7. Pastoral Concerto
……..The statues are sleeping out in the square
Their eyes are closed but she doesn’t care
The shiny Rover cruised silently over the pockmarked surface of the A1, heading south for somewhere. Exactly where Bob did not know, all he had to go on was a town called Chesford together with an AA route map and the letter from Nat West Bank to his estranged wife. The engine purred as it gorged itself on the liquid feast of gold that petrol had now become. The weather seemed to be easing as the road unravelled before him, indeed it was now becoming a very pleasant December day. The radio station was playing Rossini, Bob joined in with his deep baritone voice: “Figaro, Figaro” He remembered how much his singing along with the radio irritated Lucy and she particularly hated opera always complaining, even about the light stuff like Carmen. She had a point. Bob would insist on always singing in the original language of the piece, and having no linguistics skills whatsoever produced a very loose interpretation of some lyrics.
“Maurice Vincento my cavaliero, bella, bella my lumbago malissomo figaro figaro Fig- ar-O” Bob had no idea who Maurice Vincento was or why he was driving a cavalier and suffering from lumbago, he just enjoyed the music and sang along.
On through barren fields of redeveloping and reconstructing industry, passed green wastelands, a rural patchwork of varying colours. The concrete pillars of the angry bridges seemed to close in on him, charging towards the green Rover as it sped relentlessly on. Occasionally the car was blown slightly off course by one of the never-ending chain of lorries that used this vertical artery of the country. Bob was tired, his eyes began to play ticks, and they knew how to fool his deadened brain. Elgar replaced Rossini on Classic FM. Bob wound down the window and turned it up he liked this:“Land of hope and glory, mother of the three”. ‘Land of hope and glory’ Bob argued with himself Land of bloody parasites more like, never got me anywhere, working hard, the only hope in this country was the hope that you would earn enough during you lifetime to enable you to pass something on to your kids. - Oh that hurt! His thoughts had tricked him into resurrecting the old fire. Bob pulled into the services to take a rest, and one of those all day breakfasts that really had been there all day.
Rest awhile, your weary load weighs so heavy on your soul
Dawn breaks, to colour horizons new
What is life worth without a view?
Lucy left Michael at the entrance to the shopping Mall, and as arranged, she went off to do some business of her own. She had the bank to sort out for instance – they had not sent the statements they had promised, she had a few bills to pay as well. Time permitting she might even call in at the hairdressers to make an appointment ‘I could do with a change of style’ thought Lucy…..Perhaps a tint as well. She was a little put out by Michael arranging a ‘shopper’ behind her back but understood his dire need for independence and privacy; with Christmas just around the corner she assumed he wanted to get some presents. She would get him one later; the thought of Christmas had not even entered her head yet.
Michael waited for the young volunteer to come along and take him first to the jewellers and then he wanted to visit his solicitors.
“Good morning” the amiable young man said as he greeted Michael
“Good morning – can you take me to Samson’s the jewellers please, and then depending on time I need you to take me to the solicitors. Their office is at the back of the Mall, you can drop me off then, and I will be okay from there. Lucy, my carer will pick me up, I reckon about an hour,” Michael said, trying hard to be friendly although he was never good with strangers
“That’s fine, they told me an hour, my name’s Darren, by the way”
“Darren” repeated Michael, well as they probably told you I am Michael Sands”
Formal introductions completed they went off to buy his Lucy a ring, Michael had taken to calling her ‘his’ Lucy for some time now; at least in his own mind.
The assistant brought out all the trays of rings and placed them where Michael could see them. Now Michael was not a pernickety shopper; he knew exactly what he wanted when he saw it, but after numerous selling techniques by the nice man in the blue suit who was getting rather annoyed, Michael eventually spotted the very thing, a large single stone on a gold base.
“That one there – how much?” making every effort to point but failing miserably In the end, Darren pointed and Michael nodded.
“That‘s a diamond engagement ring Sir, it is £500.00” the sales assistant said adopting a patronising voice as if Michael was not entitled to be engaged, after all no disabled person should be buying engagement rings should they?
