Life In Parks
Published by P R Johnson at Smashwords
Copyright © 2012 P R Johnson
Cover photo acquired through Getty Images – Licensed to I Rogerson on behalf of Pro-germinal.
Photo by: Digital Vision
Photographer: Yagi Studio
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As in life, all people/places/events depicted in this novel are fictional.
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First published Feb 2012.
Table of contents
For friends – past, present and future.
She came in the summer of ’91. It was the third Tuesday of the school holidays, and Matthew lay on the sofa, not allowing the images on the television to distract his meandering thoughts. The doorbell sounded sharply, however, and his daydream was snatched away. At first, he refused to budge, but the doorbell rang twice more in quick succession and eventually he got to his feet.
‘All right, for God’s sake, all right.’
When he swung open the front door, he found on the doorstep an elderly woman whose clothes sparkled like a disco glitter-ball. Upon her head she wore a sun hat made of golden sequins that shone with reflected light. The silver thread of her knee-length dress added to the effect, shimmering with the slightest movement of her body. Despite the glistening attire, he noticed around her neck a beaded necklace complete with wooden crucifix, and his mind was momentarily filled with reverence. Then she spoke in a harsh, gravelly voice and the holy illusion was destroyed.
‘Bugger me! You took your time. Were you going to leave me standing here all day?’
Matthew stood motionless, trying to recognise the old lady’s face. Yet, with most of her features obscured in the shadow of the sun hat, all he could see clearly was her ruby-red lips. Peering down, his eyes fixed on the brown leather suitcase by her side, and only then did he address her.
‘Do I know you?’
‘I should hope so. I am your grandmother, after all.’ She bent and lifted the suitcase. ‘And if you don’t mind, I could do with getting inside, before my legs give way completely.’
Matthew inched backwards, his hand seeking the door handle. ‘I’m sorry, but I think you may have the wrong address.’
‘You are Matthew, aren’t you? Debbie and Robert’s boy?’
He nodded.
‘Well, then, there’s no mistake. And are we going to stand here like a couple of lemons, or are you going to invite me inside? Like I said, I really need to sit down.’
As the old lady moved past him into the hallway, Matthew caught the terrific odour that emanated from her small frame. He recognised the scent immediately: that of cheap aftershave, musty and sour, like the kind he would buy his father for Christmas but would ultimately never be worn.
He followed the lady into the lounge, where she set down the suitcase and collapsed onto the sofa with a theatrical moan of exhaustion.
‘That’s better. My legs are aching like you wouldn’t believe. Now, let’s have a proper look at you.’ From beneath the deep-brimmed hat she gazed. ‘You could certainly do with a haircut, but you’re a nice-looking boy on the whole. I’m glad you’ve inherited something worthwhile from my side of the family. Tell me, how old are you? Fourteen, fifteen?’
His eyes widened at the affront. ‘I’ll be seventeen in a few days.’
‘As old as that? Time certainly flies when you look the other way. You still seem pretty innocent to me; not a lot different from the last time I saw you.’
‘I’m sorry, but I wasn’t aware that we had met.’
‘Of course we’ve met; how could we not have? I guess it’s hardly surprising you don’t remember, though, you were only a few hours old at the time.’ Her gaze drifted towards the door. ‘I take it your mother’s not here at the moment.’
‘Mum? Yes, she’s out the back. I think she’s gardening.’
‘Gardening, you say. It seems as though my Deborah has become quite the merry homemaker. Don’t you think it would be a good idea to let her know I’m here?’
‘Right, I’ll go and fetch her.’
‘I think perhaps you should.’
His mother was mowing the lawn when he stepped outside. She failed to notice him approach, deafened by the mechanical roar of the mower, until he tapped her on the shoulder. Recoiling with a start, she released the trigger and the motor ceased whirring.
‘Christ, you shouldn’t go creeping up on people like that, especially when they’ve got a lawn-mower in their hands. That’s how toes get lost.’ A warm smile spread across her lips. ‘What’s up, sweetheart?’
‘Mum, there’s someone here to see you.’
‘And … Are you going to tell me who it is, or do I have to guess?’
‘A woman.’
‘That narrows things down. What does she want, this woman?’
‘I’m not sure. Mum, I think it’s best if you come and see for yourself.’
‘She’s not a bloody Jehovah’s Witness, is she? I was trapped by one last week; kept me talking for nearly an hour.’
‘No, I don’t think she’s one of them.’
‘OK, just give me a second and I’ll be with you.’ She took off her gardening gloves and fitted them over the handles of the mower before together they walked to the house. ‘And you have no idea what she wants?’
‘She didn’t say.’ Matthew smiled, unable to resist. ‘To be honest, the only thing I know is that she says she’s my nan.’
The mood changed instantly, and as she mopped her brow with her sleeve she succeeded in wiping all trace of good humour from her face.
‘Is this some kind of joke?’
‘I have no idea. All I know is there’s some old woman in our lounge who reckons she’s my grandmother.’
Proceeding inside, they passed through the dining room, along the hallway and into the pungent-smelling lounge. There, as promised, the visitor was waiting.
‘So, it’s true what they say about old pennies. Hello, mother. It’s been a long time. I thought you might be dead by now.’
The old lady reacted with a cool smile. ‘Surely you didn’t think I’d die without telling you first.’
While his mother moved to the fireside, Matthew lingered in the doorway. By now the old lady had removed the sun hat, allowing him to see clearly the powder-white colour of her skin. Against flesh drawn tightly against high, prominent cheek-bones, the pallid colour was accentuated by the bright red gloss on her lips. Her hair, though dark and abundant, hung untidily to narrow shoulders, greying roots visible near the scalp. Beneath eyebrows blackened and defined, her crystal blue irises sparkled amid yellowing corneas, yet with an intensity that made them seem out of place on an otherwise ghostly face.
