He could hear her through the wall.
Singing.
She was some species of Christian he
decided, because it was nearly always hymns. Good old fashioned
hymns... Now Thank We All Our God... Onward, Christian Soldiers!
He remembered them from his schooldays,
although he probably hadn’t set foot in a church since then. But on
a Sunday morning, more often than not, he’d hear her through the
wall. Singing.
It became part of his Sunday morning
too, along with the bells from St Anselm’s. 10.15 they’d start,
just when The Archers started, and he turned the radio off. Bells
calling people to the service at 10.30. ‘10.30 Holy Eucharist’ -
he’d seen it on the noticeboard - followed by ‘11.30 Coffee and
Chat’. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than that, Coffee and
Chat, with a bunch of do-gooder Christians. Oh no. Trying to get him
to come along, hold hands or something, making up wishes to some
nonsense in the sky. No thank you. No Coffee and Chat for him, thank
you very much.
But he liked to hear her singing
through the wall on a Sunday morning - that didn’t feel like
nonsense. That felt like something real. Somebody feeling something
real inside - like a sunny memory. And it touched something real in
him - like Nana singing when he was a boy. It didn’t really matter
what the words were, he could hear that something in her voice. All
things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small... And did
those feet in ancient times...
He could hear her when he was in the
kitchen too. Well, he could hear her moving about, turning on taps,
opening cupboards and drawers. He wondered what she was cooking.
Water in the pipes. Kettle on. Water rushing down the drain. The
washing machine spindrying. Sometimes he could hear her kitchen radio
- Two Counties Gold she listened to - he recognised the jingle. She’d
sing along to that, too. All the oldies - Gerry and The Pacemakers,
Glen Campbell, Nat King Cole. Actually, he preferred sensible talk,
not the nonsense they gabbled between songs. He could hear the
presenters joking with each other. That wasn’t proper radio. It’s
like the listeners weren’t even there - just these two smart alecs
having a joke with each other and chatting about rubbish.
And the music. It took up too much
space in his head. He couldn’t think with all that noise going on.
No. If it wasn’t sensible talk then he’d rather have silence.
But he didn’t mind hearing her sing
along to the radio. That was different. Like Nana used to. Kind of
comfortable. Reassuring. Even when she couldn’t remember the words
and just made things up that sounded like they might be right. No. He
didn’t mind hearing her singing along through the kitchen wall. He
found himself tapping his foot when he was washing up. Sometimes he’d
turn off the PM programme while he was sorting his tea out, so he
could hear her better. His knife chopping the carrots would slip into
the rhythm of the song. He’d stir the soup in time to the chorus.
She’d been living next door a good
few weeks before he actually saw her. Then he did see her one morning
setting off for work. About eight thirty. Younger than he thought
she’d be. In her forties, maybe? Hard to tell. She was greying, but
not grey. Silvering. Nice smile, though, he thought. Good teeth from
what he could see. They looked real. Although they could be dentures.
That might put a different spin on things. Mother had had all her
teeth out when she was forty. Save on the dentist bills. Just easier,
she said. Did people still do that? No, he didn’t think people
still did that. Did they?
Good nose. Not too small. Little bit
crooked but that didn’t matter. His was, after all. Everybody’s
nose was a little bit crooked if you looked closely. Unless they’d
had a nose job done. Then they looked odd. Straight. Or like a pixie.
No better a bigger, crooked nose than one that had been messed about
with.
She was a handsome woman. Not pretty,
no. Not a conventional beauty by any means, no, but handsome.There
was a grace about her. Grace? Well, a straightforwardness. She moved
with spirit as she walked down the road. A generous spirit, that lit
up her face. Attractive. Definitely attractive.
Maybe he should pop round one
afternoon. Take her a house warming gift. A plant or something. He’d
think about it.
He ought to get a haircut. And a shave.
Yes.
He thought about a house warming gift.
But couldn’t think what the best thing would be. And then it seemed
like too long after she’d arrived anyway. And it’s not as if she
had come and knocked on his door had she. Although maybe she had and
he hadn’t heard. Or he’d been out. Oh dear, he didn’t want to
seem unfriendly. He hoped she wouldn’t think he was stand offish.
He could be a friendly neighbour. As long as there weren’t too many
demands. He’d feed her cat if she needed him to. Did she have a
cat? He wasn’t sure. But if she did.
