A Change for the Better? (18 page)

Katie wasn’t convinced, if that was case why hadn’t he apologised. He obviously thought he was right she pointed out fairly reasonably.

“He probably feels a bit foolish” Bert chipped in “blokes don’t like admitting we’re in the wrong you know. He probably needs a bit of time to stop feeling so stupid.”

“Yes and after all,” Mo added “making up’s no fun at all if you do it too quickly – it takes all the drama out of it. And
let’s
face it making up’s the best bit of an argument. Isn’t that right Bert?” Bert took Mo’s hand and brushed it with a light kiss.

“Of course my dear, I could have an argument with you just for the making up” he ribbed. Katie decided it was probably time to make a move, she was starting to feel decidedly green and hairy and she had never fitted into the ‘gooseberry’ role very well.

“Well, we’ll see” she said as she rose to go, “but it’s not really the same, Ben and I were just friends. It’s not like there was anything going on between us.” She added as she kissed Mo goodbye.

Under her breath Mo whispered “Oh I wouldn’t say that” and as Katie looked back she could see Mo and Bert laughing at some private joke as she waved from the end of the ward.

The weather continued fine and dry the next few days so Katie donned her gardening gear ready to do a few more hours in the fast disappearing wilderness at the front of the house. She had spent an hour every day since that initial burst after her argument with Ben and she had to admit she was starting to get a bit of order in the area. She had even started to plan how she might like it look when it was finished. Heading out of the front door Katie gulped as she took that first freezing cold breath into her lungs in the crisp winter morning. January had proved to be the best of the winter months so far, with plenty of very cold days, but they were bright with sunshine, filtering golden rays through the bare branches of the undressed trees. There had not been too many of the drizzle filled gloomy overcast ones that sunk your spirits to your boots. Katie only had one corner left to clear of weeds and brambles and after the first back breaking hour she had completed this with a fine array of scratches for her trouble. She had uncovered a beautiful paved area with sandstone paviers, which, if divested of the weeds and moss that were fighting an
all-out
war for supremacy over them, would look even better when offset by some terracotta pots with plants of unpronounceable names. Here Katie had to admit she was beaten, she certainly didn’t have green fingers, not
even a hint of a green fingernail and her knowledge of plants
was
woefully small. In addition she had a long-cultivated skill of killing almost every plant that had ever been given to her. In short, Katie was the sort of person who plastic plants were invented for. But with her new found determination, and a severe shortage of anything to do but cleaning, Katie decided to venture to the local garden centre and see if she could find someone who would take pity on her ignorance without making her feel like a complete idiot.

The Downdale Garden Centre was on the main route to Rawlinston and was one of the new style centres that, whilst continuing to sell plants, they had been relegated down the scale and replaced by a café/restaurant, an unusual gifts section, conservatory furniture and numerous toys and rides to try and encourage visiting kids to play with them instead of the petrol powered chain saw or amusing themselves by knocking the heads off garden ornaments. Katie pulled up in her car and for the first time realised her two-seater sports car with a shoe box for a boot might not be the most practical mode of transport for this particular outing. She parked up between a transit van that had seen much better (and more exciting) days and a designer
pickup
truck (i.e. not designed to do any actual work.) Smiling to herself, Katie noticed her car was actually invisible from every angle except when standing
right behind it.  Katie spied the outdoor plants area through the glass at the far end of the centre but it was far less easy to actually get there. After a number of aborted attempts that saw her appear unexpectedly in the aquatic section and then startle a couple trying out garden furniture as she appeared in the middle of the display apparently out of nowhere, Katie was about to give in and suffer the humiliation of asking one of the scruffy, spotty assistants who were clearly about ten years younger than her, where and indeed how she could get to the outdoor plants section when she suddenly spotted a familiar face examining what looked like some piece of medieval torture equipment masquerading as a garden implement. Katie almost ran towards him

“Mr Clackett,” she cried “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you. Can you tell me how I actually get to the plants in this garden centre?” she added without any hint of sarcasm. After his initial surprise at being accosted by a pretty young woman whilst assessing the various pros and cons of secateurs Mr Clackett regained his composure and took pity on Katie’s dilemma.