‘How did you manage to find us? Who told you where we live?’
‘It’s a small world, Deborah. It’s not difficult to find things if you look for them in the right places.’
She took a deep breath of the musty air, as if to steady her calm.
‘OK, mum, let’s not beat about the bush. Why have you come? What is it you want?’
‘Nothing for you to worry your head about. There are just a few things that need arranging. We’ve got to start making plans for the future, before it’s too late.’
Matthew was languishing beneath a cloud of apprehension when his mother retrieved her handbag from beside the fireplace.
‘Listen, son, I want you to do me a favour.’ She took some money from her purse. ‘I want you to pop to the shops and buy a carton of milk. We’re clean out, and no doubt your grandmother will be wanting a cup of tea.’
‘I definitely wouldn’t say no,’ the old lady responded. ‘Only don’t get any of that low-fat rubbish. A cup of tea isn’t worth the bother unless it’s made with proper milk.’
Matthew nodded.
Although he understood that it was a ploy to get him away from the house, he agreed to go anyway, if only to flee the stench of cologne and escape the old lady’s piercing gaze. He pocketed the money and bade a sheepish farewell to both women, to which the old lady winked at him in response. Hastened by unease, he grabbed the front-door key from the hook, put on his shoes and finally made his escape.
The instant he was outside he inhaled a pocket of air, in part to clear his nasal passage and partly to settle his disoriented mind. Immediately he felt better. Almost at once, the cool air returned equilibrium to his senses, diluting his thoughts and emptying his head; so much so, that by the time he had reached the end of the street, a sense of abandonment had overcome him.
It was only the third time in two weeks that he had been out of the house, and during the ten-minute walk to the shopping precinct his muscles and joints ached through recent inactivity. He proceeded without haste to the mini-mart and bought a large carton of milk.
When he emerged, instead of heading directly home, he made a detour to a street that held a fascination like no other: Park Avenue.
Ambling up that street, his pulse rate increased the closer he drew to number thirty-eight. When at last he came level with the front window, he cast a casual glance sideways, hoping to pick out the silhouette of a girl inside. Nevertheless, like the majority of times he had performed this ritual, he saw no sign of life from within. Frustrated, he quickened his pace and proceeded on his way.
He dawdled the rest of the way home and arrived almost an hour after he had left, finding his father’s car parked in the driveway. As he stepped inside the house, he immediately caught the scent of cologne that lingered. This time, however, the scent failed to overpower his senses: this time he was prepared.
Hearing voices in the dining room, he poked his head round the door and found his mother and father sat to the dinner table.
‘All right, son,’ his father said with a nod of acknowledgement. ‘Your mum was just telling me about your eventful afternoon. It seems we’ve had a visitation.’
‘I know,’ Matthew replied, placing the carton of milk on the table. ‘I was here when she came.’ He looked intently at both in turn. ‘So, does someone want to tell me who she is?’
‘She’s your nan,’ his mother replied. ‘But I thought you’d gathered that already.’
For a moment he was perturbed by the casualness of her response.
‘And that’s all you have to say?’
‘What else do you want me to say?’
He waited, expecting her to continue, until it became apparent that she had nothing to add. The awkward silence was broken by the sound of a creaking floor-board overhead.
Lowering his voice, he signalled towards the ceiling.
‘She’s still here, then. I presume that’s her upstairs.’
His mother nodded and smiled insincerely. ‘I hope so. If it isn’t, then it sounds like we’ve got burglars … or ghosts, more likely. Yes, son, that’s her upstairs. And if you’re interested, she’s probably in the bathroom freshening up. She says she’s had a long journey.’
‘Any idea why she’s come?’ his father asked. ‘It’s a bit out of the blue.’
‘To pour salt into old wounds?’ the woman scoffed. ‘To be honest, I long ago stopped trying to second-guess what goes on in her mind.’
‘I’m surprised you agreed to let her stay with us, considering we don’t have much space.’
‘When all is said and done, she is my mother and I’m not going to let her sleep on the streets.’
‘You mean she’s staying here with us?’ Matthew interjected.
‘That’s right. I’ve told her to put her things in your room. You’ll have to make do with the sofa. You spend enough time there as it is, so it shouldn’t be much of a disruption.’
‘Fantastic. So, I lose my room again.’
‘I’m sure you’ll survive. Anyway, it’ll only be for a couple of days; she’s assured me of that.’
Matthew eyed his mother suspiciously and shook his head in resignation. ‘To be honest, mum, I’m not bothered where I sleep. All I want to know is: where has she been all this time?’
On this occasion, however, his mother did not get the chance to reply, because from behind came the sound of a cough. Matthew swivelled and found the stranger, still wearing the shimmering, silver dress, standing in the doorway.
‘Matthew, Matthew, Matthew,’ she croaked in a gruff, yet surprisingly soothing, voice. ‘Why are you so wrapped up in the past? You can learn nothing worthwhile from history. The future has all the answers.’
The moment she entered the room, her daughter rose to her feet and brought to a close a discourse that had barely begun.
‘I’m going to check on dinner,’ she said, moving through to the kitchen and ignoring the old lady as she went. ‘It’ll be ready in ten minutes.’
Matthew’s father, in stark contrast to the coldness of his wife, had also stood and was advancing towards the stranger with arms open wide and a welcoming smile. He embraced the woman and kissed her on either cheek.
‘Mom. It’s been a long time.’
‘Yes, Robert, I suppose it has. But I’ve never been one for counting years.’
The embrace was clumsily broken.
‘Well, mom … I don’t mind admitting that you’re the last person I expected to find when I came home from work today. Are you planning on being around long?’
‘Why, are you anxious to see the back of me already?’
