The Curious Charms Of Arthur Pepper

Men in Caves was a community group for single men. Arthur had been twice to find a group of men with gloomy expressions handling chunks of wood and tools. The man who ran it, Bobby, was shaped like a skittle with a tiny head and large body. ‘Men need caves,’ he trilled. ‘They need somewhere to retreat to and be at one with themselves.’

Arthur’s neighbour with the dreadlocks had been there. Terry. He was busy filing a piece of wood. ‘I like your car,’ Arthur said to be polite.

‘It’s actually a tortoise.’

‘Oh.’

‘I saw one last week when I was mowing my lawn.’

‘A wild one?’

‘It belongs to the red-haired kids who wear nothing on their feet. It escaped.’

Arthur didn’t know what to say. He had enough trouble with cats on his rockery without a tortoise being on the loose too. Returning to his own work, he made a wooden plaque with the number of his house on it—37. The 3 was much bigger than the 7 but he hung it on his back door anyway.

It would have been easy to say yes, he was at Men in Caves, even though it had been too early in the morning. But Bernadette was standing and smiling at him. The pie smelled delicious. He didn’t want to lie to her, especially after hearing Mr Mehra’s regret over telling lies about Miriam. He would do the same and try not to lie again. ‘I hid from you yesterday,’ he said.

‘You hid?’

‘I didn’t want to see anyone. I’d set myself the task to clear out Miriam’s wardrobe and so when you rang the doorbell, I stood very still in the hallway and pretended not to be at home.’ The words tumbled off his tongue and it felt surprisingly good to be this honest. ‘Yesterday was the first anniversary of her death.’

‘That’s very truthful of you, Arthur. I appreciate your honesty. I can see how that would be upsetting. When Carl died … well, it was a hard thing to let him go. I gave his tools to Men in Caves.’

Arthur felt his heart dip. He hoped that she wouldn’t tell him about her husband. He didn’t want to trade stories of death. There seemed to be a strange one-upmanship amongst people who had lost spouses. Only last week in the post office he had witnessed what he would describe as boasting amongst a group of four pensioners.

—‘My wife suffered for ten years before she eventually passed away.’

—‘Really? Well, my Cedric was flattened by a lorry. The paramedics said they’d never seen anything like it. Like a pancake, one said.’

—Then a man’s voice, breaking. ‘It was the drugs, I reckon. Twenty-three tablets a day they gave her. She almost rattled.’

—‘When they cut him open there was nothing left inside. The cancer had eaten him all up.’

They talked about their loved ones as if they were objects. Miriam would always be a real person to him. He wouldn’t trade her memory like that.

‘She likes lost causes,’ Vera, the post office mistress, said to him as he took a pack of small brown manila envelopes to the counter. She always wore a pencil tucked into her round tortoiseshell glasses and made it her business to know everything and everyone in the village. Her mother had owned the post office before her and had been exactly the same.

‘Who does?’

‘Bernadette Patterson. We’ve noticed that she brings you pies.’

‘Who has noticed?’ Arthur said, feeling angry. ‘Is there a club whose role it is to pry into my life?’

‘No, just my customers having a friendly information exchange. That’s what Bernadette does. She’s kind to the hopeless, helpless and useless.’

Arthur paid for his envelopes and marched out.

He stood and switched on the kettle. ‘I’m giving Miriam’s things to Cat Saviours. They sell clothes, ornaments and things to raise money to help mistreated cats.’

‘That’s a nice idea, though I prefer small dogs myself. They’re much more appreciative.’

‘I think Miriam wanted to help cats.’

‘Then that’s what you must do. Shall I pop this pie in the oven for you? We can have lunch together. Unless you have other plans …’

He was about to murmur something about being busy but then remembered Mr Mehra’s story again. He had no plans. ‘No, nothing in the diary,’ he said.

Twenty minutes later as he dug his knife into the pie, he thought about the bracelet again. Bernadette could give him a woman’s perspective. He wanted someone to tell him that it was of no significance and that, although it looked expensive, you could buy good reproductions cheaply these days. But he knew the emerald in the elephant was real. And she might gossip about it to Post Office Vera and to her lost causes.

‘You should get out more,’ she said. ‘You only went to Men in Caves once.’

‘I went twice. I do get out.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Like to where?’

‘Is this Mastermind? I don’t remember applying.’

