Home and Away

Christine sighed as she trailed the black wheelie bin down the lock-block drive to its place on the pavement. Saturday again. She lifted the lid and tried to squash the contents down a bit. The stink of rotting cabbage mixed with fermenting banana skins wafted out at her. Why none of the boys could do this, God only knew. Looking up, shielding her eyes from the bright sunlight, she sighed again. Two sets of firmly shut curtains at the upstairs windows confirmed what she already knew. Round the back of the house there would be a similar sight. None of them would stir until noon, when they would appear to raid the fridge, play video games and loud music and bicker about whose turn it was to use the bathroom. Nothing seemed to have changed since they were teenagers.

At six o’clock, round the kitchen table, over plates piled high with sausages and mash, cabbage and gravy, Christine made her announcement.

“I’m going to Spain. To live. With Tony.”
“What for?” spluttered Kenny, the jug of gravy suspended over his plate.
“When?” Lenny nearly choked on the sausage he was gnawing at from his fork.
“What about us?” asked Benny, his hand hanging motionless above the bowl of mash.
“You three will have to find somewhere else to live. Together, apart, it’s up to you. I’m going next week; the rent on this place is paid till the end of next month. I think that’s fair.”

Without waiting to hear the protests that she knew would follow, she walked out of the back door, into the warm late spring evening. The pungent smell of wild garlic mixed with freshly cut grass swilled round her as she strode along the lane that led to the woods. For the thousandth time, she wished that Dennis was here beside her; she had never wanted him to buy a motorbike for his 50th birthday, but he’d had so much pleasure from it she could hardly stop him. Deeper in the woods, she paused under a huge beech tree and gazed up at the pattern of different shades of green. A woodpecker tap tap tapped and she peered upwards all around to try and spot him. She smiled to herself; they were so elusive. With a spring in her step she headed home, the start of a packing list forming in her head.

At the end of the month, Christine returned from Spain to collect her last few belongings. She visited her sons in turn, wearing a healthy tan and a slightly detached air. Her hair was longer, her earrings danglier than her sons remembered. She smelt faintly of oranges and lemons.

Kenny’s purchase of a little wooden chalet on the outskirts of town, near the old house, was a pleasant surprise. Rowan and wild cherry trees grew within the plot; there were even some azaleas in his newly planted garden.

“So, you liked this neck of the woods after all then, Kenneth?”
“It’s Ken now, Mum and yes, I always liked the woods round the back of our house.”
“I know, when I think of it, you and your pals used to spend hours making dens out there.”
“Yup, it’s like that here, nice and peaceful, just on the edge of town. Lucky that piece of land came up so cheap just when I needed it.”
“Yes, wasn’t it just.”

Lenny had persuaded his long-term girlfriend to move in with him to his new abode.

“What a great view, son!” Christine clutched the steel railing of the balcony to steady herself. The sheer drop below to the dazzlingly blue, swirling sea made her feel giddy. Fulmars were nesting on the cliffs not far away, and several gannets dive-bombed in startling whiteness out at sea.
“Isn’t it great? I’ve taken up bird-watching. And Leonora’s going to painting classes. “
“Is she now? That’s nice.”
“It was such a great price, Mum, you wouldn’t believe what a bargain this place was…”
“No, you’re right son, I probably wouldn’t.” Christine smiled, heading for the newly fitted kitchen where Leonora was pouring glasses of sangria and tipping olives into a small oval dish.

Benny was sleeping on his mate’s floor. The mate worked night shifts at a big supermarket so didn’t mind Benny being there at night, as long as he made himself scarce during the day. Christine took him for lunch to the little café they used to go to as a treat at the starts of school holidays. Walking there together from the grotty flat, she noticed the pink cherry blossom blowing across the street and the chestnut flowers like candelabra reaching for the sky. Benny stared at the discarded chewing gum trodden into the tarmac and a cheese and onion crisp wrapper that shuffled along beside them.

