CHAPTER EIGHT
Beth had never seen a cribbage board before, and she gazed at it with a mixture of puzzlement and disbelief. The block of wood was about a foot long and had a succession of tiny holes drilled into it, running along its length in two parallel rows of two. Four small brass pegs had been set in the board.
Walter moved all the pegs to the one end of the board, saying, ‘The winner is the first to reach 121 points.’
Beth didn’t have a clue how points were gained, and she was even more bemused when Walter produced a pack of cards and began to explain the rules.
They sounded rather complicated.
When Beth had booked them into Half Board (so called, she found out, because the session was only ever half a day) she had imagined Scrabble, or Monopoly. But Walter’s eyes had lit up when he had spied the crib board, and she didn’t have the heart to refuse him when he’d suggested a game.
He even seemed enthusiastic about teaching her to play, although she suspected he might change his mind when he realised that the rules were going over her head. Blankly she stared at the hand he’d dealt her, wondering what she was supposed to do with it. His explanation of her having to decide which two cards to discard, had passed her by.
‘Walter?’ someone said, and Beth glanced up to see a dapper chap in his seventies, with salt-and-pepper hair and a moustache beaming down at them.
‘Remember me? Stanley Childs?’ the old fella asked, holding out his hand. Walter began to struggle to his feet, but the man gently pushed him back down. ‘Don’t get up,’ Stanley said. ‘I heard you’d broken your leg.’ He turned his attention to Beth. ‘Aren’t you going to introduce me to your lady friend?’
Beth snorted. Lady friend, indeed. And she didn’t need ‘introducing’; she was perfectly capable of introducing herself.
‘Beth Fairfax,’ she said, before Walter could open his mouth.
Stanley shook her hand, holding onto it for longer than was strictly necessary. His gaze locked onto hers. ‘Charmed,’ he said. ‘Fairfax… Now where have I…? Oh, yes! Otto’s better half, Dulcie. You must be her sister.’
Beth rolled her eyes and giggled, despite herself. Walter shot her a cross look.
Stanley didn’t appear to notice. ‘How long are you in Picklewick?’ Stanley asked.
‘Permanently,’ Beth replied.
‘Are you living at the farm?’
‘No, she’s living with me,’ Walter interjected.
‘I see.’ Stanley’s eyebrows shot up.
‘It’s a temporary arrangement,’ Beth leapt in before Stanley got the wrong end of the stick. She didn’t want him to think that she and Walter were an item, not when Stanley was so handsome and suave. She wasn’t too keen on his moustache, which was a bit too handlebar-ish for her liking, but the rest of him was easy on the eye, and she bet he was a hit with Picklewick’s female contingent – the older ones, that is. Such as herself.
She was so glad she hadn’t had to twist Walter’s arm to persuade him to come with her today. If she’d had to come on her own, she probably wouldn’t have bothered. Or rather, she wouldn’t have had the courage. Walking into a roomful of strangers terrified her, especially when they undoubtedly knew each other. She would have felt like the new girl in school, and probably would have turned tail and run. Now, though, she knew Stanley, so if she did come on her own next time, she mightn’t be quite as nervous.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Stanley was saying.
Beth didn’t want him to go. And the reason was that she really didn’t want to learn how to play cribbage – or any other card game, for that matter. She had her eye on a group of ladies who were setting up a game of Cluedo, which was more to her liking.
She said to Stanley, ‘Do you know how to play cribbage?’
‘I do. Why, would you like to challenge me to a game? I warn you, I like to win.’
‘Good. So does Walter.’ She got to her feet. ‘Take my place. I’m sure Walter would prefer to play against someone who knows what they’re doing.’
Stanley looked startled. ‘Three can play crib, you know.’
Beth sent Walter an apologetic smile. ‘I haven’t played board games for ages. Let me ease myself in slowly with a nice game of Cluedo – if those ladies will have me – and I promise I’ll give cribbage a go next time.’
And with that, she shot off, feeling Walter and Stanley’s gaze following her.
But when she neared the table where the ladies were about to begin their game, her courage failed her and she swerved off in the direction of the loos that she’d noticed on the way into the community centre (at her age it was always wise to know where the nearest toilet was), and she hurriedly inside.
When she emerged, the first thing she noticed was that Walter was sitting on his own. The second was that the cribbage board had disappeared and in its place was another game. Cluedo.