‘I’m just trying to take care of you.’

She saw him as a lost cause, just as Vera had implied.

He didn’t want to feel like this, be treated like this. An urge swelled in his chest. He needed to say something so she wouldn’t think him helpless, hopeless and useless, like Mrs Monton who hadn’t left her house in five years and who smoked twenty Woodbines a day, or Mr Flowers who thought there was a unicorn living in his greenhouse. Arthur had some pride left. He used to have meaning as a father and a husband. He used to have thoughts and dreams and plans.

Thinking of the forwarding address Miriam had left on her letter to Mr Mehra, he cleared his throat. ‘Well, if you must know,’ he said hurriedly, ‘I’ve been thinking about going to Graystock Manor in Bath.’

‘Oh yes,’ Bernadette mused. ‘That’s where the tigers roam free.’

Bernadette was a one-woman almanac of the UK. She and Carl had toured everywhere together in their luxury campervan. The back of Arthur’s neck bristled as he prepared to hear where he should and shouldn’t go, what he should and shouldn’t do, at Graystock.

As she busied herself in his kitchen, straightening his scales and checking that his knives were clean enough, Bernadette recited what she knew.

No, Arthur didn’t know that five years ago Lord Graystock had been mauled by a tiger, which sank its teeth and claws into his calf, and now he walked with a limp. He also didn’t know that, as a younger man, Graystock kept a harem of women of all nationalities, like a hedonistic Noah’s ark, or that he was renowned for hosting wild orgies at his manor in the sixties. He also didn’t know that the lord only wore the colour electric blue, even his underwear, because he had once been told in a dream that it was lucky. (Arthur wondered if he had been wearing electric blue during the tiger attack.)

He also now knew that Lord Graystock tried to sell his manor to Richard Branson; however the two men had fallen out and refused to speak to each other ever again. The lord was now a recluse and only opened up Graystock Manor on Fridays and Saturdays and the public were no longer allowed to look at the tigers.

After Bernadette’s tales, Arthur now felt well informed about Lord Graystock’s life and times.

‘It’s just the gift shop and gardens that are open now. And they’re a bit tatty.’ Bernadette finished cleaning Arthur’s mixer taps with a flourish. ‘Why are you going there?’

Arthur looked at his watch. He wished he hadn’t said anything now. She had taken twenty-five minutes to regale him. His left leg had grown stiff. ‘I thought it would be a nice change,’ he said.

‘Well, actually, Nathan and I are going to be down in Worcester and Cheltenham next week. We’re looking at universities. Tag along if you like. You could head off to Graystock on the train from there.’

Arthur’s stomach felt fizzy. Going to Graystock had only been a mild consideration for him. He hadn’t actually planned to go there. He only went on outings with Miriam. What was the point of going alone? He had only mentioned going to Graystock to show Bernadette that he wasn’t useless. Now apprehension nagged him. He wished he could turn back the clock and not have pushed his hand into the boot and discovered the bracelet. Then he would never have phoned the number on the elephant. He wouldn’t be sitting here discussing Graystock Manor with Bernadette. ‘I’m not sure about it,’ he said. ‘Another time perhaps …’

‘You should go. Try to move on with your life. Small steps. An outing might do you good.’

Arthur was surprised to feel a tiny kernel of excitement taking root in his stomach. He had found out something about his wife’s past life and his inquisitive nature was compelling him to find out more. The only feelings he experienced these days were sadness, disappointment and melancholy, so this felt new. ‘I like the idea of tigers walking around an English garden,’ he said.

And he did like tigers. They were strong majestic colourful beasts, prowling around with the key purposes in life of hunting, eating and mating. Humans were so different with their lives of meekness and worry.

‘Really? I’d have you down more as a small dog person, you know a terrier or something. Or you look like the kind of person who would like hamsters. Anyway, why don’t you come with us in the car? Nathan is driving.’

‘Are you not taking the campervan?’

‘I’m selling it. It’s too big for me to handle and I’ve been paying for storage since Carl died. Nathan’s got a Fiesta. It’s a rust bucket but reliable.’