He found himself standing more often in
the bay window at the front of the house, at different times of the
day. He found it was a very convenient place to stand with his coffee
in the morning. At about eight thirty. Every morning. During the
week. He’d often see her leave the house at that time. Coat on over
some kind of uniform by the looks of it. Nurse, maybe, or a carer.
Definitely a carer rather than an authority figure like a police
woman. Not that. She looked like a carer. Someone who cared for other
people. Yes.
She looked very smart. He hoped she
didn’t think he was stand offish. Perhaps he should still pop round
and say hello. Perhaps it wasn’t too late. It’s never really too
late to be neighbourly, is it. Perhaps he should bake a cake and take
it round. No perhaps not. That would be a little too forward.
He would often stand in the window,
too, at around a quarter to six. He’d take a yellow duster from the
kitchen cupboard and dust along the windowsill. Pick off the dead
flies and pop them in the waste bin. He wanted the place to look
nice. If she happened to glance in. Tidy. Clean. He liked things tidy
and clean. He could look after himself after all. He wasn’t needy.
He didn’t need help.
Or he would stand there and drink a cup
of tea. He decided it was a good place to stand and drink a hot
beverage and watch a little of the world. And often he would see her
coming back along the road just then with a carrier bag or two. Lidl.
If he was honest, he preferred Sainsburys. But wasn’t that a lot of
shopping for just one person? He could see she struggled with the
gate and all that shopping. Perhaps he should pop out and help her.
She’d done some shopping yesterday. And now here’s more. All for
just her? She didn’t seem overweight. Perhaps some of it was cat
food. Although he hadn’t seen a cat. And he’d never seen anyone
else in the house, or come to the house, or leave the house. He never
saw anyone, a man or anyone, come to the house to collect her to take
her anywhere in the evening. Or at the weekend. No family ever came
to visit her. No children. Perhaps she was lonely. Perhaps he should
pop round one weekend and see if she wanted to play cards or
something. Or was that a little too presumptuous? Yes perhaps it was.
He found himself wondering about her as
he cleaned his teeth. Wondering what her story was. Widowed maybe? Oh
how sad. She’s only young to be widowed. Cancer probably. Or
divorced. Oh dear, yes, maybe divorced. That put a different
complexion on things. So she was married but she couldn’t live with
him, or he couldn’t live with her. Couldn’t stick at it, though,
and work it through? That’s disappointing. When people can’t
stick at it and work it through. But then maybe it would have been
for the best. Maybe he was abusive and she was just better off out of
it. Like Nana with that bastard of a man. She stuck it out too long
and look where that got her. Nana should have known from the outset
really. But times were different then.
Or maybe she was lesbian. No. She
couldn’t be. She was too attractive. She often had lipstick on in
the mornings. And besides she was a bit too old for that sort of
thing.
She seemed happy though. Content. She’d
smile at him when she saw him there waiting. With his cup of tea.
She’d give a little wave perhaps. No, she definitely wasn’t
lesbian. Sometimes she’d do a little face to show him how heavy the
shopping was. Or what a tiring day she’d had. Or that it was cold
and that it looked like it might snow.
Sometimes she’d mouth a question at
him - Are you ok?
Me? Oh yes I’m fine, thank you. How
are you?
Tired.
He couldn’t hear her properly. Not
through the double glazing. But they’d smile at each other and were
neighbours for a moment. And she’d fish out her key and struggle
with her shopping as she unlocked the door. Then she’d give him
another little wave as she pushed the door shut with her bottom. He’d
just get a little glimpse of the inside of the hallway when the door
trapped on something. Something on the mat. Letters. Post. Circulars.
There was a lot of post on the mat. A lot for someone who lived on
their own. Why didn’t she pick them up? Was she too busy to pick
them up? How busy do you have to be not to pick up your post from
your doormat. Even if it is just to put it in the blue bin. Was she
untidy? Was that the problem? Was she one of them hoarders who never
threw anything away? Is that why her husband left? She was so untidy
he couldn’t stand it any more and left. So that was why she was on
her own.
He hoped she didn’t think he was
being rude, by not going round. He would feed her cat if she asked.
But he wouldn’t offer. Not yet anyway. But if she asked. Although
it would be tricky to find everything if the house was so untidy.
Poor cat. Probably hungry if it wasn’t getting fed regularly.
Perhaps he should buy some cat food just in case. Just in case it
came looking for something to eat. No, he’d better not interfere.
Besides he’d never met one of her
type before. He wouldn’t know what to say.
prompt: Messy job
Electric Tomatoes
3rd April, 2020
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