‘Stanley’s gone to fetch us some tea,’ Walter said. ‘When he comes back, how about a nice game of Cluedo?’
Beth could have kissed him.
Bingo. Ugh. Walter surveyed the community hall with suspicion. Roughly fifteen tables were laid out with four or so chairs at each. At the far end of the room, on the stage, was another table with a round black basket containing a number of white balls, and a microphone. Behind it, and off to the side, was a second table displaying a variety of objects. It reminded him of a raffle table.
Walter had never played bingo in his life and, seeing the avaricious faces of the people gathered there, he wasn’t sure he wanted to start now.
‘Ooh, you can win a fish and chip supper, or a bottle of sherry,’ Beth said, spying the table of prizes. ‘I’m partial to a glass of sherry.’ She smacked her lips.
Walter preferred beer, or whisky, if he was forced to choose something stronger.
Lowering himself into a chair, he studied the bingo card.
What he didn’t like about bingo was the element of luck. There appeared to be no skill involved whatsoever, but remembering Beth telling him not to knock it until he tried it, he decided to keep an open mind. After all, he had enjoyed playing Cluedo the other day – although, he hadn’t enjoyed Stanley being part of the game. Stanley was too suave for Walter’s liking. Or would smarmy be a better description?
Stanley thought he was the bee’s knees. He had always been the same. Walter remembered him from school, and the girls had fallen over him then. The man had had two wives, one deceased and one divorced, and Walter suspected he was on the lookout for number three. Walter hoped Stanley hadn’t set his sights on Beth. She was too good for the likes of Stanley Childs.
As the thought went through Walter’s head, he was pulled up short.
A week ago, he would have been happy for Stanley to go gunning after Beth. He probably would have thought they deserved each other.
But not now. When it came to Beth, Walter had undergone a seismic shift. And it had taken another man’s interest in her to make him realise that he actually liked her. Liked not tolerated.
Well, well, well… That was a turn-up for the books, he thought. In fact, he felt quite proprietorial over her, and he didn’t want to see her get hurt. Stanley was a user, a player, a ladies’ man. Beth deserved better.
Beth heard the sound of the shower going and she smiled. The little plastic stool she had found in the charity shop in the village had been perfect for Walter to sit in in the cubicle. It was a bit on the low side, but she’d made him practice getting up from it before he’d given it a go in the shower. He still needed help waterproofing his cast though, because he couldn’t quite reach to put a plastic bag over it. Unlike Beth, who was quite flexible for her age, Walter was as stiff as a board.
However, Beth had a plan to do something about that, and as soon as he was dressed and downstairs, she would put that plan into action.
They were going to Dulcie’s for Sunday lunch (Beth was looking forward to seeing everyone), but they had a couple of hours before they needed to leave and she intended to use the time wisely.
‘Armchair yoga,’ she announced, when Walter appeared in the living room.
‘Is this another one of your hair-brained activities?’ Walter was smiling, so she didn’t take offence.
‘This one is for your benefit, not mine,’ she retorted. ‘I’m bendy enough. See?’ She bent over, touching the carpet with her fingers. There was a time when she used to be able to put her palms flat on the floor, but that had been before she’d had the kids. Nowadays, her tummy got in the way and her boobs threatened to unbalance her.
When she straightened up, Walter’s eyes were on stalks. ‘Please tell me you’re not expecting me to touch my toes,’ he begged.
‘Not straight away, but eventually you should be able to. And when your cast is off, you’ll find it much easier to bend and stretch.’
Walter stared at her, and she realised she wouldn’t be living here when the cast was removed. That’s what they were working towards, wasn’t it – him managing on his own and her moving back in with Dulcie (or into her own house, if the repairs were completed). But, oddly enough, that goal no longer seemed as imperative as it had when she had agreed to move into the cottage on Muddypuddle Lane.
Aside from those first few days when she had wished she was anywhere but here, Beth had settled into life in Walter’s house surprisingly well. She thought they muddled along together quite nicely now. They still bickered a bit, but nowhere near as badly as they used to. She would miss the place when she left. Without her realising it, the cottage had gradually come to feel like home. But what was even more surprising (disturbing, actually) was that she would miss Walter. Unbeknownst to him, he had provided the company she craved and, on occasion, she felt as though they were an old married couple – without the obvious; they didn’t share a bedroom.
As Beth watched Walter expertly manoeuvre himself into his seat, something about that last thought niggled at her, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
Then she let out a gasp as it came to her: her and Walter in the same bed.
