by DH Smith
‘Don’t sound so surprised.’
‘I know you’re a good cook, Liz.’
He was on careful ground. No threats. She poured them both a glass of white wine. He noted her hand was shaking. What could that mean? She raised her glass.
‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers.’ He raised his to hers and they clinked.
It could go either way, he thought, the meal a sort of consolation prize. But he mustn’t bull into it, that would be asking for trouble. He saw she was nervously eating, trying to smile, not too successfully. She’d changed into a dress, a summery affair, a paisley design, shapely. She was beautiful out of her overalls, though even in them, saggy things, she had a feminine presence.
The pie was good, he wasn’t just saying it. It almost tasted meaty. The sauce lovely. He didn’t want to talk shop with her, the Mayor coming and all that. Nor yet get down to their real business, much as he wanted to know what she’d decided. Chat. Not something he was good at, but try.
‘That’s a lovely dress,’ he said.
‘I thought overalls wouldn’t do,’ she said.
‘Is the salad from your garden?’
‘The tomatoes are, as well as the spring onions and the spinach in the pie. That’s the last of my lettuce.’
‘Home grown food tastes so much better,’ he said. ‘The tomatoes have flavour. Some of the supermarket ones, well they look like tomatoes, but they lack sweetness.’
‘The big vegetable growers simply go for big croppers,’ she said. ‘They look good, like a tomato or carrot, but taste pulpy. Whereas in your own garden, flavour is number one. A tomato that tastes like a tomato.’
‘Exactly.’
This was going well, fairly easy conversation. He took a sip of wine. They could eat together, so important for any future. He didn’t mind at all there was no meat in the lunch. He could compromise. And surely she could.
‘More pie?’ she said.
‘Yes, please.’
She gave him a slice and poured sauce on top from the jug, her hand a little shaky which endeared her to him. She needed his protection.
‘The trick to a good meal,’ she said, ‘is the colours. It’s like a painting really. If it looks attractive, contrasting colours, then you want to eat it.’
‘This is very good.’
She beamed at him. At last. Well, it was time then. The big question had to be broached.
‘Have you thought about my proposal?’ he said carefully, as nervous as if he were about to go on stage.
‘I have,’ she said. ‘And there’s a few things to clear up before I give my answer.’
‘Go ahead.’ He took a forkful of pie, hardly aware he was doing it, simply needing to be doing something.
‘Suppose we got married,’ she said, ‘and it didn’t work. What then?’
He cut the pie on his plate into manageable pieces, aware his hands weren’t steady. Important question, and in the right direction.
‘You’d have to give it a fair go, Liz, before calling it a day,’ he said. ‘Let’s say after five years. If it isn’t working, then we could separate.’
He watched her keenly. She nodded. Good. He worked to even his breathing.
‘And you wouldn’t expose me?’ she said.
‘I wouldn’t.’
‘Even if we divorced?’
‘No. Even if we decide to divorce. We will have given it a fair try. Five years. I can’t ask more of you than that.’
‘More salad, Ian? More pie?’ She held up the dish; her hand was shaking again.
‘I will have some more, if you don’t mind. It’s delicious.’
He lifted his plate, she put a generous portion on, and then poured sauce over the top.
‘Lovely,’ he said, taking a bit. ‘I hope I can work after all this. Only a town hall meeting with the brass this afternoon, and they’ll have been out for a big lunch themselves.’
‘Where would we live?’ she said.
‘My place is slightly bigger than yours.’
He had already considered this aspect, and thought it a pity they couldn’t have both the houses. Knock them through. But it wouldn’t be allowed.
‘What about your father?’ she said.
‘I can’t kick him out. Can I?’
He took a sip of wine. She refilled his glass and then her own. For a little while both contemplated this matter. He could see, by the way she was wiping her brow, how important this was to her. Totally understandable.
‘He can be difficult,’ she said. ‘He might get between us. Being there, always.’