“I didn’t think it was glass at that price, it’s my body that is disabled not my brain! – I’ll take it” Michael snapped.
Darren laughed at the humour of his charge and on instruction from Michael got the credit card out of his top pocket and handed it to the salesman. “Well that didn’t take too long.” Darren said to Michael, as he pushed the wheelchair out into the main thoroughfare of the Mall. “The salesman was getting a bit agitated, don’t you think?”
“I can’t stand jumped up shop assistants it’s not as though I’m one of those people who can’t make up their minds. They just need to show a little humility; a little patience and courtesy would not go amiss either. Good manners seem optional with shop assistants these days”
Darren took Michael to the offices situated at the rear, car park end of the Mall, taking him up the ramp to the office of Longton, Adams and Weaver his solicitors.
“I can manage from here, thank you; your hour is nearly up anyway,” Michael said to Darren “You’ve been most helpful.”
“If you’re sure then,” the young man replied, quite pleased to get away early.
“ Yes I’ll be fine, my carer will be here to pick me up in about fifteen minutes; thanks again for all your help”
Longton, Adams and Weaver were not the original solicitors that acted for Michael Sands after his accident but they were used to their client, and the office knew him well. The girl asked Michael to wait a few moments whilst she went to see if Mr Longton was free. Michael assumed everyone was always free to see him; if he put a lot of business in path of someone way he expected prompt reciprocal action in return. Sure enough, Mr Longton appeared soon after and greeted Michael with with a warm but business-like smile.
“Hello Michael to what do we owe this pleasure?”
“I wish to make a small adjustment to my will,” said Michael “wondered if you could pop up and sort it out for me”
“Oh good, I told you at the time the basic provisions you made were not adequate, not with the assets at your disposal” the efficient legal expert replied, perusing his diary “Now, I can spare you about half an hour on Tuesday that should be plenty of time. Have you got anything particular in mind?"
“Yes I’ve got all the outline changes on the computer at home; I could just e-mail them to you and then sign it off when you come over.” In fact, most of Michael’s business was conducted by email and phone these days. John Longton had only met with him face to face on one other occasion
“Yes, thank you that will save time, See you about 2 o’ clock on Tuesday then?”
“Thank you John, I’ll e-mail you the stuff over later on today, give you time to look through the changes”
Mr Longtons’ secretary pushed Michael out of the office and back down the ramp, the timing was nigh on perfect, Lucy was just arriving as Michael was pushed into the Malls’ main thoroughfare.
“Thanks” said Lucy to the young office girl, who incidentally like all young office girls was called Sandra. There must be a reason for this in the grand scheme of things, but for the moment, enlightenment escapes me
“It’s okay we all know Michael very well, he’s our favourite invalid aren’t you Michael?” Sandra said.
“I’ m probably your only invalid” responded Michael in sarcastic tone, but smiled at the girl adding “Thank you Sandra” and then he turned and looked straight at Lucy. “And how’s your morning been?”
“Fine I’ve done all my jobs and booked myself in at the hairdressers and I’ve bought you back a couple of fresh creams, know you’re partial “ she said holding up a bag with the word ‘Greens’ written on the front. Michael knew the bag well; it was one of his few vices, along with gambling, sex and alcohol (he had stopped smoking two years ago and very rarely farted in public!)
“Oh cheers,” he said, “You look after me wonderfully well – I do love you so”
“I know” Lucy replied, she had known for some time in fact, but did not know yet how to handle it, after all she was still married!
Rest awhile, your weary heart weighs so heavy in its cage
Of broken dreams and lonely heart,
What’s life worth life without you?
The girl in the florist was chatting to her friend Sharon (yet another mystery of the universe why shop assistants have friends called Sharon) She did not see that Mark was waiting by the bouquets.