‘No, not at all. You know you’re welcome to stay as long as you like.’
‘That’s nice to hear. But you needn’t worry. As soon as I’ve settled a few outstanding issues, I’ll be out of your hair for good.’
‘And what issues are those?’
‘Nothing for you to concern yourself with, Robert. No doubt they’ll get sorted in due time.’
The man nodded. ‘So, how have you been keeping? I must say, you’re looking well.’
‘I’m as well as can be expected. It’s best not to complain. Nobody would pay attention if I did. I see you haven’t changed much.’
‘A few more inches round the waist. But basically it’s the same old me.’
From the kitchen came the sound of his wife’s harassed voice. ‘Would you give me a hand, please, Rob. This blinking microwave is playing up again.’
‘Yes, love, I’m on my way.’
With a subservient shrug to the old lady, he passed through the connecting door to the kitchen and closed it behind him.
Alone now, the old lady turned to Matthew. ‘You were a long time buying that milk, young man. I never did get my cup of tea.’
‘Sorry. I got a bit side-tracked.’
‘Pretty, was she?’
‘Pardon me?’ His eyes widened.
‘The reason you were side-tracked. A pretty girl, by any chance?’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Oh, I’ve been around long enough to know the things that distract impressionable young men. In fact, if I could give you one piece of advice, it’s to be wary of pretty girls. On second thoughts, avoid them all together; they’ll only bring you grief in the long run.’
‘Right, I’ll bear it in mind,’ he said. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’d better wash my hands before dinner.’
‘What’s the hurry? Have you never tasted your mother’s cooking before?’
Fighting to suppress a smile, Matthew took his leave and walked upstairs to the bathroom. He opened the basin tap and doused his face with cold water, hoping to wash the chaos from his thoughts. Afterwards, drying himself in front of the cabinet mirror, he ran his fingers through his untidy brown hair and across the unblemished skin on his jaw, all the while trying to judge whether the old lady was being sarcastic when she had praised his good looks.
He was lingering in front of the mirror when his mother shouted that dinner was ready. Reluctantly, he went downstairs and returned to the dining room, where the others were already sitting to the table.
As soon as he entered, the old lady beckoned him to the seat next to hers. It was the last thing Matthew had wanted, to sit next to her; but he quickly realised that sitting so close meant that he could avoid her piercing, yellow eyes. Once he was seated, and before anyone had started to eat, the old lady clasped her hands together, closed her eyes and said:
‘Let us say Grace.’
Her daughter followed the lead, sombrely bowing her head and closing her eyes, while Matthew and his father looked bemusedly at one another.
‘As head of the household, I’ll leave the honours to you, Robert,’ the old lady said, eyes remaining closed.
‘We’re not really accustomed to saying prayers,’ he answered, ending a short but uncomfortable silence.
‘Robert, my dear, I don’t care if you’re an atheist or a Devil-worshipper. There is no reason not to praise God at supper-time. And seeing as though you appear stumped for words, I’ll lead the prayer myself: For what we are about to receive, may The Lord make us truly thankful. Amen.’ The old lady opened her eyes. ‘That wasn’t so hard, now, was it?’ She looked down at the burnt mess of lasagne on her plate and addressed her daughter. ‘I see you’ve not spent the passing years learning how to cook, my dear.’
‘We think she cooks just fine, don’t we, son?’ The man nodded at Matthew. ‘So, mom, tell us what you’ve been up to. It must be, what, twenty years since we last saw you.’
‘More like seventeen, or so I’m led to believe.’ She raised a forkful of lasagne to her mouth and took a tentative nibble.
‘Where have you been living, for a start?’
‘That’s rather difficult to say. I’ve been moving around rather a lot, going from one place to another.’
‘What, like a Gypsy?’ He let out a chuckle.
‘Gypsy is such an old-fashioned, crude word. We prefer to be known as Travellers nowadays.’
His eyes widened. ‘Are you being serious?’
‘Of course. There are thousands who live on the open road, and live very well. In fact, tonight will be something of a novelty. I can’t remember the last time I slept in a house with brick walls.’
The smirk spread wider across his lips. ‘You’re not with that lot camped out on the golf course, are you? They’ve completely ruined the fifteenth green. The members are up in arms.’
‘Serves them right. It makes my blood boil to think of so much land going to waste, just so that a handful of rich idiots can hit a ball around with a stick.’
‘I’m a member of the golf club,’ he replied amiably. ‘I may be an idiot, but I’m certainly not rich.’
‘Half right is close enough.’ The old woman poured herself a glass of water from the jug on the table. ‘Anyway, they’re nothing to do with me. I’d possibly recognise a few of them if I saw them. But this time I came alone.’
Turning to the others as if seeking support, nobody seemed willing to help with the questioning.
‘You know, mom, back home in Forest Wake, when you left, everyone joked that you’d run off to join the circus. It seems they were pretty near the mark.’
‘Is that what they said?’ She smiled. ‘I’ve worked a couple of fairgrounds in my time, but never a circus; although, at times, it feels as though my whole life has been a circus.’
‘How did you hook up with Travellers in the first place? The last time we saw you, you were thinking about heading to the capital.’
‘Yes, I did go back briefly. I quickly realised there was nothing down there for me; just ghosts with long memories, ghosts that didn’t need reawakening. The travelling happened by accident after I bumped into an old Traveller friend I knew from Forest Wake. Tony Trojan. You probably remember him, Deborah. He often came to see me whenever he was in town.’
‘The name means nothing to me,’ she mumbled in response.
‘I’m sure you met him. Anyway, he was always trying to convince me to go travelling; he said that you never knew what life was about until you’d spent time on the road. It seemed like the ideal solution, and so I took up his offer. Once the travelling bug is in you, it’s kind of difficult to stop.’