‘Never easy,’ he said, ‘living with an in-law.’ He had thought about this one. A newly married couple want the place to themselves. They have a life to work out. His father wasn’t an easy man to live with, he had to admit that. Three in the living room, three at meal times. It would be a source of arguments.
‘A dominant in-law,’ she said, ‘would come between us.’
There was no getting round it. But it was clear to him. He wanted her, far more than he wanted his father.
‘I’ll find sheltered housing for him,’ he said, surprising himself with the degree of his compromise.
‘Before we marry?’
‘Yes.’
My god. It was happening. She was coming towards him so quickly, as they cleared away the obstacles one by one.
‘And my working?’ she said. ‘I want to carry on.’
‘I’m happy with that,’ he said, almost adding ‘my dear’, but not yet. He must not make it look like he knew it was happening. ‘We would make a good team. Run the best park in the borough.’
‘And I can trust you, on your honour, to keep to what you are now offering?’
‘You can, my dear.’
He’d said it. This was the very moment, the one they had been building up to. His fork halfway to his mouth awaited.
‘Then I accept your offer, Ian. I’ll be your wife.’
He dropped the fork to his plate and his hands went to his head. He cried out in joy.
‘Oh my dear, my darling, Liz…’ She beamed across the table at him. ‘I am so happy.’ And he hadn’t had to mention the employment contract at all. That could have been such a spoiler to this celebration. He raised his glass.
‘To us.’
‘To us.’
They clinked glasses and drank. He couldn’t stop looking at her. She was to be his. His wife. Liz, so beautiful. She had agreed. He had heard her, clear and free of coercion. And without any unpleasantness. He must be worthy of her. He had his part to play.
‘When?’ he queried.
‘Let’s give us time to get everything organised,’ she said. ‘We want a decent sized wedding… Say six months?’
‘That’s fine.’ He was nodding like a dog in a car window. He’d never been so happy. ‘When can we announce it?’
‘When you’ve bought me a ring.’
She held out her ring finger, awaiting his diamond.
‘I’ll get it in the next few days.’ Of course he would. ‘You promise to wear it?’
‘Certainly I will. With pride.’
He poured wine into both their glasses. And raised his.
‘To the engagement of Ian and Liz.’
‘To our engagement.’
They clinked glasses and drank. He gazed at the face gazing back at him. She looked a little afraid. Perfectly understandable. It was a big step to take.
‘More pie, Ian?’
‘Just a little. It is delicious, my dear.’
Chapter 14
Jack was on the wall eating his lunch. He’d gone to the van to get his fleece and to the mess hut to refill his thermos. There were only two of them in there. The rotund woman and the old moaner. She was happy for him to take tea and milk, but the grouch on his own may well have begrudged it. She’d invited Jack to stay, but he’d pleaded fresh air. Often he’d found mess huts stuffy, and in small ones, especially, you were stuck with the dominant conversation which so eas
ily dropped into casual racism. And then he felt compelled to respond, and cowardly if he didn’t. And if there was an aggressive comeback, his head would be taken over for the next few hours.
So, peace in the autumn sunshine.
He’d read his Daily Mirror. War, disease, and footballers behaving badly. So goes the planet. His sandwiches were on the stale side. He ate them anyway; it was that or go to a café – an expense he was reluctant to make. It was a bad habit eating out at lunchtime. A couple of sandwiches made at home were a quarter of the price.
He’d best do some shopping on the way home.
But all in all, things were looking up. She’d agreed to him coming over with his telescope. About nine. And then supper. Jack assessed the sky. There was some cirrus cloud about but plenty of clear blue. He hoped it stayed that way or what would he say to her, if it clouded over? Cross fingers. By the marquee was a good place for the telescope. In fact, shelter if it was windy.
And then supper. He rubbed his hands together.
Twice he had spoken to her, neither time had she said much but each time he’d picked up on her sensitivity. She was more than a good-looker, admittedly he’d take sex when it was offered by an attractive woman, but she had more. A soul mate. But if you don’t believe in a soul, then what was it? It reminded him of AA, the Higher Power that you should submit to in the Twelve Steps. Call it a doorknob, they told the non-religious. Call a soul mate a doorknob, call love a doorknob.
