Time for a Walk

Time for a walk

"Are you staying in again? Jeannie's tone was demanding, rising with her temper, "I thought we agreed you would take me to see my sister.

Alf recalled nothing of the sort. He folded the newspaper with rustles so loud they whipped through the tension in the air.

"Alfie, you can't just sit there all day. You'll take root in the chair. You need to do something. The garden perhaps.

"My love, I spent the best part of fifty years doing many things every day. Now it's my time to just be, Alf explained again.

He regarded his irritable wife with amusement. Poor Jeannie. She had spent forty years tending to him, raising their brood of four children. She had looked forward to his retiring so that they could spend some quality time together. She planned and organised each day in minute detail, and kept them both busy when all Alf wanted to do was nestle into the silence of their new cottage by the sea and read.

This morning he denied himself the pleasures of breakfast and stood up, a rebel in his own living room. He took his coat off the peg and his sturdy cane from where it was propped by the door.

"Where are you going? Jeannie demanded.

"For a walk, he replied.

"A walk? her voice was already fading as he strode down the path towards the rickety garden gate.

"For inspiration, he called to her, and he smiled, not cross really, just a little claustrophobic.

The breeze that billowed about his face still carried the bite of winter. It sprinkled over him the salt of the sea and the scent of the marshes. Alf was happy here. The cottage was perfect, and Jeannie was still the love of his life, even if she did need to chill, as his grandson, Lee, would have put it.

He strode the path that separated his untidy fence from the rough bushes that tumbled down the cliff towards the beach. It veered upwards and he followed its course, all the while looking over into neighbouring gardens. Jeannie was right, he sighed. Theirs was the most unruly patch.

Finally he found it ' his inspiration. It was magnificent: a smooth lawn bordered by daffodils, tulips, freesias and hyacinths all nodding their bright faces in the breeze, primroses scattered among the stones of a rockery and tall grasses waving their arms at him, beckoning. Alf leant against the garden wall, absorbing every detail.

He needed inspiration. He was not much of a gardener, their old town house having had little more than a yard and a stretch of lawn. He contemplated the lushness in the glasshouse, intense green bushes, with leaves spreading delicate fingers upwards, wanting to fill the space.

He had begun to walk away from the house when a thunderous slam from the back door, followed by the pounding of boots on the garden path, tempted him back. He turned just in time to see a girl, perhaps in her late teens, hair dyed black, skin pale as frost on a silver birch, hurl herself out of the gate, stop and burst into tears. Alf swallowed down his initial discomfort and approached her, with caution, her unkempt looks, lip and eyebrow piercings, black leather coat and boots decidedly intimidating.

"Pardon me, but you may like to make use of this? he spoke gently and offered her a handkerchief.

The tear-streaked girl glanced at him. Alf sighed and sat next to her. He had not spent all those years working with troubled teenagers for nothing. Before long she had stammered out her name and explained that there had been yet another row at home. She was at college and knew Lee, from a distance.

"I want to leave, see, she explained, "Mum won't listen. He, her boyfriend, well he's just trouble and he'll get her into trouble too. And I hate college. They hate me and I hate them.

She would not elaborate further, but gratefully accepted his invitation for tea and scones anytime she needed to talk.

"Jeannie could do with the company, he told her. Someone else to look after might distract Jeannie from her well-meaning quest to keep him occupied.

"Soon, she had said, "maybe after college.

At home that evening, he sketched out some rough plans for his wilderness. He showed Jeannie, mellowed now from spending a fruitful day at gossip with her sister, and she twittered her approval.

"I would like to plant some of that bush, he mused out loud, "problem is I don't know what it is. Can't find anything like it even in the gardening book you bought me.

"Why don't you knock on the door and ask for a cutting? was Jeannie's suggestion.

He had told her about Terry, the weeping girl.

"I felt sorry for her, he had explained, "about Lee's age and so much more vulnerable.

"Well it sounds like a good meal and a set of surrogate grandparents will put her right, Jeannie had agreed enthusiastically, "if her mother is okay with it. And maybe she'll bring you down a cutting or two.

He did it the very next day. He did not mean to steal the cuttings, but there was no-one answering the door, no-one around, no-one watching. He was about to leave when he noticed the greenhouse door was ajar. The distance across the stretch of lawn was interminable, but he had almost flown across it and had nudged the greenhouse door open further. His heart beat faster than he thought might be healthy for him, but he just could not resist it. Surely no-one would miss one or two cuttings?

By the time Jeannie had returned from the supermarket in Sheerness, Alf had set up a small greenhouse. Lee helped. He was a good lad, the only one of the grandchildren that lived close enough to help out from time to time. And then Alf had potted those cuttings that he had carried like treasure in his pockets all the way back down the cliff path.

"What's she doing here? Lee demanded one sunny May afternoon.

Alf stopped digging and leant on his shovel. They were preparing beds in a garden that was finally under control. Lee nodded towards Terry.

"Oh, do you know her? Alf lowered his tone.

"Yeah, she's the weirdo from college. In her first year. Odd ball. No-one talks to her.

Terry had emerged from the cottage to pin up the washing.
"She's a sweet girl, Alf remonstrated, "lives at the top of the hill. Pops down regular and gives Jeannie a hand about the house. Jeannie spoke to her Mum about it and she was pleased that Terry was doing something worthwhile. Actually, I tend to think it's us doing the good deed. She seems a girl in need of friends.