“If you could possibly spare the time I would like to give you some of my money” Mark scorned. Now he was not one to use sarcasm under normal circumstances but morose, inefficient and downright ignorant shop assistants really hit a raw nerve with him. Incidentally, his other pet hates, were the customer service representatives who spend ages telling you what you do not want to know, never telling you what you do, and the electronic switchboards that frequently seemed to replace them. (Press ‘1’ for sales, ’2’ for service, ‘3’’ to listen to a tinny version of ‘Greensleeves’ 14 times ‘4’ to speak to an operator who’s very nice but no help at all and ‘5’to be plunged into a telephonic abyss.) But I digress - The girl in the florist, eventually managed to tear herself away from the phone without the need of an operation and wearing her customer smile she approached Mark and inquired as to the nature of his business.
“I would like a bouquet about £25-00 please, sent this card to the address on the back” he handed the surly assistant a small white card he had ‘borrowed’ from his office. The girl took looked at the card and read it: -’To my sweet Sarah-Jane- All my love Mark’ She turned it over to read the address.
“That’s fine Sir, delivery tomorrow be alright?”
“Tomorrow will be fine” Mark handed over the cash waited for he girl to master the mechanics of operating the cash register, he obtained a receipt, and walked out.
His mood, although not helped by the ‘Shop-Assistant–of-the-Year’ was in reality, brought on by his impending appointments this afternoon. The dentist was never his favourite port of call and Mark could think of better ways of spending his afternoon off and the best part of £30 quid, than having his molars prodded and drilled. Following that, he had promised to waste the rest of the day giving a statement to the boys in blue following their visit to the factory. Not a prospect he relished but nevertheless he would go, he had nothing to hide, (except Sarah’s age and that was no big deal) and certainly did not want them returning to his work, or Spencer House for that matter, Mrs Carver Smith would have a field day! Mark was not anti-police but like most young people lacked sympathy for their ‘laissez-faire’ attitude to crime
Our wonderful Bobbies on the beat now have cars instead of feet
“Evening all” with a friendly nod. Whatever happened to PC Plod?
Don’t drive too fast, speed kill (And fines help pay policemen’s’ bills)
And don’t expect them to get their man. Why bother when you can take the can!
“I didn’t do it, I wasn’t there” Now sir, don’t tell the truth, that’s not fair.
You must be guilty we’re never wrong - just sign this statement, it won’t take long.
The Rover roved on towards its’ goal and by eight o’clock Nottingham was on the horizon. Not bad thought Bob considering I had a break, another hour or so I should be there - wherever there is. – Then what will you do? – Something will turn up – Bob the eternal optimist. He was actually talking to the driving mirror, he could not see the lips moving but he knew that there was someone there.
The motorway was unduly busy at that time of the morning. Bob had meticulously planned to follow the A1, M1 and then cut across the country using the A42 exiting at the wonderfully named Ashby-De-La-Zouch. It reminded him of Zorro movies when he was a kid. He had never been there but the very name inspired him when he saw it on maps and road signs ’De-La-Zouch’ ole he thought. He drove admiringly through the green forests of Nottinghamshire. Tall-silhouetted trees stood out like green monuments staring sullenly at the snake of silver traffic disturbing the pastoral scene.
Under the cement columns of roads to other places, he did not want to go to, and over the criss-cross concrete junctions to the silent highway, which would take him through Leicestershire and into deepest Warwickshire. Massive steel pylons rose above the brown and green of the winter fields looking for all the world like rows of giant scarecrows with multiple arms stretched out in defiance. Their eyes stared with frightening regularity as the rover manoeuvred itself under the long steel ropes that joined them all together.
Bob pulled in at the service station at the bottom of the town. “Fill her up Please,” he said to the man in the green overalls cleaning the pumps.
“Its self-service Sir” he replied curtly
“Oh sorry, my mistake” Bob naturally assumed that a man wearing the uniform of the oil company standing next to the petrol pumps was there to fill up the cars – it was perfectly normal back home to find assistants who did just that.
“How far to Chesford” Bob asked the man who was not there to fill his car up
“About 25 miles I think” the chap replied.
