The Unorthodox Arrival of Pumpkin Allan (2 page)

Lois gestured to Mel that it was time to go out into the back garden, away from the shouting. She needed space to process the happenings of the past fifteen minutes, hopeful that the beautiful cottage garden would help her to do this.

The back door opened like a dream, “Thank God something works,” mumbled Lois as they stepped outside into the garden. “I don’t believe it! Where’s it gone?”

“Where’s what gone? Has something been stolen?”

“My beautiful garden. It’s vanished!”

The lawn resembled a small hay crop, bisected by a large, fallen tree. Flowerbeds were overrun with brambles, stingers and thistles, and a half eaten pigeon was lying on the weed-ridden patio.

Lois sat on the crumbling garden wall and began to weep.

“Oh come on Lo,” said Mel, crouching to avoid dirtying her jeans and putting a reassuring hand on Lois’s knee, “it’ll be gorgeous when it’s done, it just needs a bit of work.”

“A bit of work?” sniffed Lois, starting to feel sick with anxiety. She had talked Tom into buying this place. It was her who was keen to move to the country, he’d wanted to stay in London. “We thought the hideous wallpaper needed stripping and perhaps a lick of paint. Not total rewiring, new front door, complete garden overhaul and soundproofing from those horrendous neighbours!” Lois stopped her spiel abruptly as she heard voices from next-door’s garden.

“Come on Stephen,” came the utter misery of the man’s voice, “your mother’s gone berserk, let’s lie low in the garage for a while.”

When Lois was sure they were out of earshot, she put her head in her hands and muttered, “What the hell am I going to tell Tom?”

Tom had been in hospital for three days when Lois and Mel collected the keys for Honeysuckle, and quite frankly he’d had enough. He’d broken two ribs, his left wrist and had ten stitches in his chin, all due to an incredibly embarrassing mountain biking accident.

Jim, Tom’s best buddy, work colleague and mountain-biking chum, observed from behind, as Tom cycled too fast down a steep bank, without anticipating the small yet moderately muddy ditch at the bottom. His front wheel stopped dead, causing him to summersault over the handlebars onto a muddy track, inconveniently interspersed with stones. The bike flew up in the air and crashed down, ricocheting off his chest before falling back into the ditch. “Bollocks!” he’d mumbled to himself as he lay, trying to decipher the pain messages emanating from various parts of his body.

Jim had taken a great deal of ridicule from Tom over the years for being far too much of a ‘wuss’ on their mountain biking expeditions. So seeing Tom fly through the air ‘sans’ bike, Jim, who felt Tom had it coming, immediately stopped and laughed, loud and uncontrollably. It had been one of those ungainly, slow motion spectacles that would be forever etched in his memory.

When Tom didn’t get up, Jim tried hard to pull himself together, but even being worried about Tom wasn’t enough to stop the odd chuckle emerging. He climbed down the bank, pulling Tom’s bent bike out of the ditch as he went and helped Tom, who was now moaning in pain, to ease himself into a sitting position. There was blood streaming out of Tom’s chin. Jim glanced at his face; mumbled “Oh God!” went white as a sheet and fainted backwards into the ditch. Fortunately he still had his cycling helmet on, or they might both have had to suffer hospital admissions.

Jim regained consciousness within a minute, by which time Tom had managed to get himself into a Quasimodo style stance. Tom mumbled something about his glasses as Jim crawled out of the ditch to a crunching sound under his knee. He picked the crumpled glasses up and chuckled, “Found ‘em mate!" as he looked up, apparently having forgotten the state of Tom’s chin during his brief absence and seeing the copious amounts of blood on Tom and his fluorescent-green Lycra, he fainted once again.

Whilst waiting for Jim to come round for a second time, Tom, with great pains, managed to remove one of his socks and when Jim woke up, was dabbing his chin, in a futile attempt to quell the flow of blood. Which was, frankly, making Tom feel quite sick.

Having re-regained consciousness, Jim was no longer laughing and, eyes lowered, avoiding Tom’s bloody torso, helped him put his shoe back on. In silence, they made their way to the road some half a mile away. Jim pushed the bikes in a slow and dazed fashion, lifting the buckled front wheel of Tom’s off the ground so that it would roll freely. Tom, meanwhile, tried to hold onto all his hurting places and look brave. He wondered what the hell he was going to tell Lois, a thought, which did actually distract him a little from the enormity of his pain. She really hadn’t wanted him to go on this New Forest trip, what with the house exchange and completion happening on Wednesday and so much to organise. She was going to have a fit when she found out.

