The Unorthodox Arrival of Pumpkin Allan (10 page)

“Oh, yes,” said Lois, feeling somewhat embarrassed, “I hadn’t noticed them.”

For once, she managed to make the checkout machine beep first time for all her items, paid and made for home. Ridiculous visions of the disaster at home pounded her mind. Tom blaming her for the death of his parents. Their life together being over. Her being alone for the birth of the baby. A single mum. She was in tears as she passed the manor. She rounded the bend and as she approached the house, she saw Tom hugging his mum and then shaking hands with his father. She breathed an enormous sigh of relief, delved through her bag for a tissue and carefully dabbed her eyes.

The remainder of the afternoon was spent with Lois, Tom and his parents doing what they were able to in the back garden. Tom wasn’t at all worried about his mother with the strimmer from the point of view of injuries, either to herself or to others. He was more concerned that in her enthusiasm she would damage the machine. He thought it was great that she was tough enough, to handle such a machine and Lois had to admit that she had made a huge impact on the back garden. Lois and Chris had a go at tackling the brambles while Tom supervised and occasionally pulled out a weed. Lois snuck into the shed early on, when no one was looking, removed the chain saw and hid it between the back of the shed and a large shrub that she was unable to identify. She had a horrible feeling that Tom would be desperate for a go with it, despite his injuries.

Late in the afternoon, Pippa and Lois between them, raked the rest of the grass cuttings into the heap that Pippa had started and Tom went and got petrol and matches from Dave. “It’s a bit gusty for that guv’nor!” George called as he walked around the back of the house, just as Tom was removing the cap from the petrol can.

“Do you think so?” Tom licked his finger, boy-scout style, to test the direction of the wind. Thinking that George was meaning the fire might damage the silver birch, he ignored the comment, the wind was blowing in completely the opposite direction. But he found out what George did mean, to his cost, when he chucked a few splashes of petrol onto the heap of grass. A gust of wind blew some of the petrol back splashing onto his trousers. “Oh well,” thought Tom, “I’ve got a change of clothes upstairs.” And he lit a match and threw it onto the fire.

In a flash the petrol caught alight and within seconds the grass on the heap, the grass still attached to the ground, and Tom’s trousers, were all on fire.

“Help!” shouted Tom and he started running towards the house shouting, “Help, I’m on fire!” Fortunately, George, who had had a similar experience himself as a youth, had been watching from the kitchen window and had filled up a bucket of water, just in case. On seeing Tom, flames licking up towards his crotch, George shot from the kitchen, bucket in hand and threw its contents at Tom, successfully drowning the flames.

Lois, who had run faster up the garden than she would have thought possible, stood looking at Tom in disbelief, her heart still pounding. “Bloody hell Tom!” was all she could say at first. Then she managed, “Are you ok?” Tom nodded, looking very shocked. Chris retrieved the bucket from George, filled it from the outside tap and went and stood over the bonfire in an attempt to make sure nothing else went wrong. Pippa who had been strimming throughout the entire crisis, carried on, blissfully unaware.

When Lois had calmed down she thanked George for his quick response and lead Tom by the hand into the kitchen, where she made him take off his dripping trousers and tossed them into the sink. Then she took him upstairs, looked his legs over closely and was astonished to see that they looked fine. “Are you in pain?” she asked. Tom was still in shock and shook his head, numbly.

Unfortunately, although he had apparently suffered no burns, the dousing had turned Tom’s plaster into a soggy mess, resulting in a trip to casualty.

The department was hideously busy, but as Tom only needed a cast replacement, the plaster technician managed to fit him in almost straight away. “How did you manage to get it so wet?” the technician asked.

Tom went red and glanced at Lois. “Uh, someone accidentally threw a bucket of water at me?”

“Yeah right, whatever.” said the technician, knowing that wasn’t quite the truth from Tom’s tone, but not worried about delving further. As he finished applying the new plaster he said, “Well, whatever it was, don’t do it again!”

“Don’t worry,” said Tom smirking, “I won’t.”

