Bob of Small End (4 page)

“
Yes.
Okay, see you then.”

After his
potpie supper he returned to the Centre and changed the positions
of the two floods that were closest to the road. His ornaments
glistened under the lights, making Joe’s fir look like a real
Christmas tree. Once Bob had returned home he poured himself a
whisky and sat in his arm chair. It had been a fine day.

Bob
often went to the library in Big End on Fridays. Patrons were
allowed to keep books for three weeks but he liked to go each week,
even if he didn’t have any books to return, because he liked to
read some of the magazines, particularly his favourite,
The Wood Crafters’ Journal
. He
usually caught the 9:45 bus, had a coffee, and then went to the
library when it opened at 10. He’d return any books he had
finished, look over the shelves or ask if any of the ones he had
ordered had arrived, find a nice chair and read until about 11:45.
Then he’d have his lunch and a beer at the Fox, chat with the
landlord or the acquaintances he had developed over the years, do
his shopping and catch the 2:30 bus home.

He was waiting
for the bus at the bus stop next to the Crown when Claire drove by.
She stopped, asked him where he was going and when he said “Big
End” she told him to get in. “I’m going to see if the agents have
found anything. Then I’m going to drive to Warmly, go along the
coastal road to Twinner, have lunch there, then drive along the
back-roads to Bonnie’s. But first I must get some petrol at the
garage. Would you like to come? You could tell me about the places
we pass.”

“
Oh yes,
I like to go with you,” Bob said, and climbed in the car. Claire
drove to the garage and he introduced her to Tim Sawyer, the owner,
who was filling the tank. Then they followed the road past the
Crown, Tyne’s
Gift Shop
and
Bonnie’s B&B to Big End, discussing her route as they
went.

“
The
coast road’s a lovely drive Claire. There are lots of good places
to see the sea. You must remember how nice it is.”

“
Yes I
do. We often stopped at Smugglers’ Cove and had a picnic lunch. I’d
go for a swim with Toby, our dog, if the water was warm
enough.”

As they
entered Big End Bob told Claire that he had a book to return to the
library.

“
I’ll
drop you there,” she replied. “I’ll see the agents then do a bit of
shopping. I’ll probably be finished about 11:30 and pick you up at
the library. Is that okay?”

“
Oh yes,
that’s fine.”

This was
turning out to be another nice day Bob thought, as he walked into
the library. It must have been four years since he had been along
the coast road. He remembered the bus trip to Twinner he and Betty
had taken one afternoon; it was the last outing they had had
together.

At 11:30 he
was standing outside the library door. By 11:40 he was a bit
anxious and quite worried by noon, thinking something has happened
to Claire. Then she drove up.

“
Sorry
I’m late. The second agent had a cottage to show me. It was just
what I wanted, with a garage and a big garden. But it was fifteen
miles from Small End, so I told him that I’d have to think about
it. I’d much rather live in the village but might change my mind if
nothing else turns up. I told him I’m not in any hurry to buy but
asked him to let me know if anyone else shows an interest in buying
the place.”

“
That
sounds sensible. I think that’s what I would do. Now, would you
like to have lunch here or eat later, after we’ve been along the
coast?”

“
Oh
later. Most restaurants keep serving until 2, don’t
they?”

“
I
expect so,” he replied, not really knowing very much about
restaurants.

“
All
right, let’s eat later.”

He directed
her to the road that went to Warmly. Once there, they turned left
and drove along the coast road, going slowly and enjoying the views
and each other’s company. He told her about the last time he had
travelled this way. Claire told him more about the holidays she had
taken with her parents.

“
So long
ago it seems. I still miss them. I expect you still miss
Betty.”

“
Yes I
do,” and they were silent for a while.

