Читать книгу The Old Girls' Network - Judy Leigh - Страница 11

Pauline was feeling unhappy that the little man had limped away. She’d liked him immediately; she’d found him amusing and she’d been sorry for him, not to mention feeling a little guilty as it had all been her fault. She crossed the road and pushed open her neighbour’s gate. A dark-haired woman was in the garden, busying herself with something in front of the open garage door. She was bending over a large cardboard box, pulling out implements and laying them on the floor. Pauline saw a shiny new trowel, a pair of shears, gardening gloves and a roll of wire. She called out, ‘Hello,’ and raised the hand carrying the wine.

The woman’s face was expressionless. She stood up and stared at Pauline. She was in her forties, probably; she had dark brown hair, pale skin, a sombre face, attractive, yet there was something aloof about the way she held herself, as if she was untrusting. She had on tailored jeans, heeled boots, a cashmere sweater and an expensive-looking jacket. Pauline thought she was far too smart to be emptying grubby boxes in the garden. She smiled and waved the bottle again.

‘Yoo-hoo.’

The woman frowned. ‘If you’re selling anything, please go away. We’re new to the neighbourhood and I’m not interested in buying anything.’

Pauline laughed, a light trilling sound. ‘Oh, no. I’m your neighbour. I brought this.’ She brandished the wine, held out her other hand towards the woman. ‘I’m Pauline Pye from the house across the lane.’

The woman took her hand tentatively, held it for a second as if obliged to make a polite gesture. Pauline handed the bottle to the woman who gazed at the label with interest and then murmured, ‘Thank you. That’s kind.’

Pauline wondered if everyone in the family was teetotal; if she’d just made a mistake. She took a deep breath. ‘So, how are you settling in?’

The woman pulled a face. ‘It’s so difficult. My husband was keen to buy this house. I just think we’ve taken on a lot of work. The people who lived here before have let it get into a bit of a state.’

Pauline brought her lips together. Henry and Catherine, who’d lived there before, were in their eighties; delightful people, welcoming, church-going – great friends of Chrissie the vicar, and they’d always kept their house and garden immaculate. She nodded hopefully. ‘Are you planning to make big changes, then?’

The woman stared into the distance, seemingly not interested.

‘I think there’s a lot to do.’ She seemed to notice Pauline for the first time. ‘I’m Julia Darby.’

Pauline grinned. ‘I hope you’ll be happy here.’

Julia didn’t look happy at all. ‘Oh, I so hope I will. I was very happy where we were before, in Bath. It’s such a lovely place, fantastic architecture. This place is so – well, it’s like the back of beyond, isn’t it?’

‘It’s a great community, Winsley.’ Pauline put on her most positive face. ‘Everyone is so nice, so helpful. We have a really good neighbourhood. Everyone looks after everyone else. You’ll make friends so easily.’

Julia shook her head. ‘It’s been a gamble, selling our lovely house and coming here.’

‘You won’t regret it. I’ve been here for a couple of years and I love it. Everyone is so nice, so decent. There isn’t a single bad thing to be said about the local…’

Pauline stopped and stared across the garden. A little man in tattered clothes had limped onto the flower bed and was tottering, confused and bewildered, as he approached a rose bush. Pauline pressed her lips together to stop a giggle as she saw him fiddling with the zip of his jeans.

Julia turned to her with an expression of horror. ‘Is that your husband?’

Pauline waved her arms apologetically. ‘Oh, no, no. He’s a tramp… He’s just had a drink with me. I knocked him down in my car this morning.’ She stared at Bisto, whose face was clearly baffled. ‘He bumped his head. I’m not sure he knows where he is…’

Six feet away, behind the rose bush, Bisto was adjusting his zip. The dirty material of his jeans sagged, falling to his ankles. There was a moment’s silence then there came the persistent gush of a steady stream of liquid.

Bisto sighed. ‘Ah, nothing like a good pish, is there?’ He tottered forward, staggering beyond the rose bush, clearly confused, then his feet encountered the material wrapped around his ankles and he fell headlong.

Pauline put a hand to her lips to conceal a smile. ‘I’m so sorry…’

Julia’s mouth was a perfect circle. The women locked eyes for a moment, then their gaze moved back to Bisto, who was wriggling on his front like a snake in the grass.

‘Ah well...’ his voice was muffled by the earth beneath his face, but the tone was full of good humour. ‘It was the Scotch, I think. One too many. Hey, give us a hand here, will you? I swear I have thorns from the rose bush stuck in my mickey.’ He groaned and twitched. ‘I can’t get up.’

