“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 pick up the watering can. Tom was right, he couldn’t afford to start slacking of now, 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, a terrible accident, the truck driver had suffered a stroke. After Joe had recovered consciousness at the hospital. 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 as 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 and Joe breathed again. A short while later he saw a layby ahead and he 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, sitting on a grassy hummock, and 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.
