Ivy Lane: Autumn: Part 3

by Cathy Bramley

  Alf folded his arms, whistled a tuneless tune through his teeth, looked up at the gathering clouds and generally tried to give the impression that he wasn’t interested.

  I was though. Very.

  ‘And had you?’

  ‘Well . . .’ She hesitated with her mouth open and considered her answer, hand on hip. She looked like a little teapot.

  Yes, then.

  ‘Technically . . . yes.’

  Ha. Guilty as charged.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ she said haughtily, drawing a circle in the air with her knife.

  I swallowed.

  ‘He always let us borrow it—’

  ‘Us?’

  ‘Me and my mate Andrew.’

  I nodded slowly.

  ‘He only reported it stolen because we’d had a row that night. I knee’d him in the balls for trying to feel me up. He blamed Mum for him being horny because she was away seeing her sister in London. So to pay him back I lifted the keys from the kitchen drawer and took the car to get to a party instead of going by bus. Only I can’t drive so I gave Andrew the keys. What I didn’t know was that he’d had a Magners. The police pulled us over and he failed the breathalyser test.’

  That entire incident was awful on so many levels that it was hard for my head to know where to start. Her face had gone all red from screwing it up. Alf, on the other hand, had gone white.

  ‘Anyway,’ she sighed, looking down at the broad beans in surprise, as if she couldn’t remember what she was doing here, ‘it was worth it because Mum dumped him for pressing charges.’

  How could she be so blasé about it?

  ‘No.’ I stood and descended on her in slow-motion mode until I towered over her. ‘No, it wasn’t worth it.’

  Hayley blinked at me and took a step back as I took the knife from her hand. My pulse had doubled and was throbbing loudly in my ears. I thought for a moment that I might burst out of my clothes like the Incredible Hulk. Perhaps that would help, get rid of some fury, perhaps I should throw in an almighty roar for good measure.

  ‘Now then, Tilly,’ said a gruff voice of reason from the bench.

  I took a deep breath and exhaled sharply.

  ‘You could have killed someone. Your friend. He could have hit another car or a pedestrian. Would it have been worth it then? Hmm?’

  ‘Well, no.’ She blinked at me and paled, as if the thought had just occurred to her. ‘Obviously. But he didn’t, did he?’ She folded her arms and looked at me sideways like I was a lunatic then stomped off to re-join the rest of her group.

  I made short work of the remaining broad beans, bending down, letting my hair cover my face to hide the frustrated tears.

  When I stood up, Alf was poking the end of his walking stick at my cabbages.

  ‘Want to talk about it?’ he asked.

  I rubbed a hand over my face and shook my head.

  ‘I’m glad you’re coming back next year,’ he said. ‘I’ll enjoy thinking of you here, learning and growing,’ he lowered his voice, ‘and healing.’

  My throat throbbed and I could do nothing more than nod.

  ‘I shan’t be here. I’m packing it in. I know the committee don’t believe me. But I am. Come on, my plot next,’ he said, offering me his arm.

  It had all got too much for him, I could see that now; he hadn’t kept on top of it and although he had a wide variety of crops, they were fighting a losing battle with the weeds. The sight of his beloved plot looking less than perfect was upsetting. For me and for him.

  ‘So really,’ he said, wheezing after all the effort of bending down, showing me his Heath Robinson irrigation system, the last of his beetroots, his top-notch turnips and ready-to-come-up potatoes, ‘everything’s ready now and then the plot will be just right for some young blood to take on fresh next year.’

  Normally, I would have nudged him and teased him that of course he’d be back next year, but this time I squeezed his hand and placed a kiss on his whiskery cheek.

  ‘Right you are,’ I said, leading him to the pair of deckchairs in the shed.

  He unzipped his anorak and rearranged it as he sat down. The pictures of him and Celia that used to be pinned up had gone from the shed wall. I think that made me feel sadder than anything. He’d packed up already, mentally moved out of Ivy Lane.

  Anyway. Time to change the subject before I got all miserable.

  ‘That was a brave move back there, Alf,’ I laughed, ‘giving that girl a knife.’

