand there, staring at the ground in front of them. It’s beginning to sink in; this isn’t just the end of a night out, it’s the end of a major chapter in their lives. Joe breaks the silence. “It’s hard to believe isn’t it? We’ll be going our separate ways in a few days.”

  Archie nods. “Yeah, I know, end of an era.”

  Luke looks up and he chuckles.

  “What you laughing at?” asks Joe.

  “Nerdmobiles!”

  They remember back to school, when the three of them first got to know each other. It was utter madness in the technology class, something close to a riot. Joe and Luke shared a drawing board and they used to draw imaginary vehicles on it, the so-called nerdmobiles. They were invalid carriages, designed to give their teacher, Mr Walters, a degree of mobility and dignity should he ever meet with a terrible accident with the circular saw. For example, if he were to lose his legs, or even his head. There was some precedent for this. Mr Walters had already lost three fingers in messy accidents with the dreaded circular saw, which brooded in the corner of the workshop. The boys used the saw with extreme caution, but Mr Walters continued to treat it with a rather cavalier attitude, as if he knew it would be fatal to show it any fear.

  Their nostalgia continues as Luke and Joe recall binding Archie to their drawing board. This incident occurred when Mr Walters was delayed and there was the usual mayhem in the technology class. Archie said the pivoted drawing board reminded him of a medical operating table. To illustrate his point, he had reclined across the board. Joe and Luke then used a whole reel of masking tape to ensure he didn’t get up again. They also attached straws to Archie’s nose in imitation of drip feeds. When Mr Walters’s lanky frame loomed in the doorway, Joe, Luke and the rest of the class scrambled back to their seats, leaving Archie stranded. Mr Walters screamed hysterically at Archie.

  “What the hell are you doing, boy?”

  He had never bellowed in such a commanding voice before. Stunned silence. Then the drawing board started squeaking. Archie was trying to escape, kicking his legs wildly into the air. His head turned so purple you could see his scalp through his ginger hair. Mr Walters had to cut him free. Joe almost wet himself he laughed so much.

  They reminisce about their walks home from school, through the fields, into town. The fifteen-minute walk took them hours.

  “We used to have such a laugh,” says Joe.

  “Getting home was an odyssey,” splutters Luke.

  “What’s an odyssey when it’s at home?” asks Joe.

  “It’s Greek isn’t it, for a long journey,” explains Archie.

  Luke smiles at Archie and he slaps him on the back. “Come on you, no more school for us!” With that, they all clamber back into the Mini. Luke races them into town at break-neck speed.

  Archie is understandably agitated by Luke’s very fast driving. They are hurtling around tight bends and narrow streets fronted by an assortment of terraced houses and small industrial premises.

  “Slow down, Luke, will you? A lot of cats live around here!”

  “I haven’t killed anything yet, have I?” replies Luke, irritated.

  They are getting close to where Archie lives. When Archie asks why he is the one who always has to be dropped off first, Luke replies impassively.

  “It’s so me and Joe can have a meaningful conversation without you.”

  Archie isn’t sure if that is meant to be a joke. He goes very quiet. Luke takes a tight corner with a screech of the wheels. They get thrown to the left. They are driving through an old part of the town. The narrow streets are huddled around the town centre. It’s an untidy place, but has a certain charm. Everyone knows their neighbour around here. They spin around another corner and they all get thrown to the right. Now they’re on Holland Street, which is where Archie lives.

  “Okay, windows up and music down,” says Luke.

  “I’m not bothered about that,” replies Archie, sounding dejected. He is still thinking about what kind of conversation Luke and Joe are going to have after he’s been dropped off. He is also thinking about how he’s going to say goodbye to Joe. This will probably be the last time he sees him before he leaves for university. Archie fidgets nervously with his ear, then he pretends to sort through the music cassette case.

