“I’ve got something to tell you both,” Laura said, as she poured their tea. “It
would have been my wedding anniversary next Saturday, and I’m going to
Flamborough Head for the weekend.” She paused to exchange the teapot that she
was holding for the milk jug. “Roger and I used to love to walk along the cliff
tops, from the point and over to he lighthouse on the Head. Well he’s been gone
five years now and I’ve taken it into my head to spend the weekend up on the
cliffs again. I was wondering if you and Tom would like to come along?” She
looked at Joe expectantly. “It would be my treat of course and...”
“Next Saturday’s the nineteenth, the day of the show, Laura. I’m sorry but
that’s just not on! Is it Joe?” Tom shouted, so loudly into Joe’s ear that it
made his hearing aid whistle. Then Tom, without giving him a chance to reply,
continued. “We’ll be too busy in our gardens getting the vegetables ready. The
show’s what Joe and I have been working towards all year.”
“Oh yes of course, how could I have forgotten? Don’t worry I’ll go on my own.”
Joe wanted to say that he’d go with her but that would leave Tom with a clear
field; and Joe's new-year resolution to beat him and win the cup at the annual
village vegetable show was nearing fruition. His vegetables were the only ones
that stood any chance of beating Tom’s, and even he'd admitted that.
The trouble was that he really fancied Laura, but so did Tom, Joe knew that all
right. There’d been a time when they’d both inundated her with the pick of their
crops until she’d called a halt.
“I was happily married for almost thirty years, until Roger died,” she said.
“I’m not looking to get involved again.” That had been about three years ago and
Tom and Joe had been coming to Laura’s for Sunday lunch, ever since. It had
become part of their routine.
“I’m really sorry, Laura,” Joe said, “If it had been any other weekend... and
besides I have got someone coming to look at the car on Saturday morning. I must
have forgotten to tell you that.”
Her brow furrowed and she gazed at him in concern. “You’re sure, Joe, sure that
you want to sell it I mean. I know you haven’t driven since the accident, but…”
“I’ll never drive again,” he said quickly, not wanting to relive it all over
again. “I should have got shut of it years ago.”
“It’s all right, don’t get upset. We all know that the accident wasn’t your
fault, and anyway I should have remembered the date of the show.” Laura spoke
slowly as she always did, knowing that he was deaf. She smiled that lazy smile
of hers, the one which seemed to light up her pale blue eyes, and always made
him feel like he used to when he first courted Mary, the girl he’d married, and
who’d been killed in that damned car smash; seven years ago. Laura’s hair was
fair and flecked with silver, while Mary’s had been as dark and glossy as a
raven’s wing.
“She said it’s not your fault!” Tom bellowed into his ear again, and cursing
silently Joe turned off the hearing aid to stop its whistling. He’d have to try
and lip-read now.
“Stop shouting, Tom,” Laura said. “It doesn’t help Joe hear you any better, you
know that.”
“Doesn’t make much sense to me, does that, Laura. If he’s deaf it’s not much use
whispering, now is it?” Tom asked, rising to his feet. “Well we’d best be off
then Laura. Enjoy your weekend, and I’ll show you my cup when you get back.”
“Did you say you’d got a bad back, then Tom?” Joe asked winking at Laura to try
and lighten the mood, and playing the game that Tom expected him to. “Perhaps
you’d better forget about the gardening and the show.”
“Silly old fool.” Tom grumbled quietly and Joe smiled, he was pretty good at
lip-reading most of the time.
* * *
Joe straightened up from his hoe and survey his handiwork. With the weeding all
done all he had left to do was to water the onions, broad beans and tomatoes,
and then he could pack it in for the day.
“Nice onions those,” Tom’s head appeared over the hedge. “I reckon that there
are not many that could beat those.”
“Thanks Tom, I told you that I’d give you a run for your money this year. I’m
off for a beer now, do you fancy joining me?”
“What? It’s not even dark yet. I never finish in the garden until it gets dark
there’s too much to do!” Tom bawled. “That’s why I’ve won the cup for the past
two years, dedication, that’s what you need to win, Joe, dedication!” Turning on
his heel Tom strode off towards the bottom of his own garden.
Reluctantly Joe returned to his shed and
picked up the watering can. Tom was right, he couldn’t afford to start slacking
of now, and the beer and the novel would keep.
* * *
Two days before the show, Joe faced the task that he’d been dreading and
unlocked the garage doors. His fingers trembled as he pulled them open and saw
the grey looking sheet that covered the car - the car in which Mary was killed.
He suddenly felt weak and sick as he remembered it all over again.
The truck came crashing through the safety barrier on the MI and then hurtling
towards them. Joe wrenched at the wheel but the lorry filled his vision. He
heard once more the horrendous impact - fragments of flying glass peppering his
face. Mary’s scream as she was flung from her rear seat, forward and through the
disintegrating windscreen.
