At the Big Red Rooster Page 8

  There had been, all of that, and it still sheathed the old timbers. Another surprise. One might have expected the roof to have been gone before this. Take off the overcoat first. Still, they must know what they were about. Another day or two for the old iron. Maybe they would leave it until next to last and the old place would stand, a wooden skeleton, with a scarecrow hat of peeling red.

  The child stirred at her side. Her grandmother looked down at her and observed that she had moved close in to her, was nestling, almost, against her side. Solemn, glum really, the thumb in mouth a hint that school days and babyhood were not much separated.

  ‘Mummy’s coming.’

  Janie climbed toward them. Slipped. Her mother sensed, half-heard, the uttered expletive. Not really heard. The wind caught at the words and they were lost, their import apparent only in the disgruntled wiping of greened hands and smoothing of clothes.

  ‘You should have come round Castle,’ said her mother. ‘It’s not so steep that way.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I didn’t think it would be so wet. It didn’t look very wet.’

  ‘That side always was. No sun. Kept the sun off the house too. Always did.’

  Janie knew. Memories of cold winter mornings. The bedroom where the breath still hung in the air at midday. She shivered, at the memory rather than at this day. Her climb, the exertion, had warmed her.

  ‘You didn’t find a cutting anywhere?’

  ‘A cutting of what?’

  ‘Of the buddleia.’

  ‘Good God, no. You didn’t send me for that.’

  ‘It was just a thought.’

  ‘Well, sometimes it pays to put them into words. I’m no mind reader.’ Immediate contrition. ‘Oh, Mummy, I’m sorry, it’s just that I, I…’

  ‘It’s all right dear.’ Years rolled back. Soothe. Calm. ‘It’s just I thought I’d put a piece in under my window at Resthaven. It’d be nice there. It does root easily.’

  ‘Would you like me to go down again?’

  ‘No dear. You stay here. In fact I think I might manage it down if I take it quietly.’ A brightening. ‘Little Sherryn could come down with me.’

  ‘Now Mother, I don’t think that would be a very good idea.’

  How could she say, could she tell her, that the men, far from being joyed at the presence of an audience, had been considerably put out. Quite disconcerted. Not quite the done thing for the owner of the faithful nag to attend the ceremony in the knackers’ yard. Inappropriate. She had promised that they would soon be gone. Even now she could see they were being eyed from below. Suspect motive, emotion. ‘It would be too much for you. Much too much.’ Lame.

  ‘Goodness me, I’d like a sixpence for all the times I’d run up and down here winkling you from Castle or Bobby from digging up imaginary rabbits. Dear me, do you remember the day I came up and found him on the other side, in that little hollow down in there, with Daddy’s best spade, digging away for all he was worth?’

  ‘I don’t remember.’ Short again. She brushed aside the child who had left the grandmother, who had sensed a possible return of maternal affection.

  The old lady brightened. ‘You must. You must, dear. You were in Castle, I’m sure.’

  ‘Mother, Bob’s eight years younger than me and I’m quite sure Castle had lost its grip a long time before he started to dig to England.’

  ‘There.’ Raw triumph. ‘You do remember.’ Excited. ‘I didn’t say a thing about England, now, did I?’

  God, a thousand times told. Sigh. ‘Yes dear.’

  ‘No. No, I didn’t.’

  ‘I meant no. And, yes, I do remember. And none of that makes any difference.’ Authoritarian. ‘I don’t think it would be a good idea for you to go down.’

  ‘You sounded just like Mrs Weston.’

  ‘Mrs Weston?’

  ‘Matron. Always calls us “dear” or “lovey”. I saw her one day, really I did. She patted old Mr Humphries on the head like you would a child. She did. And the more “dears” and “loveys” there are, the more she seems to be saying “don’t” or “no”. And her teeth click.’

  ‘Mr Cheong took the windows.’

  ‘The Chinaman?’ Slight amazement.

  ‘Yes, the Chinaman. You know quite well who I mean. He was our neighbour for twenty-five years.’

  ‘But he’s got windows. What does he want them for?’

  ‘The glass. Cloches. Ideal. Frames and all actually.’

  ‘Oh dear, I don’t think Daddy would have liked that.’

