Jack by the Hedge (Jack of All Trades Book 4) (12 page)

Liz had collared him and asked him to get her some liquidambar leaves while he was on his wanderings. She wanted some for her display. And why not? Hardly a chore. There were three of the small liquidambar trees at one corner of the lawn, the five fingered pointed leaves a fierce blood colour, quite shocking. The middle point was bigger than the others, penile, he couldn’t help thinking, the effect added to by the prongy, dangling balls that were its fruit.

Sex was in everything. Male and female trees, in flowers. It enabled diversity, gave evolution more options.

But was one hell of a hassle.

At home, Zar was looking at too much gay porn on his laptop. He must stop. Soon as he heard someone on the stairs, he’d switch to a site on trees he also had open, or wild flowers or botany. It was pointless, all this pretending, he had to leave home. Nothing was possible there. He was simply postponing the day, becoming more desperate.

He’d tentatively tried online dating, but had become quite shocked by the openness and demands. He’d found a Muslim gay site, the tales there much like his own. Most of the guys hid behind avatars, as he did. He was Fraxinus, the genus name for the ash tree. All the secrecy the writers needed, family rows when they dared come out. A few were accepted, provided they shut up and didn’t tell the relatives. It was all so furtive. A couple of the guys had lesbian girlfriends, but then all the farcical shenanigans when they had parents pushing for the wedding. A few, though, were out. They made it plain; come out or be crushed.

Easy to say. True as it might be. Fear of living on his own held him back. Though he knew he had to get his own place. He had timidly tried a few weeks ago. Gone to look at a room offered by an Asian family. They were pleasant, and so wanted him to take the room that they reduced the rent, thinking him a nice Muslim boy. He’d be one of the family!

He shuddered at the memory. How stupid it would have been to move in. Simply living the lie somewhere else.

Rooms were expensive though, wherever you looked. Even round here. Perhaps a flat share. But with whom? They would have to be people who accepted him as he was. And vice versa, of course. The world scared him. Drugs, violence, racism. Judgement by people who never reflected on their judgement. Though he must take the plunge. Go online, see what was about.

What a chore! He and Rose had been talking about it over lunch. It took so much time, and what on earth did you get for all the money you paid out?

But it must be done. His life must begin. There were gay clubs. A pity, though, they all seemed to involve alcohol. Wasn’t one sin at a time enough? Or as the imam said, one led to another, down the slippery slope, until you were thoroughly damned.

Well, he was anyway. In thought. And ready for it in deed. Besides, if he was going to be openly gay, it wouldn’t matter to his family if he did it with a fruit juice in hand or a whisky. Gayness was the bugbear.

Then there was the park to consider. What would happen if he came out? It wasn’t illegal. He couldn’t be sacked for telling them. As it was, he suspected that being Asian was bad enough for Bill and Ian. But then one thing at a time. Leave home. Make up a reason to placate the family. Though he could hardly think of an acceptable one.

Deal with the park later, when he was out of the clutches of the community. Stronger. With new friends.

The bucket was full of red leaves. A good haul. He set off for the marquee where Liz was working on her cascade. He’d like to tell her. But you never knew, she might gossip, she might not, but why chance it? He’d told that builder. And wished he hadn’t.

But that was done. And the man would be gone in a couple of days.

Chapter 19

She was in the rose garden, dead heading and weeding. Ian had been surprisingly gracious when she pleaded to be off the vac for the rest of the day. A birthday treat perhaps but it was unlike him to bother with such sentimentality. There are plenty out there without jobs, he’d normally say.

At last, off the monster.

The dead heading was easy enough. Any pathetic rose, or rather has-been rose, she pulled off and threw in the bucket. She was the grim reaper. Not actually, they were dead or good as by the time she got to them. She was simply collecting the bodies. More like a funeral director.

Weeding she was less confident on. Which were weeds and which weren’t. Liz had told her that a weed was any plant you didn’t want. Which wasn’t a lot of help, as quite a few weeds she liked. There was one, a pretty little thing, Jack-by-the-Hedge, small white flowers smelling of garlic. A weed, said Liz. Why? she’d asked. Because it was in a flowerbed for snapdragons and alyssum.

That’s Nazi, she’d declared. Racial cleansing. Liz had agreed but didn’t seem as upset as she was. Fascism was OK in the garden. But then Rose was on the side of the weeds; she knew she didn’t belong herself. One day they would ethnically cleanse her. She was sure of it.

