Authors: Charles Caselton
Meanwhile Gardens
GARDENS
AN URBAN ADVENTURE
CHARLES CASELTON
Copyright © 2010 Charles Caselton
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study,
or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents
Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in
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Typeset in 11pt Sabon by Troubador Publishing Ltd, Leicester, UK
Printed in the UK by TJ International, Padstow, Cornwall
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Contents
2 STRANGE BUT UNDENIABLY HANDSOME
3 CAUGHT BETWEEN HEAVEN AND HELL
4 UNWANTED AND GOING FOR A SONG
5 VILLAINS, ROGUES AND ROYALTY
25 DANCE IS RELIGION, RELIGION IS DANCE
30 SHE CAN’T JUST HAVE VANISHED
HUMDINGER THE III
F
or the third morning in a row Ollie Michaelson woke up with
Bringing in the Sheaves
playing in his mind with all the insistence of a church organ.
As the phone rang he looked at the alarm clock beside his bed and saw 9.45 flashing red on the display. Ollie knew who it was before he picked up the receiver. The first of his concerned morning calls.
“It’s a beautiful day,” the woman’s voice was firm but friendly with a hint of Jamaican that betrayed her childhood. “Join me for coffee.”
Ollie yawned and stretched.
“Hi Auntie Em.”
“I know you weren’t out last night. And you certainly didn’t have company.”
“Auntie Em – ”
“If you’re not going to join me I’ll bring something back for you.”
“I – ”
“And we’ll go for a walk. Your young friend will need to. You can’t stay in and mope for ever.”
Without waiting for a reply she gently put down the phone. Auntie Em knew that if you gave people the option they would invariably take it.
Sometimes it was best not to give it to them.
Ollie stayed in bed for another half-hour, enjoying the gentle breathing and warmth of Hum, the ‘young friend’ Auntie Em had alluded to, the young friend who twisted and turned in his sleep next to him.
Ollie appreciated the regular checks by his neighbours and friends. Afterall it had now been nearly a month since his best and oldest friend had been killed. Perhaps it was about time, Ollie thought, to focus on his own life.
Or if not on his life, on the life of Hum who slumbered beside him.
Hum, the last living link to his dead friend. James’ death had thrust parenthood on Ollie and, he realised, he must be responsible and think for two now.
Hum’s full name was Humdinger the III. He was nearly three years old, adorable and mischievous in equal measure – part German Shepherd, part Briard and all wonderful.
Ollie remembered the day James had got Hum and proudly brought him round, a two month old pup with attitude. It seemed natural to call him Humdinger – what other name would fit? And as for ‘The lll’ – well, the pup had such a confident air, such an unshaken belief in himself, such unhesitating charm that they both agreed he needed an appropriately American name. All the most confident Americans had ‘The lll’ after their names and so, it was agreed, should Humdinger.
Ollie drew the sitting room curtains and looked down the little cobbled mews. From his vantage point at the entrance he could see all five houses, each with a brightly painted door. Cornering the bottom of the mews was a C-shaped house where Auntie Em lived with Gemma. They were known to all as Auntie Em and Auntie Gem. Or Gem ‘n Em
for short. Greenery spilled over the railings of the narrow first floor balcony that ran the length of their pretty house, the largest in the mews.
Noticing movement in Ollie’s windows Nicky waved at him from her studio across the way. She put her forefinger to her thumb and bent her wrist as if drinking from a cup.
Christ, Ollie thought, all my friends want to do is turn me into a caffeinated wreck. He waved back and gestured for the photographer to come over.
“She said I couldn’t stay in and mope all day. Why the hell not? Why can’t I?”
“She’s right.”
“Well of course she’s right Nicks, but….” Ollie’s voice trailed off.
“Sweetheart, we all miss the hell out of James and no-one’s begrudging you the right to grieve but you’re -? – you’re moping not grieving. You’re using this as an excuse to – to ”
“To what Nicks?”
“Just to put off whatever you’re putting off, to put off living.”
“I
do
live.”
“No sweetheart what you do is eat,” Nicky prodded him in the waist. “I can hardly feel your ribs.”
“It’s been a crap summer,” Ollie blustered, “everyone’s a bit heavier. It helps to keep out the cold.”
“It hasn’t been that cold, besides there are other things to keep out the chill like the thinnest cashmere, like silken thermal underwear, like – ”
“Like porridge?” Ollie asked hopefully.
“Sure – as long as you don’t overload it with cream and sugar.”
Nicky went to the garbage, lifted the lid and peered in. Inside the heavy stainless steel can were the packaging,
wrappers and empty boxes that told of Ollie’s burgeoning girth.
“Bramley apple pie with cinnamon,” Nicky read out loud. “Rhubarb and blackberry crumble – family size – ”
“I was going to ask you over – ” Ollie said defensively.
“- cherry, strawberry and raspberry thick crust – cherry, strawberry AND raspberry?” Nicky looked at Ollie and raised her eyebrows.
“It’s good, you should try it Nicks.”
“An extra large tub of clotted cream – ”
“It’s half-fat!”
Nicky smiled and put back the lid with a clang.
“Elvis, Oprah and the Notorious B.I.G. are worthy role models for their talent but perhaps not for their dietary habits. C’mon Ollie, you’re growing tits for Chrissake,” Nicky poked him again, once in each breast. “Male boobs are not a hot look.”
To his shame Ollie could feel the flesh jiggle.
“Yeah, well, it’s comfort food,” he grumbled.
“I can see that sweetheart,” Nicky put her arm around Ollie’s shoulder, “but you can get comfort from other things, like – ”
“I’m not dating anyone, I’m not answering any ads, and it’s too cold for Hampstead,” Ollie said hurriedly.
“ – like, exercise.”
Ollie looked at his friend with suspicion.
“You’ve been talking to Auntie Em haven’t you?”
Before Nicky could answer Hum barked a surprisingly loud bark and raced down the stairs to the front door. Ollie sighed and made to follow, but Nicky beat him to it.
“I’ll get it.”
She bounded down the stairs, returning seconds later with a small sellotaped carton which she put on the kitchen table.
Inside were four custard tarts from the neighbouring Portuguese café.
“These were on the doorstep – ”
“They must be from Auntie Em.”
“ – along with a note.”
Ollie grabbed for the slip of paper but Nicky pulled it out of reach.
“Be ready in an hour,” she began to read. “No is not an option.” Nicky flashed the note at him to show there was nothing else.
“Fresh air and custard tarts.”
“Auntie Em’s answer to everything.”
Ollie looked out of the kitchen window at the modernist 60’s tower block that loomed over the mews.
On one side of the enormous structure, separated from the main building by parallel walkways two storeys apart, was the lift shaft and stairwell looking for all the world like the handle to a transistor radio.
The main building with its white-framed windows, its balconies and criss-crossing concrete lines appeared as an extraordinary grid against the sky.
These two features combined to make the block of flats look like some mammoth ghettoblaster on its side.
“I often think that someday a giant in seven league boots will come along, pick up Trellick Tower, sling it on his shoulder and rock on his way.”
Nicky paused to let this thought filter through her mind.
“Like the guy in the KEEP ON TRUCKIN’ poster?” she asked.
Ollie clinked his mug to Nicky’s.
“You got it.”
Everything was so different in London.
For a start there were so many people. So many people! Where had they come from? And where were they going with their briefcases, their brollies and frowns?
Rion had snuck a look at an A to Z in WH Smiths at King’s Cross to confirm where she was.
As if she needed to.
Everyday for the past month, ever since she had finally decided to leave home, Rion had gone to Bridlington library and asked for the London A to Z. She knew exactly where she was. And exactly where she was going.