By the time Lois and Tom got back to the cottage, George and son had left. Pippa and Chris were crashed out on the sofa, but got up to welcome them home. “Perfect timing,” said Chris, “just booked a table at the restaurant in the village, Chez somebody or other. I was hoping you wouldn’t be long. We’re starving! So, a nice meal and we’ll be off home.”

“Perfect!” said Lois and Tom in unison.

Tuesday had a very much more relaxed feel without Pippa and Chris there. Dean had put the first coat of black paint on the staircase by mid-morning. The “House Martins” had completed the wallpaper stripping upstairs and prepared the walls for painting. There were several areas in all the rooms which appeared to have needed patches of re-plastering, Lois didn’t ask why, she suspected it was due to the “House Martins” over enthusiasm in their wall paper scrapings. Anyway, it all looked fine now.

Lois went out and bought the paints she and Tom had decided on the previous evening, tucked up in their blow up bed. Having presented them to one of the Martins, she decided her mission for the day should be to meet one of the previously unmet sets of neighbours.

Lois was not born gregarious, but during her working life she had gradually increased in confidence, to the extent that she felt able, with a small amount of internal coaxing, to go and knock on the door of one of the houses and introduce herself. Which one to choose though, that was tricky? Lois had written down the names of all the cottages in a little notebook and had filled in any details she knew about the residents living in them.

“Rose, Bramble or Holly?” she called to Dean.

“Rose.”

“Right, Rose it is!” and off Lois went, Dean completely oblivious to what she was talking about.

It was a beautiful sunny day. Lois wore a pair of lightweight cotton shorts and a vest top stretched over her bump and was still very hot as she walked up the lane. Rupert and Reaver caught sight of her and came trotting up, both curling their bodies to the left as they wiggled a greeting. Lois fussed them briefly, then told them she had to get on, she was on a mission.

On arrival at Rose Cottage, Lois ‘patiently’ negotiated the ancient garden gate, which looked like it could well be the same age as the Victorian cottage to which it was the portal. Struggling with the rusted latch, she pushed and kicked to gain entry. The gate looked even more warped when she attempted to close it. She guiltily stroked it in an unconscious attempt to make it better. Then, realising what she was doing, glanced round to see if anyone was watching and hurried off towards the house.

The cottage looked tiny from the front. Squashed between Bramble and Primrose, an ancient looking rose creeping up the brickwork by the front door and covering most of the front of the cottage. A passageway ran to the left of the house, presumably, Lois thought, giving access to the garden. Lois knocked enthusiastically on the rather tired-looking front door, using the tarnished doorknocker. She felt far less anxious than she had when she’d called to introduce herself to Doreen and Jack. Having had Bert and Betty described as ‘a sweet elderly couple’, Lois decided there couldn’t be too many surprises behind this door.

After a few moments, Lois heard a man’s loud voice issuing from some way behind the door. “Come in, come in, doors open, give it a shove!”

Lois tentatively pushed the door, wondering, as she did so, whether Bert and Betty were also disabled. The door opened half way then stopped, as if something, or someone, was blocking it. The voice returned; “Come on in, give it a good push, who are you?”

Lois pushed the door harder and poked her head around it, calling out, “Hello there! I’m Lois, I’ve just moved into…” But, as her eyes saw what was in front of her, Lois’s mouth momentarily seized up in shock. The front door opened straight into, what presumably would have been the sitting room. But, cardboard boxes and crammed bin-liners filled the space from floor to ceiling. That is, except for a tiny corridor down the side of the room, less than two feet wide, which had books piled up on both sides to hip height. Papers, magazines, old milk cartons and all sorts of other rubbish littered the space, mounding up to a couple of feet high at one point. Lois pulled herself together on noticing the little man, presumably Bert, standing at the other end of the corridor, “ummm… into Honeysuckle, I’ve, we’ve, that’s me and Tom, my boyfriend,” Lois, suddenly worried that co-habiting might offend him, said, “husband, yes, husband, we’ve just moved in, wanted to come and introduce myself.” Lois stopped, realising she was having acute verbal diarrhoea.

“Come on in love,” called Bert, “steady as you go.” With that Bert turned and walked in the opposite direction. Lois pushed the door open a bit further to allow her body to follow her head through, wondering how best to tackle the obstacle course that lay ahead of her.