Now Bob already knew that, after all, he had a map, but he was one of those people that always needed confirmation, and apart from that, he was trying to be friendly to cover his embarrassment. The chap obviously felt insulted that Bob thought his job was to fill up cars when in fact, he was there to clean up the forecourt.
Ashby was a nice little market town. Bob had decided to stop there for no other reason than the name. He needed to feed both the rover and himself ‘Ashby-De-La-Zouch’ was on the road sign so why not thought Bob. He parked the car and walked up the main street, a wide thoroughfare of pseudo-historic interest. He cast admiring glances at the façade of rural England that greeted him. Some of buildings had plaques on them referring to the Civil War ‘Oliver Cromwell slept here’ said one. ‘Hope they changed the bed-sheets’ said Bob to himself, quite amused at his wit (which was as well because nobody else was) many other buildings also carried signs directing would be tourists to interesting areas of the town.
All Bob wanted was a café and eventually found what he was looking for, not that the large yellow neon sign was what he was looking for, but at least it signified somewhere that was open this early in the day. He went in and sat down only to discover that ‘fast food’ did not refer to the service but the speed with which it is regurgitated after consumption. For those of you fortunate enough never to have partaken of a ‘Big Breakfast’, for everyone favourite fast food restaurant, may I say at this point well done and keep it that way. You other poor souls will only be too aware of the meagre content of the said meal in which Bob indulged. The plastic matting masquerading as an egg together with synthetic cardboard, which roughly translated means sausage, and fried potato in batter, which for reasons best left to the marketing men is called a hash-brown. To complete the repast there was a muffin, which in all honesty was probably the only edible part of it. The coffee was very welcome though.
Whispered on the wings of love: secret words are spoken
Deep within a tortured soul, a confidence is broken……..
Mark was not at the Police Station for very long He answered the questions of the nice constable who wrote down the answers in a coherent statement for Mark to sign. Job done! ‘Well that wasn’t too bad after all ‘Thought Mark. As it was still only 3-30pm he decided to walk home past Sarah’s house, he knew she would still be at college but hoped to catch sight of her mum. He was in luck; Mrs Sullivan was cleaning the front bay windows, and greeted Mark as soon as he approached
“Hello there, young Mark”
“Hello Mrs Sullivan” Mark spluttered through his still faintly numbed lips “I’m sorry I can’t speak properly yet – I’ve just been to the dentist,” he said enunciating every word and sounding like a reject from RADA “I’m a little worried about Sarah-Jane can you spare me a couple of minutes?”
“Yes of course, come in and have a cup of tea,” Edna offered.
“No thanks, better stay here Sarah might come home early. I don’t want to appear disloyal, going behind her back and all that”
“Yes I suppose you’re right – she’s been a bit edgy lately, I thought it was just her exams coming up; that and teenage stuff. She doesn't seem to eat as much either, do you think she’s suffering from that anolexia?” (Mrs Sullivan could never get her head around medical terms; her recent visit to Dr Patrick was to seek reassurance following complications regarding her misdirectomy)
“No! She’s alright on that score” Mark smiled as he answered Edna “What about sleep have you noticed anything there?” he continued.
“Well some days she doesn’t sleep as much, as she used to, but then on other days I can’t shift her, she’s dead to the world”
“I know” said Mark “I’m concerned she may be coming down with something.” He didn’t want to mention his real suspicions for fear of upsetting Edna unduly; anyway his evidence was only superficial. If Sarah was on hard drugs, he knew that he would need professional help to get her of them and back into the real world.
“Look I’ve got to shoot off now, I’ve got some things to sort out before I get home, try not to worry too much about Sarah-Jane, I think she’s just a bit down at the moment, I’ve sent her a bouquet to cheer her up. Goodbye for now and don’t worry Mrs S., she was fine when we went on holiday “Mark lied unconvincingly as he waved goodbye.