  He flapped a hand at me and chuckled. ‘That’s the thing with trust. You’ll never know if someone’s trustworthy until you trust ’em.’

  God, I was going to miss him. He was so wise. My chest heaved and I reached out a hand and patted his arm.

  ‘You’re such a kind man, Alf. A much better person than me.’

  ‘Codswallop, girl. Besides, we’ve all got history.’ He stared at me for a few seconds and I wondered what was coming. ‘I’ve been inside, you know. Prison.’

  I held my breath.

  ‘Broke into a builder’s yard with my mates. There was no CCTV then, but there was a vicious Alsatian who took a chunk out of my backside and I had to go to hospital. No sooner had the nurse started to clean the wound than an orderly whipped back the curtain round my bed. Next thing I knew a copper appeared and caught me with my pants down. The orderly was Celia. We always joked that she saw my bare arse before she saw my face. She must have liked what she saw, though.’

  Funny how life turned out. If Alf hadn’t committed a crime, he’d never have met his Celia. I bet he didn’t regret a thing.

  ‘You’re full of surprises, you.’ I grinned at him and shook my head.

  ‘Well, there you go,’ he said, eyeing me apologetically. ‘My criminal past. Got three months for that. Nowadays I’d probably get away with community service like this lot.’

  I got the message. People could change; sometimes all they needed was a kick up the bum – or a bite in his case.

  ‘Thank you for telling me,’ I said, standing up to go. I placed a kiss on his head, still covered with a thick thatch of silver hair. ‘I’d better be off.’

  ‘Come back tomorrow,’ he said, grabbing onto my hand with his gnarled fingers. ‘Got something for you.’

  ‘I’ve got school in the morning. Can it wait till the weekend?’

  ‘Pop in early. Before school. I shan’t keep you long, I promise.’

  He pulled a hopeful face. I rolled my eyes affectionately and tutted.

  ‘Go on then, see you tomorrow, eight o’clock sharp. I’ll even bring you some breakfast.’

  Chapter 4

  What had possessed me to offer to bring Alf breakfast? I rarely ate anything before school unless it was a bland and boring breakfast biscuit. A desperate dredge of the freezer unearthed two battered croissants left over from a recent lazy Sunday morning. Hardly a gourmet feast, but they would have to do.

  I shoved them in the microwave for a few seconds and then tucked them in my coat pocket.

  I felt odd cycling past school, seeing the already busy staff car park. I had a hectic day ahead too; I hoped Alf was on time, I really couldn’t hang around. Our topic at the moment at school was People Who Help Us and we were having a themed fancy dress day (I was already dressed as a nurse, not the ideal outfit for an early-morning rendezvous with an octogenarian, admittedly) and one of the children’s mums was coming in this afternoon to talk about her job as a dentist.

  Thinking about it, perhaps Charlie would like to bring his fire engine down to school or Karen could visit, a real nurse? Maybe even Nigel could come in in his old army uniform. This topic could run for weeks with any luck.

  The gate was locked. Bad sign. Alf obviously hadn’t arrived. I cast a look over my shoulder to see if he was behind me – he wasn’t – and let myself in.

  Ivy Lane allotments were deserted so I pedalled at full pelt up to Alf’s plot, hoping against hope that he’d let himself in and re-padlocked the gate.

&nb
sp; His raspberry canes had been cut back since yesterday, I hoped he hadn’t overdone it. He had seemed shattered when I left him.

  Phew, Alf was here. The shed was open and I could see him inside, the back of his head protruding over the top of his deckchair, exactly where I’d left him yesterday. Good, I would still be able to make it to school on time.

  ‘Morning,’ I called in a suitably sing-song voice. ‘Nurse Parker here with your breakfast. I hope you haven’t been there all night.’

  I should have brought a flask of coffee, I realized, looking at the crumbly croissants; it would be like eating a loofah without a drink to wash it down. I slipped off my helmet and coat to better display my uniform and hurried into the shed. Much as I loved Alf, I needed to keep this brief.

  He still hadn’t moved. He must have nodded off.

  ‘Boo.’ I pressed my hands over his eyes.