Pauline shook her head at her neighbour. ‘He’s concussed, clearly – and he’s sprained his ankle.’

It was the best excuse she could think of. She mumbled an apology and rushed over to the scruffy little man who wriggled in the grass, his pink bottom stuck in the air like a pale peach. She attempted to cover a giggle with one hand and held out the other. She’d take him home now and put him in a nice clean bed in the spare room to sleep it off.

Pauline and Barbara were in the kitchen, Pauline leaning against the Belfast sink and Barbara resting her back against the warmth of the Aga. The smell of toast and hot frying oil lingered in the air, and two empty plates were on the wooden table, with left-over smears of fried egg and crumbs of brown toast. Barbara glared at Pauline, who shrugged and turned to stare out of the window. Two blue tits hovered next to the coconut she’d hung at the bird feeder, and then a woodpecker fluttered down, its pointed beak pecking furiously at the fat. She turned back to Barbara.

‘He’s been asleep since yesterday afternoon. I thought I’d take him some breakfast up this morning. He must be hungry. I don’t think he ate anything at all yesterday.’ As an afterthought she added, ‘Poor man. He was tired out.’

‘He was drunk.’ Barbara folded her arms. ‘I can’t believe you had to pull his trousers up for him and half-carry him back here.’

Pauline grinned. ‘I’ve seen a naked man before…’

‘That’s not the point.’ Barbara looked away and frowned. ‘He shouldn’t be here at all, that’s the point. He’s filthy, messing up your clean bed, stinking out the house with his sweaty smell. He had urine down his trousers.’

‘I put his clothes in the wash.’

‘You should have burned them, Pauline. They are just infested rags.’

Pauline shook her head. ‘The jacket had been expensive once. The shirt too. They are drying out on the line now. I’d have offered him something of Douglas’ but I gave them all away after he…’ She let out a slow sigh. ‘I took them to the charity shop. Douglas’ clothes would have swamped Bisto anyway.’

Barbara wrinkled her nose at the mention of his name. ‘I hope you’ll come to your senses today and dump him at the hospital. Let the experts patch him up and send him on his way.’

‘I certainly will not.’ Pauline raised her eyebrows, remembering how grateful he had been as she’d tucked him under the duvet in the spare room, how his eyes had closed in sleep almost immediately, like a soothed child. He had been in pain and exhausted. ‘He was apologetic, thankful and polite. I’ve taken quite a shine to him.’

‘You’re too soft, Pauline. That’s your trouble.’

‘And you are just too callous, Barbara.’ She couldn’t help the next words. ‘You’ve always been like that. Selfish.’

Barbara snapped her head towards Pauline, her chin jutting out. ‘He’s taking advantage of your good nature. Whereas since I’ve come here to recuperate, all you do is argue with me.’

‘In fairness, Barbara, you are the one who’s being argumentative.’

‘I certainly am not.’ Barbara folded her arms, tucking in her chin. ‘I’ve been the voice of reason, trying to protect you from what is clearly an awful error of judgement. But you won’t listen to me, will you? Oh no. You’ve become stubborn, Pauline. Since Douglas died, I think you have probably become lonely and you’re just grasping at straws to stave off the feeling.’ Pauline shot her sister a horrified glance and Barbara smiled, triumphant. ‘You’ll even hang on to a filthy vagrant, Pauline, if it means you have a bit of company.’

‘That is utter rubbish, Barbara. It’s my house and I knocked the poor man over. He’s incapacitated. He needs to rest. And besides, he’s very pleasant.’

‘I’m being honest for your own good. You are getting on a bit now, and you’re vulnerable. Even losing your grip a bit, I dare say.’

Pauline flushed, her face tingling at her older sister’s hypocrisy. ‘How dare you? Barbara, you’re a guest here and since you’ve arrived, you’ve been bossy and controlling.’

‘I have not.’

‘You have. And I wish you’d stop it. If you can’t be nice, you can just go back to Cambridge. You’re welcome to stay, but I do wish you’d just – well – chill out.’

Barbara gasped. ‘Chill out? Are you mad?’

‘I think she has a point, to tell the truth.’

A voice came from the doorway, a gentle gravelly lilt, and the sisters turned together to see a short man standing in front of them in a baggy blue nightgown that fell past his knees. The buttons, once fastened up to the neck, had been undone, exposing a mass of white curly chest hair.