She was relieved that there was enough light coming through the glass panels of the front door for her to see the brown banana skin and the hole created by a missing floorboard, before they caused her a problem. Slowly and carefully she scaled the mountain of papers, supporting herself with her right hand on the wall and her left on the surprisingly solid barricade of boxes and bin liners.

As she approached what appeared to be the kitchen, Lois heard a little voice call out, “Hello dear, come on in.”

The kitchen floor, much to Lois’s relief, was not strewn with debris. There were however, mounds of pots and pans covering the surfaces, interspersed by cutlery and crockery. Bluebottles were lazily buzzing around the unwashed utensils heaped up in the sink. When the smell of rancid milk hit Lois, she felt vomit rise into her throat. Determination not to embarrass herself or her hosts took over and she forcefully swallowed it back down.

“Where are you Love?” called the little voice. Lois turned to see a tiny little lady sitting in a small alcove set to the side of the kitchen. She held out her hands to Lois. As Lois walked towards her she noticed that her eyes were milky white with cataracts. Bert meanwhile struggled to pull a fold-up chair from between the fridge and the dresser, then using it as a walking support he hobbled over to where Lois stood, her hands ensnared in Betty’s, and unfolded it for her.

“Here you are love, you sit opposite Betty, she’ll hear you better then.” Lois thanked him and sat down. “Right, I’ll get the kettle on. Nice cuppa tea?”

Lois remembering the advice Adam had given her at the dinner party and the stench that had hit her as she came into the kitchen, which amazingly, she seemed to be growing accustomed to, requested a black tea.

“You youngsters, always worryin’ about yer figures. Nearly all our guests have their tea black, don’t they Betty, I don’t know, really I don’t.” Bert said as he shuffled off to make the tea.

Lois turned the best of her attention to Betty, trying not to worry about the cleanliness of the cups. She reminded Lois of a baby dormouse, tiny, curled up and blind. Fine wisps of white hair adorned her head and chin. Betty continued to clasp Lois’s hands, as if Lois would vanish if she were to let go. “Now sweet ‘eart, what did you say your name was?”

Lois introduced herself and briefly told Betty about her and Tom’s purchase of Honeysuckle, the ensuing renovations and their plan to move in, prior to the baby’s arrival. On hearing that Lois was pregnant, Betty became very excited. “Oh, such a shame I can’t still knit dear.”

“Bert!” she called, “when you’ve made the tea, would you get me old shoe box, so as I can show, sorry love, what did you say your name was?”

“Lois, sorry it’s quite unusual isn’t it?”

“It is love, quite unusual, but I’ll get Bertie to write it down, then he can remind me what it is.”

Bert arrived with two cups of tea; about a third of each was sloshing around in the saucers. He put them down on Betty’s table, then, one by one, emptied the contents of the saucers back into the cups. Lois got a whiff of the rancid milk from Betty’s tea and had to, once again, swallow hard to staunch the vomit rising in her throat. She thanked Bert and off he shuffled to find the box for Betty.

“He’s such a good soul, my Bertie.” Betty whispered to Lois. “He looks after me all by ‘imself. ‘E does all the ‘ousework and everything.” Lois didn’t quite know how to respond to that comment, so decided to change the subject.

“So, how did you two meet?”

Betty chuckled. “Well, we met at a dance in the village rooms and got married the following year. I took on a job as a cleaner at the manor, so we worked together as well, ‘cause Bertie was the butler you know. That was when the big ‘ouse was in proper ownership, you know, a family lived there, lovely they were, the Crowthornes. That’s ‘ow come we live ‘ere you see dear. This was the Butler’s cottage. These were all worker’s cottages, ‘oneysuckle was the Gardener’s.”

“Oh wow,” said Lois, “I had no idea that these were linked to the manor. But of course they were, how stupid of me not to realise.”

Betty patted Lois’s hand. “Well, it was love at first sight for me and Bert you know. We got married within the year and here we are still, seven’y five years later.”

“Seventy five? Do you mind me asking how old you are Betty?”

“Not at all dear. Bert and I are both nine’y three.”

“Ninety three, gosh, you are both remarkable.”

