Homes and Gardens

Short story by Sarah Miller Walters.  For more of Sarah's stories, visit her Amazon page:

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Sarah-Miller-Walters/e/B00DZPX09U

Homes and Gardens 

Bobby and Flora had agreed to meet at the entrance to the Festival Gardens in Battersea. It was Saturday afternoon, a half day off work for them both.  Spring was growing old, but it was not yet time for the summer holidays.  People had not quite abandoned the city in favour of the seaside or the countryside. Instead, they all sought respite by investigating what the famous festival and its pleasure ground had to offer. “Come on then,” husbands said to wives, and mothers said to their children “Let’s go and see what all this festival fuss is about.”

Because of this crowd of curiosity, Bobby and Flora’s meeting point could only be reached by determined shuffle. But they had been married since New Year’s Day – long enough now that just a glimpse was all that was needed. Their clothes, their gait – the shape of a bare forearm would be enough. Bobby balanced himself on the edge of the pavement, confident that his wife would find him. When she did, she touched his sleeve, which was rolled over two or three times. She carried a lemon coloured cardigan in the crook of her arm.

“I’d really like an ice, Bobby.  Let’s go and join a queue.”

He ran his finger ends through her permanent wave and smiled. “Alright. Whatever my wife wants, she shall have…”

“…except a home of her own, we can’t work ruddy miracles.”

Flora finished their catchphrase off and they both chuckled. On a day like this, when the return to their temporary home at Bobby’s parents’ house was hours away, they could treat the matter lightly.

Bobby bought two small ices.  They walked quickly, looking for somewhere to sit before the drips ran any further. Every deck chair and every seat was taken. Even finding a decent gap on the grass wasn’t so easy. But they found a satisfactory place to settle, just at the edge of a shadow.  Flora sat on her cardigan, her legs tucked underneath her skirt. Bobby stretched his own legs outwards, showing a sock that was threadbare. They ate quickly and licked their fingers.  Young boys dashed about them in short trousers, their legs still milk bottle pale. Their mothers and grandmothers sat gratefully in deckchairs, the tips of their noses beginning to turn pink.  Flora leaned into Bobby’s arm.

“What were we supposed to be doing this afternoon?”

“Going to look at that flat in Brixton.”  Bobby answered without enthusiasm.

“I’m sure that it will have already gone by the time that we get there. And it seems such a long way from our families.”

“I know.  Wasting our time really aren’t we?”

Flora nodded carefully.

“Aw let’s not bother.  Who wants to live in Brixton?”

“Not me!  What shall we do instead?”

 “Shall we go along to Waterloo to the Festival? Have a bit of a spree?” He whispered to the top of her head with a smile.

Flora grabbed Bobby’s arm. “Can we? We shouldn’t, we’re meant to be saving up!”

“Doesn’t hurt once in a while to enjoy ourselves does it?”

Flora was on her feet before he’d finished speaking, brushing the back of her skirt.

*

They queued to get out of Waterloo, then queued to get through the Festival turnstiles. Once they had entered, they absently joined another queue.  Five minutes later, this one seemed to disperse, revealing just the plinth of a sculpture. Bobby and Flora walked around aimlessly for a time, taking in the colours and staring up at the Skylon. They joined the slow moving line for the Dome of Discovery. Flora put her cardigan on, ready for the shade. When they quietly left again an hour later, the sun was lower in the sky.

“Do you think that your mother will be cross? She might start to wonder where we are.”

“Well, there’s not much we can do about it is there? If we send her a postcard it won’t get there until tomorrow.”

“Ought we to think about getting back?”

“No!  We’ve paid our five shillings to get in, I want my money’s worth!”  Bobby turned and took hold of Flora by the shoulders.  “You have to stop worrying about upsetting them.  You seem to be tiptoeing around all of the time, but it’s your home now. Just for a while.”

“I know.  But I feel like a guest…and I can always tell when your mother disapproves of me.  I seem to do or say something wrong every week. “

“I understand, you know.  I feel the same sometimes…and I’ve always lived there.” He ticked Flora under the chin. “It’s not your fault.  Don’t worry. We’ll get a home of our own soon.”

They held hands and began to walk without purpose again, taking in the honeyed reflections. They sauntered underneath the rumbling railway bridge, stared up at the old familiar Shot Tower, and then found themselves at the Homes and Gardens Pavilion. They both remained quiet, but felt each other’s frustration. At last, Bobby spoke out:

“I wonder how many houses they could have built instead of all this?”

They stood beside a mock-up of a sitting room, artfully laid out and ready to receive a modern family.  The chairs looked a little uncomfortable, there was none of the clutter that made it look homely. But it was so different to the faded Victoriana at Bobby’s parents’ home, which was all dark wood and claret florals.

“We ought to go and get some food in one of the restaurants, then stop here for the night.” Flora giggled with a hint of nervousness.

“Yes, yes we should.  Make a protest.”

Flora looked up at Bobby.  He looked directly back at her.

“Shall we do it? Come back before closing time, sit down and refuse to move?”

“Oh but Bobby, darling.  What would be the point? What would you want to gain from it?”

“Some attention!  We say that we won’t move until the authorities give us somewhere to live.”

“But Bobby, we might get into terrible trouble.  You might lose your job…and then we wouldn’t be able to afford to live anywhere anyway.”

Flora took hold of Bobby’s sleeve.  He thrust his hands into his pockets and pushed out his chin. This worried Flora even more, it marked a determination in his spirit. There was only one thing for it.

“Let’s go and try and get a drink in a restaurant.  I’ve never had wine before, I’d like to try some.”

If the effect was anything like a pint of mild, Bobby would be a lot easier to handle afterwards. And she wouldn’t care what his mother said when they got home.

The lights began to glow on the South Bank.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Sarah-Miller-Walters/e/B00DZPX09U