They parked
the car at the top of the track leading down to Smuggler’s Cove.
The trail to the sandy beach was quite steep in places but they
managed it without slipping. They had the beach all to themselves
and walked to the far end and back, picking up stones and skimming
them across the top of the water. The sun shone and there was no
wind. It was a lovely day. He almost held out his hand to help
Claire climb the steep parts of the path but couldn’t sum up
courage enough. She managed very well and he didn’t mind not
holding her hand; it was wonderful to be with her anyway.

Claire drove
the last few miles to Twinner and they found a small restaurant
that backed onto the sea. They were the only ones present and were
given a table that overlooked the sea where they could watch the
waves breaking over the rocks. Both started with a soup, a tasty
cream of mushroom that had been made by the chef who turned out to
be the owner. It was followed by a salad, for Claire, and a
sandwich for Bob. Both had coffee and Bob paid for the lunch.

It was a short
and quiet drive home, as Claire drove through the tiny village of
Easing, across the Tusset bridge and into Small End.

“
I’ll be
an usher at the matinee,” Claire told Bob, as he opened the door.
“What are you doing for the show?”

“
Nothing
but I’ll buy a ticket and you can show me to my seat,” and they
laughed. “See you tomorrow.”

Three coaches
were parked along the road when Bob arrived at the Community Centre
on Saturday afternoon. Bus companies in Bournemouth and Southampton
had been running day trips for many years, following the coastal
roads and visiting one or two villages for lunch and time to shop
or explore. Supper plus a concert or play was included with some of
these. Tours were popular and Small End’s Christmas, Spring and
Fall performances had been added after several favourable reviews
in the local papers a few years ago.

Claire was
busy when Bob walked into the theatre so he waited until she was
free and able to show him to his seat. He enjoyed the two short
plays more than the rest of the program. Jane turned into an
outstanding, eccentric housewife in the second play, a comedy. The
teenagers’ skit was funny in a very different way. They dressed as
witches, ghosts, pirates, goblins and a Father Christmas and
gambolled about the stage, fighting each other over treasures,
singing and playing guitars. The elementary school children were
the quietest performers of the night; they sang several carols and
the audience was invited to accompany them on the last two.

“
Did you
like the show Claire?” asked Bob, as they walked towards the
village crossroads with the last of the audience.

“
Yes. It
is amazing what a small village like Small End can do. Jane was
wonderful, wasn’t she?”

“
Yes she
was. She likes to act and often does in these shows. I don’t know
how she finds the time since she’s very active in the organising
committee and in helping to run things. Do you act?”

“
No.
Never tried to. Do you?”

“
No. I
just carve wood. You can see the trains I made in Rose’s
window.”

“
That’s
Tyne’s
Gift Shop
?”

“
Yes.
You’ll pass it on your way to Bonnie’s.”

“
I’ll
take a look. ‘Bye Bob, I’ll see you at the Crown
tonight?”

“
Yes.
‘Bye Claire,” and Bob turned right at the Crown as Claire continued
towards Bonnie’s B&B.

As usual Bob
was the first to arrive at the pub that evening. He added a sixth
chair to the table then sat down, facing the door. Claire arrived
at six and he stood up, waved her over then bought her a gin and
tonic. Joe, Jack and Rose arrived next and Jane five minutes
later.

“
I
thought the matinee went well. How about you Claire. Did you enjoy
it?” asked Jane.

“
Yes.
Very much. I though that you were very good Jane. Excellent, in
fact.”

“
Thank
you. I enjoy acting.”

“
You
could be a professional if you wanted,” Bob added.

“
I was
telling Bob how remarkable it is for a small village like Small End
to do such things,” said Claire.

“
We have
lot’s of volunteers.”

“
You
probably do more than six of them Jane,” said Rose.

“
Yes she
does,” said Joe. “She’s out many afternoons and three or four
evenings each week when they’re preparing for a show.”

“
But
that’s what I enjoy doing,” said Jane. “Let’s order; this will
likely be the last meal I’ll eat out before Christmas!”

