Ivy Lane: Autumn: (4 page)

I got the message. People could change; sometimes all they needed was a kick up the bum – or a bite in his case.

‘Thank you for telling me,’ I said, standing up to go. I placed a kiss on his head, still covered with a thick thatch of silver hair. ‘I’d better be off.’

‘Come back tomorrow,’ he said, grabbing onto my hand with his gnarled fingers. ‘Got something for you.’

‘I’ve got school in the morning. Can it wait till the weekend?’

‘Pop in early. Before school. I shan’t keep you long, I promise.’

He pulled a hopeful face. I rolled my eyes affectionately and tutted.

‘Go on then, see you tomorrow, eight o’clock sharp. I’ll even bring you some breakfast.’

What had possessed me to offer to bring Alf breakfast? I rarely ate anything before school unless it was a bland and boring breakfast biscuit. A desperate dredge of the freezer unearthed two battered croissants left over from a recent lazy Sunday morning. Hardly a gourmet feast, but they would have to do.

I shoved them in the microwave for a few seconds and then tucked them in my coat pocket.

I felt odd cycling past school, seeing the already busy staff car park. I had a hectic day ahead too; I hoped Alf was on time, I really couldn’t hang around. Our topic at the moment at school was People Who Help Us and we were having a themed fancy dress day (I was already dressed as a nurse, not the ideal outfit for an early-morning rendezvous with an octogenarian, admittedly) and one of the children’s mums was coming in this afternoon to talk about her job as a dentist.

Thinking about it, perhaps Charlie would like to bring his fire engine down to school or Karen could visit, a real nurse? Maybe even Nigel could come in in his old army uniform. This topic could run for weeks with any luck.

The gate was locked. Bad sign. Alf obviously hadn’t arrived. I cast a look over my shoulder to see if he was behind me – he wasn’t – and let myself in.

Ivy Lane allotments were deserted so I pedalled at full pelt up to Alf’s plot, hoping against hope that he’d let himself in and re-padlocked the gate.

His raspberry canes had been cut back since yesterday, I hoped he hadn’t overdone it. He had seemed shattered when I left him.

Phew, Alf was here. The shed was open and I could see him inside, the back of his head protruding over the top of his deckchair, exactly where I’d left him yesterday. Good, I would still be able to make it to school on time.

‘Morning,’ I called in a suitably sing-song voice. ‘Nurse Parker here with your breakfast. I hope you haven’t been there all night.’

I should have brought a flask of coffee, I realized, looking at the crumbly croissants; it would be like eating a loofah without a drink to wash it down. I slipped off my helmet and coat to better display my uniform and hurried into the shed. Much as I loved Alf, I needed to keep this brief.

He still hadn’t moved. He must have nodded off.

‘Boo.’ I pressed my hands over his eyes.

His face was cold. I whipped round to face him, my heart thumping with fear. His eyes were closed, head slumped to one side, lips slack and dry, hands clasped in front of him.

‘Alf?’

I shook his shoulders.

‘Alf?’

Goose pimples flashed across my skin making my whole body shudder and panic rise in my throat. I could hear my own breathing, my own heartbeat, as I registered the signs of a life departed.

Or perhaps it wasn’t? Maybe I wasn’t too late.

I grabbed his wrist and felt for a pulse. My own hands were trembling so much it was difficult to feel anything. I pressed firmly, softly, in several different places . . . but nothing.

People Who Help Us. People Who Help Us. I dashed back to my bike and fumbled for my phone.

‘Emergency Services, which service do you require?’

‘Ambulance. Please. . .’ I swallowed a sob. ‘It’s my friend. I think he’s gone . . . please hurry.’

Ten minutes, the calm voice at the end of the phone had informed me. The ambulance would be with me as quick as it could. I ran to the gates and opened them wide. Ran back. I had ten minutes to say goodbye.

We had sat like this yesterday. On deckchairs in his shed. Only I hadn’t reached for his hand then. I wished I had. How long had it been since someone had held Alf’s hand?

I covered the back of his hand with mine and saw something sticking out from his closed palm. I tweaked it and with a bit of tugging managed to pull out a screwed-up photograph. I smoothed it out on the skirt of my nurse’s uniform. It was a picture of him with his arm round Celia, the two of them standing outside the shed, beaming at the camera.