Bert arrived back in the kitchen with a shoebox, which he put down on the table for Betty. “Here you are pet, your box.”

“I was just telling the young lady how we met Bertie.”

Bert chuckled as he shuffled out of the room again, “Oh aye, that’s going back a bit.”

“So, you were able to stay on in the cottage when the manor was sold?” asked Lois.

“No. We’d have ‘ad to move out. All the cottages were sold with the ‘ouse. But Bertie, bless ‘im, ‘ad been puttin’ away savings ever since ‘e started work. ‘E stored a lot of it in paper bags in the loft! ‘E saved really ‘ard and, much to everyone up the manor’s surprise, we bought it,” said Betty, smiling broadly, displaying her few of remaining teeth.

“Do you mind me asking what you’ve got in the box Betty?” asked Lois, curiosity getting the better of her.

“Not at all dear.” Betty felt for the shoebox in front of her, carefully took off the lid and placed it under the box. Then she slowly felt her way around its contents, smiling as she went. She took out a tiny baby’s carrycot with the hood up, the inside covered with a minute crocheted blanket. “Bert and I started makin’, when we were hoping to ‘ave children of our own. He made the ‘ouses, beau’iful they were; we’ve still got one somewhere. Then I’d make the li’l furnishings. Course, I could see in them days.”

“Ah, it’s gorgeous,” said Lois as Betty handed it to her, “how did you make it? It’s exquisite.”

Betty chuckled to herself, “it’s made from a walnut shell. I cut a quarter of it off and then varnished it, looks sweet, don’t it?”

“Oh Betty it’s beautiful, how clever you are!”

Betty trawled slowly through the box, showing Lois furnishings she’d made from lollipop sticks and toothpicks. Tiny vases with dried flowers in them, although a little squashed, still looked very sweet. Bert sat himself down next to them and watched the proceedings, looking a little sad. He knew how much Betty missed being able to make things and he missed watching her create such beauty out of so little.

The box was finally packed away. Lois, glancing at her watch, amazed by how late it was, made her excuses to leave, and asked Bert and Betty if they’d mind her calling in again.

“We’d be deligh’ed love,” said Betty, shaking Lois’s hands.

Lois asked if it would be okay to leave via the back door. “Of course,” said Bert, “and if you come again, you’re best to use the back door…we’ll hear you better.”

Arriving back at Honeysuckle, Lois found George and son, getting stuck into sorting out the electrics. She had a quick look around to see what progress had been made. Seeing that the house was now practically uninhabitable, Lois decided to go and beg a bed from Annie and Dave for the next night or two.

Lois knocked at the front door and was greeted by Annie wielding a glass of champagne.

“Ah, Lois, good timing! Come on in and help us celebrate.” Lois was surprised; she’d been expecting to be chivying Annie out of an impending poverty-stricken gloom.

“What are we celebrating?” Lois asked as she gesticulated to Dave that an inch of champagne in the flute was plenty.

“Dave has just been offered a chain of dealerships to manage!” Annie’s face was alight with excitement as she grabbed Dave from behind and gave him a bear hug, almost causing him to drop the bottle and glass that he was holding.

“Dave that’s amazing, well done. Congratulations!” Lois held up her champagne and the three of them clinked glasses. “Where are they? When do you start?” Annie beckoned Lois out to the garden, grabbing a bowl of cashews on her way. They sat on the patio, Dave filling Annie and Lois in on the most interesting details of the offer.

“So, does this mean you don’t have to go ahead with selling the paddock and converting the loft?” asked Lois.

“We haven’t got as far as discussing that yet,” said Dave, still smiling broadly.

“I think it would be good to do the conversion anyway,” said Annie, “it’ll be an investment for the future, one never knows what’s around the corner.”

“That’s a good thought,” said Dave, “Yes, you’re right, let’s go for it. You’ll have to be in charge though Annie, I won’t have much time for organising stuff, I’ll be far too busy!”

Annie gave Lois a wink, “Oh, I think I’ll manage, you’ll help me with designs won’t you Lois? Perhaps Dean would be able to help with the major work when he’s finished your place.”

“It’ll take time to sort out plans and planning permission though won’t it?” asked Lois.