  They drive past a little factory that makes boiler parts. Tucked in beside it is the bowling green, popular with older people during the day and, at night, serving as a hang-out for Archie and his mates. They pass the little Holland Street theatre, sandwiched between red brick terraced houses. Over the years, the little theatre has grown and taken over several of the neighbouring houses. Archie’s dad is a hospital clerk, but he is also involved with amateur dramatics in that little theatre. Luke finds a place to park the car. The only sign of life is a milk float, pulling up in front of Archie’s house. The house has a tiny front garden; you could easily lean over and tap on the glass of the living room window. The sprightly milkman jumps out from his float and deposits two pints on Archie’s doorstep. Most of the terraced houses look the same, except for Archie’s, which stands out with tacky stone cladding and irregularly shaped plastic windows. Archie has the small box bedroom at the back of the house, where he sleeps on a foldaway camper bed, a temporary measure that has gone on for several years. Beside Archie’s camper bed is a basket, where his dog sleeps. From Archie’s bedroom window you can see the neon lights of the town centre, including the glaring “M” of the McDonalds burger bar, a place that’s been a regular haunt for Archie, Joe and Luke, especially when they have been asked to leave pubs for being underage.

  The three friends sit in the car, nobody’s sure what to say. Eventually, Archie puts the music cassettes down.

  “I can’t wait to leave this place,” he says.

  “Why? It’s alright here,” replies Luke.

  “It’s posh compared to where I live,” adds Joe, trying to be supportive.

  Both Luke and Joe know Archie’s house well. They used to call in virtually everyday on their way back from school. They would watch Neighbours on the telly and fantasise about Kylie Minogue.

  Archie has made up his mind; there’ll be no goodbye speeches from him. It’s just not his style. He gets out of the car, smiles briefly at Joe, and then he slams the door shut.

  “Hey! I was going to get in the front seat!” yells Joe. But it’s too late. Archie’s gone.

  A dog is barking madly. It’s in the front living room of Archie’s house. The milkman says good morning; he gets a gruff response.

  Archie is well known in this neighbourhood; people often recognise him. He’s usually got his cute dog with him, Deefor, who is barking in the window now, an intelligent, wiry little terrier. Archie’s also known as a troublemaker. In his earlier teens, the police brought him home, a few times, after being cautioned for alcohol-related offences. His friends are a civilising influence on him, but his moral compass still drifts all over the place. The trouble is, he takes in everything from his older brother, Douglas, like a sponge. It’s usually about drinking, drugs, and sex; information that Archie, Joe and Luke have found fascinating. Archie’s gone through a time of being almost feral.

  Joe opens the front car door from the inside and he struggles out. Archie turns on his heels and walks back to the car. He grabs hold of Joe in an awkward hug and then he walks off again, fumbling in his pocket for his house key. When he disappears behind his front door, he buries his face in Deefor’s fur. The dog yelps for joy, its tail a wagging blur.

  3 Joe is Leaving Home

&
nbsp; After a few minutes of speeding down main roads and careering around suburban lanes, Luke and Joe are approaching the Broadway estate. This is the 1960s local authority housing estate where Joe lives. The car turns a bend. Standing before them is a splendid early Victorian Gothic gatehouse, built from fiery orange Staffordshire bricks. It is an architectural masterpiece. It appears otherworldly next to the brutal housing estate. Set within its frontage is an arched, oak door. Nobody can remember it ever being opened.

  Some distance behind the gatehouse, hidden from view by mature beech woods, is a seminary; another Gothic masterpiece. The beech woods are luxuriant and they provide a splendid backdrop, but the grey blocks of the Broadway estate are malicious teeth, ready to bite. The beech woods can be seen from Hannah’s bedroom in her parents’ house, which is not far away, on top of a hill. Hannah marks the passing of the seasons by the trees; lush green to resplendent gold. For her, there is an air of mystery about the Gothic gatehouse, and she longs to know what is on the other side of those trees but, even in winter, the trees keep the seminary hidden.

  Joe notices that Luke hasn’t taken the usual route into the housing estate. Instead, he’s pulled up on the main road, next to a bus stop and a pedestrian alleyway. Luke used to drop Joe off beside his home, but on the last visit he got a puncture from the broken glass. This new dropping-off arrangement doesn’t bother Joe. He’s grateful for the lift and while he doesn’t mind Luke seeing where he lives, it’s just as well that any other friends don’t get to see the condition of the estate full on.

  “Hey, that was a record time,” says Luke.

  “Well done,” replies Joe. “Anyway, I’d better get off now. Thanks for the lift.”

  Joe is surprised to see that Luke is also getting out of the car; he is walking around to him. Luke looks Joe in the eye and smiles.

  “Some friends are forever. You’re one of those friends.”

  Joe smiles, looks down at his feet. He remembers they won’t be seeing each other again, for a year, while Luke is off travelling around the world.