by James Perch
Beaten Track
First published 2013 by Beaten Track Publishing
Copyright © 2013 Jay Perch
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent publisher.
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
ISBN: 978 1 909192 25 6
Cover Design by Steve Johnson
www.beatentrackpublishing.com
Dedicated to my friends and family.
Special thanks to -
my wife Liz, for the true story of the Chopper incident
and Steve Johnson, for the cover.
This novel is a work of fiction and the characters
and events in it exist only in its pages and
in the author's imagination.
Table of Contents
Flashbacks
What’s Mine Is Chores
Ginny
Smashing Plans
An Unexpected Meeting
Picnic
Private Shop
A View from a Hill
Demolition Derby
A Year Later - November ‘93
New Beginnings
Conscious and Bewildered
Flashbacks
I’ll never forget her as long as I live, which probably won’t be long, because I’m currently lying in a hospital bed, after surviving a car crash. In my lucid moments I’m reminded of our good times together. Memories flood back like sand through an hourglass.
Our first meeting was in the summer of ’92 at a friend’s house. I was having a break for a while from helping my dad on the farm, so I moved in with my Aunt Myrtle for a fortnight. I’d been visiting my aunt since I was a young boy, so over the years I got to know her neighbour’s son Jeremy, or Jez, as he was referred to by his friends. Jez’s dad had a huge house with large grounds, funded by his property developing company which was prospering nicely. On beautiful afternoons like that one, I’d pop over and use their pool, forever swimming up and down. Jez’s family treated me as one of their own, and would leave me to my own devices when they were busy. On this occasion I was shooting through the water like a torpedo, until I reached one end of the pool. A face peered down at me and smiled.
“Impressive length,” she declared. “That was really quick.”
“I much prefer them to widths,” I replied.
“Whew! Lengths like that are enough to make my eyes water.” She grimaced.
“That’s why I wear goggles, it keeps out the chlorine,” I said, pulling myself out of the water. I stood up and let the water drip slowly off my torso, shaking it out of my hair. “I’ll be with you in a bit, I just need to remove my trunks.”
“Need any help?” she offered.
“Nah. I can manage. If I take one at a time, that is. They’re heavier than your standard luggage. They were handed down from my great, great grandad. He was an avid traveller.”
“What do you keep in them?” she asked quizzically.
“Well, in the first one, I’ve an assortment of things. Old photo albums and keepsakes.” I grabbed a sack-truck from the wall, and manoeuvred my first trunk onto it. “I’ve got photos from the days when I was a member of the Young Ornithologists Club, snaps from my dad’s farm, and some of the travelling circus, for instance.”
Her eyebrows raised in interest. “When you’ve got time, I’d like to check them out,” she said.
“Follow me now. You’re not busy, are you?” I asked, beckoning her onward. “I’m Jake by the way, Jake Cooper.”
“Pleased to meet you, Jake,” she said, “I’m Elaine.”
We ambled steadily across to Aunt Myrtle’s garden, dodging my aunt’s huge shed, possibly the biggest erection you might have seen, displayed in a normal sized garden.
“Uncle Fred was good with his hands. He built that.”
“Nice work! Was he a bit of a carpenter then?”
“He was forever tinkering. He always had a tool in his hand,” I said wistfully, remembering spending time with him, whilst growing up. “Remind me to show you the inside of the shed some time,” I added, with a conspiratorial wink.
I thrust my hand into my pocket and had a delve around. I never knew which pocket I’d put my keys in, so I was always having a rummage. Eventually I put my hand on it, and pulled it out.
“Oops. Sorry about the mess,” I said as I unlocked the front door and went into the kitchen. “I was making homemade lemonade earlier and didn’t tidy up after myself.”
“Ooh I fancy a bit. Can you give me one?” She gestured past me, towards a glass on the shelf.
I opened up the fridge and grabbed a fresh lemon, and some pre-prepared lemonade in a pitcher. I handed her a knife and she sliced the lemon into wedges. She playfully thrust one towards my mouth and I licked the citrus.
“Mmmmm. That’s nice,” she said, taking a sip.
I walked back across the kitchen towards the fridge, and placed the half lemon back in a small shelf, in the side of the door. As I stooped down, I saw a white paper bag at the back, wedged behind some jars. I reached in and pulled out two packets from the butchers.
“What’s that?” she asked, pulling a face.
“Oh dear,” I replied, “I think it’s out of date meat.” I peered in and had a little sniff. “Three sausages and a small slab of beef, to be precise. That’s going in the bin.”
“Wait!” she shrieked, jumping off her stool. “Before you do, I’ve got something you can try. My little brother used to mess with his food as a youngster, which developed into a sort of weird pastime, the older he got. He invented something that he called Food Origami. Have you got a sharp knife?”
I walked over to the cutlery drawer and pulled out a little sharp utensil. She took the slab and started slicing away at it like it was a bonsai tree. Within minutes she was proudly showing off her beef curtains. As random as the idea sounded, I succumbed to the lure of the meat and soon I was proudly brandishing my pork sword.