All words. Twisted and devalued.
Was that his problem? No faith. Not believing in doorknobs. And why in the end any relationship he had would shatter into disbelieving bits.
In the meantime, make the best of it. The sun was shining, the wall was coming down, and stargazing and supper were on the evening timetable. Hope on, and stay the course. He had a couple of hundred or so in the bank, another job starting next week. Just a few days’ work, but something else might turn up. You never know. Wasn’t that what kept him going?
Uncertainty.
Jack toasted his fortune in tea. Anything could happen. It probably wouldn’t, but you never know.
At what point in your life do you give up? Realise this is it, till you drop down dead. And, of course, if you believe that then it is all the more likely. You won’t even buy a lottery ticket.
Zar and that woman were coming towards him from the main gate. Sexy even in her baggy overalls, but then she was one of those who’d be alluring in anything. The dinner-date-maybe woman. Zar was swinging a full carrier bag.
They stopped by him.
‘Been shopping?’ said Jack.
‘Cakes for tea,’ he said holding up the bag. ‘To celebrate Rose’s birthday and my day release.’
Rose, he said to himself, at last, a name for a body.
‘Shall we invite him?’ said Zar to Rose.
‘What?’ she said, hands on hips in a mocking stance, ‘a builder with cement under his fingernails?’
‘That’s tomorrow,’ said Jack. ‘Today I’m just covered in brick dust.’
‘Then I’ll lay you down in the yard,’ she said, ‘and run you over with the leaf vac. Then you can come.’
‘I’ll put the cakes in the fridge,’ said Zar. ‘See you later.’
He left them.
Rose sat on the wall, partly over the gap.
‘Budge up,’ she said.
He moved along a couple of feet and she moved next to him until they were touching.
‘I hope you’re not corrupting that young man,’ he said.
She gave a short laugh. ‘Is that what you think of me?’
He nodded. ‘A very corrupting person.’
‘Well, you needn’t worry about Zar,’ she said, adding in a lower voice, ‘I think he’s gay.’
‘What makes you think that?’
She shrugged. ‘He’s not forever looking me up and down, like some people.’ She nudged him. ‘Know what I mean?’
‘You do have a nice up and down,’ he said.
‘Before we go any further, I have a few questions for you.’
‘An interview, Ms Up and Down?’
‘You could say so.’
He looked at his hands and overalls. ‘I’m not dressed for it.’
‘I’ll take you as you are. Question one.’ She paused to get his attention. ‘Are you married?’
‘Divorced, two years ago. I have a 12 year old daughter who lives with her mum in Brighton.’
‘8 out of 10. A pass. Next question. Very important this one.’ She turned and looked him in the eye. ‘Do you have your own place? I mean, do you live on your own.’
He laughed; this was a sizing up for certain ends, but okay, let’s see where it leads.
‘I have a small flat, one bedroom. And I live on my own.’
‘Full marks. Good. Next question. Have you a girlfriend? I mean fixed. Not the odd date now and again with any old scrubber. Are you itemised?’
‘I am free,’ he said.
‘Another one with full marks. Nine out of ten overall. That’s a merit. And a merit deserves…’ She rubbed her hands together as if warming them. ‘Dinner this evening. Your place.’
He felt somewhat cornered, not unpleasantly. She was a force.
‘I’m going out tonight,’ he said reluctantly.
‘Can you cancel it?’
‘No.’ He just couldn’t. Not even if… He just couldn’t.
‘I suppose that’s in your favour,’ she said. ‘Though I’d definitely cancel if I had a better offer. But there you go. First date?’
‘Yes.’
‘Her place?’
‘Yes.’
He was a sucker for her directness. Straight in, no messing. She knew what she had.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll do a deal, Mister Bricklayer.’
‘Jack.’