  His face was cold. I whipped round to face him, my heart thumping with fear. His eyes were closed, head slumped to one side, lips slack and dry, hands clasped in front of him.

  ‘Alf?’

  I shook his shoulders.

  ‘Alf?’

  Goose pimples flashed across my skin making my whole body shudder and panic rise in my throat. I could hear my own breathing, my own heartbeat, as I registered the signs of a life departed.

  Or perhaps it wasn’t? Maybe I wasn’t too late.

  I grabbed his wrist and felt for a pulse. My own hands were trembling so much it was difficult to feel anything. I pressed firmly, softly, in several different places . . . but nothing.

  People Who Help Us. People Who Help Us. I dashed back to my bike and fumbled for my phone.

  ‘Emergency Services, which service do you require?’

  ‘Ambulance. Please. . .’ I swallowed a sob. ‘It’s my friend. I think he’s gone . . . please hurry.’

  Ten minutes, the calm voice at the end of the phone had informed me. The ambulance would be with me as quick as it could. I ran to the gates and opened them wide. Ran back. I had ten minutes to say goodbye.

  We had sat like this yesterday. On deckchairs in his shed. Only I hadn’t reached for his hand then. I wished I had. How long had it been since someone had held Alf’s hand?

  I covered the back of his hand with mine and saw something sticking out from his closed palm. I tweaked it and with a bit of tugging managed to pull out a screwed-up photograph. I smoothed it out on the skirt of my nurse’s uniform. It was a picture of him with his arm round Celia, the two of them standing outside the shed, beaming at the camera.

  My eyes let go of their tears and I sobbed.

  The thought of Alf spending his last moments alone were so sad. But I supposed that he hadn’t been. Not really. Celia had been with him, smiling up at him from that photograph. In my heart of hearts I knew that that was what he would have wanted. The last face he saw would have been the one he loved more than any other. His last thoughts would have been happy ones. The relief was overwhelming.

  By the time the paramedics arrived, I was in a bit of a trance. I let go of Alf’s hands and stood aside. Two of them. A man and a woman.

  ‘You, er, his nurse, love?’ said the man, kneeling down in front of Alf and unzipping a large nylon bag.

  My outfit was from eBay. Most of the nurse’s uniforms had not been appropriate for school, but I’d found a blue one that came to the knee, had a mock apron printed on the front and a pretend fob watch pinned to my chest. The crowning glory was a floppy headpiece with a red cross on the front, probably crushed now from the weight of my cycle helmet.

  I shook my head. ‘A friend.’

  The two of them exchanged looks.

  At any other time, I’d have been mortified.

  I turned away to Alf’s workbench to give him his dignity while the paramedics carried out their checks and noticed a spade and fork leaning up against the worktop. Unheard of; every tool in Alf’s shed had its own special hook. A place for everything and everything in its place – I’d heard him say it enough times.

  Then I saw it: an envelope with my name on it propped up on a box of tomato food. This must have been what he wanted to give me. I recognised Alf’s hesitant writing in pencil. He always used a short chubby pencil, sharpened with his pocket knife, to write names on plant labels.

  Should I open it? Was I even allowed to touch it?

  The paramedics were lifting Alf onto a stretcher and weren’t paying me any attention. It did have my name on it. I inserted a finger under the flap, it wasn’t stuck down and I took the letter out.

  He had written it all in uppercase as usual, with the first letter of each sentence bigger than the others.

  Tilly,

  I’m hanging up my gardening gloves for good at Ivy Lane, but I shall be popping back to check up on you! I’m trusting you with my Celia’s tools. They are old but there’s plenty of dig in them yet if you look after them like I showed you. You’re a grand girl, Tilly, and it’s done my old heart good seeing you come out of your shell this year. Keep it up, lass.

  Alf

  PS No need to thank me, but I’m always partial to a bit of cake!

  I brushed the tears away and looked at the spade, wrapping my fingers around the smooth wooden handle, worn thinner in the middle from years and years of digging. Celia’s tools. What a lovely gift. From a lovely, lovely man.

  The female paramedic put her hand on my shoulder. ‘Are you all right, sweetheart?’