On reaching the road they sat for a good ten minutes without a single car passing in either direction. With neither of their phones picking up a mobile signal, when they heard a car approach, Jim was determined to make sure it stopped. He stood in the middle of the road waving his arms frantically and a terrified elderly lady screeched to a halt. 

Seeing the warped bike and Tom’s injuries, she eventually put two and two together and bravely wound down her window. With an apology, a brief explanation and a bit of sweet-talking from Jim she kindly agreed to drive Tom to hospital in Southampton. Finding some plastic bags in the boot for Tom to sit on, she arranged them carefully on the passenger seat before allowing him to get into the car. She passed him a handy pack of tissues from her handbag, “Would these help dear?” she asked, gazing uncomfortably at the blood soaked sock held to his face. Tom accepted them, mustering as much gratitude as he could in his miserable state. He muttered goodbye to Jim who said he’d return the bikes to the car and meet Tom at the hospital.

Tom spent a total of four hours lying in Casualty. The monotony only slightly relieved by having several sets of x-rays and his chin stitched up. He was given a fairly substantial dose of painkillers, but was not at all sure that the analgesia would compensate for the pain involved in receiving the injection. Being of tall and skinny physique, there was little buttock flesh in which to insert a needle and Tom had tensed up enormously as the nurse had joked happily, “little prick coming!” He was sure that the needle had made contact with bone. “There!” she’d smiled, “you barely felt that, did you?”

“No, hardly at all,” Tom had replied in his most manly voice as he tried to force a grin.

Tom was eventually portered to the trauma unit to await manipulation of his wrist under anaesthetic. His mode of transport came by way of a wheelchair that resembled a fairly typical shopping trolley, in that it was apparently virtually unsteerable. The young, gum-chewing man who was pushing him, with earphones dangling between head and breast pocket, seemed oblivious to the fact that he bumped into a doorway en-route. “You bastard!” Tom hissed, to deaf, or ‘heavy metalled’ ears, as shooting pains shot throughout his body, creating more in the way of agony than he’d experienced all day.

The ward was dark, dingy and smelled of a combination of vomit and antiseptic. A nurse, Eve, came and introduced herself, helped Tom into bed and set up a contraption to elevate his lower arm. She took his details and asked a long list of questions, some of which were embarrassing and many, seemingly irrelevant. When she was done, Tom asked her if it would be possible to have a shower to get off some of the mud and blood in which he was caked, and borrow some hospital pyjamas. She said that would not be problem and she would be back in a minute to give him a hand. Before disappearing, Eve rummaged through Tom’s belongings to find his phone for him. “Gosh, you’re lucky that’s still in one piece!” she commented, “Only use it for a few minutes Tom, mobiles aren’t really allowed.”

Tom located Lois’s number on his phone then paused before ringing, trying to find the best wording in his head to keep her annoyance to a minimum.

“Hi Lo, it’s me.”

“Hi Gorgeous, how are you? I hope you’re nearly home, I’m cooking a fantastic meal!”

‘Not a good start,’ thought Tom. “Um, well, I’m not altogether that brilliant actually.”

“Oh. Are you not hungry then?”

“No, I am hungry, but I’m afraid I won’t be home in time for dinner.”

“Oh?”

“Mmm,”

“Oh Tom, you didn’t?” silence, “You did, you bastard, you fell off that bloody bike didn’t you?” Tom glanced around the ward, pink with embarrassment; fortunately no one appeared to be paying any attention to the sound of his girlfriend’s voice shrieking from his phone. “How could you Tom, with so much still to organize before Wednesday? I knew this would happen. You promised you’d be careful!” Tom heard Lois taking some deep breaths on the other end of the phone, and knew she was trying to calm herself down. It was rare for her to lose her temper, she was generally very level headed, but the thought of organizing all the remaining financial arrangements for the house purchase, he knew, would have sent her into a complete fluster.

“So, where are you and what have you done to yourself?”