“Oh Benny, what are you going to do?” she sighed, burning the roof of her mouth on her steaming bowl of lentil soup. They sat in the window, only the floor-to-ceiling glass between them and passersby. An old woman shuffled past, stick in one hand, shopping bag in the other, burgundy fleece, beige trousers. Every step was a huge effort. Christine gazed after her as she drank some water to cool her burning mouth.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. Once I get a job, I’ll be fine.” Benny smiled, squirting tomato ketchup onto his chips.
“But you’ve no qualifications, Benny, you know we said you must….”
“Stick in at school. Yes, I know Mum, and I wish I had now, but it’s too late…”
“What’s too late? Never too late, lad.” The old guy at the next table chipped in. Tweed jacket, leather patches on both elbows, silk cravat at his neck, corduroy trousers. Wispy grey hair combed back carefully, a hearing aid, silver-rimmed glasses. A stick hung on the chair back behind him. Three quarters of a piece of millionaire’s shortbread and a mug of coffee lay on the table in front of him. Froth from the coffee hung along the lower edge of his overgrown moustache.

“What the….?” Benny nearly choked on his ham and cheese toastie.
“I couldn’t help overhearing ….” the old man continued, unperturbed by Benny’s glares.
“No, I bet you couldn’t ….” Benny took a swig of his coke.
“Shoosh, Benny, don’t be so rude. Yes? You were saying?” Christine was intrigued by the man’s audacity.
“I’m in a spot of bother just now, to be honest. Wife died. Sprogs have gone off, all live abroad now, selfish brutes. House too big, garden too big; could do with a hand. Handyman, gardener, that kind of thing. Live-in. Someone I can trust. Reply on. Think you could do that, Benjamin?”
“Well, I don’t….”
“Of course he could, couldn’t you Benny? Benjamin?”
“Well, I suppose it would be better than kipping on a floor.”
“Damn right it would be, boy. Get your own room, your own bathroom, your own wing, in fact! Splendid! See you tomorrow at nine o’clock sharp. Here’s the address.” And he slipped an old-fashioned calling card across the formica table top. It smelt faintly of mothballs, when Benny picked it up and put it in his jeans pocket.

Christine and Tony were relaxing by the kidney-shaped pool, suntan cream, magazines and sangria at the ready on the low wooden table between the two sun loungers, when the phone rang. The scent of jasmine filled the air, mixed with the tang of the sea, a light breeze keeping the heat at bay.

“Just leave it, it’ll be Susan asking us over for drinks later. I can’t be bothered tonight. “ Tony murmured out of the side of his mouth, from where he lay on his stomach on the brightly patterned towel that covered the lounger.
“Yes, you’re right, I’ve heard enough about her problems to last me a lifetime. You will get an answerphone soon, won’t you darling?”
“Yes, yes, I’ll get one next week when I go into the town. I was putting off as long as possible – we came out here to get away from it all, remember?”
“Yes, I do remember. And it’s great there’s no mobile signal either; at least the internet works, so we can stay in touch when we want to!”

The following day, Christine could delay checking her e-mail no longer. There were fifty-nine messages in her Inbox, including one from each of her sons:

“Hi Mum, guess what, the house has to be knocked down ‘cos they’re building a bleeding bypass right through it. Nowhere to live, can I come out to Spain for a bit? Job here’s crap anyway. Kenny.”

“Mum, why don’t you ever answer the phone? House fell into sea. Only garage left. And telescope. Leonora’s gone. Homeless. Coming to Spain, be there Friday. Lenny”

Benny had always been more articulate than his brothers : “Dear Mum, you’ll be sorry to hear that Archie died last week. He was really ill, but hadn’t told anyone. I figured it out when I took him to a hospital appointment and it was at the oncology ward. I found him in his study, newspaper in his lap, thought he was asleep. Called the police, it was all OK, thought I might be in trouble, but not. He’s left the house to me! Everything! Can’t believe it! He hated his family. Felt sorry for him - he was a good guy. Turned out he knew grandpa really well. Funeral next Friday. Come and visit soon. Plenty room! Love Benny”

Christine realised from the date on Benny’s message that “next Friday” was the following day. She warned Tony that he would have house-guests, strictly for the weekend only, and booked herself a return ticket on the next flight to the UK. A long weekend would be plenty time to inspect her sons’ new home.

Jennifer Watson