  I nodded. And in a strange way, I was all right. Because seeing Alf like this, so at peace at the end of his days, had shown me that death didn’t have to be violent and bloody and shocking; sometimes it could be peaceful and calm and the perfect way to end a happy life.

  By the time Alf’s body had been transferred to the back of the ambulance and I had given what details I could to the paramedics, Nigel had arrived.

  I filled him in about Alf, adding ‘Don’t ask,’ when I caught him eyeing my nurse’s uniform.

  It was only eight thirty; it felt like I’d been here hours. I had the whole day ahead of me still. As soon as the thought popped into my head, the breath caught in my throat. Poor, poor Alf.

  My chin stiffened, my lip wobbled and my bones turned to jelly.

  I slumped against Nigel and rubbed my tears against his soft wool jumper. He rubbed my back awkwardly and we both watched the ambulance leave. I could hear his heartbeat. It was hypnotic and reassuring.

  ‘What next?’ I mumbled. I should phone school for starters. The bell would be going shortly.

  ‘I’ll give Christine a ring. We’ve got his son’s details somewhere.’

  He peeled me off him and peered into Alf’s shed before gently closing the door.

  ‘Alf did well on his own after Celia died,’ he said gruffly. ‘Not easy to carry on with your life when half of it’s gone.’

  I could only nod at that. The lump in my throat was too much of an obstacle to navigate.

  He removed a folded handkerchief from his pocket and performed a series of impressive nose-trumpets, dabbing his eyes to finish.

  ‘I’m glad you were here, Tilly.’ He patted my arm. ‘Well, I’d better do the necessary.’

  I watched Nigel stride off to the pavilion, picked up my bike and wheeled it along the road.

  I didn’t get very far.

  ‘Well, I must say I’m shocked.’

  Brenda. She must have spoken to Nigel.

  In my dreamlike state of numbness it took me a few seconds to process her body language. Feet planted firmly on the road-end of plot sixteen. She flicked her long red hair over one shoulder. Dressed in black, like always; pinched red lips, twisted to one side; one hand leaning on her fork, the other balled into a fist and wedged on her hip.

  She didn’t look very happy. Join the club.

  ‘A share,’ she snapped. ‘That’s what we agreed.’

  I was confused. Celia’s tools? I blinked at her.

  ‘I said you could have some of the crop in return for me borrowing part of
your plot. Not half the whole lot.’

  Oh. The potatoes.

  ‘I’m sorry, Brenda, but—’

  ‘This way.’ She flicked her head towards the end of my plot. I didn’t have the wherewithal to argue so I dropped my bike and followed.

  ‘Just nipped in early to dig them up and what do I find? Somebody’s beaten me to it!’

  She couldn’t seriously suspect me? Ordinarily, I might have laughed, but this morning I was barely present, let alone prepared to stand my ground.

  But I could see she was right: one of the rows had been dug up and discarded potato plants lay strewn all over the churned-up soil. Most peculiar.

  ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘Is that all you can say?’ She stared at me, eyebrows furrowed, and stabbed the fork into the ground. ‘That crop was very valuable to me.’

  The phrase ‘as cheap as chips’ popped into my head again, but I kept it to myself. She really did look angry.

  All of a sudden I couldn’t bear to continue the conversation any longer and began to walk away.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she called, all red-faced and indignant. ‘Aren’t you at least going to apologize?’

  I turned back to her and breathed deeply before speaking. ‘This really has nothing to do with me, Brenda. And quite honestly, I’m not worried about a few potatoes right now.’

  She opened her mouth to protest but I held up a hand. ‘Brenda, I’m afraid Alf has passed away.’

  Brenda fell instantly silent. I picked up my bike and walked on. I should probably have given her more information rather than just walk away, but my throat was burning.

  As I passed the car park by the pavilion, a minibus pulled up and the community service lot climbed out.

  ‘Hello, miss,’ called the lanky one from yesterday.

  I smiled and ducked my head down.

  ‘Hey, Tilly.’

  I lifted my eyes to come face to face with Hayley fastening up the Velcro on her neon jacket.

  ‘You know Alf who you met yesterday,’ I said quietly, taking her to one side.