‘Tony Trojan. The name rings a bell.’
‘Quite likely, Robert. He got around, knew lots of people. He was a big, tough man, and had a reputation to back it up. I was going to bring him to see you a couple of times, but with one thing and another we never got round to it.’
‘I take it Trojan is a nickname.’
The old lady nodded. ‘Most people think he earned it because of his liking for horses. But those in the know understand that it was more because he was hung like a stallion.’ She winked conspiratorially at Matthew.
He remained silent.
‘And where’s he now, if you don’t mind me asking?’
Her eyes flashed to the ceiling. ‘Up there, sitting with God. It’s been five months since he passed away.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘What’s to be sorry about? You weren’t to blame for his death. Anyway, he had a good life, and I had a good life with him. As I’m always saying: You have to make the most of the cards life deals you. There’s no point complaining, no point making a fuss.’
‘You may have a point,’ the man said ruefully. ‘And they accepted you, did they, the Gypsies? I didn’t think they liked outsiders.’
‘Travellers, Robert, Travellers. As a rule, they don’t like outsiders, but it wasn’t a problem for me. I’ve always believed I had Romany blood in my veins.’
‘Gypsy water on your brain, more like,’ her daughter said with a forlorn shake of the head.
As Matthew sat listening, impassive and incredulous, he noticed that she had remained ashen-faced throughout, scarcely touching her food. His father, on the other hand, seemed to lap up the old lady’s every word, and his constant laughter bore testament to her good humour.
‘Something I’ve always wondered about you Travellers,’ the man said, pushing his now-empty plate to the centre of the table. ‘How on earth do you make ends meet?’
‘Various ways and means. To be honest, it’s never a problem for the men. They can always find work digging up roads and laying driveways. As for me, well, there’s never been a shortage of people willing to pay for a glimpse of the future.’
He smiled again. ‘So, you’re still a fortune-teller at heart.’
‘What do you mean, still a fortune-teller? I have always been a clairvoyant and I always shall be. But I suppose there’s no shame in admitting that, while I’ve always had the talent, it was only during my travels that I learned how to use it properly.’
That was the point when her daughter reacted.
‘Well, mum, it’s good to see that you’re full of the same old bullshit as ever.’
With that, she stood, clattered together the plates and cutlery and made her way brusquely to the kitchen.
No sooner had she left than her husband also stood, raising a hand in apology.
‘You’ll have to forgive her; she’s a little stressed at the moment. Anyway, I’d better give her a hand.’
He, too, exited the room.
The moment they were alone, the old lady turned to Matthew. ‘She always did have a fiery temper, that mother of yours.’
From through the kitchen door Matthew could hear the sound of his mother’s angry voice and the consoling voice of his father. He sat for a moment not knowing what to do. Quickly gathering his wits, he looked at the old lady and said: ‘Maybe we should go to the lounge. It’s more comfortable there.’
‘You go ahead and I’ll come through in a minute. I want to let my dinner go down first. If not, I’ll have terrible heartburn for the rest of the evening.’
Doing as suggested, Matthew went into the lounge, where he settled on the sofa. He turned on the television set with the remote and changed channel several times, finally plumping for a general-knowledge quiz show. Around ten minutes had passed when the old lady appeared in the doorway.
‘You know, you should be very careful with that thing.’ She nodded towards the screen. ‘It’s not much better than inviting The Devil into your living room and asking for his opinions on life.’
Matthew tried not to stare as she advanced to the mantelpiece, upon which rested a photograph of his parents on their wedding day. She took the photograph and examined it for several seconds, before replacing it where she had found it. Her attention was then drawn to the picture that hung over the fireplace. The water-colour scene depicted a classic steam train, smoke billowing from its funnel. The train driver was visible leaning from the locomotive, holding a white piece of cloth in a raised hand.
‘That’s a nice picture,’ the old lady said with a nod of appreciation.
‘My dad found it at a jumble sale a few years ago.’
The old lady moved her face closer. ‘If I’m not very mistaken, it’s The Flying Dragon locomotive. I take it you know the story.’
Matthew shrugged nonchalantly.
‘A sad tale indeed,’ the woman said. ‘The Flying Dragon was one of the finest trains during the golden age of steam travel. Anyway, a couple of months after it came into service, it was crossing a bridge – I forget which one – when the whole thing gave way and collapsed. The driver could do nothing, and so the train, carriages and all, went crashing to the ground. Over two hundred souls were lost.’ She motioned towards the locomotive driver. ‘And that chap leaning out the side, maybe he knows what lies ahead and that’s why he’s waving his white flag of surrender.’
Matthew looked on. ‘That’s a morbid interpretation.’
‘I wouldn’t say that. As long as he had time to offer a final prayer, he probably had little to fear.’ She turned to him. ‘A nice picture, though. It wouldn’t surprise me if it’s worth a fair bit of money. Anyway, I only came to bid you goodnight. It’s been a long, hard day and my bones are wearing me down. There will be plenty of time for us to talk tomorrow. I’m sure you’ve got lots to tell. Oh, before I forget, thank you for letting me have your bedroom. I doubt I’d last the night on the sofa.’
‘No problem.’
‘Well, goodnight, and I’ll see you in the morning.’
Once the lady had gone, he looked at the clock on the video recorder; it was twenty past seven and the sun was still high in the evening sky.
His father entered the living room presently and assumed his customary position on the armchair. Ignoring Matthew, he picked up the newspaper and began turning its pages.
‘She’s gone to bed,’ Matthew said, trying to force a conversation.
‘I know. She came and said goodnight to us, as well.’
His father continued to scan the tabloid.
‘Is mum all right?’ Matthew asked. ‘She seemed pretty annoyed.’
‘I think so. It’s just been a bit of a shock, the old girl turning up like that. A shock for us all, but especially your mum.’
