Jack by the Hedge (Jack of All Trades Book 4) (7 page)

He was in quite a mood this morning, finding sex and wonder in everything.

Except at the greenhouse. The first one was locked. He tried the second. Locked too. He peered in the glass door, both were empty of people. He knocked on the door, just in case Liz was low down, under the shelving, or hidden in the foliage. But there was no response to his rapping.

He was flooded with disappointment. Ten thirty she’d said. It was a couple of minutes past. Well, there you go. That’s the way of things. You think, you dream, poor sucker. And the door is shut tight.

It might have to be dinner with what’s her name, which wasn’t on offer anyway he’d decided.

There could be a good reason for Liz being out. Or maybe she’d forgotten. What was important to him might have been trivial to her. Though that wasn’t what he’d felt. The intensity of that look between them; she was trembling. But he’d been wrong before. Assumed something was happening, and it was. But only to him.

Maybe something had come up, more important than tea with a builder. She was worried about losing her job and her house. Should he search for her? No, it was just a little invitation. Nothing special. It was he who was making too much of it. Fantasising and blowing up a look to heaven knows what. Really, really, he must grow up.

Turning away from the greenhouses, wondering where to have his tea break, he saw a group along the shrubbery, about fifty metres away. There was the manager, the woman pushing that big machine – the maybe-dinner sexpot, the old gardener, and there she was – Liz on the ground. What was going on there?

It was his tea break. This was a park. He was free to find out.

He walked towards them, over the damp grass, past the back of the marquee, about fifteen metres in on the green. He couldn’t see the group too well, the machine partially obscuring his view. Something, or someone on the ground, it appeared.

Might he get a reprimand from the manager? Mind your own business, brickie, waving his self-righteous finger. So perhaps he should leave it and find out later… No, the manager would not be too willing to have another go at him. He’d stood up to him and won last time round. And this was his tea break after all.

Besides, there was Liz. There, not in her greenhouse where he should have been expected.

When he got to the group, he saw they were around a man in a sleeping bag splayed out on the grass, just beyond a holly tree. The sleeping bag was half unzipped, the man was fully clothed, a hand on his chest, eyes open. Obviously alive but not too well. Liz was on the ground by the man putting a pillow under his head.

‘What’s up?’ said Jack to any one of those standing around, peering down at the prone invalid.

‘Heart attack,’ said Bill. ‘Meths drinker. What’d you expect?’

‘Eastern European, rather drink than rent a room,’ said Ian shaking his head. ‘A Pole, Estonian, Latvian, one of them.’

‘I ain’t Eastern European,’ said the man through a constricted throat. ‘From ‘ertfordshire.’

‘His pulse is weak,’ said Liz, her fingers on his wrist. ‘I hope the ambulance is here soon.’

‘I’ll leave you,’ said Jack. ‘There’s more than enough here.’

Liz looked up at him and gave him a smile. That would have to do. The man needed her more than he did.

And he left the group.

Chapter 9

Now that Jack had gone, Liz wished Ian would go too. Just the two of them here with the sick man. The others had been told to get their tea. She was to stay with the man until the ambulance arrived. Ian wasn’t needed, he’d said he was keeping her company in case. As if the man were a vampire and might leap up and go for her throat. She didn’t need Ian but he was the manager of the park and held her fate in his hands. He hardly ever came into her greenhouses. They were her territory and he was intimidated that she knew so much more about the various hothouse plants than he did. But this was his ground, undeniably, out in the park; here he was her superior. His presence was a ticking clock, a continued reminder of their earlier conversation. Perhaps she should leave him here and go and get her tea, except she didn’t want tea, having missed the one she’d planned with Jack. But she was the one with first-aid qualifications, though there was nothing she could do really. She’d got the man comfortable. He wasn’t unconscious. But she couldn’t do much for his heart.

Or her own, if it came to that.

All she could do was watch. Poor man. Say sympathetic things. Which was in truth why she stayed. She had compassion for the man, while Ian, although accepting the ambulance had to be called, regarded the man as a nuisance, getting in the way of the proper work of the park. A dosser, though not a foreigner which Ian would have preferred, being the unquestionable cause of all the country’s problems. At such times, Ian seemed to have a flagpole up his back, the red, white and blue flapping over his head to the tune of Rule Britannia. Though she had to admit, he could be pragmatic. The ambulance had been called. And she’d heard, not altogether clearly, that Zar was going on day release. So maybe, she was too hard on Ian.