“Well, I’m at Southampton General. I’ve um,” Tom paused, feeling irrationally nervous, “I’ve broken my wrist,” he heard a gasp and a curt “oh God”, the eyes being raised to heaven practically making their way down the phone. Tom decided not to elaborate on his injuries any further. “That’s the reason I’m having to stay in, to have it manipulated under anesthetic. I should be out tomorrow. My parents will come and collect me and take me home.”

“So is that it, a broken wrist?”

“Yes, more or less,” Tom’s facial colour heightened once again. “Just the odd bruise and scratch otherwise.” There was another long, drawn-out pause, in which he could sense that Lois was skeptical.

“So, do you want me to drive down to see you, bring you some things?” Lois asked begrudgingly, as she thought of everything she was now going to have to organize singlehandedly.

Tom had a moment of panic, thinking of how she would respond if she could see him now, and answered a little too quickly, “No love, please don’t.” Adding as an afterthought, “I don’t like you driving long distances in your condition, really, not a good idea, I’ll just worry.”

“Mmm, nice touch Tom,” Lois mumbled under her breath. “Ok, well, good luck with the op. Call me later yeah? Love you.”

“Love you too, and Lo, I’m really sorry.” Tom could sense Lois smiling and she blew him a kiss down the phone before disconnecting the call.

After waiting at least an hour for the nurse to come back Tom drifted off to sleep. He woke some time later disorientated and starving hungry. When he tried to sit up he found that he had stiffened completely and was stuck like a beached whale. He could hear the other patients eating, and spotting the corner of a food tray overlapping his locker, felt around unsuccessfully for the call-bell. Following several painful, yet unsuccessful attempts to summon help by calling out for a nurse, he tentatively reached up to the tray.

Unable to find any cutlery, he felt his way to the plate, fingered some wet, lukewarm food, picked up something slimy and tried to identify it by sight and smell, gravy dripping over him in the process. It was meat, origins unknown. He tore a piece off with his teeth and chewed hard The meat was so tough, the chewing made the wound on his chin start to throb. Returning the remainder in his hand, to the plate, Tom reached for something else. The roast potatoes he managed relatively easily. The broccoli, decomposed in transit, decorating his pillow, hair and ear and causing temporary blindness in the right eye. One tiny piece of broccoli flower fell upright onto Tom’s overly prominent Adam’s apple; temporarily producing a wonderful impression of a lone tree perched on a hill.

Tom did his best to retrieve some of the squishy vegetable particles and put them in his mouth. Another mistake, he realized, as a combination of blood and dried mud congealed into a foul crunchy soup in his mouth. Spitting the best he could to expel the revolting stuff, slime trails covering the dressing on his chin and his neck.

Exhausted by the extraordinary dining experience, Tom drifted off to sleep again, to be woken a short time later by the beep and flash of Jim’s phone camera at the end of the bed. The sight of Tom and the combination of mud, blood, gravy and various pieces of roast dinner pebble-dashing his face, hair and upper body, was too much for Jim to bear. His brief period of unconsciousness and a six-mile walk, pushing two bikes, had taken its toll and, having taken the photo, he had no strength to curb his natural emotion, uncontrollable laughter.

Lois’s parents had lived close to the Heath in Hampstead for the past thirty-two years, in an imposing, Edwardian four-storey house. Irene, a not unattractive wisp of a woman, was always meticulously presented (unlike her daughter), remaining ‘natural’ blonde at sixty-five, full make-up always in place. Geoffrey, conversely, was huge, both in height and girth. His size, together with his full head of shocking white hair, small eyes and aquiline nose, created a somewhat intimidating-looking man.

Lois’s father had been a barrister until his retirement three years ago, her mother an alcoholic, drinking gin in steadily increasing quantities since Lois and her younger brother James were in their teens. That is until three years ago, when the prospect of sharing his retirement with Irene in such a sorry state, had been too much for Geoffrey and, regretfully he signed her into an expensive rehab centre for a three month drying out programme. Regretful, in the first instance, because he loved her very much and had a fairish idea of how hard it would be for her, and in the second, because it didn’t seem like the way one should spend one’s money.

Irene’s recovery, so far, had been miraculous. She’d turned to the church and the local Oxfam shop for support. She went to church on Wednesdays and Sundays and joined a variety of Bible study groups. She helped out in the Oxfam shop on Tuesdays and Thursdays, often bringing home bags full of knick-knacks to fill their oversized house. Hoarding not being a new hobby, but the habit of a lifetime.