The cuttings grew lavishly, their leaves wide hands with delicate fingers dancing in the warmth of the greenhouse, fragrant and translucent in the sunshine. They were ready for their new beds.

"Gramps, your greenhouse is very full now, shall we transfer the plants to some of the beds, it's hot enough, Lee suggested in the warmth of a midsummer morning.

Terry was lounging on the grass sipping homemade lemonade and telling Jeannie about the latest arguments at home.

Alf agreed and then repeated himself twice before he could distract Lee from his languorous gazing at Terry. Alf watched, amused. Terry was a pretty girl, kind, intelligent, and with an independence of thinking that had alienated her from the other students but which was beginning to work its charm on Lee.

"Gramps! Lee yelled from the depths of the greenhouse.

"Yes boy?

""Do you know what plants these are? his tone was hushed when he emerged.

"No, I scrumped them. Took some cuttings from someone's garden. Magnificent bushes though aren't they? Alf was pleased with their spectacular display.

"Gramps, it's cannabis. Illegal. You could be put in jail.

Alf groped his way, weak-kneed, to the sunbeds. Jeannie offered him some lemonade and he sent Lee indoors to add a large measure of whisky.

"I suppose I'll need to report it to the police. Alf concluded gently, "and this may cause you some problems at home, Terry.

Lee sat on the grass next to her, blond and handsome, his face offering a support that a few weeks ago would not have been quite so forthcoming.

"I think, Terry spoke through fresh pallor, "that you must do what you think is right. I had no idea they were growing that stuff in the greenhouse. I never go into their garden. I never spend time with them if I can help it. I don't want Mum to get in trouble, but this'll be his doing, not hers. And if there's trouble for me, then I'll have to leave home, find rooms in Sheerness, or something.

"Problem is, Alf pondered, "I stole the stuff. So I committed a double crime in a way ' stealing it then growing it. Do you think I'll do time?

He was amused rather than worried. His concerns were all for Terry. He might be cautioned, or at worst sentenced to some community service ' gardening, perhaps. But Terry could lose her family.

"You can't say anything to anyone, Lee insisted, "you'll get marked as a grass and then you'll be in real trouble.

Alf searched Terry's face. She fiddled with her lip-piercing then said,
"Sometimes you just have to do what's right.

"I'm not sure I should do anything except get rid of the stuff. I could just compost it. No-one would ever know, Alf told Jeannie later that evening, after Lee had taken Terry with him to join his friends at the student bar.

Jeannie passed him a cup of tea.

"But, she said in that practical way of hers he so loved, "if you do nothing, the stuff goes into circulation as a drug. That can't be good for anyone, least of all Terry. Social responsibility, Alfie.

"But I can't just interfere with their lives like that, Alf objected, "it's not my place.

"Well, we can't turn our backs on what's going on just around the corner. Terry's Mum is a dreadfully nice lady, you know. I meet her at the post office every week. And she always stops for a chat. She knows how unhappy Terry is but she struggles to know what to do for the best. You might just be helping her find the right thing to do herself.

Such a long speech so late into the night drained Jeannie of all energy and she refused to add any more to this until the next day.

"You going out for a walk again? her voice was unusually shrill. She had expected Alf to clean the windows before the ladies from the bridge club called for morning coffee. Alf peered through the smeared panes at the fresh promise of the morning and took up his cane and hat.

"I need to think, he told his wife's thunderous face.

He strode briskly all the way to the shingle beach. The waves were retreating from the shore, and in their wake left a trail of seaweed streaked across the pebbles. Alf shook his head, disapproving of the litter the tide had also brought in. With the tip of his stick, he prodded the empty bags of crisps and old drink cans, reciting to himself his usual litany of disgust at the little care people had for their surroundings.

At the edge of the cliff, by the rock pools where he liked to look for crabs and sea urchins and starfish, just as he did when he had been a boy, his eye was caught by a glimmer among the stones. Bending as far as he could to avoid kneeling down, he saw an array of syringes. It was an all too common sight. Youngsters from the nearby towns often hid out this way to shoot up their drugs. Alf abandoned his walk, sickened and resolute.

It was a timorous Alf who called the police the next day. He was still appalled that he had committed a criminal act, and worried he had torn a family apart in the process. He found the police surprisingly understanding, although he had taken a determined Jeannie with him for moral support.

"We'll have to caution you sir, but I think we can trust you to have learnt from this mistake, the station sergeant told him as he eyed Jeannie's belligerent frown warily. Alf blustered a stream of apologies and promises and resolved to follow his wife's more sedate routines in future.

"Do you think we did the right thing dear? Alf mused over breakfast a few days later.

Terry had visited the previous evening, brimming over with news that she was leaving home to live close to college, next door to Lee in one of the student hostels. She had eaten supper with them, then sat and lapped up the devotion poured over her by Lee. She had glowed, green eyes sparkling.

"Without question, was Jeannie's reply, "Alf?

Alf glanced up at his wife. She had been muttering about new curtains for a day or two now. He attempted to hide behind the morning papers.

"Now Alfie, don't get too comfortable, she began.

"I wasn't, he uttered before she could start on complex instructions for the day. He took up his cane. It was time to go for a walk.