He had recovered consciousness in hospital and was informed that Mary was dead.
She had been killed instantly, they’d assured him, later. It was, they said,
after Joe recovered consciousness, a terrible accident; the truck driver had
suffered a stroke. Everyone told him that it was an accident, but Joe knew
better, knew that he was to blame! If I wasn’t deaf, his mind screamed...if I
wasn’t deaf ,perhaps I’d have heard the truck driver frantically sounding his
horn, or something.
“Stop it!” He shouted aloud in anguish, and trying to drive the memories away.
He angrily ripped the sheet off the car. It wasn’t even the same car. the
original one had been a write-off; but this replacement car, was the same
colour, make and model. Joe had never driven it - never even opened the car’s
door. It had stood untouched for seven years, ever since the salesman from
Brody's had driven it into Joe's garage.
Last week, though, he’d decided to get rid of the car and had advertised it in
the paper; and this morning someone was coming to look at it. He washed the dust
off the car and then went back into the house.
* * *
The two
men were twenty at the most, he thought as they began their examination of the
car. They seemed quite impressed when the engine started first time, and even
more impressed by the 38 miles on the clock.
“I’ve never driven it,” he said, and explained about the accident.
“Well it’s nearly six-years-old now, mate,” one of them said. “Not worth more
than a few hundred, but I might be willing to make it a grand.”
“Maybe we could go up to fifteen-hundred,” the other one said. “And let’s face
it, your not going to be driving it again; not at your age.”
“I’ve had it valued at eight-thousand,” Joe said. “Old and deaf I might be, but
stupid I’m not.”
“Okay, six-five - and that’s our final offer.”
“Goodbye,” Joe said, “and shut the gate on your way out.” He watched them leave
and re-locked the garage.
* * *
He was in
his bedroom when he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. Joe stared at
it for a long time, taking in his full beard, crumpled shirt and baggy trousers,
the same clothes that he always wore in the garden. It suddenly occurred to him
that he wasn’t just growing vegetables, he’d become one. He’d been running away
from life - from reality.
He picked up the framed photograph and looking at Mary’s smiling face he felt
the familiar yearning.
“I still miss you, love,” he said quietly, “But I know that you’d agree with
Tom; I am a bloody old fool."
* * *
He drove slowly his heart seemed to be beating loud enough for him to be able to
hear it. This was a mistake, he thought hugging the nearside kerb. A bus
sped towards him, and seemingly intent on trying to squeeze past him on a road
that was obviously to narrow. He braced himself for the impact, but the bus
sailed past him. Joe breathed again.
A short while later he saw a layby and pulled into it. He’d done
forty-three-miles, in just over an hour, which wasn’t too bad at all. He had
almost made up his mind to turn the car around and go home... but he was over a
third of the way to Flamborough, and to Laura. Perhaps he could make it
the rest of the way; if he was careful.
* * *
Laura, was resting on the cliff path,and sitting on a grassy hummock watching
the gulls and other birds wheeling and soaring below her. It was another hours’
walk to the lighthouse up on Flamborough Head. Joe guessed that like him, she
would be looking forward to a nice cup of tea.
Some people were pointing to a needle like rock that rose from the sea between
two chalky cliffs, and Joe could just make out something green that was perched
on the its pinnacle.. Removing his binoculars he focussed on it. Suppressing a
chuckle he walked up to Laura, who was shielding her eyes with one hand, and
trying to make out what the green thing was.
“Try looking through these,” he said from behind her, and put his binoculars
into her hands.
“Joe!” Laura said, delightedly and then stared at him in surprise. Joe had
shaved off his beard and moustache and was now immaculately dressed in walking
gear, and carrying a backpack.
“Go on, Laura, take a look at the rock,” he said.
She focusing the binoculars on the rock and then on the avocado green toilet pan
that had been mounted on the tip of the rock.
“How on earth did they get that up there?” she laughed.
“I haven’t got a clue,” Joe admitted, and then he looked into her eyes. “It’s
really good to see you, Laura,” he said.
She reached up and took his hand. "It’s good seeing you too Joe, but what about
the show?”
“I just decided that I’d rather drive over here to be with you, that’s all.”
She didn’t frown, or look annoyed, as he’d feared she might. She got to her feet
and looking into his eyes, she smiled that smile of hers.
“So you
didn't sell your car, and you actually drove it all this way just to be with me?
I always knew you had style, Joe”
* * *
Joe drove them back in his car the following evening.
* * *
He was in Laura’s kitchen making them both a mug of tea, when through the
kitchen window he saw Tom walking up towards the front door. Laura opened the
door to him just as Joe emerged into the hall carrying two steaming mugs.
“Hello Tom, I’ll make you a drink,” he said.
“No it’s all right, Joe, I only came over to show you and Laura my cup. Look
Laura, I won first prize!”
Handing one of the mugs to Laura, Joe slipped his arm around her waist and
smiled.