They ordered,
drank, ate and Bob and Claire told the others what they had been
doing on Friday. Joe noticed Bob’s frequent looks at Claire and
told Jane as they walked home afterwards that something was going
on, or at least starting.

“
Don’t
be daft,” she said. “Claire is just being nice to him.”

“
Oh. I
don’t know about that,” said Joe. “Bob seems overly interested in
her. You wait and see.”

Even though it
looked as if it might rain later that Sunday morning, Bob had his
sheets and clothes hanging on the line before his coffee break.
Sitting down with his cafeteria and biscuits he returned to his
earlier thoughts about the day. Should he ask Claire if she would
like to go for a walk with him this afternoon? He felt strange
asking himself these kinds of things, something he hadn’t done
since he was a teenager. Should he or shouldn’t he? ‘Well I will
ask her. The worst thing that could happen would be that she would
refuse. No,’ he realised, ‘that wasn’t the worst thing. She might
think I’m a bit of a pest. I don’t want that.’ He kept debating the
subject but couldn’t decide what to do. He tried to stop thinking
about the afternoon and just enjoy drinking his coffee but
couldn’t.

During his
lunch of soup and crackers he finally decided to leave things to
chance. He’d walk past Bonnie’s place and if he saw Claire or
Bonnie he would stop and talk, then see what happened. So he put on
his rain jacket and his warm tweed cap and set off.

He was
disappointed as soon as Bonnie’s came into view. Claire’s car was
not there so that answered the question; they wouldn’t be walking
together that afternoon.

Bonnie was
tidying the perennial beds beside the path that led to her front
door and Bob asked her if Claire would be back soon.

“
Hello
Bob. No, she won’t. She had a phone call last night and told me at
breakfast that she would be going to Reading for a couple of
days.”

“
Oh
okay,” said Bob and turned away. She probably had many friends in
Reading having lived there all her life. She might be taking some
Christmas presents to them. Or even going to a party. Well he’d
take the walk he was going to suggest, follow the river path then
return along the woods and fields’ footpaths.

He stopped at
the village graveyard on his way home to check his parent’s grave.
He never put flowers there; his Dad wouldn’t have minded but his
mother always said, “give me flowers when I’m living, not when I’m
dead. I don’t want them then.” There was nothing to do at the grave
so he just stood there remembering again how nice it used to be
when he was living with them. Betty didn’t have a grave; she had
discussed her death with him and the children and told them that
she wanted to be cremated and her ashes shaken into the Tusset. Her
wishes were followed, with Bob sliding out to the dip in the big
branch that hung over the river where he and Joe often sat when
fishing when they were children. Bob let the ashes drop into the
flowing waters as everyone watched. He later buried the urn at the
back of the garden, beside Betty’s rhubarb patch.

Monday morning
he checked his collection of wooden branches and took one that
would make a suitable stand for his next bird. By fastening it to
the split-log base at an angle of about thirty degrees one of it’s
branches would be almost horizontal. That would be an ideal place
to mount the bird.

He cut a small
birch log lengthways to make the base, sanded the saw cut, drilled
a hole near one end of the log and pushed the branch into the hole.
Placing it on the bench he reconsidered his design. ‘Yes,’ he
thought, ‘that looks perfect.’

Now what kind
of bird should he carve? A robin, they were always popular,
especially at Christmas or in the Spring. He chose a log of the
right shade of brown from his collection and cut off a four inch
length. He studied it for several minutes, making sketches to
decide which way its head should turn, eventually deciding that it
should point slightly to the right and a little upwards as though
it was listening to another bird’s call. ‘That should look nice and
if it turns out okay I’ll give it to Claire for Christmas.’

Bob began
carving the robin after lunch. Mid-afternoon he had a tea break
then he returned and worked until five. ‘That’s enough for today,’
he decided. ‘I don’t want to make a mistake.’ He put the carving
and his knives on the bench, swept the floor and locked the
workshop door. ‘Now what shall I have for supper?’ he asked
himself, as he skirted his vegetable patch.