Tableland (16 page)

Julie startled me at breakfast this morning by saying, as she passed the Rice Krunchies, ‘I've been thinking, if I went along to the bank this morning, I could draw out that money my grandfather left me and send it off to Bri in a registered letter and he'd get it in time for his engagement.'

I was astounded – in fact, speechless for a minute or two – then I remembered that I'd thrown away the letter with his current address.

‘You won't know where to send it – I chucked the letter away.'

‘Oh, I salvaged that, I have it here.' And Julie produced it from her handbag.

‘Well, it's your money,' I said, ‘but I'm sure it could be put to better use.' And several ideas sprang instantly to mind. ‘And, of course, it's the last you'll see of it – mark my words – make no mistake about that.'

‘No, no, Bri's not like that, he'll pay us back as soon as he can. I know he's unreliable in some ways – ‘

I gave a short sarcastic laugh which ended in a cough as a Krunchie went down the wrong way.

Bought a pork pie for Trev and me to have for supper, it being the big night of Julie's tennis match at Crag Ferry. Thought the pie would go well with one of the lettuces from the garden which are just about ready for picking.

The shop where I bought the pie also sold lettuces and couldn't help noticing how cheap they are at the moment. However, there's nothing like the taste of your own home-grown garden produce and, after I had said good bye and good luck to Julie – immaculate in white – I took a trowel and went out to the lettuce patch.

‘We'll have a nice juicy lettuce for supper,' I said to Trev, who had followed me out.

‘You know that's Kipp's favourite part of the garden, don't you?' he asked. I ignored this and selected the largest of the ten.

‘You can wash it while I lay the table,' I said, noticing that Trev screwed up his face with a look of distaste.

‘I think I'll have baked beans with my pie, Dad,' he mumbled and reached for Julie's rubber gloves to wear while washing the lettuce.

Felt unreasonably angry by his attitude. After all the months of hard work in the garden, to have my efforts scorned, it made me see red and I gave him a piece of my mind, finishing up with, ‘and don't expect any help with your geography homework tonight.' To which he had the cheek to reply, ‘I don't want any, thanks. You always get it wrong anyway.'

We ate our meal silently, apart from my lettuce crunching (and I honestly don't think I've ever tasted a better one).

Trev read his comic and I re-read last night's Echo, then he darted off to a Cubs' meeting while I watered the garden and adjusted the wing mirror on the car, which had somehow got twisted out of position.

After creosoting the bird table, I went inside and turned on the television. It seemed a long evening. Hope these tennis matches won't come round too often.

Julie came in at 10.15. They didn't win, but she seemed in good spirits.

‘We stopped for a drink on the way home and planned our strategy for next week's match.'

My heart sank at the thought of another one so soon.

‘I played with Colin Dunking this evening, but I'm going to play with Les Crow next week. He says I have a marvellous forehand drive.'

‘By the way,' Julie said, as I left for work this morning, ‘I sent off that money to Bri – he should have it by now. You do think I did the right thing, don't you?'

I don't think I'm an ungenerous person but I don't see the point of throwing money down the drain, which, to my mind, is exactly what Julie has done.

‘It's your money,' I said again, ‘and don't forget the Wineglasses are coming over tomorrow so get plenty of food in.'

Had an unusually busy day at work, only stopping for a quick sandwich in the canteen, so felt pretty tired by 6 pm and decided to stop at the Cock and Bull for a pint on the way home by way of refreshment.

‘Hail-fellow–well-met.' A hand slapped me on the shoulder and it belonged to Steve, dressed for squash.

‘Looking forward to seeing you and Mrs P tomorrow evening.'

For a moment, I wondered what on earth he was talking about, then luckily I remembered.

‘Of course – the barbecue.' Don't think Steve noticed my little lapse. With the Wineglasse's visit on my mind I had very nearly forgotten Steve's invitation.

‘We've been talking about it all week,' I lied. ‘Quite a social day for us tomorrow – we have friends coming over from Manchester.

