Bigger Things

Bigger Things by Neil McCall

Mrs Atkins had lived in the village all her life; since her husband
died she had always had a dog as companion. However, when Billy was a
pup she had badly sprained her ankle and had had to employ someone to
take the boisterous pup for his daily walk. Carl, the young teenage son
of a local farm labourer, had offered to do it for a pound a day, had
proved reliable and was given the job permanently. Each afternoon Billy
watched eagerly for the bus arriving from the comprehensive school
which would herald the high point of his canine day. On weekends and
holidays Carl would walk Billy in the morning instead; however in the
afternoon the dog still scanned the main road for the bus and was
downcast when it failed to appear.

Mrs Atkins noticed and lamented the changes in the composition of
village life over the years; Doctor Morrow, general practitioner for
more than two generations, had retired and, to the consternation of the
elderly but the glee of the younger residents, had sold his rambling
old house which had been demolished to make way for a drive-in burger
bar, medical care being dispensed by a young Asian couple from a
newly-built surgery which looked like an outhouse. The last butcher's
shop in the village had also closed recently, being replaced by an
Indonesian takeaway.
"Though why they should open an Indonesian takeaway in the village when
there's already two Indians and a Chinese is beyond me" complained Mrs
Atkins to Carl one evening as he was having his post-dogwalking cup of
tea, "all's I can think is those young women on the new estate must be
made of money and have no idea how to cook!" Carl nodded; the new
estate, and its residents who consisted mainly of professional people
who worked in the nearby market town, had been a hot discussion topic
for a couple of years. His personal view was that most of the negative
comments arose from jealousy, as few of the long-standing villagers
earned enough to buy such properties, but he was wise enough not to
voice this. "And no wonder the butcher's closed; the estate people only
buy that plastic-wrapped stuff from the supermarket," she continued.
Carl finished his tea and excused himself, explaining that he had to be
off and get his homework done as he was studying hard for his GCSEs;
Mrs Atkins could talk all evening if she were allowed to.

During that summer Mrs Atkins expected Carl to resign his part-time job
and go to work on the farm with his father; he had grown sturdy and
healthy, which Mrs Atkins attributed to village life, giving additional
credit to Billy, who had grown likewise and needed a strong arm on the
lead. But no; after a brief family holiday to Skegness Carl was back.
Mrs Atkins was pleased; his stand-in, a young 12-year-old girl, had
struggled to control Billy.
"How did the exams go?" asked Mrs Atkins on Carl's return.
"Not too bad," replied Carl, "though I'll be glad to see the back of
those French exams. I wasn't all that hot on English, either," he
continued modestly, "but they've let me stay on."

So for a further two years Billy had the benefit of a walk with Carl in
the early evening; the dog drifted into early middle-age whilst Carl
grew into the bloom of young manhood and began to sport a little goatee
beard. The village continued its slow but remorseless transformation;
the prejudice against the residents of the new estate dwindled as the
incomers managed to produce sufficient offspring to ensure the survival
of the village primary school. However, the greengrocery went the way
of the butcher's, to be replaced by an establishment which boasted in
florid colours that no item stocked within would cost more than
99p.
Mason's garage closed down and became a shop specialising in bespoke
computer systems whilst one of the two pubs was converted into a Thai
restaurant.
"So now I've a choice of five places to buy goodness-knows-what soaked
in garlic and stuff, all within five minutes walk," moaned Mrs Atkins,
"but if I want some decent fish and chips or roast beef it means a
twenty-mile round trip on the bus!"
"And you can't get back after half-six," concurred Carl who was
beginning to feel the pinch of rural life; his parents had never owned
a car, making an evening in the nearest town an expensive proposition
involving taxis.

Shortly afterwards Mrs Atkins had opportunity to sample the garlic and
stuff when she was invited to Carl's eighteenth birthday party, held at
the Thai restaurant. She surmised that it must have cost his parents a
small fortune by local standards; their cottage was shabby and
run-down, but tonight they beamed as though they had won the lottery
and appeared to have invited half the village. Only Carl looked
slightly glum and avoided her gaze. After the meal, which she found to
be better than she would ever have believed, she collared him and
guided him to a secluded corner.
"Carl Thomas, I've known you since you were a baby, so don't go telling
me there's nothing wrong. Out with it!"
"Well, it's like this, Mrs Atkins," he confessed, "come September I'm
off to university, and I won't be able to walk Billy any more."
She knew that the local agricultural college, with its long tradition
of teaching farmers' sons about crop rotation and mending tractors, had
joined forces with a teacher training college and the former
polytechnic in the neighbouring town and was now a department of the
University Of The English Heartlands, or some such title.
"But, Billy, surely you'll still come home on the bus most days, or at
least at the weekend if you have to live in digs?"
"Not really, Mrs Atkins," he explained, "You see, I've got a place at
Bristol to read engineering."
His glum face suddenly burst into a shy smile.
"I got an A and two Bs. No-one can believe it; mum and dad are over the
moon. Must be all those evenings I sat in reading my books after they
stopped the late buses and I couldn't get anywhere."

She gave him a hug, something she hadn't yet done in those eighteen
years. The village would miss Carl; she and Billy would miss him more
than most, but this was the way of modern life. Even the smallest
tributary had to keep flowing in order to join the stream.
"Carl, you've earned your university place," she said, "more than most,
I imagine. So enjoy your party; young Alice can walk Billy from now on.
And I hope you can come to my eightieth birthday party next year, young
man - if I make it, that is!"
" Oh, you'll make it all right, Mrs Atkins!" he answered, now restored
to almost manic cheerfulness, "And so will I; but where would you hold
a party?"
"Right here in this lovely Thai restaurant, of course! Where else?"