  To hell with Daddy. ‘And I thought you’d be pleased to find out they still had some use, will still be put to some use.’

  ‘I suppose it’s all right, dear.’ Doubt.

  ‘And the chap down below says the timber’s as solid as the day it was milled and is bound to be snapped up for God knows how many different things. He did rattle them off.’

  ‘Of course it was solid.’ Pride. ‘Daddy always looked after it. Plenty of paint.’

  Lot of good that had proved. ‘Builders have bought up most of it.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you happened to notice if the old horse-shoe was still above the back door?’

  ‘No dear. No, I didn’t.’ There had been no back door. The place appeared deceptively whole from up here.

  And where in hell was Lesley? She’d let him have it when he finally returned. In the back bar of the Grand, as like as not, boozing with his mates, while she was left to carry this through. Whose idea had it been in the first place? Lesley’s. Well, almost. Hadn’t he agreed that it would be nice for her to see the old place again? A last look. Hadn’t he said as much? Or had she? Anyway, he had said that it would kill two birds with one stone. No need, now, for the ritual second-Sunday-of-the-month visit to that God-awful home. Home? The place made her shiver, made flesh crawl.

  Oh, all very nice on the surface. All pastel shades and a lovely Wilton. But the shivers for all that. A neatly manicured graveyard. Beth had said that, Bobby’s wife. Had said it gave her the willies and because she reckoned her nerves were shot used this as an excuse for not visiting. Once, twice at the very most, she and Bobby had bothered to call since the old lady took up residence. Leave it to good old Janie. All well and good but had she no right to a life of her own? The days of her and Lesley being called upon to shoulder the whole of the burden were coming to a close. They would have to fall into line.

  Heaven knew, if she allowed her own inclinations full rein, she’d be there weekly, twice weekly. But it wouldn’t be fair. Not to herself. Not to the others. In the end they’d regret it if things were allowed to drift and they missed out on their rightful share of the old lady’s declining years.

  Really it was peculiar. More and more she was thinking of her mother in these terms. The old lady. Not Mummy; well, not often. Never had been Mum. Had never countenanced that. Not often Mother these days. Just the old lady.

  ‘Mummy, when’s Daddy coming?’

  ‘Soon dear.’

  ‘Why do we have to stay here, Mummy?’

  ‘We’re waiting for Daddy.’

  ‘Why’s he so long? I’m hungry.’

  The grandmother took from her pocket a packet of sweets. ‘Here you are, dear. I saved these for you.’ A small lie. ‘Aunty Molly brought them for me last week.’

  ‘I’m not allowed those lollies. I don’t like those lollies. Do I, Mummy? I don’t eat those.’

  ‘Sherryn, be quiet.’ A cold snap. ‘If Grandma’s kind enough to bring you sweeties it’s up to you to eat them. And don’t call them lollies.’

  ‘But….’ Half whine.

  ‘You heard me.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Janie. If the child doesn’t like them… Don’t be silly.’

  God give her strength. ‘I told him it was ridiculous leaving us here on a day like this. What if something really is wrong with the car? Sherryn, go back down by the tree. It’s warmer there and out of the wind.’

  ‘I’ve just noticed, Janie, all the front fence is gone. Now
isn’t that funny. Wouldn’t you have thought I would have noticed that before. Yes, look, they’ve left the gate. It’s over there by the laurel hedge. And, my, wouldn’t Daddy shudder. That hedge hasn’t been cut since I left, I’ll be bound.’

  ‘Well, it is six months, dear. Sherryn, you heard me. Down by that tree. Off you go.’ An exasperated grasping of the child’s arm and an ungentle push.

  ‘I want to go home. I want to go home.’

  ‘For goodness’ sake. I’ve taken about as much as I can stand. Be quiet.’ A finger raised, Canute-like, admonishing of tears not to fall. ‘Be quiet, be quiet now.’

  A sob. ‘I want to go home…’ A slap, cold, stinging about her legs. She stumbled off again toward the tree.

  ‘I wonder if they want the gate?’

  Sigh. ‘Pardon?’