‘Bring them along too,' Steve said. ‘The more the merrier. Don't forget it's a bottle party.' Hadn't remembered him mentioning anything of the sort. With a bit of luck, Derek might bring a bottle of one of his homemade brews.

‘Oh, there's Les Crow – I must just go and have a word with him.' I looked over to where he stood holding court – his shorts and shirt looked whiter than white against his tanned and hairy arms and legs. Black sunglasses hid his eyes but he flashed his teeth in recognition and raised his racquet in a greeting to us.

‘He cuts notches on his tennis racquet,' Steve said.

‘For the matches he wins?' I asked.

‘In a manner of speaking,' he replied. ‘Conquests, certainly.'

Trust he didn't mean what I thought he meant, especially in view of what Julie said last night.

‘I want to pick his brains regarding our holiday plans – he may be able to get us something cheaper in the State of Denmark. Mind you, strictly between the two of us, his travel agency is a bit of a one man band – one room over a dry cleaner's – still, it's worth a try.'

‘What's his agency called?' I asked, making a mental note to give it a miss.

‘A.T.C.F. As the Crow Flies.'

The Wineglasses arrived on the dot of twelve o'clock. Unable to ring our broken door chimes, they appeared at the back door. Marlene holding an enormous bouquet of mixed flowers, which she presented to Julie. We had been putting the finishing touches to the meal. Julie had cooked a chicken yesterday and had invented a delicious apricot sauce to go with it – me being chief tester – and this was to be served with salad – another of my lettuces – followed by trifle decorated with mandarin segments.

‘How about a drink in the garden before lunch,' I suggested. I had forgotten the names of the Wineglass boys so just said, ‘Trev, pour some squash out for you and the lads and then you can go and show them that new model of Frankenstein you're making.'

We adjourned to the garden with some tins of shandy. I noticed that Derek had something wrapped in brown paper which bulged out of the top of his trouser pocket and which I hoped was a bottle of something or other.

‘Have a look at this,' he said to me, suddenly producing the object as he sat down.

‘Oh, you shouldn't have,' I started to say, taking it.

‘It's a sample of South American palma wood. Becoming very popular for small boat building. Strong and yet light – see what I mean?' ‘It was sent to the office last week. I knew you'd be interested.'

Made what I hoped were suitable noises of appreciation and we went on to talk about the timber trade in general.

Old Butt decided to choose this morning to clean his upstairs windows. He seemed to be in unusually good humour as, for some reason, he kept giving us a thumbs up sign, which I, of course, ignored.

Marlene, on the other hand, responded in a very friendly manner by waving at him and smiling.

While Derek helped himself to salad over lunch, I couldn't resist muttering, ‘Our own lettuce.' Trev then said something very rude which I won't bother to write down.

‘Who's been at the trifle?' Julie asked crossly, trying to smooth down the cream again where a finger had been scooping it up.

I tore a strip off Trev, knowing this to be one of his tricks. He sat there waiting for me to finish and then said, ‘It was him,' pointing to one of Derek's boys.

We decided to go for a walk through Barton Woods in the afternoon and show the Wineglasses one of our local beauty spots. Marlene wasn't too keen on the idea at first as she was wearing very high heels – far too high in my opinion – and a rather tight skirt. However, we managed to persuade her and all enjoyed a good walk, while I broached the subject of Steve's barbecue party. The idea that we should all go was received with enthusiasm.

Had been keen to point out the panoramic view of Wales seen from a certain part of the wood, but unfortunately couldn't strike the right path today and found ourselves, at one point, on the footpath which overlooks the deep sandstone quarry, which is fortunately fenced off. Even so, Marlene made quite a fuss clinging on to my arm and complaining that she'd no head for heights.

We were all ready for a cup of tea when we got home. Marlene said, ‘I think I sprained my ankle on a root up in the woods.' She then limped towards the sun lounger, where she stayed until it was time to go to the Downes'. However, noticed amazing improvement in ankle as she danced energetically later in the evening with Steve, to his country and western style tapes, watched with a beady eye by Una, I might add.

