Not Just Neighbours
August 14
Ive always thought theres something wonderful about English villagesa certain hush in the mornings and the gentle bustle in the afternoons. Our lane is lined with sycamores, lush and green in summer, and then sprinkled with golden leaves come autumn. For years, two familiesours and the Martinslived side-by-side here in Ashton-on-Trent, always getting along, helping with odd jobs and garden chores. Our children all grew up together, moved off to London for their lives. Weve gotten a bit older, just the four of us left, really.
But last autumn, tragedy struck. Early one grey morning, barely more than a blush in the eastern sky, Peter knocked frantically at our window. The sound startled Tom and me straight out of bedhe rushed for the door, I huddled a shawl around my shoulders, heart pounding.
Whats wrong? Tom called, squinting into the dimness.
Peter was slumped on our front steps, eyes red-rimmed. Its Emily My Emilyshes gone, he choked out, voice thick with misery. The air was freezing, that damp English cold that clings to your bones.
Tom forced himself to ask, What do you mean, Peter? Shall I ring for the ambulance?
Peter shook his head, voice hollow. No need. Shes gone my Emilys gone. And then he broke down completely.
We did what friends must dowe stayed; made tea, sat silently by his side, made sure he ate now and then. I gave him some of my herbal tablets to help him sleep at night. When his son and daughter-in-law finally arrived from London, they found Peter looked after. Even after Emilys funeral, Tom kept inviting Peter for supper, and in the evenings, Tom would play chess with him at our kitchen table.
Time passed, as it always does, indifferent to sorrow. Six months later, Peter was differenta bit steadier, managing his own cooking, even keeping his cottage tidy. His sons family visited every few weekends, but otherwise he was alone, as we all are in our way.
One balmy evening in August, Peter and Tom sat together on our patio. They sipped tea, moved chess pieces without hurry. Suddenly, Tom slumped sideways. Peter sprang up just in time, catching Tom before he hit the flagstones.
Tom, whats happened? Peter urged, shaking him gently, but Tom didnt respond. Id just rounded the corner with a big bowl of fresh cucumbers from my allotment when I saw them. The bowl clattered to the ground. I rushed to Tom but he was already cold. Later the doctor confirmed ita heart attack.
I couldnt quite believe it. Tom never once complained about his heart. Now it was me on the other sidechildren and grandchildren came for the funeral, but when they left the silence was new and sharp. Peter made sure I was never alone too longbrought round shopping, checked on the boiler, gave kindly advice. But the nights were long, sleep elusive, my mind too full.
Weeks rolled on. I grew used to the quiet, and Peter and I, both proud pensioners, got into the habit of looking out for one another. Hed been a history teacher at the secondary school; Id spent my years at the village library.
Then one crispy October morning, I watched from my window as Peter swept up every last leaf from his garden path. Hed come round each morning, broom in hand, and sweep my steps too. The wind would undo all his good work within minutes, but hed just give me a lopsided grin and keep at it.
Opening my window, I teased, Peter, you know youre fighting a losing battle with those leaves? Everyones given up except you.
He grinned back, If we all left things to take care of themselves, this village would be lost in chaos. Wont do, Vera, wont do!
But autumn leaves are beautifullook, they shimmer in the sunshine.
True, but underfoot? Slip on those and youll think differently, he answered, only half-mocking, and carried on sweeping.
One damp morning, he arrived as usual, but I didnt wave as I always did. He knocked, worried. I was bundled in a tartan blanket, shivering. Just a cold, I insisted, but Peter took control, sat me down, fetched my medicine, and thenignoring my protestsstrode off to the chemist in the drizzle. Returned with a bundle of tablets, and best of all, a plump roasting chicken. Soon my little house filled with the healing aroma of broth. When he placed a steaming bowl in front of me, I had to admit I felt better.
I never knew you could cook like this, I smiled between mouthfuls.
He winked, One must be prepared for anything in life. Then he grew mock stern. Youre not allowed to get poorly again, mindits no fun sweeping leaves without someone to nag me!
After a week, I was back to my old self and, for the first time in months, eager for air. Peter insisted we take a walk through the little park by the river. The leaves crunched beneath our boots; shafts of gold sunlight danced through the branches.
Do you know, Peter, I mused, I think I do rather love autumn after all.
Easy to love when you have someone to share it with, he replied, tucking my arm through his.
We left double trails in the leaves that day, talking about nothing and everything, laughter rising in the crisp air.
Some days later, Peter knocked, grinning, a small pot hidden behind his back. Vera, I need your expertise.
Oh? What now, Peter?
I was sorting through my books and realisedIve no idea how to care for a cactus. Thought you might have a guide.
A cactus? You havent a single pot plant, let alone a cactus, I pointed out, puzzled.
Not until today. Out came a tiny cactus in its pot. Saw it in town, thought of you.
I shook my head, smiling. All right, if it flowers, youll owe me an ice cream.
Well, thats a deal.
Soon winter set in, blanketing everything in white. Peter arrived on my doorstep, his hand once more behind his back, red in the face and a little flustered.
Vera, Ive been thinking. I come round every day anyway Maybe its time we stopped pretending. Will you marry me? Andout came a bouquet of the brightest red roses.
I coloured up, feeling suddenly young. Oh, Peter you took your time. Of course I will. Im used to you nowwhen you leave, the house feels empty.
We managed that cold winter together, and then came spring, full of promise. One morning, I called him overPeter, come see! Your cactus has flowered. That means you owe me that ice cream!
He laughed, Never thought itd happen. Eskimo or vanilla coneits your pick, Vera.
We wandered down Ashton High Street later, arms linked, debating the finer points of Cornish versus clotted cream. Peter gazed up, the English sun on his face, and grinned.
Whats making you so cheerful? I asked, grinning back.
I reckon weve become rather a good team, dont you?
Definitely, I agreed, almost to myself.
Were no longer just neighbours, or partners in autumns battles. Were two people who found each other amidst the falling leaves, winters snow, and the warmth of spring. Togetherness suits us wellloneliness, for now at least, doesnt stand a chance.