‘Shouldn’t you ask him first? He might have other plans …’ Arthur instinctively found himself trying to get out of the trip. He should have kept his mouth shut. He couldn’t carry out his daily chores if he went away. His timings would be up the shoot. Who would care for Frederica the fern and stop the cats crapping in his garden? If he went down south then he might have to stay overnight. He had never packed his own suitcase before. Miriam did that kind of thing for him … His brain ticked away trying to find excuses. He didn’t want to pry on his wife but he did want to discover more about her life before they met.

‘No, no. Nathan doesn’t really do thinking. I do it all for him. It will do him good to have some self-responsibility. He won’t have remembered that he has to look at universities. I know he won’t need to apply for a few months but I want to start early. I will be so lonely when he goes. It will be strange being on my own again. I dread to think how he’ll cope away from me. I’ll visit him in his student digs and find his skeleton because he’s forgotten to eat …’

Arthur had been about to say that, now he thought about it, he might go later in the year. He already knew that he didn’t want to go on a trip with Bernadette and her son. He had met Nathan briefly once before when he and Miriam had bumped into Bernadette at a coffee morning. He seemed like a monosyllabic kind of young man. Arthur really didn’t want to leave the security of his house, the smothering comfort of his routine.

But then Bernadette said, ‘When Nathan leaves, I will be all on my own. A lonely widow. Still, at least I have you and my other friends, Arthur. You’re like family to me.’

Guilt twisted his gut. She sounded lonely. It was a word he would never have used to describe her. Every cautious nerve in his body told him not to go to Graystock. But he wondered what connection Miriam had there. It seemed a highly unlikely address for her. But then so was India. Lord Graystock sounded an intriguing character and his family had owned the manor for years, so there was a possibility that he might know or remember Miriam. He might know the stories behind more of the charms. Could Arthur really expect to be able to forget all about the charm bracelet, to put it back in its box and not discover more about his wife as a young woman?

‘Do you mind if I’m honest with you?’ Bernadette said. She sat down beside him and wrung a tea towel in her hands.

‘Er, no …’

‘It’s been difficult for Nathan since Carl died. He doesn’t say much but I can tell. It would be good for him to have a little male company. He has his friends but, well, it’s not the same. If you could give him a bit of advice or guidance while we’re travelling … I think that would do him good.’

It took all his might for Arthur not to shake his head. He thought about Nathan with his runner-bean body and black hair that hung over one eye like a mortuary curtain. When they met, the boy had hardly spoken over his coffee and cake. Now Bernadette was expecting Arthur to have a man-to-man talk with him. ‘Oh, he won’t listen to me,’ he said lightly. ‘We’ve only met the once.’

‘I think he would. All he hears is me telling him what and what not to do. I think it would do him the world of good.’

Arthur took a good look at Bernadette. He usually averted his eyes, but this time he took in her scarlet hair: her dark grey roots were springing through. The corners of her mouth drooped downwards. She really wanted him to say yes.

He could take Miriam’s things to the charity shop. He could put the bracelet back in his wardrobe and forget about it. That would be the easy option. But there were two things stopping him. One, was the mystery of it. Like one of the Sunday afternoon detective stories that he and Miriam watched, finding the stories behind the charms on the bracelet would nag at his brain. He could find out more about his wife and feel close to her. And the second was Bernadette. In the many times she had called around with her pies and kind words, she had never once asked for anything in return—not money, not a favour, not to listen to her talk about Carl. But now she was asking him for something.

He knew that she would never insist, but he could tell by the way she sat before him, turning her wedding ring around and around on her finger, that this was important to her. She wanted Arthur to accompany her and Nathan on their trip. She needed him.

He rocked a little in his chair, telling himself that he had to do this. He had to silence the nagging voices in his head telling him not to go. ‘I think a trip to Graystock would do me good,’ he said before he could change his mind. ‘And I think me and Nathan will get along just swell. Count me in.’

On the Way

Nathan Patterson existed in that he had a body and a head and arms and legs. But Arthur wasn’t sure if there were any thoughts inside him making his body operate. He walked like he was on an airport conveyer belt, looking as if he was gliding. He was reed thin and dressed in tight black jeans that hung off his hips, a black T-shirt with a skull on it and bright white training shoes. His fringe obscured most of his face.

‘Hello, Nathan. It’s very nice to meet you again,’ Arthur said brightly and offered his hand as they stood together on the pavement outside Bernadette’s house. ‘We met at a coffee morning once, do you remember?’

