Sally Rains sipped the last of her herb infused breakfast lemon-lifter tea, and stared in to space – seated in the one good armchair, the only stick of furniture she’d managed to salvage from the wreck of her former existence, she sighed heavily as she removed the breakfast tray from her lap, wiped away the crumbs of her low-fat croissant (where had she managed to buy that?), and moved towards the hanger where her uniform hung, always neatly pressed and always ready by Saturday morning, to start yet another week. It was the last of her herb infused tea bags she realised, the last from the box she’d bought with her - there would be no more now … was it another sign? Another break from her past?
She was pondering yet again – how she’d ended up in Knucklethwaite. Had it really been only a month? Was it even right she was here? ‘Their’ bistro in on the high street in Guildford suddenly flickered into view, the candles, the guinea-fowl, the now empty words - but she managed to wipe away the memory quick as a flash fried calves-liver – and the dregs of a pricey Pinot - as she carefully rinsed her cup….and her thoughts turned to the day ahead….
Yes, Knucklethwaite, Northumberland – as FAR away from Guildford as one could imagine. It was – she suddenly reminded herself, her choice, well as far as she’d ‘had’ a choice of course, Brian had seen to that – all she knew was that she had needed to get as far away from Guildford as she possibly could – but when she had closed her eyes , three months ago now, and stuck a pin in her AA Road map, hoping for it to land somewhere far outside the M25, she never realised she’d be THIS far away – that’ll teach her for having the map upside down she thought! Or the fact the page was folded over, thanks to Brian’s stag do weekend in somewhere called Gateshead. Whatever – it was fate either way. And the distance at least had been a blessing, she knew it wasn’t logical, and yet, it almost felt that with every mile, the pain and hurt, and ones sense of futility, seemed to weaken, subside – something she wouldn’t have had if the pin had landed on Slough say….
Just as she was tying up her lurid green polyester tabard over her emblazoned sweat-shirt affair – she heard a gentle knock at the door, and a joyous whistling of a jaunty tune – what was it? ‘Greensleeves’…..’Tie A Yellow Ribbon’? She couldn’t be sure – but what she WAS sure of – was that the sound belonged to Steve, the postman. Strange she thought – that she actually KNEW the name of her postman! In fact she ever SAW the postman. Every one seemed to know everyone’s name around here – that would NEVER have happened in Guildford – people had to endure their pain behind their Laura Ashley curtains, just a nameless face, a neighbour one nodded to from time to time, with perhaps the odd comment about the state of the roads, or that ‘dark looking’ people had moved in to a cul-de-sac – just a few miles away….
‘Hello Steve’ she said chirpily as she opened the door to him. And as he stopped whistling (maybe it was the theme to ‘Desert Island Discs?’ – no THAT was Radio 4 – did they have that up here?) She appraised him properly for the first time – at least five feet eight tall she calculated, muscular and yet not overtly so, apart from anything else, there were certainly no gym-come-health spas in the area that she knew of – all natural, country muscle this was - Monday morning stubble, a small scar on his left cheek (a pub fight perhaps?) a rounded face, ruddy, and slightly perspiring from his ride up the lane to her, and of course his regulation red post office shorts, and panniered blue Raleigh bicycle, one that had seen better days she thought, although she wasn’t sure why she cared about that?
‘Roses are Red, Violets are Blue’…
‘Whay aye lass – good day te yer’ he offered ‘Why I’ve a parcel that big fo ya – it took a fair amooont o’ cycling to get it te tha tha day– I can tell thee’
She hadn’t a CLUE what he’d just said – although there WAS a clue in the brown paper package he proffered her, and as he removed the pen from behind his rather enlarged left ear (a boxing match? A cock-fight?) and gestured for her to sign.
‘Oh god’ why am I so middle class she thought to herself as he smiled warmly at her – ‘I really must start making an effort to understand these people more’ – And she THEN wondered why that thought had even entered her head! How very strange. Last week on his late delivery he had offered her something called ‘bap’ – and she had politely refused it as if it was a strange offering from an Amazonian tribe…Perhaps she should have invited him in for an elderberry infusion, she’d still had some left at that point - rather than leave him on the doorstep? But WHY did she think that? And indeed would he have known what one was?
It was the same at Smithsons Garden Centre where she’d secured herself a part time job – Ok – it wasn’t quite the PR job she’d had at the multinational in Burpham – but it did of course offer freedom from Brian, and the pain – and she’d always been good with her hanging baskets and growing her own indoor herbs – but yes it had to be said – at the garden centre, she also found it extremely difficult to understand a word anyone said to her – if they didn’t at least point to the bird bath they required, or physically handed her the tray of border plants, she really had no idea what they wished to purchase, and then there was that nasty incident last week with the yucca – it really was too much sometimes, but – BUT – she remembered quickly, at least it wasn’t Brian, and at least it wasn’t Guilford….received pronunciation or not.