‘And you don’t mind her staying with us.’
‘It’ll be awkward, no doubt, but I have no axe to grind with the old girl. She never did me any harm.’ He peered above the pages of the newspaper. ‘While we’re on the subject, it’s probably best that you don’t go bothering your mum with questions. Not tonight. Let the dust settle a bit.’
Matthew gave a non-committal nod just as his mother walked into the room.
Although it was evident her annoyance had placated, when she sat to watch the twice-weekly soap opera, she still had a distracted, almost haunted, look on her face. Nothing was said while the programme lasted and Matthew was largely unconcerned. Indeed, it was not until much later, after his father had gone to bed and he found himself alone with his mother, that the subject was finally broached. Yet, in keeping with the rest of the day, what she said offered no comfort.
‘Listen, Matthew, I want you to do me a big favour. I want you to look after your grandmother tomorrow.’
Dragged from his torpor, he sat upright and tense. ‘And do what?’
‘I don’t know. It would just be nice if you could get her from under my feet for a couple of hours. I think I’ll go crazy if I have to put up with her all day on my own. Maybe you could take her out. Show her the town, perhaps.’
‘What if I’ve got plans?’
‘Come on, Matty, you haven’t done anything for the past three weeks. I don’t see why you’d suddenly have plans for tomorrow.’
‘Maybe I’ve been saving myself. Anyway, why do I have to look after her?’
‘Well, you are the reason she’s here.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘She hasn’t come all this way for my benefit, that’s for sure. We burned our bridges long ago. Have no doubts about it, son, it’s you she’s come to see.’
Matthew shook his head as the apprehension increased. ‘She hasn’t bothered with us all these years, why the sudden interest now?’
‘I’m not going to put words into her mouth. You can ask her yourself tomorrow.’ She got to her feet. ‘You’ll do that for me, will you?’
‘Do I have a choice?’
‘I would be very thankful. Just think of all the times you’ve asked about her in the past. Now’s your chance to find out.’ She leaned and kissed the side of his face. ‘Right, son, as we’ve got that sorted, I’m going to bed. You’ll find a duvet and a pillow behind the sofa. Sleep well. And don’t stay up all night.’
Despite her pleas, Matthew spent a further two hours watching a programme about lunar exploration. At just after one o’clock he turned off the set, switched off the light and curled on the sofa beneath a quilt, still fully clothed. The moment he closed his eyes, however, his mind drifted to visions of that old lady and the strangeness that she had brought to his day. He tried to think of other things, but before long his thoughts would always turn to his grandmother and those eyes that haunted him even in the darkness. If the images in his head were not enough, his condition was made worse by a whirring in his belly. It was the same whirring that he had felt during dinner and had remained with him ever since. It was a whirring that he had first experienced when the old lady had uttered the word ‘fortune-teller’ in her tired, croaky voice.
The next morning, Matthew was awoken by the sound of curtains being parted and by the sunlight that subsequently flooded the room. As his eyes adjusted to the glare, he saw the old lady standing with her back to him, hands on her hips and looking out the window.
‘Time to rise, my boy,’ she said, watching the street. ‘It’s a glorious day outside. Far too nice to spend all day in bed.’
Matthew peered at the digital clock on the video recorder and calculated that he had slept for scarcely five hours. It was a quarter past nine, and although he did not feel entirely awake, his mind was lucid, untroubled by the images that had stayed with him throughout the night. His belly continued to ache, however, and his mouth felt dry and stale.
‘Would you care for a cup of tea?’ the old lady asked, turning to face him. ‘I find it’s the only civilised way to start the day.’
‘Yes, tea would be good,’ Matthew mumbled, and coughed to clear his throat.
‘I’ll put the kettle on.’
After the old lady had departed, his mother came into the room and shook her head despairingly when she saw that he was wearing his clothes beneath the duvet.
‘I take it you slept OK.’
‘No, not really, thanks.’
‘I’m not surprised, especially as you couldn’t even be bothered to get undressed. But you’ll just have to make the best of it; it’ll only be for a couple more days.’
As Matthew sat upright, she attempted to straighten the sofa cushions that had been misshapen during the night.
‘About what we were saying yesterday,’ she said. ‘It’d be nice if you took your grandmother into town later on. Maybe showed her round the shops. In fact, it’s market day today. She’d probably like a look round. You could even stop in town for a bite to eat, if you wanted. My treat, of course.’
‘Treat?’ he questioned. ‘Fine, whatever. I still don’t see why I get lumbered.’
‘We’ve been through this already, sweetheart. You know the reason. If your grandmother and I spend any length of time together, we’re liable to end up throttling each other. One thing, though, if you’re going into town, you’d better take the bus. She claims she can’t walk long distances and gets easily out of breath.’ She finished plumping the cushions and nodded at him. ‘Is that all right, then? You’ll take her out?’
‘I said I would, didn’t I?’
‘Good. I’ll let her know.’
Alone again, Matthew reclined on the sofa and disturbed the cushions that had been freshly arranged. He stayed that way until a voice called out that his tea was being poured.
Finally making the effort to arise from his makeshift bed, he proceeded into the dining room where he found the old lady sat to the table, shuffling a deck of playing cards in her bony hands. His mother, meanwhile, was standing a few yards away, next to the patio door, cradling a mug of tea.
‘Is this mine?’ Matthew motioned to a mug that had been left on the table.
‘It is,’ the old lady responded. ‘I added two sugars, as I figured you’d have a sweet tooth.’
‘That’s fine.’ He sat and watched as the old lady began spreading the playing cards face-down across the table.
‘I hear we’re going on an outing,’ she said without looking up. ‘Your mother says you’ll show me the delights of your little town.’
