Brian Aldiss - Remembrance Day

Their back garden was one of her refuges. After she had dealt with her mother, Ruby went out into the sunshine.

July was almost over and the raspberries were coming on so fast she could not resist, as she passed along the row of canes, reaching under the netting to pick a few fruits. In case the overripe ones, cushiony crimson under sheltering leaves, fell at a touch into the grass and spoiled, she kept her other hand cupped below the clusters. As the fruits eased away, they left little mottled white noses behind on their stems.

Savouring the sweet fruit, she unlatched the gate into the goat’s enclosure. She was bringing the animal the tribute of a stale slice of bread. Tess had a soothing effect on her jangled nerves. She loved the lines of the nanny, its bumps, its curves, its sharp angles. She stroked its white coat lovingly. The goat looked interestedly at her with its inhuman eyes. It knew Ruby meant well.

As she entered the back porch, the phone rang.

She thought immediately that Ray must have run into trouble. But it was their daughter Jennifer on the line.

Jennifer’s voice was always a delight to Ruby, so clear was it, so calm and untroubled, so – what was the word Jenny would have used? – together. Today there was a trace of excitement in that clear voice. Jenny was driving up to Norfolk for the weekend with a young man.

‘Oh, that’s lovely,’ Ruby said, looking hastily round the living-room and thinking how shabby it was. Bolivar had sharpened his claws on everything in sight. ‘What’s his name?’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll introduce him when we meet, Mum,’ said the clear voice, possibly with a trace of mockery. ‘He happens to be foreign.’

‘Coloured?’ Ruby asked, and could have kicked herself for letting the word slip out. So unsophisticated of her.

‘Not very coloured. He’s a Czech – from Prague, you know? We are going to stay on the coast, so we shan’t be a burden to you, but we’ll look in for tea on Sunday on our way, if that suits. How’s Father?’

‘Well, Jenny, he’s very upset just at present—’

‘I am sorry, give him my love. See you Sunday.’ And the clear voice was replaced by a dismal whirring tone. Ruby put the receiver down, frowning.

Czech? She’d have to give the cottage a bloody good clean before Sunday. Czech. Presumably he would speak a bit of English since, as far as she knew, Jennifer spoke no Czech. If only the window-cleaner would buck up and come. She’d have to get in another pint of milk. Chocolate biscuits, of course. Perhaps she should bake a cake.

Ruby started to go round in circles, slowly, lighting a ciggy as she did so.

Czech? What on earth did Czechs eat on Sunday afternoons? Ginger biscuits? Something savoury? Perhaps she could ask Bridget Bligh, whose sister had once been married to a Finn. She didn’t want to let her daughter down. It wasn’t as if they saw her all that often these days.

‘I shall get the palpitations,’ she told herself. She went out to the garden to finish her cigarette in the company of Tess and Bolivar.

Friday came. The hot anti-cyclonic weather continued. Ray Tebbutt was working as usual in the garden centre. At lunchtime, he sat under the poplars, resting in their shade and eating a pasty from Mrs Bligh’s shop which Ruby had provided for him.

Gregory Yarker came over, grinning under the brim of his hat, his deep-set eyes in shadow. He was wearing Wellington boots, jeans, and a tattered old multi-coloured pullover his wife had knitted. ‘His looks are against him,’ Tebbutt always loyally proclaimed.

Yarker plonked himself down on the bank beside Tebbutt, saying, ‘How’re you going on? You’ve got something on your mind, that I know. Your wife hasn’t left you, has she?’

‘Nothing like that,’ said Tebbutt, laughing at the idea.

‘’Cos if so, I’ve got a nice piece of crumpet lined up over in Swaffham.’

‘No, no. Thanks all the same.’

‘I shall have to see to her myself, no doubt of it. What’s up with you, then, Ray? It’s nothing catching, I hope.’

Ray took a swig from his can of Vimto. ‘It’s nothing catching, Greg. It’s just I’ve been a bloody fool. I lent someone some money and he isn’t inclined to give it back.’

‘Ah.’ A pause. ‘Perhaps we could creep up on him one dark night and sort of incline him.’

‘It’s an idea.’

‘Do I happen to know this fly gent?’

Letting a little more of the liquid run down his throat, Tebbutt decided to tell his boss everything. Yarker listened intently, sucking a long grass from the hedge behind him.

‘Pity you was carrying that credit card,’ he commented, when Tebbutt finished. ‘They’re a trick of the banks to get you in their power. If you’ve got money, carry it round in fivers. If you haven’t got money, go round with empty pockets. You’re a townee, that’s your problem.’

‘I love the way you blunt countrymen see everything in black and white. What if you’ve got too much money?’

‘Get married.’

‘Or buy a pig?’

‘I’d like to see this bugger Linwood’s eye in black and white. He got you over a barrel proper, didn’t he? Tell you what, go and confront him tomorrer, that’s Saturday, demand your rightful money back, and tell him if he don’t hand it over by Monday we’ll beat him up. That’s straightforward, isn’t it? He should understand that.’

He stretched himself out on the dry ground, hands clasped at the back of his head, satisfied with his own plan.

Tebbutt tried to explain his latest thoughts. ‘I’m afraid the poor sod may not have the three hundred to give back. That’s what I’m afraid of. Having worked with him, I know his problems. If I press him, it may only get him in trouble with his father. I was wondering if it wasn’t better to go and have a word with his bank manager. I know he banks—’

‘What? I must have been falling into a light doze here. I thought for a moment as you uttered the dreadful words “bank manager”. No, you’ve got to have it out with the bugger straight. No other party involved.’

‘I suppose you’re right.’

‘’Corse I am, boy, and don’t you never doubt it. Now, time’s up. I ent paying you to lie about drinking Coke. See if you can make an impression on this here soil, and I’ll give some thought to your problem.’

‘Thank you, Uncle Greg.’ He sat where he was for a moment, listening to the second-rate music issuing from Pauline’s radio before returning to his work.

On Saturday mornings in season, Ruby worked and Ray did not. He drove her into Fakenham to the cake shop, keeping the car to a crawl, to the annoyance of other drivers, so that they could talk over anew the problem of the debt. He had hoped for a cheque from Linwood in the morning’s post. It had not arrived.

‘You’ll have to go over to Hartisham and confront him,’ Ruby said. ‘It’s our money. We’ve got every right to get it back. But keep that goon Yarker out of this. You don’t want to be had up for GBH.’ She laughed.

‘Supposing he’s even now preparing to drive over to us and return the money. He did say he’d pay it back by the weekend. Then he’d be offended if I showed up there this morning. It would look as if we didn’t trust him.’

‘We don’t trust him.’

Agnes had been let in on their problem over breakfast since they could not keep it to themselves. Agnes had her own indignant opinion.

‘What you should do, Ray, is get on to your bank and cancel the payment. Don’t let it go through. Three hundred pounds is three hundred pounds, I mean to say. It was a year’s wages when I was a young girl.’

He frowned. ‘Forget about Victorian times. This is now.’

Agnes said no more, withdrawing hurt from the discussion.