‘Roses are Red – Violets are Blue’
She smiled back at Steve, longer than necessary she thought – was it her embarrassment? – or something else? Signed for the parcel, and swiftly closed the door. Another parcel from Brian, probably yet another ‘remnant’ from their life together he’d thought necessary to send to her – probably one of her mothers ornaments – which he’d ALWAYS hated – another nail in the coffin, another stab in the back using a Cape di Monte figurine – she wondered for a moment how the flat looked now? Batchelor pad no doubt, with the vulgar photo of the red Ferrari out of storage and back on the bedroom wall – Ugh! She shuddered…and set off for work.
An hour in to her Monday morning, surrounded by bags of compost and the smell of fish food – she was approached by Mr Gregson, the owner of Smithsons, whilst pricing up the green-fly sprays – she could never quite tell just how old Mr Gregson was, with his salt and pepper hair, clipped extremely short, and his large bushy moustache, like a Victorian butchers, and what seemed an inexhaustible supply of finely made sturdy black boots, a different pair every day. Although he owned one of the largest garden centres in ‘up north’, she noticed his finger nails were always finely manicured, his appearance smart, slightly fussy even, with a fine line in taupe or lilac shirts and ruby red ties…
‘Roses are Red – Violets are blue’….
She liked Mr Gregson, which helped. He was kindly, and seemed to be sympathetic - Although maybe it was because he was originally from just outside Northampton, and she could therefore just about understand him…..Anyway – today he was wearing a light aubergine linen blazer over a pale cream shirt, and neatly pressed slacks, and no tie, due probably to the already oppressive heat of the day – but for once it WASN’T this she found herself noticing….oh no not this at all….
‘Good morning my dear’ he said, as Sally was just finished with the sprays and was now potting a polystyrene box with pond ferns – ‘stop a moment – whilst I introduce you to our NEW Assistant Manager – Jan – say hello to Sally Jan’…..
It was as she put down the ferns and stretched up to full height, that Jan came in to view…..Was it the rising heat? Was it the smell of slug pellets, and pond cleaner – overpowering now in the strengthening sun? Whatever it was – Sally suddenly felt weak, weakened at the very nearness of the Adonis she saw before her…she felt her whole body quiver from top to bottom, a sudden hunger, a gnawing need in the pit of her stomach (surely it was because her crisp-breads were yet an hour away?) But NO = it was him – Jan! Beautiful Jan - that had – in all his physical beauty and radiance – his manly god-like glory, sent her body into such paroxysm.
He stood there, tall as a house, blonde curled hair glimmering in the summer sun, a trickle of manly sweat running down his left temple, the brightest blue eyes, like shining amethysts set in the face of something from a Greek myth, arms as long and as wide as the tree-trunks made into the array of fencing that surrounded the garden centre (oh for those majestic seconds – how she dreamt – DREAMT they could envelop her! Hold her close, take her away, do ANYTHING to her!....For at that moment – NOTHING else mattered, her life here, her past in Guildford, NOTHING – only to have him – to be HIS! Oh heavenly heavenly Jan!’ It was like a bolt from the blue!
‘Roses are Red – Violets are Blue’
She tried to steady herself as she offered her hand for him to take – although she couldn’t stop herself from trembling as her fingers touched his – and a lightning bolt of ecstasy shot through her…..as if her body was a lightning rod, and he the flash of electricity from heaven.
She tried to focus again quickly as Mr Gregson said - ‘Jan’s from Rotterdam – come over to help us turn the corner with our greenhouse tomatoes – you know we’ve been struggling with them – and the Dutch are experts in the field as t’were’. Jan’s been helping me out no end – haven’t you Jan’
But she didn’t hear him….
‘Allo’ smiled Jan – ‘very nice to meet you’….and as his grip on her hand grew firmer and she looked in to his beautiful beautiful eyes, now glimmering more than ever in the sunlight – it was at this moment she felt herself literally falling, falling to the ground as everything else but Jan blackened around her, her ecstasy, her longing stronger and stronger than anything she’d felt before - as then everything fell dark….