‘Only if you want to,’ Matthew answered hopefully, taking a sip of the strong, sweet tea.
‘I would very much like that. We can head out as soon as you’ve had your breakfast.’ Having laid out the cards, she began turning them over systematically, her eyes fixed in concentration. With several of the cards exposed, she finally looked up from what she was doing. ‘Are you interested in cards, Matthew?’
‘Not particularly. I don’t know many games, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Games, is that all you youngsters think about?’ The old lady shook her head. ‘There are plenty more things you can do with cards than just play games. Indeed, if you know how to use them properly, a deck of cards can reveal all manner of secrets and truths.’
‘What, you mean like fortune-telling?’
‘For example.’
‘I thought you had to use special cards for that.’
‘Most people use Tarot cards,’ his mother interrupted, without averting her gaze from the garden, ‘but not your grandmother. She’s far too gifted. Palms, tea-leaves, it doesn’t matter to her. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if she could read someone’s fortune from a specimen of their wee.’
The old lady smiled. ‘That is something I’ve never tried, my dear. I’ll bear it in mind for the future. But no, Matthew, it doesn’t matter what sort of cards you use. An ordinary set will do.’
With a shake of her head, his mother slid open the patio door and took a step outside.
While Matthew continued drinking his tea, the old lady gathered the cards and shuffled them with a skill that suggested experience. After several shuffles, she placed the deck in a neat pile in the centre of the table.
‘I’d like to try something on you, if I may.’
Matthew’s back straightened. ‘I don’t really want my fortune told.’
‘That’s all right, because I’m not about to tell you your fortune. No, I want to show you a little trick, if that’s acceptable.’
‘I guess.’
‘Good. What I want you to do is think of a card. Any card. It doesn’t matter which, the choice is entirely yours. Just try to empty your mind and reach deep into your heart. It doesn’t have to be a number, of course; it could be a king or a jack. Just don’t choose a seven because that would be too obvious. Now, concentrate solely on that one particular card.’ She waited, not taking her eyes off him. ‘Have you done that?’
‘Yes.’
‘Excellent. Without changing your mind, I’d like you to tell me which card you were thinking of.’
‘The queen of hearts.’
‘Now, count how many cards are in the deck.’
While the old lady kept her hands by her sides, Matthew did as instructed and picked the deck from the table. He proceeded to count fifty-one cards. On the old lady’s bidding, he re-counted to make doubly sure. He still had the deck in his grasp as the old lady slipped a hand inside the neckline of her dress and fumbled round her chest region for several seconds. Eventually she produced a playing card and, when she held it before him, he could see that it was the errant queen of hearts.
‘How did you do that?’ he asked, genuinely awed.
‘Let’s just say that there are plenty of tricks in this old dog.’ She tossed the card onto the table. ‘To be frank, though, the trick is nothing special: just something I picked up on my travels. The only difficult part is deciding which card the person is going to choose.’
‘And how did you know which I would choose?’
She smiled. ‘Everybody chooses the card that mirrors their dreams. And in your case there could be no alternative.’ While Matthew pondered in silence, the old lady stood. ‘Right, once you’ve drunk your tea, go get yourself ready. I’d like to head out as soon as we can.’
Finishing his tea unhurriedly, Matthew proceeded upstairs and directly into the bathroom. He stood for twenty minutes beneath the cascading water of the shower, and afterwards felt surprisingly good. Gone was the ache in his belly, and despite the brevity of his sleep, he was clear-headed and focused. He dried himself and went to his bedroom to fetch some clothes; and there he discovered for the first time the extent to which the room had been invaded.
The instant he passed the threshold he was hit by a wall of cologne and almost stumbled over the old lady’s brown leather suitcase, which was lying just inside the door. He moved the suitcase aside and glanced at the sideboard, where a row of lotions and potions was set, none of which belonged to him. Although not one of the bottles was labelled, when he came across a perfume bottle containing a liquid the colour of vinegar, he only had to raise it to his nose to discover that it was filled with the harsh cologne that so dominated the house.
Once dressed, he went downstairs and found the old lady and his mother in the dining room, chatting with a cordiality that had been lacking before.
‘I’m ready when you are,’ he said.
‘Fine,’ the old lady answered. ‘Let me grab my hat and we’ll be off.’
Leaving the house, they walked leisurely to the bus-stop at the end of the street. They waited only a couple of minutes before the bus arrived that would carry them the mile or so to the town centre.
The old lady wore the same dress and sun hat that she had arrived in the day before, while her costume now included a pair of sunglasses that obscured her piercing eyes. On her lap rested a small white handbag.
During the journey, Matthew spoke only to comment when they passed a building of note: like the school where he had studied in his infancy and the supermarket where his mother purchased her weekly shopping. All the while, however, he could not escape the absurdity of his situation: the fact that he was travelling on public transport, escorting a lady whose attire made her stand out like a beacon on a cloudless night.
The old lady seemed content just to listen to the commentary.
While Matthew was heartened by her reserve, it was not until they arrived at their destination and disembarked from the bus, that he began to suspect that her refinement had as much to do with energy-saving as wilful restraint.
‘I’m afraid we’re going to have to take things easy,’ she warned as they stepped onto the high street. ‘My legs aren’t what they used to be and my lungs are all but shot. A lifetime of smoking has seen to that. Mind you, this body has served me well, so I shouldn’t complain now it’s ready for the knacker’s yard.’
‘Do you still smoke?’ Matthew asked.
‘Not any more. Doctors put paid to that.’ A smile came to her lips. ‘They can be proper killjoys sometimes. It turns out that most things that feel good in this life will kill you in the end. All apart from sex, perhaps. Having said that, in my younger days I knocked about with this real nasty fellow. I started sleeping with his best friend behind his back, and when he found out, he beat me till I was black and blue. I got off lightly, however; he sliced off the other man’s little finger. So sex, too, can be dangerous at times.’