My eyes let go of their tears and I sobbed.

The thought of Alf spending his last moments alone were so sad. But I supposed that he hadn’t been. Not really. Celia had been with him, smiling up at him from that photograph. In my heart of hearts I knew that that was what he would have wanted. The last face he saw would have been the one he loved more than any other. His last thoughts would have been happy ones. The relief was overwhelming.

By the time the paramedics arrived, I was in a bit of a trance. I let go of Alf’s hands and stood aside. Two of them. A man and a woman.

‘You, er, his nurse, love?’ said the man, kneeling down in front of Alf and unzipping a large nylon bag.

My outfit was from eBay. Most of the nurse’s uniforms had not been appropriate for school, but I’d found a blue one that came to the knee, had a mock apron printed on the front and a pretend fob watch pinned to my chest. The crowning glory was a floppy headpiece with a red cross on the front, probably crushed now from the weight of my cycle helmet.

I shook my head. ‘A friend.’

The two of them exchanged looks.

At any other time, I’d have been mortified.

I turned away to Alf’s workbench to give him his dignity while the paramedics carried out their checks and noticed a spade and fork leaning up against the worktop. Unheard of; every tool in Alf’s shed had its own special hook. A place for everything and everything in its place – I’d heard him say it enough times.

Then I saw it: an envelope with my name on it propped up on a box of tomato food. This must have been what he wanted to give me. I recognised Alf’s hesitant writing in pencil. He always used a short chubby pencil, sharpened with his pocket knife, to write names on plant labels.

Should I open it? Was I even allowed to touch it?

The paramedics were lifting Alf onto a stretcher and weren’t paying me any attention. It
did
have my name on it. I inserted a finger under the flap, it wasn’t stuck down and I took the letter out.

He had written it all in uppercase as usual, with the first letter of each sentence bigger than the others.

Tilly,

I’m hanging up my gardening gloves for good at Ivy Lane, but I shall be popping back to check up on you! I’m trusting you with my Celia’s tools. They are old but there’s plenty of dig in them yet if you look after them like I showed you. You’re a grand girl, Tilly, and it’s done my old heart good seeing you come out of your shell this year. Keep it up, lass.

Alf

PS No need to thank me, but I’m always partial to a bit of cake!

I brushed the tears away and looked at the spade, wrapping my fingers around the smooth wooden handle, worn thinner in the middle from years and years of digging. Celia’s tools. What a lovely gift. From a lovely, lovely man.

The female paramedic put her hand on my shoulder. ‘Are you all right, sweetheart?’

I nodded. And in a strange way, I was all right. Because seeing Alf like this, so at peace at the end of his days, had shown me that death didn’t have to be violent and bloody and shocking; sometimes it could be peaceful and calm and the perfect way to end a happy life.

By the time Alf’s body had been transferred to the back of the ambulance and I had given what details I could to the paramedics, Nigel had arrived.

I filled him in about Alf, adding ‘Don’t ask,’ when I caught him eyeing my nurse’s uniform.

It was only eight thirty; it felt like I’d been here hours. I had the whole day ahead of me still. As soon as the thought popped into my head, the breath caught in my throat. Poor, poor Alf.

My chin stiffened, my lip wobbled and my bones turned to jelly.

I slumped against Nigel and rubbed my tears against his soft wool jumper. He rubbed my back awkwardly and we both watched the ambulance leave. I could hear his heartbeat. It was hypnotic and reassuring.

‘What next?’ I mumbled. I should phone school for starters. The bell would be going shortly.

‘I’ll give Christine a ring. We’ve got his son’s details somewhere.’

He peeled me off him and peered into Alf’s shed before gently closing the door.

‘Alf did well on his own after Celia died,’ he said gruffly. ‘Not easy to carry on with your life when half of it’s gone.’

I could only nod at that. The lump in my throat was too much of an obstacle to navigate.

He removed a folded handkerchief from his pocket and performed a series of impressive nose-trumpets, dabbing his eyes to finish.

‘I’m glad you were here, Tilly.’ He patted my arm. ‘Well, I’d better do the necessary.’

I watched Nigel stride off to the pavilion, picked up my bike and wheeled it along the road.

I didn’t get very far.

‘Well, I must say I’m shocked.’