The barbecue went well and was voted a great success by everyone. Una had “gone to town” over the kebabs, and, as I said to Alan, the smoke kept the swarms of mosquitoes down to manageable proportions.

Later still, when it was dark, I spotted Les Crow dancing in the gloom with his head buried in someone's hair.

Thought perhaps it was his wife – Anita – but, as they vanished into the house, I saw by the light of a small Habitat lantern that it was Una.

Spent nearly the whole of the morning washing up after yesterday and then went over to see if Steve wanted any help after his party. Could hear Una banging about in the kitchen. ‘She prefers to do it her way so I let her get on with it,' Steve said, adding that he had a bad headache – was not surprised with all that noise. He didn't seem to want to go over the events of last night and changed the subject.

‘Looking forward to the Open at Birkdale on the 8th,' he said referring to the golf tournament. ‘I'm taking Robin Crundle Crundle's Ketchup. Our firm organises a nice little set-up there with plenty of booze and a jolly time is had by all. Drop in for a drink if you're going to be there. Look for a banner with the name TRUGOODS in purple letters and that's us.'

Made a mental note of this as I had promised myself a day at Birkdale. A good opportunity to see the top stars at work and pick up some tips.

Spent the afternoon in the garden reading the papers while Trev and Craig shied paper pellets through the gap in the fence at Diane Butt, who was working hard on her tan, prior to entering a bathingsuit beauty contest next month.

Found myself next to Avery, of all people, at the traffic lights this morning. Gave him a wave but was ignored and he accelerated past me with a flourish in his brand new dark brown Jaguar.

Recounted the incident of Avery to Brimcup when he came into the office this morning.

‘Yes, Avery seems to have hit the big time. I hear Lumberjobs is about to go public, so rumour hath it. And Avery is moving to one of those houses in a young executive's estate, Brimcup told me.

For a moment, I must admit, I thought to myself, that could have been me, and then I banished the thought, although it recurred again once or twice during the day.

Julie deeply engrossed in watching Wimbledon on the television when I arrived home, and when I broached the subject of Avery and “what might have been”, she just said, ‘Sshh – just look at those backhands.'

No note of thanks from Brian – only to be expected, of course.

A sudden thunderstorm followed by heavy rain put a stop to Julie's tennis match this evening, much to her disappointment, but to my secret relief. Thank goodness I didn't have to hear anything about Les Crow, I don't know why but the very name is beginning to get on my nerves.

Brimcup very full of himself this morning. I suppose having an article printed in Chips might go to anyone's head.

Interesting advertisement in local paper today:

Come to White's Home Farm, Kelston and pick your own strawberries – 25p per 1lb.

If there's one thing I enjoy, it's strawberry jam. Julie seemed enthusiastic and Trev licked his lips. Decided to make excursion tomorrow.

The morning dawned bright, as they say, and we set off in high spirits. It became evident that White's Home Farm was not going to be easily located. Kelston is about an hour's drive away and a new area to us.

One road we turned down ended in a farm track so we decided to have our picnic there – stopping with a good view of the farmhouse. We enjoyed watching all the activities while eating our ham sandwiches until a very rude young chap driving a truck had trouble getting past us and used some very unpleasant language.

We moved on shortly after this and found the fruit farm at last.

“Eric” (for Trev has, on a whim, decided that Kipps looks more like an “Eric”) leapt out of the car and vanished in the direction of the gooseberries.

We collected our punnets and picked and ate solidly for an hour, by which time we were aching in every limb, and feeling sick.

On the way home, Trev kept saying, ‘What a horrible smell.' It was the strawberries getting hot and steaming. Felt I never wanted to see another one as long as I lived and with great relief we piled them into the kitchen and shut the door on them.

‘We'll have to make them into jam straight away, otherwise they'll go off,' said Julie.

‘No way,' said I.