Barbara put her hands to her mouth. ‘He’s wearing my nightie.’

‘It suits him.’ Pauline grinned.

Bisto shrugged. ‘I found it on your bed. I was starkers when I woke up this morning.’ He gazed from Barbara to Pauline. ‘I was completely poleaxed yesterday. After the Scotch I was totally wrote off. I have a hell of a headache on me this morning. But I promise, it was a one off. It won’t happen again.’ He paused and his eyes twinkled. ‘So, which of you lovely ladies stripped me naked and had your wicked way with me?’ He raised his eyebrows at Pauline, then stared at Barbara. ‘I really don’t mind which of yous it was. Or both.’

Barbara breathed in. ‘As if we’d be that desperate.’

‘I took your things and washed them, Bisto.’ Pauline smiled. ‘They are outside drying. I’ll get you some breakfast and then I’ll see if they are ready to wear.’

‘That’s very kind, Pauline.’ Bisto hobbled over to the table past the Aga, brushing against Barbara. She could see the pale colour of his skin through the flimsy material. He plonked himself down, scratching the white curls on top of his head. ‘I could eat a whole house.’

‘Toast and scrambled eggs, then?’ Pauline held out a hand, almost tempted to ruffle his hair, but she thought the better of it. ‘How do you like your coffee?’

‘It’d better be black and sweet this morning.’ Bisto winked at her. ‘Thanks. You’re a good woman, Pauline.’

Barbara heaved herself as tall as she could against the Aga and took a deep breath. Bisto clearly appreciated Pauline’s kindness so she thought she’d try to be slightly pleasant. Her words came out grudgingly. ‘I hope you’re feeling better. How is the swollen ankle this morning?’

‘Ah, not good, Barbara. And my head’s pounding. I’ve only just managed to see straight. Yesterday I thought there were two of yous – that’s enough to frighten any man to death, that’s for sure. But I’ll be out of your hair today. I’ll find a good strong stick to lean on and be on my way…’

‘You’re welcome to stay for a day or two. It’s the least I can do.’ Pauline poured eggs in a frying pan, easing Barbara out of the way with her shoulder, a gentle movement. She couldn’t help smiling. Bisto’s natural warmth was a perfect foil for Barbara’s frostiness. Her instinct had been right. With Bisto here, Barbara’s presence would certainly be more bearable. Pauline wondered if her sister might even develop a sense of humour.

The eggs began to sizzle, and Barbara picked up the steaming kettle to make coffee. Pauline had her back to Bisto, but her voice was determined. ‘You can have a bath after breakfast and we’ll see how your ankle is. Based on that, you can stay until it is better, and that is that. We’ll say no more about it.’

Bisto leaned back in his seat and sighed. It occurred to him that he had hit the bottom. After the events of the last few weeks, he felt empty, devastated – he’d lost so much that was dear to him. And now he’d lost his dignity.

‘That’s very kind of you, Pauline.’

He met Barbara’s frown and winked. She twisted away, crinkling her nose, and dumped a mug of black coffee in front of him, the liquid splashing onto the wooden table.

Bisto pulled a pained face. ‘To be honest, the ankle is a bit swollen this morning. And I’ve a lump on my head the size of the mountains of Morne.’

Pauline turned to him, a wooden spoon in her hand, and she giggled. ‘It’ll heal, Bisto. Which is more than I can say for the feelings of poor Julia across the lane. She was mortified by the sight of your naked flesh, watching you urinating on her rose bush. I think you’d better apologise later.’

Bisto nodded. ‘I drank too much. I didn’t show my best side, did I? I’ll tell her I was completely ossified. I don’t remember a thing. I’ll pop over later, will I, and lay a bit of charm on her?’

Barbara stared at Bisto, his short frame wrapped in her blue filmy nightie, a fork and knife held aloft in each fist as Pauline placed a plate of eggs in front of him.

‘Charm?’ Barbara made a light scoffing noise. ‘I think it will take a lot more than that, Mr Mulligan.’

Bisto met Pauline’s eyes with his china blue ones. His voice was soft. ‘Ah, thank you, Pauline. Truly. I’m very grateful.’

‘My pleasure, Bisto.’

She grinned, pleased with herself as she watched him tuck into his breakfast. Already, she thought, the icy air was beginning to thaw in the house. She had been right about Bisto. She liked his sense of fun and she suspected there was a lot more to him than first met the eye. He could stay as long as he liked.