Amy has unwittingly snapped me
out of my gloomy self-absorption, so later that morning I phone Joe to arrange
meeting for a drink later, and then take advantage of a break in the weather to
go for a walk. I head for the park but
don’t expect anyone to be there because of the rain, and indeed, it is
deserted. I decide to walk on along the canal instead. Against the steady hum of London city life, birds chirp brightly
amongst dripping branches, and the occasional canal barge squeaks against its
moorings. The sun peeps briefly from
behind a grey tumble of clouds and lights up the trees in a shower of
glistening raindrops. I stop and gaze at
this display and am for a moment actually glad to be alive.
“Hello.”
Startled, I turn around. Elsbeth is standing behind me, smiling.
“Am I interrupting?” she
continues.
I return her smile, conscious
of reddening cheeks. “Just admiring the
sights,” I mumble.
She looks up at the sparkling
trees. “Yes, gorgeous,” then turns to
me. “I was wondering about you – haven’t seen you in a little while. I thought perhaps I’d scared you off.”
I gaze with amazement at this
precocious little woman in front of me, and then gather myself. “I wasn’t feeling well.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear
that. But you are feeling better now?”
“Yes. Just taking advantage of a break in the
weather.”
“Me too. Fancy a stroll?”
“That would be nice.”
So we do, heading further up
the canal, towards Rosemary
Gardens, where we stroll
for twenty minutes along dappled, tree-lined paths, before finally turning
around and ending up back at the playground.
“I need to go back to work,”
she says. “It’s just up there. Cancer
Research.”
“The charity shop?”
“Yes. I help out there as a volunteer. Nothing much, just sorting out donations,
arranging displays and so on, but I like it.”
“Sounds fun,” I say, not
really meaning it.
She turns her head sharply,
and with flashing eyes replies, “It is for a good cause. My husband, Tom, died
of cancer.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t
mean to be flippant.”
“It’s fine,” she replies. “It’s not everyone’s passion, and it has been
ten years since he passed on.” After a
pause, she adds “Well, it’s been nice chatting to you.”
“I’ll walk with you.”
She peers at me intently. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to.” And seeing her searching expression, I add,
“Really.”
“Well okay then. It’s this way.”
We head up St Peter’s Street,
just a few blocks from the Packington Estate where I live, and arrive at a
little shop nestled between Boot’s Pharmacy and Fred’s Chippery. The window is
filled with a motley array of unwanted items hoping for a new lease of
life. I wonder if these places make any
money at all. Certainly nothing in the
window sparked any interest in me.
Everything looks faded and tired.
“Want to come inside?” she
asks.
I don’t particularly, but I
say yes, and we enter. A little bell above
our heads rings as the door opens and an elderly chap behind the till notes our
arrival. He looks as dusty and worn as
the items in the shop.
“Hello Elsbeth. Nice walk?”
“Yes, James, thank you,” she
replies, then points to me. “This is
Aaron. He’s just having a little look.”
“Oh, well, please do,” he
replies brightly. “We welcome anyone interested in volunteering.”
I begin to splutter before
Elsbeth jumps in with “Oh, no! I’m just showing Aaron where I work.”
She pauses and looks towards
me, waiting for confirmation, but then in a rare moment of heart over mind, I
hear myself saying, “Well, I could help out today if you like. I don’t have anything pressing on.”
And that was that. I was put to work out the back, sorting
donations into large heaps. It was
absolutely chaotic, but since I was alone there, I decided to implement a
production line, the first decision point being whether to keep the item or
pass it on, the next being the type of item, and then finally whether the item
needed repair or washing. After an hour
of work the chaos had been replaced with an orderly row of heaps.
The door opens and Elsbeth
walks in.
“Grief! What have you been up to?”
I can’t work out whether she
is pleased or not, so I begin to explain, but she only laughs at my expression.
“It looks marvellous, Aaron! I think
we’ll have to promote you to chief sorter-outer. You wouldn’t have line management
responsibilities, but you would be allowed an extra biscuit with your tea. How does that sound?”
I’m not sure if I really want
to commit to an unexpected career in unwanted items, and Elsbeth senses my
hesitation. “It would just be two days a week.
We usually don’t get that many donations.”
I make my second heart
decision of the day, and reply, “Only if I get embossed business cards.”
“I’m sure we can sort
something out, if you don’t mind them being in someone else’s name.”
We laugh together, and I want
to reach forward and touch her, but have used up my courage for the day.