Brenda. She must have spoken to Nigel.

In my dreamlike state of numbness it took me a few seconds to process her body language. Feet planted firmly on the road-end of plot sixteen. She flicked her long red hair over one shoulder. Dressed in black, like always; pinched red lips, twisted to one side; one hand leaning on her fork, the other balled into a fist and wedged on her hip.

She didn’t look very happy. Join the club.

‘A share,’ she snapped. ‘That’s what we agreed.’

I was confused. Celia’s tools? I blinked at her.

‘I said you could have some of the crop in return for me borrowing part of your plot. Not half the whole lot.’

Oh. The potatoes.

‘I’m sorry, Brenda, but—’

‘This way.’ She flicked her head towards the end of my plot. I didn’t have the wherewithal to argue so I dropped my bike and followed.

‘Just nipped in early to dig them up and what do I find? Somebody’s beaten me to it!’

She couldn’t seriously suspect me? Ordinarily, I might have laughed, but this morning I was barely present, let alone prepared to stand my ground.

But I could see she was right: one of the rows had been dug up and discarded potato plants lay strewn all over the churned-up soil. Most peculiar.

‘Oh dear.’

‘Is that all you can say?’ She stared at me, eyebrows furrowed, and stabbed the fork into the ground. ‘That crop was very valuable to me.’

The phrase ‘as cheap as chips’ popped into my head again, but I kept it to myself. She really did look angry.

All of a sudden I couldn’t bear to continue the conversation any longer and began to walk away.

‘Excuse me,’ she called, all red-faced and indignant. ‘Aren’t you at least going to apologize?’

I turned back to her and breathed deeply before speaking. ‘This really has nothing to do with me, Brenda. And quite honestly, I’m not worried about a few potatoes right now.’

She opened her mouth to protest but I held up a hand. ‘Brenda, I’m afraid Alf has passed away.’

Brenda fell instantly silent. I picked up my bike and walked on. I should probably have given her more information rather than just walk away, but my throat was burning.

As I passed the car park by the pavilion, a minibus pulled up and the community service lot climbed out.

‘Hello, miss,’ called the lanky one from yesterday.

I smiled and ducked my head down.

‘Hey, Tilly.’

I lifted my eyes to come face to face with Hayley fastening up the Velcro on her neon jacket.

‘You know Alf who you met yesterday,’ I said quietly, taking her to one side.

Her face lit up briefly and then fell at the sight of my serious expression. ‘Yeah?’

She looked so young and vulnerable that I reached out and touched her arm before speaking. ‘He’s passed away, I’m afraid.’

‘Ahh.’ Her shoulders drooped; in fact, her whole body drooped. ‘He was so cute.’

My face softened. He would have loved being described as cute.

Hayley gazed at me and to my surprise I saw tears in her eyes. ‘He was so nice to me. Like a proper granddad.’

The tone of her voice broke my heart. Was it so uncommon, I wondered, that someone was nice to her?

Shivers ran down my spine as a gravelly voice vibrated in my ear:
You’ll never know if someone’s trustworthy until you trust ’em.

I held my arms open, she stepped into them and we hugged silently, with our cheeks pressed together and our tears mingling.

After a long moment she pulled away and we both wiped our tears away.

I smiled at her. ‘OK?’

She nodded. ‘Don’t know why I’m so cut up. But, you know.’ She shrugged.

I nodded back. ‘Alf had that effect on people. Hey, fancy coming round to my house one day to help me bake a cake?’

A little one-sided smile appeared and she nodded.

I beamed back at her. ‘Safe,’ I said, raising my hand for a high-five.

Hayley sighed and rolled her eyes. ‘Seriously? No one does that any more.’

I couldn’t help smiling. Perhaps Mr Cohen was right. If not quite a steadying influence, then certainly pathologically uncool. That would have to do.

I spent the week following Alf’s death in a bit of a daze and by the day of his funeral I was a mess.

The day turned out to be an emotional journey round mood-swinging bends, down plunging ravines of melancholy and up teetering precipices of hysteria. And it
would
have to be on October the fourth. Looking on the bright side, at least it had kept me occupied for most of the day.

I glanced round the crowded pavilion and then down at my watch. Four o’clock. There were still five hours to go before I would allow myself to go to bed. And even then I knew I wouldn’t sleep.