  ‘The gate.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘I liked that old gate. Daddy designed it really. Drew a picture of what we wanted and had a carpenter make it. It doesn’t look as if they want it for anything, does it? No, you can tell by the way they’ve just poked it out of the way under the hedge. You’ve always said you and Lesley need a front gate. That’d be a good idea. You have it. That’s it. You take it.’

  Good God. ‘Um… er. I don’t know about… I don’t think it’d quite fit…’

  ‘Nonsense, dear. It’d fit anywhere. Would be a nice gesture.’

  ‘Well, actually we had decided our place’d be better without a front gate. And now, with the children not so…’

  ‘Well, there’s no need to do without now, is there? How lucky I thought of it.’

  How… what on earth..? Not that old monstrosity wrecking the charming simplicity of bleached concrete and green lawn it had taken her so long to achieve. No archaic five-bar abortion masking from sight the double row of standard roses up the side. ‘Um… er…’

  ‘You don’t think they’d mind us taking it away?’

  Escape. Off the hook. ‘Well dear, I’m very much afraid that might be the case. I’ll go down if you like but I imagine they’ve got every timber numbered or somesuch.’

  ‘Just like they did with the old London Bridge.’

  ‘What was that, dear?’

  ‘Nothing. I don’t imagine they’d miss the old gate.’

  ‘You can’t tell. And you did say it was a unique design. Someone’s bound to have earmarked it. And it isn’t ours, yours, anymore, now is it?’ Sweet reason. ‘After all we did, you did, get a good price for the old place. How lucky we all were that Lesley knew Joe Morgan on the council.’ A considered measure of silence. ‘No, it simply can’t be yours to dispose of now.’

  A doubtful, ‘I suppose you’re right. I wonder what will happen to the hedge?’

  ‘I don’t know, dear.’ Vague. Bulldozed for preference. She had always disliked the sleek deep green of those funeral leaves. Something not nice about evergreens. Something about the way they pointedly ignored the natural course of the seasons. Not normal. ‘Where on earth’s that child got to now? God knows what’s got into her today.’

  ‘Let her be, Janie.’

  ‘That’s all well and good. I don’t want to be hunting for her when Lesley comes.’

  ‘I think he’s coming now, dear. Isn’t that his car?’

  ‘Not before time. Where in hell’s he been?’

  ‘Janie, your language isn’t really the nicest you know. Daddy never liked bad language.’

  Count to ten. Breathe deep. ‘I’m sorry, Mother. Really.’ God, twice a month would be her limit after this and to hell with Beth’s shot nerves. ‘Yes. Yes, it is him. Good God, what’s he doing now? What’s the fool think he’s doing?’

  ‘Janie!’ A pursing of lips.

  ‘Well, I ask you, look at him. Parking down there. Does he expect us to walk down?’

  ‘Well, it won’t hurt us, now will it? Just calm down. There must be some good reason why he hasn’t brought his car up. It won’t hurt us to walk down. I’ll be all right you know. We’ll go down by Castle. Take it in easy stages.’

  ‘He brought us up the track. Now why on earth…’

  ‘It’s all right, Janie.’

  ‘Where on earth is Sherryn?’

  ‘She’ll be by Castle. Now don’t worry. We’ll collect her on the way down.’

  ‘Well, he might come up and lend a hand. Look at him. What a laugh. Head stuck under the bonnet for all he knew what made it tick. He’s been drinking. A couple of drinks under his belt and he’s blithering away for all the world like a rally driver.’

  ‘What’s that dear?’

  ‘Car racing.’

  ‘No dear. Something you said before.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I don’t remember. Let me take your arm.’

  It was difficult. And yet there had been a day when, as a child, she’d known every inch of this little rise. That it had held no secret from her. Surely such places were supposed to shrink as one grew older? Long roads shorten. Mountains to hills. Hills to nothing. Yet, this one had grown.

  Sticky. Slipping on wet grass and treacherous clay. Trying to make out, remember even, the direction or location of forgotten ruts, footholds.

  Constant chatter from the old lady. ‘And when you were eight you said you’d found diamonds up here. Didn’t we all laugh and Uncle Alf said we’d all make our fortunes?’

  She had found them. Brought them home. Broken lemonade bottle. They had laughed. Diamonds. ‘Yes.’ Where in God’s good name had Sherryn gone?