When she came round – she was propped up against a bag of wood-chip next to the main office, with Eileen who ran the small garden centre tea-shop gently mopping her face – She’d always thought Eileen a little common, perhaps it was the fact she smoked? Or sold flap-jacks? Whatever – she was glad at this moment of the attention, even though she could smell Capstan full strength and a hint of golden syrup on Eileen’s breath as she came to…
‘Roses are Red – Violets are Blue’ she whispered to herself…
‘What was that lass? Said Eileen ‘Why lass – I toooold ye, ye should eat more for ya dinnah than them bits o’ budgie seed and in this heat an aaall’ she said, although of course Sally didn’t understand her, she didn’t understand ANYTHING any more….What had just happened?
Then she remembered – and as she did so, the feeling crept up on her again – especially as now Mr Gregson and Jan – were standing just behind Eileen, both with concerned looks on their faces….
‘Jan is going to take you STRAIGHT home’ said Mr Gregson – the engines running on the delivery van right now – and it’ll be nice for you two to get to know each other anyway en route as t’were – even under THESE circumstances!’
‘Th-thank you Mr Gregson’ Sally stammered – and then – realising what he had just said, felt her strength strangely returning, as she managed to get to her feet…
‘I’m terribly sorry – I – I don’t know what it was’ she lied – maybe the heat?’ But even as she was offering up these excuses – she could think of one thing and one thing only – she was to be ALONE, alone with Jan….
In the van on the way home, they made small talk – he talking about the best way to combat early blight on Italian plum varieties, she bumbling something about the difficulty in obtaining Vaseline…but as they did so – her mind raced with the giddy excitement over the fact they were heading right for her door! She knew it wouldn’t be long….and she knew she would be his. Oh – she knew – KNEW it was school-girl fantasy, knew it wrong, she had only known him – what? An hour? Two? She couldn’t tell – time meant nothing anymore anyway – she knew all of these things of course, but for the first time ever – she knew it was right to feel this way – to HELL with Brian and his long term pension plans, his model cars, his braying City friends, the joyless drunken sex, and the ready meals eaten on the Playstation – whilst she sat gulping back the white in the kitchen, alone, deserted, like a Chardonnay mum, except WITHOUT the children – dreaming of a man who could give her so much - SO MUCH MORE - with every sip from the bottle – as she stared, blurry eyed and helpless, at the unused Aga - And now – NOW she had found him….the journey had ALL been worth it. This was her new life at last.
They pulled up to her small rented terrace and she plotted her move – giddy as a school-girl or not – she was trying to stay calm underneath – thinking wildly of the pay off that would ensue….
‘Nice mix of begonias’ he said – gesturing to her hanging basket as he pulled on the hand brake. She smiled weakly and asked him if he wouldn’t mind opening the passenger door. She was – she said ‘still quite weak’.
As his manly hands did so, and his trunk like arms helped her from the sweating car seat – she leant on him for support, more than was actually necessary - as he walked her to the front door and she fumbled for her Yale…all the time her heart racing with the excitement of it all….she hadn’t felt like this in years. Years….
‘Thank you Jan’ she said – as he finally sat her down in the armchair ‘can I get you a drink’ to say thank you for taking me home? ‘It’s the least I can do’…and she quickly wondered if she had anything stronger than Dandelion & Burdock in the house? Milk? The Dutch drank a lot of that didn’t they? She knew nothing anymore…..
‘No – no really it’s fine’ he said – ‘I really must get back to Bobby – er – Mr Gregson - but you really should get yourself to bed perhaps?’
The very word – and the fact HE had said it – and in that ACCENT! Sent another quiver of longing through her stricken body – she felt herself heave her bosom as she ventured – ‘yes – yes you’re right – do you think you could help me? It’s only at the top of the stairs’
With a passion she could barely control – she found him agreeing to her request – it was only a matter of minutes and they would be there….alone. Rapt in passion. Laughing at the world.
He stood at the end of her bed whilst she gingerly tried to remove her tabard, pulling awkwardly at the shoulder straps – ‘would you mind’? She asked meekly – Oh god – had she used fabric conditioner last time? She didn’t remember – she didn’t care….what they were planning meant the bed sheets could wait – wait forever!
He moved towards her and tried to untie the cotton ties with his huge hands. Like the spades in the garden centre she thought – and as he did so she KNEW she had to act – that THIS was the moment! – with a flash of her arm, she grabbed him as he towered over her – and pulled him closer to her – close enough now – that their eyes met within an inch, and she felt herself pulling his lips to hers as she cried ‘yes Jan – YESSSSS – you know it must be!’ as he rolled on top of her. The agony, the ecstasy was almost too much as they writhed together on the bed, she held him so tight to her lips – feeling his passion, and her tabard fall free – that it wasn’t until what seemed like an eternity that she realised his groans were not of ecstasy – but of a kind of fear….