“Enough of that weirdness. I think you should feed that little lot to your dog,” she said, gesturing to the newly sculpted masterpieces.
“I’d offer you my meat, if it were fit for human consumption,” I said with a little shrug.
“I love meat,” she quipped. “I’m never happier than when I’m confronted by a big portion. I’m a regular at Mr Mason’s butcher shop. I sometimes only go round for some tongue, but he always tempts me with sausage.”
“Is Mason’s the one next to the shoe mender?” I asked.
“You mean Simpson’s?”
“That’s the one,” I said, with a nod.
“Do you know...I was in there yesterday,” she said, a serious expression coming over her face. “I was getting my shoes re-soled, when a gang of young lads ran through the shop, messing about. One of them tripped up, and his boot caught my shin.”
I made a wince and a quick intake of breath. “Ouch. That sounds painful. I wouldn’t want to be kicked in the cobblers for no reason.”
Elaine took a few steps towards a small shelf by the cooker; it had cookery books on it. She wandered closer, tilting her head to read the titles. I walked over to join her.
“Oh! You like cooking do you?” I asked.
“I’ve got a few favourite recipes at home, although I’m always keen to try something new.”
“What have you made recently? Is there anything to make my mouth water?”
“I love homemade bread. You get the d
ough. You roll it around in your hands and put all this effort in. Before you know it, you’re watching it rise. I found a recipe for a herby bread recently. Ohh, it’s divine. You get the normal dough mix together, and then you add a bit of dill. Last week I was thrashing around with the dill dough until I was gasping for air.”
“Aunt Myrtle has some good books, but here’s my favourite,” I said, pulling out a well-thumbed tome. “Here we are, Fanny and Johnny Craddock’s Farmhouse Cuisine. I love a bit of Fanny. The book’s a bit old, but the recipes are timeless. When I unearthed my aunt’s ‘Fanny’, I had to blow away some cobwebs, it hadn’t been used in a while.”
Elaine flicked through the pages and gasped at the photos. “I’m going to have to put it down before I get too engrossed. I’m starting to drool.”
It suddenly dawned on me, the reason why I’d invited Elaine over in the first place.
“Let me show you some photos from our farm. I’ve got loads. I’ve been taking them for years.” I spun around and went back to the front door. I placed an unused blanket by the door and placed the trunk on it. The trunk slid easier over the tiles and soon I was back at the table with Elaine. I pushed the lid open and grabbed the first photo album from the depths. “Here you go. Have a little look at these.”
She pored over the photos, stopping to look closely at any that piqued her interest. I informed her that they weren’t all of the farm, just random pictures of animals. The first one she stopped at was of the hens roosting.
“Now, that’s an awesome cock! Look at him standing proud and erect!” she said with surprise.
“Ah now! That’s rooster Bill. He was a majestic bird. Can you make out how sharp his beak is there? That was one hell of a pecker.”
“Bull?”
“No I think that one’s an ox. I was experimenting on taking close-ups.”
“Oh yes! I see now. I think I’ve got the horn,” she said with recognition. “Holy cow!”
“That one was taken in India. Their religion forbids you to kill one because they’re considered sacred. Dozy cow.”
“Pardon?”
“That next one. Daisy with her eyes shut. She was having a snooze.”
“Hmm. Is this where we start getting random? That’s a lovely beaver, but it does seem out of place in here.”
“A friend of mine, who emigrated overseas sent me that one. I thought it made a nice centrespread. He considered moving to the USA, but he decided not to in the end. He once told me that he liked a nice Yank, but he preferred Canadians.”
She turned a page and recoiled. “Ugh, I don’t like reptiles.”
“He was harmless, that’s Sid, my one eyed trouser snake. I carried him in my big, old trouser pockets. I’ve never known a snake so docile. There was a fox that just wouldn’t leave him alone, so I looked after it. That same fox attacked the chickens. I know you shouldn’t get attached to the livestock, but it’s a real sorry business when you have to put them out of their misery.”
“I bet you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve choked a chicken?” she asked sullenly.
“Oh, a fair few times,” I agreed.
She turned another page and her face lit up. “Nice ass,” she said.
“Ahh, there’s another tale all in itself. We rescued that little donkey from a travelling circus.”
“Aww! Was it old or being abused?” she asked.
“I think one of the trainers was sneakily pounding it. I know they’re stubborn beasts, but there’s no call for that. The circus stayed for a week, and my dad adopted the poor thing. Nursed it back to health. That circus fascinated me; the strongman, the ferocious wild animals, the Big Top. I wasn’t keen on the clowns though. They always give me the creeps.”
“I’m with you there. I can’t stand clowns.”
“I got friendly with Madame Fouff, the exotic French Fortune Teller. She gave the punters a cold exterior, but when I was alone with her in her trailer, she showed me her exclusive selection of muffs, collected from all over Russia. She told me they were all the rage in colder areas. Warm, open-ended cylindrical fur muffs to keep a lady’s hands warm. They felt so soft to the touch. When Madame Fouff arranged them all on her bed, I couldn’t help myself from jumping on them. Before long, I became known for my love of muff-diving. Madame Fouff had the usual spiel. ‘Cross my palm with silver, and I will predict your future’ she used to say to the visitors.”