‘Fine, Jack. I’m glad we are on first name terms. Where was I? Oh yes, the deal. I’m currently between houses. Or, let’s come clean; I’m homeless. My sister kicked me out on Saturday. I slept in the bowling green pavilion last night. And I froze.’ She clutched her arms round herself and shuddered to give the feeling. ‘I don’t want that again. So let me come back with you after work. And if you score with your date, good luck to you. If you don’t, then you’ll have someone to come home to.’ She put a hand on his thigh. ‘What d’you say, Jack?’
‘Interesting deal,’ he said.
‘Is that a yes or a no, or a give me a week to think about it?’
He should say no. Commonsense said that. He didn’t know her. She might smash the place up, rob him…
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘A deal.’
‘Shake on it.’
They shook hands for rather a long time. Anywhere else and Jack would have… He looked around for somewhere suitable.
She broke away, and jumped off the wall.
‘I hope your date goes badly.’ She straightened her overalls. ‘Cakes at three. Don’t forget.’
And headed into the compound.
Chapter 15
Liz was down the far end of the greenhouse when Zar entered. It was an overwhelming feast coming into her jungle. The heat hit you at once along with the luxuriant green filling much of the space. And then the flowers came at you, here and there, as you ventured further in. A climbing begonia today, spiralling round its post, throwing out deep red florets as it made its way to the glass roof.
She was almost hidden in ferns, potting up. There was a mound of compost on the bench, which she was putting into a very large pot. To one side was a pot-bound Bird of Paradise. She stopped working when she saw Zar, wiping her hands on her plastic apron.
‘I’m looking for Ian,’ he said. ‘Do you know where he is?’
‘He’s at the town hall till after three. I’m in charge until he gets back. What’s the problem?’
‘Well,’ he began, ‘I had a wander round the park at lunch time. A twenty minute stroll, looking at the trees. You know?’
She nodded. ‘Good for y
ou. I like to have a wander myself.’
‘This is not about trees though. They’re alright,’ he half laughed. ‘But I found something else I thought I’d better report.’
‘What’s that, Zar?’
‘Death stalk mushrooms, growing at the base of a couple of beech trees.’ He stopped. ‘Do you know about death stalks?’
‘A little,’ she said. ‘Very poisonous I hear. Where did you find them?’
‘They’re growing in the big shrubbery, I haven’t seen them anywhere else – but they might be elsewhere.’
‘I’m glad you’ve told me,’ she said, rubbing the side of her face, making marks from the soil. ‘I’m wondering the best thing to do.’ She expired deeply, contemplating.
‘I spotted them yesterday but I wasn’t sure, so last night I went online to check,’ said Zar. ‘And yes, they’re death stalks. If you eat them, it can be eight or more hours before any symptoms appear. Then the victim vomits and has terrible stomach cramps… But by then it’s too late to do anything.’
She put a hand on his arm. ‘Enough of that. You’re giving me the shivers.’ She bit her knuckle. ‘Let me think, Zar.’ She started to bite her thumbnail, tasted the soil in it and took it out of her mouth, and wiped her hands on her apron. ‘Right. We don’t want to panic everyone. So I want you to keep this to yourself. Especially with the ceremony on Wednesday. It would never do to have a hoo-ha with all the bigwigs here…’ Adding on reflection, ‘Or even without them. A child might…’
‘I could gather up the ones I’ve seen,’ interrupted Zar, ‘then see if I can find any more.’
‘That would be the best thing to do,’ she mused, ‘except we need to give you a reason for looking everywhere.’
‘I could be doing a tree inventory,’ said Zar excitedly. ‘Official.’
‘Oh, what a great idea,’ exclaimed Liz. ‘In fact, we could have one for the ceremony, so there’d be some point to it. Come over here.’ And she ushered Zar to her desk area. She gave her hands another wipe and took a blank sheet of A4 and a pencil. ‘Let’s do a plan of the park.’ She began drawing rapidly on the paper, the lines flowing as she spoke. ‘There’s the bowling green, next to it the tennis courts, then the playground, and across the drive to the rose garden, down the Mayor’s Avenue to the two cottages, shrubberies here, here and here, the main lawn, the two glasshouses, and yard…’