  ‘And the time you took Bobby up to Castle and hid him away on that big branch. He was so little. You wanted to lose him.’

  Could she have been blamed? Eleven, twelve years old and Castle at its apex of enchantment. She would sit, solitary, still, and gaze over toward the town. Would imagine it a walled city. Saracen. Crusader. Pilgrim. ‘Yes.’ And the good belting she had got from her father. Infidel or Christian, you just don’t stick a three-year-old up in the high crook of a limb and forget him. And his cries were not really those of some high priest calling the faithful from the balcony of a needled minaret.

  ‘Oops. There. Don’t you worry now. I’m all right.’ Righted herself.

  ‘Mother, be careful. Hold onto my shoulder. Sherryn! Sherryn! Where are you? Daddy’s here. Come to Mummy. Daddy’s here.’ Here all right and slated for a few quiet, well-chosen words. Leaving her here and knowing all along it would take him more than half an hour. Leaving Sherryn with her. She could have gone with him. Much easier. Hadn’t even offered. And she could have coped with the old lady much better without the child hanging around.

  ‘I don’t see her by Castle, dear.’

  ‘Don’t go on calling it that, Mother, please. It sounds so…’

  ‘I don’t see her.’ Stop. Peer. ‘Whew. Let me catch my breath. Steeper than I thought. Won’t be a moment, dear.’

  ‘I’ll slay that brute for not driving up.’

  ‘Now don’t you go saying anything about it. I’m quite all right. Goodness, I’m sure I never remember it being so steep. I suppose it’s all the rain. It is wet. I wonder where she is?’

  ‘Sherryn! Sherryn! Come here this instant. Do you hear me? Sherryn!’ Gritting of teeth. ‘Wouldn’t you know it. Now, just when we’re ready…’

  ‘The men seem to have stopped working. Surely it’s too early…’

  ‘It’ll be their smoko.’

  ‘They seem to have gone. It’s taking them a time, isn’t it? Didn’t you say they’d been on the job a week?’

  ‘Something like that. According to Lesley, anyway, and I’m in no mood to take anything he says as gospel.’

  ‘I wonder if he got his certificate?’

  ‘Warrant, Mother.’

  ‘I’m sure he would have. It’s a new car, isn’t it?’

  ‘Well, near enough to new. Where in God’s name is that child?’ A scanning. ‘It had one owner before us. Only done seven thousand.’

  ‘It’s nicer than your last one. I like the colour. Not as
roomy, though, inside.’

  ‘Modern ones aren’t, dear. Ready?’

  ‘I think so. What about the little girl?’

  ‘She’ll come. Sulking no doubt. I’ve noticed it of late. Beth was saying they all go that way just before they start school. Says her Timmy was just the same, although I must say I never noticed it.’

  ‘I hope she’s all right.’

  ‘Hell, if she’s not down there by the time we are, I’ll send Lesley up after her.’ A note of satisfaction.

  ‘Very much like what you were.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Too abrupt.

  ‘Well, the funny little ways you had.’

  ‘All kids are the same. Come on now. Can’t have you late back for dinner, can we?’

  ‘No dear.’ Resigned. ‘Let me have your arm. It really is harder than I thought.’

  Another look around for the child. ‘Can’t see where she could have got to.’ The sooner she started school, the better. Thank the Lord she’d shown the sense to resist Lesley and his incessant talk about the patter of tiny feet. No, two were enough. Quite enough. She’d enjoy getting back to work. Nothing too ambitious. Something to bring in enough to get a few nice clothes, a decent holiday perhaps.

  Why hadn’t he come up to lend a hand? Typical. Look the other way. Head still under the blessed bonnet. More than likely disconnecting all the wrong tubes. Serve him right.

  They were down.

  ‘Well, you were a great deal of help I must say. What the devil do you mean making us walk down from the top?’

  ‘Bloody flat.’

  ‘I might have known.’ Undoubtedly his fault. ‘I told you to check the tyres.’

  ‘All the checking in the world wouldn’t have done any good. Bloody nail.’

  ‘And cut out that language. You know Mother doesn’t like it. Did you get the warrant?’

  ‘Yeah. Just scraped in on the thead depth for a couple of the tyres.’