Nathan looked at him as if he was an alien. His hands hung by his sides. ‘Nah.’

‘Oh well, it was only briefly. I understand that you’re looking at universities. You must be a very smart young man.’

Nathan turned his head and looked away. He opened the car door and got into the driver’s seat without speaking. Arthur stared after him. This could be a long journey. ‘I’ll sit in the back, shall I?’ he said, to no response as he got in the car. ‘Give you and your mum a chance to talk in the front.’

Arthur had wheeled his suitcase over to Bernadette’s house after lunch. He had given Frederica extra water and felt quite guilty leaving her behind. ‘It will just be for a couple of days,’ he muttered as he gave her leaves a wipe with a damp cloth. ‘You’ll be fine. Me and you, we can’t just sit around any longer. Well, you can. But I have to go. I’m going to find things about Miriam that I didn’t know. I think you would want this for me.’ He examined Frederica for a sign, a shake of her leaves or a bubble of water in her soil, but there was nothing.

He packed a spare shirt and underwear, his toiletries, cotton pyjamas, an emergency carrier bag and a sachet of hot chocolate. Bernadette had booked him a single room at the Cheltenham bed and breakfast they were staying at that night. ‘It looks nice,’ she said. ‘Some rooms have a view of Cheltenham Minster. It will just be like being in York, Arthur. So you won’t feel homesick.’

Bernadette bustled out of her house. She wheeled out a navy blue suitcase and then a purple one, followed by four Marks and Spencer carrier bags.

Arthur wound the window down. He assumed that Nathan would rush out to help, but the young man sat with his feet on the dashboard eating a bag of crisps. ‘Do you need a hand?’

‘I’m fine. I’ll just load this little lot into the boot then we can set off.’ She slammed the boot door shut then took the front seat next to Nathan. ‘Now, do you know where we’re going?’

‘Yes,’ her son sighed.

‘It should take us around three hours to get to our accommodation,’ Bernadette said.

In the car Nathan turned up the radio so loud that Arthur couldn’t think. Rock music blared out. A male singer screamed about wanting to kill his girlfriend. Periodically, Bernadette turned and gave Arthur a smile and mouthed, ‘Okay?’

Arthur nodded and gave a thumbs-up. He was already tense about changing his morning routine. He hadn’t shaved and he didn’t remember washing out his teacup. When he got back from the trip it would have a thick collar of beige gunk inside. Perhaps he had over-watered Frederica. Had he swept up the crumbs from the worktop? He shuddered at the thought. And he had locked the front door properly, hadn’t he?

To cancel out his worries, he tucked his hand in his pocket and wrapped his fingers around the heart-shaped box. He stroked the textured leather and felt the small padlock. It felt comforting to have something that belonged to his wife so close to him, even if he didn’t know where it had come from.

As they drove along tree-lined roads toward the motorway, Arthur felt his eyes shutting. He widened them but then slowly they flickered and closed again. The shush of tyres on tarmac lulled him to sleep.

He dreamed that he was on a picnic with Miriam, Lucy and Dan at the seaside. He couldn’t recall which town. Lucy and Dan were still young enough to be excited by a trip to the sea and a 99 ice cream. ‘Come and have a paddle, Dad.’ Dan tugged his hand. Sunlight rippled like silver sweet papers on the surface of the sea. The air smelled of freshly cooked doughnuts and vinegar from the food vans on the promenade. Seagulls cawed and swooped overhead. The sun shone hot and bright.

‘Yes, come on in, Arthur.’ Miriam stood facing him. The sun was behind her and she looked as if she had a golden halo in her hair. He admired the silhouette of her legs through her translucent white dress. He sat on the sand, his trousers rolled up to his ankles. Perspiration formed under his mustard tank top.

‘I’m a bit tired,’ he said. ‘I’ll just have a lie down on the sand and watch you three. I’ll catch up on the day’s news.’ He patted his newspaper.

‘You can do that anytime. Come on in with us. We can relax tonight when the kids are in bed.’

Arthur smiled. ‘I’ll just stay here. You and the kids go paddle.’ He reached up and ruffled Lucy’s hair.

His wife and two kids stood and stared at him for a few seconds before giving up on their persuasion. He watched as they held hands and ran toward the sea. For a moment he almost stood up and raced after them, but they disappeared into a sea of beach umbrellas and coloured towels. He took off his tank top, rolled it up and put it under his head.