Despite maintaining a slow and deliberate pace, the old lady would still demand a breather every few minutes. And she scarcely spoke throughout, seemingly too concerned with her own well-being to waste energy talking. Nonetheless, once they reached the outdoor market her mood did brighten markedly. Walking slowly among the stalls, she benefited from numerous pauses, taking time to view the wares on each in turn. She stopped at the linen-seller and felt the quality of his fabrics; she paused at the watch-seller, inspecting his inexpensive timepieces; and she lulled over the fruit-seller, squeezing his peaches and commenting that they were far too ripe to buy.
‘My peaches are fine as they are, my love,’ the trader quipped, motioning as if to fasten his trouser-fly.
‘Take it from me, sweetheart, I’ve handled plenty of peaches in my time and yours are nothing special.’
After spending close to an hour looking round the market, the pair proceeded to the periphery and found a wooden bench upon which the old lady could rest. It was there that she reached into her handbag and handed Matthew a small plastic box.
‘I got this for you,’ she said. ‘It’s nothing much, just a present to thank you for showing me around town. I’m sure there are many other places you’d rather be.’
‘Thanks, but you didn’t have to get me anything,’ Matthew replied. ‘I haven’t exactly done much.’
‘Go on, take it. I insist.’
He accepted the box and carefully flipped it open. Inside was an old-fashioned silver pocket-watch with a hand-written price-tag attached to the chain.
‘Just a little something to remind you of the importance of time,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t go on forever, so make sure you don’t waste it.’
He looked at the curious gift – of which he had neither desire nor need – and experienced a crisis of confidence. He closed the case with a snap.
‘I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but did you just get this from the market?’
‘That’s right.’ She nodded. ‘From the stall over there on the corner. He had some lovely items and I couldn’t resist.’
‘But ... I was with you all the time, and I didn’t see you buy anything.’
With a laboured effort the old lady climbed to her feet. ‘I never said I bought it,’ she said and began to walk slowly away.
As Matthew sat motionless, the box felt suddenly heavy in his hand. Quickly coming to his senses, he slipped it into his pocket and stood. Setting off after her, his eyes darted about anxiously, wondering if somebody had witnessed the theft. Only when he was assured that nobody was eyeing them was he able to suppress the paranoia.
He quickly caught up with her and followed her through the throng of shoppers, back along the main high street. They soon arrived outside a cafeteria close to the bus-stop where they had disembarked.
‘I noticed this place earlier,’ the old lady said and grasped the handle on the cafeteria’s door. ‘I don’t know about you, but my stomach’s telling me it needs something warm and sugary inside.’
The cafeteria in question was a traditional tea room named The China Cup, whose refined décor and classical background music were clearly aimed at a mature clientele. The old lady selected a table in the corner and Matthew sat with his back to the majority of patrons. He needed only to glance round once, however, to realise that he was by far the youngest customer. In spite of feeling slightly out of place, he was pleased to be beyond the public gaze and away from the market stall-holder who was one item light in stock.
As he began to read from the menu, he attempted to block the sound of his companion’s laboured breathing. Although she kept on her sunglasses all the while, he became convinced that her eyes were boring into him, scrutinising his unease. It made him feel intensely cold and naked.
‘I may be wrong, young Matthew, but you seem a little on edge,’ the old lady said, lifting her hat and placing it on the seat beside her. ‘I trust you’re not worried about the watch, because I’m sure that nobody saw us take it. And even if we’d been caught, I wouldn’t have let you take the blame. You are my only grandson, after all.’
Matthew faced her stoically, trying to gauge her eyes behind the darkened shades.
‘There’s obviously something bothering you,’ she continued. ‘You may as well get it off your chest.’
He shrugged and looked away. ‘I’m all right.’
‘So, it’s not the watch you’re worried about.’
‘Not particularly.’
‘Then, what’s the problem?’
He hesitated, assertive thoughts flowing to the forefront of his mind. ‘To be honest, I’m just having a bit of trouble with this whole situation.’
‘Go on.’
‘The situation between you and me. It’s like, you say that I’m your only grandson, but until yesterday I barely knew you existed. You’ve never visited and, as far as I’m aware, you’ve never called; you’ve not exactly been a major part of my life. And now you turn up and expect us to be all pally. Let’s face it, I know nothing about you, and you know nothing about me.’
The old lady eased the sunshades onto the tip of her nose and peered over the plastic rims. ‘We share the same blood. That is all we need to know.’
Even though he was discomforted by the old lady’s manner, Matthew’s unease increased tenfold when the waitress arrived at the table.
‘Hi, what can I get you?’ he heard her say from over his shoulder and he recognised who it was immediately.
Matthew looked round and saw Carla North standing with a notepad in her hand, and his heart began pounding to a rhythm that jarred his whole body.
The girl’s pale, cherry-blossom complexion was prominent against her long, jet-black hair. Her slender figure was clothed in a simple white blouse and dark pencil skirt and she wore a small apron around her waist.
‘Carla! Hello.’
‘Hi, Matt,’ she said and flashed a handsome smile. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Fine. What ... what are you doing here?’
‘Three guesses.’ She wafted the notepad before her face in a fanning motion. ‘I’ve been working here all summer.’
‘I never knew.’
‘Yeah, well, it’s not the sort of thing you go broadcasting round school, is it? Waitressing in a tea room is hardly exotic. And what about you? I wouldn’t have thought this is your scene either.’
‘No, I was just showing my … nan … around town.’
The girl smiled and nodded to the old lady. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
‘This is Carla,’ Matthew said in introduction. ‘She goes to my school.’
The old lady extended a bony, ring-less hand. ‘It’s always a pleasure to meet one of Matthew’s friends.’