‘The ambulance’ll be here soon,’ she said to the man. ‘I’ll just give your face a wash.’

‘Yes,’ said the man weakly, ‘don’t want to stink out the place.’

She took the flannel from the bowl of warm water by her side, squeezed it out and wiped gently round the man’s face. The grime eased away. She wrung the flannel again and went back over.

‘You’re not bad looking under that lot,’ she said.

‘Gonna take me out to the pictures then?’ said the man, ending in a fit of coughing.

‘You’re not going anywhere for a while,’ she said. ‘Don’t talk, and give me one of your hands.’

The man held a hand out and she washed it with the flannel. The water in the bowl was dirty, maybe she was just moving the muck around, but it was easier than talking to Ian. Not after his ultimatum. Marry me or I’ll get you thrown out on to the street. Well, she could leave, of course. Resign before he exposed her. And once she’d left might he not bother with the worst? Might she still get a reference?

Who knows? She had the feeling, though, he’d go for the jugular. And she’d lose her lovely house, and any chance of a job in her field. How could she talk to the man, in any civilised way? She either wanted to claw his eyes out or prostrate herself before him, beg to keep her life.

She mustn’t simply give in. In the mess hut, she’d been aggressive and given him no room. In her own place, the right atmosphere, she might get a better deal out of him. Some halfway house. Was that possible?

She heard Ian shuffling over her shoulder.

‘Where’s that damned ambulance?’

She’d thought once, she could change him. Gradually draw him down from his superior plinth. It must be possible. But then you don’t have to sleep with someone for that. Well she had, and he was who he was. Put her error down to loneliness, to living in the park, associating him with it, the cottage, the space, wanting somehow to control it, own it almost, and with him, the two of them, somehow it would be hers too.

It had all been so ill thought out.

But now, she must be clear headed. Get the best she could out of this. Choose the place, make the occasion.

‘Ian,’ she said, putting the flannel back into the bowl. ‘I’ve been thinking… Will you come to lunch at my place?’

‘Of course,’ he said, a little warily.

‘I don’t want to say anything now,’ she said holding up a hand, ‘as I’m not totally clear, but I will be by lunchtime.’

‘I’ll come,’ he said. ‘And I hope we can settle things.’

‘So do I.’

Ian bent forward. ‘Liz,’ he said, ‘we could do so much together, make this park ours. It’ll all be different. I’ve changed a lot.’

‘Lunchtime,’ she said. ‘This is not the place.’

‘Of course.’ Ian straightened himself as if he’d just been proposing, which perhaps he had been. He looked down at the prone man. ‘He should be at the Salvation Army. Not in the park.’

She tipped the dirty water into the grass and wrung out the flannel.

‘They won’t have you with drink,’ said the man croakily.

‘We won’t have you drunk or sober,’ retorted Ian. He turned to Liz. ‘I’m going to get a cup of tea. Lunchtime then. I know you lay on a good spread. I’ll send Amy out here with a cup of tea and a chair.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘Would you bring a glass of water for him?’

Ian nodded and glanced at his watch. ‘The ambulance shouldn’t be much longer.’ He bent down to the man. ‘It’s more than you deserve, mate, but you’re in good hands with Liz.’

He left them, crossing the lawn and disappearing behind the marquee, accepting the man was no competition.

She sighed with relief. That was done. Now she had to think what to say to him. To salvage something. Though, she was certain of one thing; she wasn’t going to marry him.

‘A fine mess we’re in,’ she said to her patient, and half chuckled. ‘How did you get here?’

‘Over the fence from Balaam Street,’ he said, flapping a hand in its vague direction.

Which was an answer, but not to the question she was really asking. How did you get to the point where all you own are a sleeping bag and two carrier bags? Could this be her if she said no to Ian? Jobless, homeless. On the skids.