About a year ago, Lois told her parents that she and Tom planned to buy a house of their own somewhere in the Home Counties. A few weeks later she received a typically formal letter from her father, saying he would like to give them a house-warming present in the form of a contribution to the deposit on a house. The sum concerned being forty thousand pounds. His astounding generosity had opened the door to the purchase of Honeysuckle Cottage, which although it had only two bedrooms, held a high price due to it’s “rarity, charm and unparalleled location!” in the words of the estate agent.

Lois was getting on better with her father since she had been with Tom. Geoffrey loved having a male financial expert in the family with whom he could discuss his investments. He had never felt able to do that with Lois, despite the fact that she also worked in the City. Nonetheless he seemed to have more respect for her, perhaps because she had at last developed her taste in men to meet with his approval. He didn’t even seem to mind when Lois and Tom announced that there was a baby on the way. He’d cracked open a bottle of Bollinger and sat with Tom, smoking cigars and quaffing the champagne like old buddies.

The announcement of the pregnancy did however send Irene into temporary shock. She had sat for an hour, completely lost for words. Then said, “What a shame! I gave Lois’s nappies to the Oxfam shop just last week.” Much to Lois’s horror however, Irene did still have her original cot, bath, potty, cardigans, hats, mitten and … well, the list went on, all safely hoarded in the loft. Lois had been busy working out how to refuse all these things without offending her mother. “The cot,” she’d said to Tom after their last visit, “I’ll take the cot. Paint it; get a new mattress, that’ll be fine. The bath, maybe? I’ll say I don’t want to be greedy; I want to leave the rest for James! Cunning eh? That’ll cause some interesting “discussion” between him and his future partner!”

The Monday before completing on Honeysuckle Cottage, Lois took the afternoon off work and drove to her parent’s house for lunch and to collect her father’s generous gift.  It was a stunning afternoon, so the three of them lunched in the large, perfectly manicured (by a team of gardeners), back garden. Irene had been to Waitrose that morning and bought a fantastic spread, practically all of which Lois couldn’t eat, as it was ‘high risk food’ for pregnant women. Pâté, unpasteurised cheeses, prawns, coleslaw… in fact, although she didn’t really believe it, it was as though Irene had purposefully bought everything that Lois couldn’t eat. She knew it was ridiculous, but felt quite upset by this, hormones, no doubt, playing their part in her response. She felt tears welling up in her eyes and as one escaped, she discretely wiped it from her cheek before taking a mouthful of French bread and butter with lashings of lettuce. Her mother didn’t notice, either that Lois wasn’t eating all the lovely treats that she’d provided, or that she was upset. The alcohol Irene had consumed over the years seemed to have taken its toll on her sensitivity, as well as making her ‘quirky’, as Tom called it, in a variety of ways.

After lunch Geoffrey disappeared into the study. This was the place he spent most of his time when Lois and James, were growing up. He would come home from Chambers, briefly eat supper, and then disappear to his retreat for the remainder of the evening. He appeared to have no interest in his family other than providing for them financially. Both children went to the very best public schools, which Geoffrey seemed to consider
ed
e
proof that he was a good father.

Emerging from his study on this occasion, Lois expected Geoffrey to hand her a banker’s draft, made out to their solicitor, whose name she had e-mailed to him two weeks previously. But instead he handed over four large envelopes, each containing ten thousand pounds, in cash.

Lois was stunned. But, her father could be unpredictable, and him suddenly withdrawing his offer this late in the proceedings, would be a catastrophe. So her face flipped into enthusiastic, grateful mode while a large surge of adrenalin sent her heart thumping and her mind racing with the idea of carrying that much money in North London. She thanked him and gave him a hug. He smelled of pâté and cigars. He responded by gently patting her on the back. Then she tried to hug her mother, but felt Irene tense as she got near, so they bilaterally air kissed. Lois then tucked the envelopes as deeply as she could into her (fortunately) large handbag, thanked them both profusely and made tracks.

Lois thought about cancelling her meeting with Mel for tea and cake and re-arranging it for a day she was lighter on cash. But she hadn’t seen Mel in ages and giving the matter brief consideration, decided that, as she had never been mugged before, the odds of it happening on this particular day were very small.

Mel was sitting, waiting for her on the pavement terrace outside their favourite North London café. They greeted each other, and then Mel went and ordered a latte for each of them and a large slice of cake. Meanwhile Lois surreptitiously stashed her bag under her seat, out of the way of any potential thieves.