“It amazes me how quickly they get those big tents up. I saw them erecting one once on telly. It’s not surprising how they get it up that quick with everyone having a go.”
“The Big Top?” I asked. “Yes that was quite an interesting area to be around, with so much going on. There was one performer in particular who commanded attention, but was actually quite a private girl. Loulou the trapeze artist practised for hours every day and it showed. Her skills were breath-taking and she was a joy to behold. She had many would-be suitors wherever she went, and men would travel from afar just to catch a glimpse of her. Arabs would shower her in gold to get her attention, but she would often ignore the golden showers.”
“So what’s this about you and the Young Ornithologists Club?” she asked. “Have you always had an interest in birds?”
“I like all kinds of tits: blue tits, coal tits, et cetera. I like watching from a distance, hiding, and observing through binoculars. They don’t scare as easy if you’re far enough away. It’s all very well watching wild birds in their habitat, but I wouldn’t want to look after them like the RSPB guys. I visited the main sanctuary down in Bedfordshire, when I was younger, and I found it upsetting. Ducks that had fishing hooks in their mouths and things like that. A cormorant in the marshland is much more desirable than a distressed shag on the rug, in front of the fire.”
She nodded her head in agreement. “I’ve been keen on ornithology since I was young as well,” she added. “I like tits and there’s no denying the beauty of a nice shag. I’m not really a fan of the thrush, but I’ll always like a cockatoo. Remind me to show you my hooters sometime.”
“Owls?” I replied. “I look forward to seeing them.”
Just then, there was a playful knock at the door, so I went to answer it. Jez was stood there expectantly.
“Hi, mate. Thanks for entertaining for me, but we have to disappear for a few hours. My parents are taking us to lunch. Let’s get going, Elaine.”
I’d been having so much fun that I’d neglected to ask her what she was doing at Jez’s. It was obvious now. She was his girlfriend. That put a downer on things, because in the short space of getting to know her, I thought I’d found a kindred spirit. She walked over and gave me a quick smile. She leant across to me and kissed my cheek.
“It was lovely meeting you, Jake.”
“Likewise,” I said, trying hard not to show my disappointment.
Jez patted my shoulder on his way out. “I need to do a quick errand for my dad in the morning, but we’re free in the afternoon, if you want to join us for a barbecue?”
“That sounds great!” I said, already looking forward to our next meeting.
She gave me a big smile and then exited, taking my heart with her.
What’s Mine Is Chores
The next morning I awoke with some trepidation. I was going to see Elaine again, but was conscious we’d already entered “friendship” territory. I couldn’t believe how quickly we clicked and in different circumstances we’d have been perfect for each other.
My aunt knocked on the door to my room and peered in, interrupting my thoughts.
“I’m just driving out to the garden centre. I’m meeting Gladys for a coffee after. OK, love?”
She was an unlucky driver. Somehow, she was always getting rear-ended. The brakes in her current car, a battered old Renault, were so sensitive she was prone to getting pranged from behind.
“Sure. See you later,” I replied. “I’ll do a bit in the garden and then I’ll be going out, too.”
With such a glorious weather forec
ast, I had decided to spend the day in the garden. There were a few jobs that needed doing, so I clambered out of bed, got dressed and ate some breakfast.
Even though I was just visiting, I loved my aunt’s garden so much that I kept an assortment of tools in her shed. I spent so long maintaining the garden that I often referred to things as mine. I guessed that most people just bought one tool for every job, but I’m a big fan of multiples. I could be quite particular about the condition of plants and flowers in the garden, but I wasn’t always conscientious with keeping my tools clean. I’d occasionally finish gardening and neglect wiping down my tool after use. In fact, I relished the thought of having two dirty hoes locked up in the shed.
My aunt had an open fire in her living room. It was blackened by the soot, created from years of coal and wood incineration. There was many a time that my aunt had asked Uncle Fred to stick his poker in, and jigger it about until something happened. He would sometimes poke the coal while the flames were high. He’d leave his tip encased in flame until eventually he’d withdraw, holding up his glowing red hot poker for us to stare at in awe.
Obviously during summer she had no use for it, but she was grateful for me stockpiling chocks of wood, in readiness for the biting chill of winter. My axe! Now that was something I took great care with. I sharpened the blade and kept the wooden handle pristine, with plenty of preservatives. You can’t beat a mighty chopper with a well-oiled shaft.
My favourite area of the garden was the immaculate topiary. My aunt was very proud of it. She liked to keep a nicely trimmed bush. She appreciated vibrancy and vivid colours. She wanted visitors to her garden to be drawn into an almost magical, mythical state in this glorious vista, instead of stepping out, to be confronted by an unkempt, old lady garden. I sat down for a moment just watching the wildlife. This battered old bench conjured happy memories from my visits in the past. Aunt Myrtle would often read a book to me, whilst Uncle Fred pottered about in his shed. A favourite book of mine was Swallows and Amazons. I liked all the characters, but Titty definitely stood out the most.