A tear slid down the edge of her nose. She wiped it away with a finger. It was for the man, not for herself. She would cope, somehow. She needed to accept the worst that could happen to her. Even so, she would not be here, laid out in the park. It might be a close call, but not now. Ten years ago perhaps. She could get a van, do private gardening. She had a way forward; all the better to face Ian. Not helpless, but with a possible path.

Say goodbye to the park.

She looked down at the man, the veins in the white of his eyes. She smoothed his brow. He smiled back at her. Someone’s child, someone’s brother. Jesus would say hers. My heavens, that was a lot to take on. A responsibility for others. Time perhaps that she should. Instead of just painting the world, shouldn’t she be part of it? Change things a little. Instead of saying what a shame it’s such a mess outside this park and her cosy cottage.

Even if she lost it.

She heard the siren. At last. The medics had come to take him away, to a ward of white coats and nurses’ uniforms, to patch him up and send him back out to drink himself insensible.

‘Somewhere warm and dry tonight,’ croaked the man. ‘That’ll be good. Hot food in the hospital. Might spin it out a couple of weeks… Eh love?’

And she thought how long she might spin it out for. She could of course accept Ian and accept all that came with. And keep her house and job. But she knew she couldn’t. And once she’d told him that, if Ian exposed her lie to HR, then she could be sacked on the spot. No notice. Instant dismissal. She might get a few weeks in the house. But elephantine thought of moving everything. Furniture, crockery, linen, clothes. And where to?

‘You can’t beat hot grub,’ said the man. ‘Three regular meals a day. In the warm. Getting chilly these nights.’ He gave her a toothy smile. ‘I hope it’s Newham General, not Whipps Cross.’

‘I’m sure it’ll be Newham,’ she said giving his hand a squeeze. ‘It’s only half a mile away. Warm and dry for you there. Good food. They’ll look after you.’

‘Just like a holiday,’ said the man.

Chapter 10

Jack sat on the wall, a few feet from the section he was taking down, which was now just a few brick courses from ground level. His thermos and bag of sandwiches were beside him on the flat top. It was warm, he hadn’t wanted to stay in the mess hut for his tea break, though he’d been invited to when he went in to wash his hands. He’d pleaded the sunshine, and that was true enough, but he’d rather be alone with his thoughts.

Liz was still a maybe. He’d clocked that much from the look she gave him, the smile by the side of the sick man, though she was too caught up in her Florence Nightingale ministrations for conversation. It somewhat disgusted him that he could consider sexual adventures on such occasions. But hormones are psychopaths. Just as well no one could read his mind. His selfish forebrain, sprinkled with a deceitful flavouring of sympathy to make him appear civilised.

If she didn’t happen, then he should invite the leafy woman over. Or would he be confirming the invite she’d already made for herself? Either way, he could press her to make a date of it or at least be straight with him. He could go and see her at lunch. Though she might be in the mess hut with everyone else and he’d have to entice her out somehow, with everyone watching. So what? He’d be away in the next few days. Let them say what they liked about him. She was racy, no doubt about that. But a manipulator too. Who was calling the kettle black? Working out his chances with either of the two women. But he’d seen Leafy on the phone a little while back, her machine switched off, in animated chat. Either fixing up something for this evening or teasing some other berk.

How can you trust anyone?

Commonsense told him Liz was the better of the two. They’d talked, not sparred. She was attractive and listened. Arty too. She’d hinted at a telescope session in the park. Could be arranged, she’d said. More than a hint. But the other, the leaf woman, was up front and asking for it. Or a hot tease.

Between musings, he’d kept half an eye on the paramedics. The ambulance had pulled into the park a few minutes ago. The vehicle had parked maybe thirty yards beyond Jack, by the side of the tennis courts. A man and a woman had jumped out of the cab, he would’ve shown them where to go, but Ian had come out of the yard and immediately taken over. He directed them across the grass with their stretcher, one or the other coming back every so often to get bits and pieces out of the ambulance. He couldn’t see what was going on with the invalid because of the marquee in the way.

An old man was coming towards him, walking slowly with a briar cane. He was wearing a greyish suit and what they called a pork pie hat. Jack hadn’t seen one of them for years. An odd item to perch on your head. It didn’t seem very stable. The man had passed the ambulance and stopped for a little while by the tennis courts to watch what the paramedics were up to before continuing his stroll.