The two of them had a great time catching up. Lois filled Mel in on the recent happenings. The ‘low calorie’ lunch at her parent’s house, Tom’s accident, and the fact that exchange and completion on the cottage was finally due on Wednesday. “Gosh, poor old Tom. But I bet he was showing off,” said Mel. “Hey, if he can’t make it to pick up the keys on Wednesday, I’d love to come with you!”

“Really? Oh that would be great. I was thinking of staying the night, so it’ll be a two-day trip. Can you extricate yourself from the boutique for that long?”

“I’m the boss, I can do what the hell I like!”

Lois smiled. “Fantastic. Well, provided Tom doesn’t make a miraculous recovery, I’ll pick you up at nine-thirty on Wednesday.”

Lois was just on her way to the car park, having said goodbye to Mel, when her mobile rang. She managed to yank it out of the depths of her cardigan pocket just in time to stop it flipping to answerphone. It was Tom, thoroughly disgruntled. His operation had been cancelled due to emergencies that needed urgent surgery. He grumbled on for several minutes about the hospital, and how disgraceful it was that his displaced fracture was not being considered an emergency. Lois tried her best to sound sympathetic, despite feeling that he’d brought it on himself. She had not been impressed when he suggested going on a cycling trip this close to the completion date, now that he’d disabled himself for the event she was feeling somewhat vexed. However, she did offer to drive down to Southampton to see him. He insisted that wouldn’t be necessary, his parents, who lived in Portsmouth, had visited and already brought him everything he needed.

Tom then asked how things had gone with her parents. Lois just started to launch in to her mother’s inability to provide a fitting lunch for her pregnant daughter when to her utter horror, she realised she’d left her bag, containing forty thousand pounds, in cash, at the coffee shop, on the terrace! She thought her heart would leap out of her chest. Beads of sweat came from nowhere and started dripping down her forehead, her legs feeling like they would buckle under her. In a high pitched squeak she said, “Got to run
P
et, traffic warden,” and disconnected the call. Tom hated slovenliness, a parking ticket would be bad enough, but leaving forty thousand pounds outside a North London coffee shop, would quite probably finish their relationship, or Tom’s mental health as she knew it, or both.

Lois hurried back to the coffee shop as fast as her pregnant body could carry her. By the time she got there, flushed with worry, exhaustion and embarrassment, the terrace seating had been cleared away, the bag had gone and the shop was closed. “Oh my God!” she murmured aloud, as tears welled in her eyes.

Lois knocked desperately on the locked door with one hand, whilst cupping the other over her eyes as she peered through the tinted glass. To her relief, she could see staff inside. The teenage girl mopping the floor glanced up. Lois heard her shout to the manager, “Nathan, tha’ dippy bird ‘oo left ‘er bag aatside’s cott’ned on. Shall we give it back to ‘er?” The feeling of nausea, which had accompanied Lois back to the shop, subsided slightly. The bag was there, that was a start. Nathan gave her a wave and went behind the till, reappearing with the bag. He unlocked the door and handed it to Lois, who quickly unzipped it. To her enormous relief she saw four large envelopes, clearly untouched. She gave Nathan a huge hug and rummaged through her bag to retrieve her purse, from which she took a twenty-pound note and stuffed it into his hand.

Lois felt increasingly paranoid as she hurried to the car. Had she been too grateful for the return of the bag? Some unscrupulous mugger might have been watching her with Nathan. She’d been too grateful. They’d know. Know the bag was valuable. Extremely valuable. They’d push her over and snatch it at any moment. She glanced behind her to the left, then the right. The feeling of nausea returned to her throat as she realised that her anxiety in itself was probably attracting attention. “Oh for God’s sake Lois,” she mumbled, “pull yourself together! Act normal, act normal, act normal.” She suddenly became conscious that she was speaking out loud. She closed her mouth, stared ahead and marched as fast as she could to the car.

The feeling of relief as her beloved MG came into view, was short lived as she spotted a plastic bag under the windscreen wiper, waving in the breeze. She snatched the parking ticket from under the wiper blade, unlocked the car and climbed in with a heavy sigh, locking the door behind her. Glancing from the sixty pound parking ticket to the bag containing forty thousand pounds Lois decided that things could be considerably worse.