…………………………
After his banquet, Bob took a slow walk back through the town. The Rover was fine on long journeys but like Bob, she needed rest and recuperation periodically. He bought a local newspaper and a chocolate bar in one of the shops; he was peckish as it was all of five minutes since the ‘big breakfast’ He sat in the car park munching the sweet and perusing the local media for clues. He had no idea what he was looking for and eventually gave up. ‘This is silly Bob; you know it is – What in hell’s name are you doing here? – I need to find Lucy, to see her, to talk to her. – Why? What are you going to say to her – You don’t even know where she is, -do you?’ Bob was in danger of losing the argument with himself so he gave up, started the engine and put the put the radio on. He moved off in the general direction of Chesford joining in half -heartedly with Handel’s ‘Messiah’ but eventually even tiring of that he re-tuned the radio to a local station ’Might pick up some thing useful’ he commented to the dashboard, which winked at him cheekily as he turned right.
By mid morning, the day was bright, the sun was out, not hot, but that cool wintry sun that often happens in England in December. The Rover gently purred through the tree-lined avenues approaching the main roundabout, which linked the Chesford Ring Road with the outside world. Now the Chesford Ring Road was not the best-designed road in the world. The road signs and lane markings were in dire need of repainting, (such signs as there were). People have been know to die trying to find a way out of Chesford Ring Road and others visiting their loved ones in hospital have found them to be discharged by the time they found a route through to the place.
The problem was with the design concept of the road. Built in the 70’s and hailed as the first environmentally friendly ring road in the country, it bypassed the City Centre and was supposed to alleviate traffic problems. The chief planner at the time a Mr Leif Erikksonn was a ‘green’ champion, unfortunately this meant he had never driven a motor vehicle in his life; consequently, all roads built during his tenure had pedestrians and cyclists in mind and not the motorist. It was successful as a green route, for the first five years after its construction, it carried very little traffic, motorists preferring to use the old back streets and avoid the ‘Ring Road from Hell’ altogether. The Council, fearing their money wasted, promptly put up ‘No Entry’ signs everywhere, forcing all the traffic onto the Ring Road and thus producing the mess that faced Bob now.
He was lost. Well strictly speaking as he had no idea where he was going in the first place he could hardly be called be lost, but he had planned to start in the City Centre only he could not find the non-existent sign. It was on his third circuit that Bob decided he would park up in one of the municipal car parks and walk. He pulled into the space alongside an orange meter which he fed with a couple of pound coins and followed the arrows to the shopping area and square. The main City centre of Chesford was pedestrianised, i.e. traffic-free. That is to say traffic free except for buses, taxis, delivery vans, disabled vehicles, bicycles, lorries, motor bikes and the odd cars that found its way passed the ring road and could not find its way out again. Bob was amazed. In Newcastle ‘traffic-free shopping’ meant traffic-free shopping, obviously in the Midlands it means something else, he said to himself as he choked on the black diesel fumes of the twenty-six buses lined up in the square. He went into a newsagent to enquire about a place to stay.
“Yes my love, there are quite a few guest houses and B & Bs' down by the station” the woman behind the counter said in response to Bob’s question
“Is it far?” Bob asked
“About 10 to 15 minutes walk. Do you know Chesford at all” she said.
“No I don’t, I’m not from here” said Bob secretly quite pleased that he wasn’t
“Oh” said the woman it’s a little tricky to find, you’d probably be better off jumping on a bus, take you right there””
“Great” Bob answered “Where’s the bus station then please?”
“Oh no – you can’t get a bus in the bus station. You can catch one in the square, in the High street, round the corner in Timothy Street but not the bus station. No buses go in there, and by the way you must have the exact fare”
“Fine!” Bob sighed, “How much is that?”
“Oh I don’t know” the very helpful woman replied, “You will have ask the driver
“Thank you” Bob replied “thank you very much for your help” He was beginning to realise what he had let himself in for coming so far south of civilisation. This small insignificant little dot on his atlas of Great Britain was already beginning to get on his nerves. A death defying Ring Road, a pedestrian area with traffic and a bus station with no buses that require you to tender the exact fare, which you don’t know. He wondered what other delights this place had to offer.