A flush spread up her chest into her neck and her face, and she felt a flutter in her tummy.
‘Did you sprain something?’ Walter asked. ‘All that bending and stretching is bound to put your back out.’
‘I’m fine,’ she retorted. ‘Hot flush.’ Beth fanned herself vigorously with her hands, flapping them in front of her face and hoping that any mention of the menopause would have him changing the subject rapidly. She also hoped that he didn’t realise she was too old for a hot flush. She was thankfully past all that, although she had heard of some poor women who continued to have them into their seventies.
True enough, Walter looked petrified at the thought that she might feel tempted to expand further and he seemed more than happy when she returned to the subject of armchair yoga.
‘Sit up straight,’ she commanded. ‘Hands on your knees. Close your eyes and breathe.’
‘I always breathe.’
Beth sat down in the adjacent chair, her back ramrod straight. ‘You need to do it mindfully,’ she said, remembering the online tutorial she had watched earlier.
‘How do you mean mindfully?’
‘Breathe from the stomach and think about it as you’re doing it. In through the nose, hold it for a second, then out through the mouth.’
‘It’s a load of old cod’s wallop, if you ask me. People have been breathing for thousands of years and they didn’t need anyone to tell them how to do it.’ He opened one eye and squinted at her.
Beth glared at him. With a resigned shake of his head, he closed it again.
Beth watched him carefully, telling herself that it was to make sure he didn’t cheat, but in reality she was enjoying gazing at him. He was relaxed, the lines in his face not as prominent, and he looked considerably better than the day Dulcie and Otto had brought him home from hospital, and although Beth couldn’t take all the credit, she took some. Hearty, regular meals, someone to do his laundry and cleaning, someone to make sure he was okay… It made a difference.
‘Can I stop breathing now?’ he asked.
‘Better not,’ Beth chortled. ‘You’ll keel over.’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘You can open your eyes,’ she conceded. ‘We’re going to do thoracic rotations next.’
‘Eh?’
‘Put your hands behind your head, like when you were in school, then twist to face that way—’ She twisted her head and torso to the left. ‘Then this way.’ She twisted to the right. ‘We do this ten times each side. One, two…’
Walter copied her, but they were twisting in opposite directions, so with every second twist they found themselves staring each other in the eye. Beth was glad when they’d finished that exercise.
‘Are we done?’ he asked.
‘No. Next, we drop our heads to our chests.’ She demonstrated. Walter followed suit. ‘Can you feel the stretch in your neck?’
‘I can feel something. I think I’ve done myself a mischief.’
Beth ignored his grumbling. ‘Sit up and look straight ahead, arching your back slightly. And repeat,’ she sang.
Ten of those and she was starting to feel a little dizzy from all the bending and stretching. Determined to plough on and convinced that it was doing them some good (it might take a while for the benefits to become apparent), Beth showed him how to flop forwards so that his head was between his knees.
It was called the rag doll position, but Walter looked more like a broken doll by the time he had attempted ten of those. Beth wasn’t feeling much better. She thought of herself as fairly fit for her age (there was that phrase again, for her age) but clearly she wasn’t, because the deep breathing she had been trying to do had become more of a pant and a grunt.
Poor Walter’s face was slowly turning purple with the effort. ‘This is supposed to be good for you?’ he puffed as he straightened up.
‘Shall we do some arm exercises now?’
‘Goodie. I can’t wait.’
Beth rolled her eyes and tried not to tut. The ungrateful so-and-so. However, she had to admit that it was harder work than the man in the video had led her to believe.
After windmilling their arms around and trying (unsuccessfully) to grab their hands behind their backs, Beth called it a day.
‘The rest of them involve standing next to your chair,’ she explained, ‘but I don’t think you’re up for that.’ A giggle escaped her. ‘There is one exercise you’ve already mastered though…’
‘What’s that?’ Walter winced as he rubbed his shoulder.
‘Standing on one leg,’ she laughed. ‘It’s called the stork, but you’re supposed to alternate which leg you stand on.’
‘Very funny.’ He didn’t appear amused.
‘We’ll have another go tomorrow,’ she promised. ‘Ten minutes every day and you’ll be a new man.’
‘I’m quite partial to the old one,’ he said.
Funnily enough, so was Beth…
Painting and drawing weren’t Walter’s forte. He hardly knew one end of a pencil from another, and the only time he had held a paintbrush was when he’d been nagged into redecorating. But here was Beth, insisting that they give an art class a go.