“Of course I can tell you my dear, but first you must call me Ken” he insisted and Katie smiled her agreement

“Absolutely - Ken” she laughed “now point me in the right direction and I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Oh I’ll do one better than that, I’ll take you there myself. It’ll make a pleasant change to have someone who’s interested in gardening. I’m afraid Mary finds it all a bit boring. She’s not really happy unless there are plenty of people to gossip with. She finds the plants a bit short of stories.” He winked at Katie as he spoke and she couldn’t help sharing the joke with him. She knew only too well how Mary liked to talk! With no false starts Ken guided Katie out to the plant area and looked at her expectantly

“So where do you want to start, begonia semperflorens or some liniodendrumtulipifera?” Katie realised she hadn’t fully thought this plan through as she had absolutely no idea what she wanted. Deciding that a full confession was the only alternative Katie threw
herself
on Ken’s mercy.

“Well, Ken, I actually haven’t got a clue what I want, I know absolutely nothing about plants or flowers – except how to order them from Interflora. So I might need your help for just a bit longer. How does that sound?” she asked with a winning smile.

“Ooh, excellent – now what are we buying for.” Ken rubbed his hands together with glee. A project was just what he enjoyed. Katie explained how she wanted to transform the front garden at Tolpuddle House now that she had cleared it of the weeds, brambles and the assorted rubbish accumulated over the last five years. Ken didn’t need any more information, he soon had them charging round the centre with one of the carts that went in every direction except the one he wanted and soon had it filled with pots, compost and plants with some wonderfully exotic and even slightly risqué names, even made Katie blush slightly. After forty five minutes of horticultural exploration Katie was all gardened out.

“Ken, can we have a break now – lets go grab a coffee before we try to purchase all these things” she flung her arm in the general direction of the cart overhanging with greenery “let me get you a bun or something it’s the least I can do.” Katie knew Ken had something of a sweet tooth and would find it difficult to resist and so it proved. In fact Ken had already removed his tweed cap and was heading towards the Victorian themed tea room. After purchasing the required drinks and a sticky fruit bun as promised Katie sat down and sipped the milky sweet latte and let herself relax after her morning’s exertions. Ken chuckled to himself, 

“You look just like you’re Granddad used to when he took his first sip of Tetley’s you know.” Katie sat up and asked

“Did you know Gramps well?”

“ Oh aye, we used to wander up to the Rose & Crown quite a lot, leave the women to gossip. We used to enjoy a pint and game of dominoes.” Ken reminisced. “Alfie was a competitive old git when he got going, but a good mate, always on hand when you needed a bit of help.”

Katie smiled as she recalled “Yes he was a bit competitive wasn’t he – he always said I had to learn to lose, I don’t think I ever learnt how to win! He even beat me at my Miss World game!”

Ken chuckled “Oh yes, Alfie liked to win alright. I remember him trying to take out half the pub when we lost the regional final of the Mid Yorkshire Walcott Cup. I had to escort him off the premises for his own safety. Still I think he would have lost to you with good grace.” Ken added “You were the apple of his eye. He used to tell anyone who would listen, and a few who wouldn’t, all about his wonderful grand-daughter, ‘heart of a lion’, ‘brave as a soldier’, ‘bright as a button’ and ‘more beautiful than a princess’ that was his little Katie. Now dear don’t upset yourself.” Ken patted her hand as he noticed the tears welled up in Katie’s eyes, glistening in the harsh lighting of the café.
Katie gulped and tried to swallow the sizable lump that had formed in her throat as Ken talked on about the old days. After a while Katie felt herself lulled by Ken’s deep Yorkshire burr and allowed his stories to slip past her as she drifted back to her childhood playing games with her Grandfather and them both being gently scolded by Mo. Raising from her reveries Katie checked her watch and realised they had been there reminiscing for over an hour, the stewed tea and congealed butter confirming this only too well.