In a way, it was stupid. Plants didn’t have feelings. You needed a brain for that. Plants were dumb, vegetable things. Growing because they had to. Living because they were. As senseless as the leaf vac.

It didn’t stop her feeling sorry for the weeds.

Once she’d watched Bill with his hoe. Thoroughly ruthless, like a concentration camp guard. Mow them down! Hacking through them, chucking them in the wheelbarrow without a care. Never mind they’d put all that energy into growing, into making flowers and seeds in the hope… Well, they didn’t really hope, but she hoped for them. In the hope of living on through future generations.

Chop, went Bill’s hoe.

She was a crappy gardener. You can’t wince at every weed you pull up. Well, you can, because she did. So maybe the leaf vac was right for her. Sweep up the bodies, don’t kill them. Mother Nature did that. And Rose had no way of stopping her.

The bucket was full. Mostly with weeds. And they must be weeds as Liz had said: in the rose garden, if it isn’t a rose it’s a weed. Besides which, the day was almost done.

She popped into the playground.

Amy was doing a round with her litter picker and sack. She was quite deft. The picker had a handle you squeezed, connected to a rod which closed the jaws at the bottom over a sweet paper or crisp packet.

‘Nice birthday cake,’ she said on seeing Rose.

‘Zar bought it,’ she said. ‘I’m broke.’ And then remembered she had earlier told Amy about being interested in buying into Women Fly Women, and so added, ‘I mean none on me. Enough in the bank, not in my pocket.’ She knew she was trying too hard. And why, anyway?

‘I’ve got five new passengers today,’ beamed Amy, patting her belt. ‘Five! That’s a record. I usually do three. Four on the odd occasion, but that’s my first five.’

‘And you make twenty on each?’ recalled Rose.

‘Brilliant day.’ She looked about, then said quietly, ‘Three crew members got their pay outs last week, that’s why the passengers are queuing up.’

Rose pointed out Amy’s bulging belt. ‘There must be a thousand pounds in there.’

Amy put a finger to her lips. ‘Shh!’

‘Isn’t it risky going around like that?’

Amy shrugged. ‘I’ll pass it on to the captain soon enough.’

‘And who’s that?’

Amy waved a finger. ‘No, no. You won’t get that out of me. Rules are rules.’

‘Is it anyone I know?’

‘No comment.’

‘Does that mean yes or no?’

‘No comment.’

Rose hissed, ‘I’ve a good mind to hit you on the head and rob you.’

‘I’m bigger than you.’

‘I’ve got longer nails.’ But she realised she’d get no more out of Amy, and added, ‘I’m off to the yard. By the time I’ve emptied this and washed up, it’ll be knocking off time.’

She left the playground, knowing Amy would be working half an hour longer, and maybe make it to six passengers, before she closed up.

Chapter 20

Jack wheeled the barrow into the yard, his wrists aching. He stopped the barrow for a moment and jiggled his hands and wrists as if to shake them off. He rubbed them over each other. This was the final load and he hadn’t needed to work so hard. But he’d made it a sort of race to reclaim the last brick by the end of the day. Commonsense said he could just as well complete them in the morning, but he’d jettisoned that in his feverish hammering off of mortar as if he’d be shot if there was a single brick left undone. And even gone on fifteen minutes over time.

Idiot.

He could feel the blood running through his wrists to his fingers as if still carrying the workload. It wasn’t sensible working at that rate, though part of him wanted to complete the work in two days just to show the foreman that he could do it, and in the right way. So unnecessary. He need prove nothing to that man. And it was not as if he had a new job to begin on Wednesday. His next start was Monday, a week away.

He picked up the barrow, and headed on to the heap of bricks he’d been building near the dump at the end of the yard. There, he unburdened the barrow, placing the final bricks on the pile. Done. He massaged his wrists once more and twirled them about, stretching the fingers to prove to himself there was no damage done. Then he took up the barrow and pushed it into the tool shed, where it would stay overnight. In the barrow he put the tools he’d been working with, bolster chisel, club hammer and hand axe, along with his hard hat and goggles. The shed was locked up overnight; they’d be safe.

Jack went into the mess hut and washed his hands in the butler sink. Enjoying the warm, soapy water, letting the water run a while, his hands dangling. Then wiped them on a paper towel and left.

A day’s work done.