‘No – NOOOOOOOO’ he shouted as he pulled her quaking body away from his ‘No – this is NOT meant to happen’
She fell back on the bed – slightly shocked, but still undaunted - and looked at him, with some pity in her voice, and smiling a coy smile, she said ‘Oh Jan – my darling Jan - don’t worry – I know it seems so soon, but I could see it in your eyes you wanted this as much as I’ – I’m sorry my darling – you may think it is not to be yet – but I promise – we can take it as quickly or as slowly as you like – I’m in no hurry! You KNOW I’m yours’.
He collected himself, and putting his hands to his head in shock said - ‘No – it is not meant to be – because I – I am Mr Gregson’s boyfriend! He met me in a, well a ‘specialist’ bar in Amsterdam – and bought me over to live with him, and to run the Garden Centre’…We are together now…..’I call him Daddy for Christ’s sake…Godverdomme vrouw’ And with that she heard him stomp down the stairs, slam the door behind him, and start the van.
An hour later – it could have been more – she did not know. Sally had finally stopped crying. Her salty tears had all but soddened the pillow – without knowing it she had appeared to have drunk over half a bottle of Riesling (where had she BOUGHT that? Not here surely?) – but she couldn’t remember how…..or why – or – she just didn’t WANT to remember anything anymore – and trying to block out all that had happened that afternoon - she then fell into a dark deep tear induced sleep.
She awoke, still in her work clothes to the sound of a song, what was that? Ah yes she recognised it as ’Baby Give It Up’, and for a second she’d imagined she’d come round in the seating area at ‘Zacchary’s’ – the wine bar she used to go to with her few Guildford work colleagues, to escape going home to Brian as their relationship had entered it’s death-throes. Perhaps it was the smell of warm white wine, or the fact she’d been crying – but no – there she was – on her bed, in the north, in a garden centre uniform, the sun streaming through her little Velux window – and of course what she could hear was Steve – whistling one of his favourite tunes as usual.
‘Oh God’ she thought as she staggered to her feet, kicking over the now finished bottle of wine…..’another nail in the coffin from Brian’….How was she going to face today? How? What indeed – had happened?
She steadied herself. Mopped back her bedraggled hair – and tying back her tabard strap – opened the front door with as much ‘face the day’ courage as she could muster….’Good morning Steve’ she tried as cheerily as she could ‘How are you?’
‘Well – aaaahm fine and dandy this mornen lass – and hoo aboot ye?’ ‘Aaaahm afraid its anutha parcel fo yer the day’ ..
She looked down at yet another package and sighed, waiting for him to pass her the pen, and the ritual, or rather ritual humiliation by post would start all over again. But strangely – this didn’t happen…She looked up at him, slightly flustered by this, as gestures, not words were all she understood with Steve – it threw her slightly – it was then – and only then – she realised – that as Steve took a long lingering look in to her face – that the ONE gesture that she hadn’t noticed in all of this time – was the look of pure unadulterated love that shone from his broad, beaming face….’my god’ she exclaimed – it WAS you all along! It was really YOU that I wanted, YOU that I needed? And as he moved towards her, and she at last succumbed to his warm embrace, she knew that those moments of trepidation on the doorstep, the small thoughts that she had about him and how he lived his life, the way she had suddenly noticed his physical appearance – this was of course the moment when her past met her future through the signing for a parcel, the small gestures of a postman – a POSTMAN she could barely understand! And at last – it all made sense to her.
‘Roses are Red – Violets are BLUE’! She cried…..
He dropped his shiny red bag of bills and circulars, ripped off his regulation blue PO shirt, untied the tabard strings she had only just re-knotted – and threw her into her only armchair – it made sense they were to make sweet mad love on the one thing she had managed to bring with her from her past - she gasped as he ripped at her tabard like a dolls dress, took of his cap, held her like she had never been held before – and – like a limp rag doll, let real, enduring, uncomplicated love pulsate through her yielding body…the love that only HE could give her.
‘Whay aye lass – aaahve been weeetin’ fa this mor-ment since I fest clapped eyes on ye’ – he said.
She didn’t understand him – but it didn’t matter – it didn’t matter at all….. she understood enough, she understood that THIS was now her future, she had known it all along really – and Guildford – well – Guildford was a LONG LONG way away……
Roses ARE red – Violets ARE blue – she sighed as he ravished her. And the smash of the contents of a brown paper package could be heard as it fell to the hard floor, along with the sound of a thousand bad memories and with it the promise of a brand new future – a future of love.