“Oh Ken, I’m sorry, look at the time, I didn’t mean to keep you so long.” Katie started clearing up crockery and tried to balance it precariously on the faux wooden tray, noting to herself that no matter how easily things fitted on the tray when you bought them, the crockery and left-overs seemed to take on new and awkward proportions when you tried to put them back on to it. Breaking into her thoughts Ken said,

“Don’t worry about me, dear. It’s not like I’ve got a crucial meeting to get back for,” he chuckled, “unless you count Mary’s daily discussion on what to have for dinner – and even then I’m fairly surplus to requirements!” Katie smiled; the undisguised affection underlying Ken’s words was clear and caused her a pang, like a snapping elastic
band in her chest. Would she ever have a man who felt like that, and for that long about her? From Katie’s experience men disappeared when the going got tough, look at Marcus! Even Ben hadn’t been in touch since his appalling over reaction the other night.

“Don’t worry” she whispered “I’ll come in with you and take the heat.” She heard Ken’s chortle as he headed towards the exit. “Alfie always said you were a brave girl” he laughed. 

Collecting their trolley, overloaded with pots, compost, plants, small shrubs, possibly even a small wild animal hiding in the undergrowth, they moved towards the checkouts. Katie suddenly came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the garden implements aisle, sending a rather portly lady behind her cannoning into her back and narrowly avoiding a fairly serious injury from the garden hoe she was examining. Tutting loudly and commenting on the inconsideration of young people these days the lady moved on, Katie didn’t hear a word. A thought had just occurred to her that really should have registered before.

“Oh Ken,” she wailed, “where am I going to put all this – my car fits two people and a shoebox in the boot. This isn’t going to fit in. I can’t believe I didn’t realise before.” Katie looked at Ken with a stricken face, Ken chuckled. Katie realised this was fast becoming Ken’s
trademark reaction, there didn’t seem to be a problem, comment or situation that didn’t make Ken chuckle, with a deep throaty laugh that suggested there really wasn’t a problem at all. On this occasion, as it turned out, there wasn’t.

“Look” he said “pointing to one of the bright orange signs hanging over the customer service desk in foot high letters

[FREE HOME DELIVERY FOR GOODS OVER £100]

(Within a five mile radius or a £10 charge) in much smaller possibly 2inch letters.

Twenty minutes later Katie had paid for her goods and arranged for them to be delivered the following day, (for the small additional charge of £10, due to Tolpuddle House being 5.2 miles from the store) and had seen Ken off in his 1991 Ford Fiesta which looked every bit as good as when it had been
delivered. This
made Katie feel slightly ashamed of her mud spattered, bird muck covered car that was precisely six months old. I really must call into a car wash, Katie reflected, although she hadn’t seen one of those hand wash places that seemed to have sprung up all over the city. Katie preferred these to the petrol station car washes, not least as you got a free air freshener every time. Still
there was no time for that now; Katie had another mission to fulfil just as she had promised Mo she would. Katie was on her way to visit Cheadle House, the residential and convalescence home Mo had selected from all the glossy brochures provided by Mary Clackett. It was not a trip Katie was looking forward too. Whilst being away in London Katie had quite successfully managed to forget about Mo’s age or the fact that she wasn’t as sprightly as she used to be. Now she was back here, there was absolutely no escaping the fact Katie was finding it hard to come to terms with. It’s a harsh fact about growing up and older that those people who seemed invincible and indestructible get older too, and the roles of carer and ‘cared for’ gradually reverse. Katie still felt like a child in so many ways she wasn’t sure she was ready to start looking after Mo just yet. Katie gave herself a mental shake as she turned the corner into Bluebell Lane searching for the entrance into Cheadle House. It wasn’t difficult to spot. A low newly white washed wall with a huge laurel hedge above, immaculately cut with geometric proportions and leaves so bright and shiny it looked like each one had been personally polished with ‘Pledge’ and a
duster. In
front of the perfect hedge was a huge sign proclaiming ‘Cheadle House, Retirement Complex and Care Home’. Turning sharply into the driveway Katie was reluctantly impressed with the surroundings. On her right was a semi-circle of about ten or twelve bungalows each slightly
different from the next by a clever use of bay windows, roof lintels and door placements, to make each one seem individual. In front of them was an immaculately kept lawn, looking like a lush green carpet, and small garden pots which probably bloom into life in the spring. It was quite an idyllic setting Katie reflected. Even in winter there was still
a tranquillity
off-setting the bare branches of the surrounding trees and the dullness from the low clouds above.