Outside the yard, he looked at the wall he’d been working on. Going well, once the argy bargy of the morning had been sorted out. The damaged section was demolished, the bricks reclaimed. The wooden barriers covered the gap; tomorrow’s work was to fill it. Bricklaying.

Should he go to the greenhouse, to remind Liz he was coming back at nine with his telescope? He took a few paces in that direction and then stopped. She knew anyway. It made him look like an overeager schoolboy. They’d confirmed it at tea break. Leave it. He had her phone number.

Just remember, it was an astronomy evening. Anything else that happened would happen if it happened.

He headed for the park gate.

Go home, shower, eat, read a bit, watch some TV maybe and then come back with the telescope. He looked up at the sky. Pretty clear, lots of blue stretches. Could be a good night for stargazing. Might be cold. Woolly hat and fleece. Mars was at its closest for some time this month. He was hoping for a good view of the red planet, and hopefully a photo.

Once outside the gate, he saw her at once. He’d completely forgotten, being so taken over by his mortar race. She was leaning against the van, one leg bent against the front tyre. With her overalls off, her figure showed to advantage. The complications exploded like measles in a children’s nursery. All he’d done was say yes. And might yet regret it.

‘I’ve been waiting over ten minutes,’ she said crossly.

He smiled at her. It was hard to believe her cheek. He hardly knew her. Who was doing who the favour. But then he had to admit, his own motives weren’t simply altruistic.

‘I had to put everything away,’ he said.

She gave him a sidelong glance. ‘Did you say goodbye to my sister?’

‘Your sister?’

‘Liz,’ she said, wide eyed. ‘Didn’t you know?’

‘I didn’t,’ he said, feeling somewhat trapped.

‘She was chatting you up at tea break.’

‘Hardly,’ he said, opening the van door. ‘Let’s go.’

Complications.

Chapter 21

Zar was on the bus home to Ilford. It was busy downstairs with a few standing but he’d managed to get a seat. Good job he had a bus pass, as he’d spent all that money on cakes and bought himself and Rose a meal in the café. He only had a few quid left; he’d have to bring in a lunch tomorrow. His mother usually had leftovers from the evening meal that would do.

A book on wild flowers was open on his lap, but he wasn’t looking at it, but thinking about the day he’d had. For the first time, he’d told someone face to face that he was gay. That made him squirm, but he needed to get used to it so that he didn’t.

But it was hard to take disapproval. He’d never been good at it. At school, at home. He must toughen up if he was to get anywhere.

Today had been good though. He’d enjoyed doing the tree inventory. That had annoyed Bill, to see him wandering about with a clipboard. He’d called him a jumped up gaffer. And why should Zar mind that? He’d put all the trees on Liz’s plan, the exciting ones like the Atlantic cedar, the tree of heaven, the liquidambars, the tulip tree, the Indian bean, as well as the more usual beech, oak, ash, hawthorn, maple and the Japanese cherries. Liz had suggested there could be a children’s tree trail in the summer.

And finding the death stalks. Much better informing Liz than Ian. She said, don’t tell anyone. No panic. They looked so harmless, so ordinary, no wonder they caused so much trouble. He’d handed all he’d found over to Liz who said she was going to burn them tonight. He wondered how they got in the park in the first place as surely they can’t be usual in town parks. But spores float on the wind and there were woods not too far away. Maybe he should check the woods out.

And day release had happened. That had come out of the blue. He’d thought Ian was simply going to block him forever. But incredibly, it was Ian who said it was on. When the Superintendent of Parks was there, and Zar had confirmed the trees he’d brought in were red oaks. Worth the cakes that he shared with Rose twice over. He was going somewhere at last, quite where he couldn’t say, but plants and horticulture were drawing him in. It was exciting, and so new, all the growing things. In gardens, woods, even the trees down the streets.

He’d never seen any of it before he’d got this job. That is, he’d never looked. No one in his family knew much about plants. It was a happy accident that he’d got a job in the parks. And started looking. Beginning with the tree book, identifying every specimen in the park, and then on to wild flowers. Weeds mostly. The park should have a wild flower area. He’d talk to Liz about it. And about the possibilities for his own study, what it could lead on to. Day release was only a beginning. Starting on Monday. So stirring. He wondered who his fellow students would be. How much they knew already. Zar had missed a few weeks of the term and would have to catch up. He might need to buy a few books and really work at it.