by Gil McNeil
‘Well, what a find. Gorgeous. I must invite him to dinner. I mean what’s the point if you can’t have a bit of a frisson now and then with a handsome stranger?’
I don’t really know what to say to this, but I feel I’m somehow being disloyal to Charles.
‘Lovely plants, weren’t they? I bet Charles will be pleased. Mr Channing thinks he’s got a real talent for gardens, you know.’
‘Nice to know he’s got a talent for something.’
Oh. Well that worked really well then.
‘I’ll look through the diary and see what I’ve got coming up that I can invite him to. Or I could ask Tina down for the weekend. He might do for her – she’s completely desperate at the moment. He had lovely hands – did you notice? I love men who work with their hands, don’t you?’ And she sniggers in a very suggestive way.
I spend half the afternoon thinking about passionate moments with handsome strangers who’ve got nice hands. But my track record with passion isn’t exactly inspiring, although I did once have a brilliant weekend in Brighton with Patric, in the early days before he went all boring. Actually, a weekend away might be nice. But then I’d have to explain to Mum why I want her to have Alfie and she’d go all Spanish Inquisition on me, and anyway the last thing I need is to get entangled with some barking herb grower who lives with his mother. Even if he does have lovely eyes.
Alfie watches cartoons for most of Saturday morning, so he’s especially lively during lunch. He’s still leaping about when Patric arrives, nearly three-quarters of an hour late, complaining that the traffic was murder and he got stuck behind a police car on the motorway so he couldn’t make up time by speeding. Somehow he manages to say this in a tone of voice that suggests that it’s all my fault.
Then he announces that one of Alfie’s armbands has got a slow puncture.
‘Have you got a puncture kit?’
‘Funnily enough, not on me, no. If you’d told me last time you took him swimming I’d have got one, but at this precise moment, no.’
‘Oh. Well, I’ll have to get him some new armbands then, won’t I?’
‘Yes. Unless you want him swimming round in circles all afternoon.’
‘You might try to be a little less aggressive, you know, Alice. I was only asking.’
Christ, he’s annoying.
‘His swimming bag’s by the door, and I’ve put some juice in, in case he gets thirsty.’
This is me trying to be subtle and non-aggressive, but still make sure he gets the message that I’d rather Alfie had juice to drink than Coke. I know he wants to give him treats when he sees him, but it’s me that has him bouncing off the walls when he gets home, full of sweets and Coke.
About half an hour after they’ve left I hear the sound of a car pulling up outside. They can’t be back already, unless Alfie’s managed to throw up all over Patric’s new car. A black Labrador bounds up the path as I open the door.
‘Christ, I’m sorry. Basil. Sit. Basil.’
It’s Harry, carrying a tray of plants. He’s looking marginally less tramp-like than yesterday, and has a clean pair of jeans on, and a fairly clean navy-blue jumper. Basil’s running round in circles wagging his tail and barking.
‘Have I got the right place?’
‘Yes, but it’s the house just up the lane.’
‘Basil. Shut up. Sit. Oh, right, only I’ve been up there and there’s nobody around. I’m a bit late actually – I got stuck with customers all morning. Where’s the new garden, by the way? The one you were telling me about – I’d love to see it.’
‘You mean the Garden Society one?’
‘Yes, I’ve brought a few extra things, as my contribution. I hope they’re all right – just some lavenders – I’m very pro garden societies. I get lots of my customers through them.’
‘Oh thank you, really, that’s very kind. You must come up and have a look round. I’m sure Lola and Charles won’t mind.’
‘I take it you’re not a mad keen plantswoman?’
He looks round my garden and shakes his head.
‘I like it like this.’
‘Really? Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.’
‘No, actually, I’ve been trying to sort it out. I’ve got a book and everything, but it doesn’t seem to have made much difference. I was thinking about a flamethrower.’
He laughs.
‘Actually, there are some decent plants under this lot. It wouldn’t take long, you know.’
‘The trouble is, I’m not really sure where to start.’
‘I could get you started.’
He blushes. And so do I. Christ. This is turning into a Carry On film. All we need now is Sid James.