But because this was a dream, he was able to rewind events in his head. This time when his wife stood before him inviting him to paddle, he said yes. Because he knew he might never have this moment again. Because he knew that his time with the kids was precious, and in the future Dan would live thousands of miles away and Lucy would be distant. He knew there would be so many times over the coming years that he would long to be on the beach with his family again.

So this time, in his dream, he stood up and took Dan’s and Lucy’s small clammy, sandy hands in his own. They ran down the sand together, the four of them in a line, laughing and squealing. And he kicked the sea until it soaked his trousers to the thighs and made his lips salty. Miriam waded toward him. She laughed and trailed her fingertips in the water. Lucy clung to his legs and Dan sat with the sea lapping around his waist. Arthur wrapped an arm around his wife’s waist and pulled her close to him. He saw that freckles had sprung to life on her nose and she had pink sun circles on her cheeks. There was nowhere he wanted to be more than this. He leaned in toward her, feeling her breath on his mouth and …

‘Arthur. Arthur!’

He felt a hand on his knee. ‘Miriam?’ He opened his eyes. His time with his wife and children vanished abruptly. Bernadette was leaning over from her front seat. Her door was open. He could see expanses of grey tarmac. ‘You dropped off. We’re at the services. I need to spend a penny.’

‘Oh.’ Arthur blinked, readjusting to the real world. He could still feel Miriam’s hand in his. He wanted to be with her so badly, to kiss her lips. He wriggled out of his slump. ‘Where are we?’

‘We’ve almost reached Birmingham already. The roads are quiet. Come on out and stretch your legs.’

He did as he was told and got out of the car. He had been asleep for two hours. As he walked toward the grey slab of a building, he wished that he could slip back into his dream to be with his family again. It had seemed so real. Why hadn’t he appreciated those moments when they were happening?

He meandered around WHSmith and bought a Daily Mail and then a coffee in a cardboard cup from a machine outside. It tasted of soil. The lobby rang with the sound of amusement machines, their coloured lights flashing and piping out jaunty electronic music. He could smell fried onion rings and bleach. He carefully placed his half-drunk coffee in the bin and went to the loo.

Back at the car he found himself alone with Nathan.

The boy was sitting with his feet on the dashboard again, displaying an expanse of milky ankle. In the back Arthur opened up his paper. There was going to be a heatwave over the next couple of days. The hottest May in decades. He thought of Frederica’s soil and hoped it would stay moist.

Nathan took a yellow curl from his packet of crisps. After taking the longest time that Arthur had known anyone eat a crisp, he finally said: ‘So are you and my mum, you know …?’

Arthur waited for the next part of the sentence, which didn’t arrive. ‘I’m sorry, I …’

‘You and Mum. Are you, y’know, getting it on?’ He then affected a posh accent as he turned to face Arthur. ‘Are you dating?’

‘No.’ Arthur tried not to sound aghast. He wondered how Nathan could possibly have got this idea. ‘Definitely not. We’re just friends.’

Nathan nodded sagely. ‘So, you have a separate room at the B and B?’

‘Of course I have.’

‘I was just wondering.’

‘We are definitely just friends.’

‘I’ve noticed that she makes you the savoury stuff, pies and shit. Her others only get sweet things.’

Her other lost causes, Arthur thought. Mad Mr Flowers, housebound Mrs Monton and Co. ‘I really appreciate your mother’s efforts for me. I’ve been going through a tough time and she’s been a great help. I prefer savoury to sweet.’

‘Oh, yeah.’ Nathan finished munching his crisps. He folded up the packet, tied it into a knot, then positioned it beneath his nose and wore it as a moustache. ‘My mum gets off on helping people. She’s a real saint.’

Arthur didn’t know if he was being sarcastic or not.

‘Your wife. She died, didn’t she?’ Nathan said.

‘Yes, she did.’

‘That must’ve been pretty shit, huh?’

For a second, Arthur felt like jumping over the seats into the front of the car and ripping the crisp packet out from under Nathan’s nose. How easily young people could dismiss death, as if it was some far-off country that they’d never get to visit. And how dare he talk so casually about Miriam like that. He dug his fingernails into the leather seat. His cheeks burned and he stared out of the window to avoid catching Nathan’s gaze in the vanity mirror.