‘Likewise,’ Carla said, shaking it limply. ‘Anyway, are you ready to order?’
‘We are indeed,’ the woman replied. ‘But tell us, young lady, is there anything you personally would recommend?’
‘Iced tea is popular in this warm weather.’
‘How quaint!’ The old lady nodded. ‘I’m sorry, my dear, but where I come from tea is drunk one way, and one way only: piping hot and with enough sugar that it’s almost like treacle. And that’s how we’ll take ours: in a pot with two of those china cups that your shop is keen to boast about. And two buttered scones, if it’s not too much trouble.’
‘No trouble at all.’
With the order scrawled on the notepad, the waitress withdrew and disappeared behind the counter, allowing Matthew to breathe easily once more. He thought he should be pleased to see her after so many weeks of absence. But his emotions were tempered by the embarrassment of the situation, as well as the shock of a meeting for which he had had no time to prepare. He was thankful, however, that his grandmother seemed oblivious to his unease. Indeed, she did not appear to notice the times when he would peer over his shoulder so that he could observe her while she worked.
‘I hope you didn’t mind me ordering for us both,’ the old lady said while they waited. ‘You cannot go wrong with tea and a buttered scone.’
‘That’s fine,’ Matthew shrugged.
‘And what we were saying before, about the watch. You shouldn’t be so naïve. When you’ve been around as long as I have, you learn to take whatever’s on offer. If nobody’s willing to offer you anything, then you learn to take it anyway. And you shouldn’t look so innocent, as I’m sure that you have stolen before.’
‘Not that I can remember.’ Matthew raised an eyebrow. ‘My parents always taught me that stealing was wrong.’
‘What about that secret bar of chocolate, the one your mother had kept hidden? The one you stumbled upon and couldn’t resist, promising you’d replace it before she noticed it gone.’
He coughed. ‘Well, maybe something small like that. But it’s hardly the same thing.’
‘Is it not? Stealing is stealing, whatever the motive or circumstance. But one thing we should make clear: I never steal from those who can’t afford the loss.’
‘And how do you know which people can afford it?’
The old lady tapped a finger against the side of her head. ‘My Gypsy intuition.’
Matthew’s heartbeat re-quickened when Carla brought their order. But once she had gone and he started nibbling a scone, serenity returned to his body. His thoughts were further distracted as his grandmother spoke of other things she had ‘acquired’ during her years on the road. She claimed that the most valuable thing she had come by was a diamond necklace, which she had given to one of the Traveller girls who was about to be married. The largest item that she had managed to acquire, she said, was a hat-stand from a department store, although she failed to divulge how the feat had been achieved.
‘I take it you learned how to steal from the Travellers,’ Matthew said, fidgeting with a teaspoon.
‘Not at all. Most of the Travellers I’ve encountered have been straightforward, honest folk. If anything, it was me who was the bad influence, teaching them my bad ways.’
He fought to suppress a smile. ‘As we’re on the subject, do you mind if I ask you a question?’
‘Depends what it is.’
‘Did you really spend all those years travelling?’
‘What are you insinuating? I have been called many things in life, young man, but I can assure you ‘liar’ has never been one of them.’
‘It’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s just that, around here, not many nans join up with a group of Gypsies.’
‘Well, be thankful that I am not like most nans.’
Matthew hesitated. ‘So, what made you want to travel in the first place?’
‘Let’s just say that the Traveller’s lifestyle is ideal if you want to forget and be forgotten.’ The old lady drew the teacup to her lips and swallowed the last droplets. ‘Anyway, that’s enough about me. I haven’t come all this way to learn about myself. I want to hear about your life.’
The last thing Matthew wanted to talk about was himself. But as the old lady poured another cup of tea, he began talking about his school career for lack of a more interesting theme. He told of the year that remained at his present school, after which he would either go to university or have to find a job. He talked of the Literature class he enjoyed, and mentioned his loathing of that hour each week when he was forced to do sport. In a moment of weakness, he even admitted that, by and large, he enjoyed school; yet he failed to reveal that the reason he liked it so much was because it gave him access to Carla North.
All the time he was talking, even though his mind was occupied, he was forever conscious of the proximity of that girl as she went about her work. At the same time, however, he was managing to unwind and was even enjoying the company of a lady whose shamelessness provoked stirrings of amusement. And still he had no reason to suspect that his grandmother was aware of the desire that was pounding his heart whenever Carla was close by. That all changed, however, when the waitress came to clear the table and leave them with the bill. Just as the girl was heading back towards the counter, her serving tray adorned with dishes, the old lady leaned across the table.
‘She’s an attractive girl. An attractive girl, indeed. It’s a shame she’s not right for you.’
‘I’m sorry?’ Matthew sat upright with surprise.
‘The waitress. I can see why you like her. But I’m afraid you’ll never get anywhere with someone like that. She’s far too strong-willed for you.’
‘She’s just a girl from school. I never said I liked her.’
‘You didn’t have to.’ The old lady tilted her head. ‘It’s plain for all to see. Has nobody ever told you that infatuation has its own special aroma? You can sense it a mile off. And I, my dear boy, have an excellent nose. However, I’d forget about Miss Carla, if I were you. She’s not the girl for you, and never will be.’
An instant feeling of nausea descended as a stream of blood surged to Matthew’s head. Suddenly all he wanted was to flee the establishment, to escape from Carla and the old woman. Yet he had to wait several minutes while the old lady settled the bill – leaving nothing extra for the waitress – and then as she aligned her hat. Finally, fastening her handbag, she motioned that she was ready to leave and they moved towards the door. Carla was nowhere to be seen as they exited, and for once Matthew was not disappointed. Only when he was outside did the nausea begin to drain as the embarrassment of the encounter subsided.