‘I mean, I’d be happy to help, if you like. I love rescuing gardens.’
I thank him, but say I think I’d better finish the other garden first, and we drive back up the lane in his jeep. There’s no sign of Lola or Charles at the house, so we put the plants in the garage out of the sun, and go through the side gate and across the lawns.
I’m surprised at how proud I feel when we walk through the doorway into the new garden. Dan spent ages last week fiddling with the water, and it now flows down from the main pond into the two smaller ones, with lovely trickling noises. Harry’s very impressed.
‘I think we might need some water plants. Tall thin ones, so they move a bit, but nothing flowery. But the slate looks great, doesn’t it?’
‘Fabulous. Are you sure you haven’t done gardens before? This really is terrific.’
‘No, but I didn’t do the plants – they’re all down to the Garden Society. The structure’s fairly simple, it’s the plants that really make it.’
‘Mmm. Well, I love the water, and the brick paths. They can look really awful, you know, if you get them wrong. You’ve obviously got the knack. What’s going in here?’
‘A play house, so the children have somewhere of their own. They’ve planted things too, look. Potatoes and um, I’ve forgotten what these are, actually.’
‘Runner beans, by the look of it. They’ll be up those canes in no time.’
‘Alfie wants to grow bananas.’
‘He’ll have a hard job round here.’
We walk round once more and he asks me who Alfie is, and I explain, and tell him he’s off swimming with Patric who comes down most weekends to see him since we split up. Which I think is a rather neat way of avoiding giving him the impression that I’m happily ensconced in couple land, not that it really matters, but well, you never know.
We drive back down the lane and I offer him tea, and we’re in the middle of investigating the front garden with him telling me about the plants I’ve already got, and what new ones would do well, when Patric and Alfie come back from swimming. Basil leaps up at them and plants a thin line of dribble on Patric’s left leg. He’s not terribly pleased, but Alfie’s delighted: he adores dogs, and has been campaigning sporadically to be allowed to adopt a St Bernard like the one in Peter Pan.
‘Sorry. I’m trying to get him to stop doing that. Basil. Sit. Sit.’
Basil totally ignores him, and Harry looks mortified, but it’s mainly Alfie’s fault because he’s running round in circles squealing.
‘Alfie. Stop it. Patric, this is Harry. Harry, Patric.’
Patric glares at Harry, who doesn’t seem to notice.
‘Why’s he called Basil?’
Harry explains to Alfie that he named him after Basil Fawlty, who used to be in a television programme he liked when he was little. Although I bet it was herbs that finally decided him.
‘I need a dog, but Mummy won’t let me have one.’
Alfie pauses, hoping Harry will pass out with shock at my cruelty.
‘Oh right, well, they are a great deal of work, you know, and they’re very stupid. Basil in particular, actually. He gets completely filthy, and brings things in from the garden. He put a field mouse in my slippers last week.’
I can tell the idea of having a large muddy dog p
ut mice in your slippers strikes Alfie as completely marvellous.
‘Thanks, Harry, that’s really put him off. Look, Alfie, when you’re big enough to take it for a walk in the pouring rain every night, then you can have one, all right?’
‘I can walk in the rain now, I can. I’ve got my wellies. Daddy, you can get a dog, can’t you? And then it can come swimming with us, can’t it?’
‘No, not really. Look, I’d better be off, Alice. I’ll call, but next weekend might be tricky. I’ll let you know, all right?’
‘Fine.’
He glares at Harry again, and then stomps off down the path towards Alfie, who gives him a quick kiss goodbye and then runs off after Basil again.
He’s still looking pretty furious when he drives off. Excellent.
‘Well, I’d better be off too. But thank you, for showing me the garden.’
‘You’re welcome. Are you sure you wouldn’t like that tea I promised you? Only I think we might have a bit of a riot on our hands trying to separate them at the moment.’
Alfie and Basil are now rolling around on the grass, having a brilliant time.
‘I see what you mean. Well, yes please then – tea would be lovely. Basil. Stop that. Basil.’