She said, ‘You enjoyed Half Board.’
They’d been twice now, and Walter did enjoy it, especially since Stanley hadn’t shown his face last time. ‘I didn’t like bingo,’ he argued.
‘But at least you tried it. And you won a powder puff and mirror set.’
‘You may have noticed that I didn’t bring it home with me.’
‘You could have regifted it.’
‘I think it had been regifted too many times already.’
‘You’re probably right.’
Walter glared at her suspiciously. He wasn’t often right, and he wondered whether she was being sarcastic.
Once again, they headed for the heart of the village and the community centre. Walter was quietly impressed at how much went on inside the unassuming red-brick building. It was nothing to look at on the outside, being shabby and unappealing, but inside was an Aladdin’s cave of clubs and activities, this morning’s being an art class.
Walter wasn’t surprised to see some familiar faces as many of the same people tended to frequent the same clubs and classes. It seemed that the village had an active troop of enthusiastic pensioners, and it looked like he was going to be one of them if Beth had her way.
Several easels had been placed in a circle, around something that Walter could only describe as a chaise longue. He eyed it doubtfully, hoping he wasn’t expected to draw it, because it wasn’t particularly inspiring. He had been expecting a bowl of fruit, if he was honest. It was a nice shade of red though, so maybe the class was doing the colour red this week…? He wasn’t sure how these things worked.
A plump woman wearing a multi-coloured kaftan and lots of chunky jewellery spotted him and Beth hovering in the doorway, and she hurried forward.
‘Hello, hello, come on in, we don’t bite – not unless we’re drawing teeth, ha, ha! Welcome to Art for Art’s Sake. I’m Melanie, your teacher. Have you done much drawing or painting? Never mind if you haven’t – everyone has to start somewhere, and we’re a non-judgemental lot. Would you like to sit next to each other? Of course you would. What’s your name?’
‘Walter,’ he mumbled, wondering when the woman was going to draw breath.
‘Walter, you can sit here, and—?’
‘Beth,’ Beth supplied.
‘You can sit here. Did you bring an overall or a pinny? No? Not a problem, I’ve always got spares.’ She pointed to a box in the corner. ‘We’ll be working with pencil or charcoal today, whichever you prefer. The paper is already on your easel and so are the pencils. Any questions?’
Walter had one. ‘Are they red?’
Melanie blinked. ‘Er, no, they’re HB pencils. We’re not using coloured pencils today. Enjoy the session and shout out if you need any help. I’ll be doing the rounds anyway, to see how you’re getting on.’
‘I thought they’d be red,’ he muttered as he hobbled to his chair, thankful that he wasn’t expected to stand. He’d had visions of people pacing around in front of their easels and using the ends of their brushes to check angles and whatnot.
Beth hung her handbag over the back of her chair. ‘Why red?’
‘That chaise longue thing is red.’ He pursed his lips and lowered his voice. ‘It’s not very interesting, is it? I don’t know anything about drawing, but even I can see that with a couple of lines and a squiggle, it’ll be done. How long did you say the class was?’
‘Two hours, with half an hour in the middle for refreshments.’
‘I reckon it’ll take me about ten minutes,’ he murmured, eyeing up the other artists.
There were about fifteen in all, and the low buzz of conversation filled the air. When Melanie clapped her hands and called for quiet, the room fell silent, the chatter replaced by excited expectation – although what was exciting about a wannabe settee, Walter couldn’t imagine.
Melanie said, ‘I told you I would have a treat for you, and I know speculation has been rife.’ She smiled widely. ‘I think many of you have guessed what we’re going to be drawing today, so before I bring our model in, I just want to say please don’t be embarrassed. The naked human form is the most natural and beautiful thing there is, no matter the age, the shape, or the gender. My advice is to forget that you’re drawing a person and concentrate on capturing the essence and the form. Are we ready?’
A chorus of agreement filled the room, but Walter didn’t join in. He was starting to get a bad feeling about this.
His fears were confirmed when Melanie opened a door, and cried, ‘Artists, here is your model for today – Stanley!’
Walter’s horror when Stanley Childs strode into the room, was only exceeded when Stanley removed his robe with a flourish and stood before them with a big grin on his face.
Stanley was naked.
