THE SWEETEST SUMMER WINE Part 3

“I thought you might like me to give your windows a bit of a wipe,” he said with the barest hint of a nervous smile under the mask he was wearing, “if it’s not too cheeky of me,” he added, the hidden smile almost coming to life.

Helena looked at him thoughtfully. Then, “for a cup of tea?” she asked.

That turned the hidden smile on properly.

“Two mugs if you like,” she said, “but maybe not a drop from your little silver bottle for me. I couldn’t keep my eyes open yesterday afternoon when you’d gone.”

“I’ve not brought it today,” he said, “what with the price of whisky and the long trail to the shops.”

“That’s all right then,” she murmured, wondering if he might be suggesting she paid him for the cleaning with a little more than a couple of cups or even mugs of tea. “How much will I owe you?” she added inquisitively.

“Now there’s to be no talk of money!” He sounded as if he was chastising her, as if in his world there was something innately evil about hard cash.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” she said quietly, “but it seems to me you’re offering quite a lot of effort for very little reward.”

“It’s all right by me,” he replied. Was that surly? Was there a touch of ill temper behind his words?

“I’m sorry…” she whispered, the near silence of her words tinged with regret that a friendship should be put under such a strain before it was properly formed.

“It’s no matter,” he replied, and he pulled a sponge out of the bucket he had brought with him. It was steaming a little bit, so it wouldn’t be cold on his weathered hands. That was Helena’s thought, tinged with human sympathy and understanding. She didn’t like cold hands herself.

“You don’t need that mask, not with you being out there and me being in here,” she said.

“At our age we’ve got to be careful,” he said, I've had the three jabs, but I’m still careful.”

“I usually am too.”

“I mean, my Peggy passed away because she wasn’t so careful. There weren’t no need for masks back then, of course, but not with what she ate, she wasn’t, and her heart couldn’t stand all the grease she piled into herself, not wishing to criticise the poor lass, but I did tell her.”

“Don’t you worry about me,” she said, and then she toyed with his name, hoping she’d got it right, “Joshua, isn’t it?”

“That’s right. And I know you’re Helena. I asked the little lady in the shop.”

“Lucy in the corner shop? Just down the road? A stone’s throw away?” she asked, needing precision.

“That’s her. Nice little woman. And kind. She’s kind.”

Him saying she was kind could only mean she had a book and allowed tick. Helena knew that, though she never used that facility herself.

“She is,” she nodded. “I’ll put the kettle on if you like.”

“I’ve not so much as wiped a sill yet!” he protested, “let me at least start or I’ll get my belly so loaded with your lovely tea that I won’t be able to haul myself up the ladder!”

“It’s Earl Grey,” she said.

“What is?”

“The tea. It’s called Earl Grey. It gives it a different kind of flavour. I like it.”

“So you haven’t got a man in your life?” he ventured suddenly. It had been playing on his mind even though he knew she lived alone. But she might sometimes pop out to a gentleman’s parlour when he wasn’t looking, and sit and drink his tea with him. And maybe more than tea. Maybe she liked a drop of Spanish wine in a fancy glass.

He’d lived across the road from her for years but knew nothing about her.

“You wear shorts,” she murmured, pointing out the obvious.

“Rickets,” he said.

“Not you?” she asked, “when you were a boy?”

He shook his head. “When I were educated I was taught two things that added together to make sense,” he said, “and that is that our human skin likes to turn sunlight into vitamin D, and that a lack of vitamin D causes rickets, and rickets are bad. And I thought that long trousers cover a great deal of skin.”

“I suppose that’s true,” she murmured.

“So I leave as much of my skin to the sun as I can. And anyway, shorts are more comfortable than trousers.”

“Are they?”

“When I was a kid we all wore shorts,” he said.

"I remember the boys at school," she said

“And there came a time for breeching us. We were breeched in that our shorts went in the bin and we were given trousers to wear. Grey school trousers with buttons down the front. Buttons that came off soon as look at them! Then there were zips that broke, with gaps where they lost their bitty teeth. All horrible.”

He sloshed water all over the kitchen window and then, using a rubber blade, swished it off rather elegantly.

“You’ve done that before,” she said.

“That I have!” he said, “anyway, when I was getting to be a sensible age, meaning when I got to be what they call old, I remembered my old school shorts and went back to them. Not the same ones, of course, because they were in the bin long since. But I bought myself some, and that’s all I wear these days. Peggy never liked me in shorts, so I waited until she’d passed on before I wore then properly. You see, I considered her opinions and she might have considered me a bit when she piled all the fat on through endlessly frying chips in the chip pan! And she did, you know, even for breakfast when I wasn’t looking! Chips morning, noon and night, and the downside was I had to buy her new frocks and jeans all the time because she was constantly expanding and needed them!”

“Oh dear.” What else could I say, thought Helena. Just Oh dear…

“Anyway, I’ll shift this ladder round the corner and do topside. Is that your bedroom, that first room?”

“It might be !”

“Then I’ll be careful not to spy on it or it might give ideas an old man would be best not having!”

“Are you being the tiniest bit naughty, Joshua?”

“Probably. Sorry.”

“Good. Then I’ll try not to look up your shorts when you climb the ladder!” she dared to say. Brazenly, like a hussy, she thought, and liked herself for saying it.

“There’s not much up there to make a maiden blush,” he said with a grin and a twinkle in his eyes.

“I’ll bear that in mind,” she laughed, “and instead of peeping I’ll go inside if you don’t mind, and put the kettle on.”

“I’ve still barely started.”

“Remember what they said in the olden times, how it’s good to talk? I don’t get to talking much, except to Lucy. And my lass Rosie on the phone, though she’s not really a lass and more, with a big girl of her own to care for,”

“I remember her! When she played skipping on the road with other kiddies! I remember thinking it’s good that this is a cul de sac, or it might be dangerous, what with all the traffic around.”

“She’s forty now!”

“That’s the trouble with time, lass, it has a habit of collecting itself and zooming along when you’re not looking!”

“I’m putting the kettle on! It won’t be a moment and the tea’ll be done, and you can come and sit with me and tell me all about your life, leaving out the dirty bits!”

“That’s about it, then.”

“What is?”

He grinned hugely at her, and winked. “My life, leaving out the dirty bits!” he said, “and that’s one window cleaned!”

© Peter Rogerson 15.11.21