* * *
When I bring the tea outside Alfie’s showing off his toys, and Harry seems particularly taken with a bright-yellow digger. He says he never had toys as nice as this when he was little. Alfie says he can borrow it if he likes, and Harry very solemnly says thank you, he would like that very much.
We drink our tea and Harry throws sticks for Basil to catch, which Alfie thinks is fabulous. Then they run round and round the garden again. Basil’s wagging his tail so hard he looks like he might wag it right off, and then he starts leaping up at Alfie, who looks like he’s about to get flattened at any minute. But he doesn’t seem to care.
‘Stop that, Basil. Sit.’
Basil completely ignores him.
‘Sorry about this. I never really trained him properly – he’s too stupid. Basil. Stop it.’
Actually, he sounds quite sexy when he shouts.
Alfie is now lying in the mud with Basil licking his face.
‘God, I’m so sorry.’
‘Don’t worry about it. Alfie’s in bliss.’
He is. He’s giggling like mad, and even though I’m not that keen on the idea of dogs licking his face I’m certainly not going to be the one to try to separate them. Harry grabs Basil’s collar and pulls him off, and gets a filthy look from Alfie for his trouble.
‘We were playing and Basil’s being the bear cub and I’m the big bear.’
It looked very much like the other way round to me, but I’m staying out of it.
‘Sorry, but he can’t go about licking people’s faces. Some people don’t like it.’
‘Stupid people.’
‘Well, yes, maybe, but some dogs might bite, you see, and people wouldn’t know, would they? I could get into trouble.’
Basil is now leaping up at Harry and licking his hands.
‘Get off. Stop it.’
Harry ends up leaning over and pressing Basil on to the ground to make him sit. Basil seems to think this is a cue to roll over and wave his legs in the air, clearly hoping for a bit of stroking. Alfie obliges and before we know it they’re back to the licking thing again.
Harry finally manages to untangle them and drags Basil off towards his jeep. Alfie thinks this is outrageous and bursts into tears.
‘We were playing. Can Basil come to play another day? Can he?’
‘Yes, I’m sure he can. One day.’
One day when we’re out, preferably. This little episode is not going to help me maintain our pet-free status. I’ve been hoping he’ll move off dogs and on to something more relaxing, like goldfish. Or possibly a hamster.
‘Alfie, get up now, sweetheart – you’re getting all muddy.’
Alfie ignores me.
Harry comes back up the path.
‘I’m sorry about that. And thank you very much for the loan of the digger, Alfie.’
Alfie makes a run for the garden gate and I have to race after him. It’s amazing how fast small boys can move when they want to. I begin another instalment of my road-safety lecture and hold Alfie’s hand very tightly while Harry nods and says I’m quite right, he knew a boy at school who nearly got squashed by a lorry.
But then Alfie wants to know if he was squashed completely flat or only nearly flat, and Harry tries to change the subject. I’m not sure if he’s about to say anything else, when Alfie remembers the yellow digger, and retrieves it from the front step.
‘Here you are, you nearly forgeted.’
‘Oh thanks, marvellous.’
Harry looks rather blank.
‘You can borrow it, and when you come back you can bring Basil.’
‘Oh. Right. Um, well, thank you again, and for the digger – marvellous.’
And then he whispers to me should he really take it.
‘Oh yes, it’ll be fine. Just drop it in next time you’re passing.’
Alfie’s looking longingly towards the jeep, which is now rocking from side to side while Basil presumably settles himself down.
‘I’d better be off then.’
The jeep is really rocking now and Basil has started barking.
‘Well, thanks again. For the digger, I mean.’
Alfie’s trying to sneak past me again, and as I grab him Harry walks backwards down the path, nearly trips over a bucket, and then waves and gets into the jeep and drives off.
Damn. I thought he might be going to ask me out for a drink or something. I’m not sure whether to be disappointed or not. I mean on the one hand I really don’t need someone with a mad dog popping round all the time. On the other hand he does have lovely eyes, and well, maybe I’ll just wait and see if he rings, and if he doesn’t perhaps we might need to buy some more herbs for the garden. I could just drop in, in a casual sort of way, to buy something. Maybe after Easter, so it doesn’t seem too obvious.