Beth wasn’t normally a blusher but when she had caught sight of Stanley in all his proud nakedness, she had felt a whoosh of heat flooding her cheeks. Maybe if she had been more prepared, she wouldn’t have reacted as strongly. Walter had let out a gasp along with the other artists, but whilst there had been a flutter of giggles from the rest, he had scowled.
Afterwards, the two of them had immediately fled to The Black Horse for a restorative pint.
Despite having downed half of his ale, Walter looked haunted. Beth might have felt the same if she had spent two hours staring at Stanley’s spread-eagled figure, legs akimbo, giving Walter a first-class view of the man’s tackle.
‘Brazen,’ Walter muttered, reaching for his pint and taking a gulp.
Thankfully, Beth’s easel had given her a slightly less graphic view, although she had a feeling she might think twice about buying sausages again. Beth suspected that even Melanie, who was probably more used to seeing random naked strangers, had been taken aback by the glee with which Stanley displayed himself. She’d also had a bit of a to-do trying to persuade him to cover up during the interval. It had been enough to put Beth off the Ginger Nuts (an unfortunate choice of biscuit, under the circumstances) although she did rally enough to manage a plain digestive.
‘No more art classes,’ Walter declared. He had a wild look about his eyes, and Beth could swear his hand was shaking.
‘I thought your drawing was rather good.’ He shot her a disbelieving look, so she added, ‘You captured his expression perfectly. Melanie said it was an interesting caricature.’
Walter had drawn a disembodied head, with an exaggerated Cheshire cat smile and jug ears. Despite it being cartoon-like, it was clearly recognisable as Stanley. Stanley hadn’t been amused when he’d seen it, despite Melanie advising him not to look at any of the drawings, and Walter had been on the receiving end of a venomous look.
Stanley hadn’t been too enamoured of Beth’s attempt either. Despite being able to see Stanley’s proudest assets (although she had thought his pride somewhat misplaced), Beth had given him an Action Man anatomy where it counted.
‘I need another,’ Walter said, draining his glass.
‘I think I’ll join you.’
‘You’re driving,’ he pointed out.
‘We’ll get a taxi.’
Drinking brandy this early in the day (it was not quite six o’clock) soon began to take its toll, and after her third, Beth was tipsy, bordering on drunk. She knew she was heading for inebriation because her nose was going numb. It was a sure sign she should stop. But she was having too much fun. She hadn’t let her hair down like this in ages. Walter had recovered from his ordeal and was regaling her with stories about when he used to own the farm. Many of them made her laugh, but a few were rather poignant, and when he talked about his wife, Beth could hear the pain in his voice and her heart went out to him.
‘I still miss her,’ he said, his eyes damp. ‘Do you miss your husband?’
Beth shook her head. ‘I’d just started divorce proceedings when he died. He was a waste of space – although I’d never tell the kids that. He spent most of his life, and most of his money, in the bookies. The irony was, he’d had a bit of luck on the horses the day he was killed. He’d watched the race in the pub over the road and was on his way to collect his winnings, when he stepped into the street without looking. His winnings paid for his funeral.’
Walter put a hand on hers. ‘You must have had it tough, bringing up four kids on your own.’
‘I coped.’ It had been hard, but her children had never gone without.
Walter squeezed her hand. ‘They’re a credit to you.’
Yes, she thought, they were. Even Maisie, whom she had lain awake night after night worrying about, had settled down. Adam was a good man. Although Nikki’s first husband had been useless and Beth had fretted that her eldest girl had married a wrong ’un, Nikki had eventually seen sense and had got shot of him. Beth thoroughly approved of Gio, her new partner. She approved of Otto, too.
‘And Otto is a credit to you,’ she told Walter. ‘He’s done incredibly well for himself.’
‘Despite having me for a father,’ Walter lamented.
‘Don’t say that. You did the best you could.’
‘I lost the farm.’
‘He’s got it back. I wonder if we’ll hear the sound of wedding bells soon?’
‘I hope so. I think the world of Dulcie.’ Walter paused to take a sip of his drink. He had moved on to Guinness, and it left a foam moustache on his upper lip.
Beth leant across the table and wiped it away.
Walter caught her hand mid-wipe and brought it to his lips. When he kissed her fingers, a thrill tingled right through her.
He said, ‘Thank you for all your help. I couldn’t have managed without you. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’ve enjoyed your stay in the cottage and I’ll miss you when you leave.’
Beth’s eyes filled up. She would miss him too.
Who’d have thought it!