Lola rings in the evening and is rather put out that she missed Harry.
‘I showed him round the new garden.’
‘And was he impressed?’
‘Very. And then he came back for tea and Patric came back.’
‘Oh good. I bet that put his nose out of joint. I still haven’t met him, you know. You must bring him up next time – from what you’ve said he’s a complete prick, and I’m rather good with them. I get loads of practice at work. Actually, you know, I’ve just thought, Harry might be perfect for you – just what you need to liven up your summer.’
‘Oh no, he’s not my type really.’
Actually, I don’t really know what my type is, but I don’t want Lola getting the idea that I might be interested. She’d be bound to take over and organise some sort of hideous dinner party or something. And I still haven’t made up my mind. Well, not completely, anyway.
‘Oh well, if you’re sure. I must ring him up and get him round for supper when Tina’s down.’
Bugger. Well, that serves me right for not being more assertive, I suppose. Mind you, I’m not completely sure Lola would take much notice even if I was.
We talk about Molly’s surprise Easter present, which Dan’s arranging to say sorry about his mother visiting. He’s getting her some chickens, because she’s always wanted some, and he’s made a hen house round at Frank’s.
‘It’s so sweet. He’s painted it white, with a blue roof.’
‘How lovely. Very Little House on the Prairie. Well, I hope the foxes don’t get them. Isn’t that meant to be why everyone goes hunting in the country?’
Actually, I don’t know anyone who goes hunting, and neither does Lola, as far as I know, but I think she’s just feeling rather grumpy. I think she’s still irritated by the new garden: she was pretty sarcastic about the lack of anything really trendy in it, like the zinc pavilion she was campaigning for at one point. She even showed me some pictures of a hideous-l
ooking giant glass ball that you move around the garden, and then sit in, once you’ve anchored it, presumably. Unless you want to roll around like a hamster. And she keeps telling me shrubs are bourgeois, and I must make sure nobody sneaks any in. I don’t know who decided that shrubs are bourgeois, probably someone in one of those magazines that cost eight quid and are full of adverts for leather fruit bowls and villas in Tuscany. But I think she’s rather torn now the garden’s starting to take shape, and seems to be so popular.
‘What are you doing for Easter?’
‘Nothing. It’s going to be awful. I wanted to go away but I’m too busy at work, so we’ll just have people for lunch or something. And Charles’s parents are coming, for some reason, which is bloody annoying. God, they’re boring. I’ll have to get some more people down, or I’ll go mad.’
Lola seems to collect people like other people collect teapots – she’s always having dinner parties or people for lunch or the weekend. Actually, I’m not sure she’s that keen on spending too much time on her own with Charles and the kids.
‘If I’m desperate I’ll just come down to you and hide. You’re not doing anything, are you?’
‘Not really. I’ve got everyone for lunch on Sunday, but apart from that, no.’
‘Good. Well, pencil me in then. I’ll bring the vodka.’
Molly’s invited us to tea on Good Friday, to meet the new chickens. She says they’re Buff Orpingtons, which makes them sound like retired army colonels. They’re a pretty caramel colour and completely mad, and the chicks are really sweet, like little balls of cheeping fluff. They swarm all over Alfie when he lies down inside the chicken coop, even though I ask him not to, and peck at his knees, which he loves. The cockerel is called Bernard, after Bernard Matthews, and Lily’s christened the hens Hoppy, Poppy and Loppy, and her chick Tigger. Molly says Alfie can have a chick too, so he spends ages choosing a name and then finally christens it Edward, after his best friend at nursery.
Harry hasn’t rung, which is a bit disappointing if I’m honest, although I’m trying to pretend I don’t care. Molly says everyone knows men have a completely different timescale to women, and he’s probably just trying to make sure he doesn’t look too keen. I’m not sure she’s right, I think it’s far more likely that he’s not interested in the slightest, but my mission to cook lunch for the entire family is looming, and I’m in enough of a panic about that without adding Harry into the mix.