Page 54 of A Good Heart is Hard to Find
Writing them was much more difficult than I’d expected, and I now realized that every three-line poem is not automatically a haiku.
I wasn’t going to give Jane any credit, though. She just naturally has a brain that takes a perceived view and turns it on its head in seventeen concise syllables.
She does much the samewith gossip.
Doesn’t syllable sound like something delicious made with sugar and cream?
… Keturah smiled like a fanged angel. ‘But I am not the innocent, trusting creature you left behind you, Sylvanus,’ she said softly. ‘Look again!’
My personal fanged angel woke me up at some gruesome hour of the morning from a brief and inadequate slumber in order for me to drive her to the train, but shewasn’t smiling, especially when she discovered that she had to pour mug after mug of strong coffee down me before I could even hoist my eyelids more than halfway.
As the sky grew slowly lighter beyond the kitchen window she got impatient. ‘Come on, Cassy!’ she said at last, twitching the curtains aside to peer out. ‘I’m going to miss the—’
She stopped and gasped: ‘Cass, there’s a disgustingold van parked right next to your car at the bottom of the garden, all painted up with big daisies like one of those New Age Traveller things! Before you know it, the whole lane will be jammed with them – hordes of noisy children, dogs, loud music, rubbish, crap behind every hedge …’
Yawning, I got up and looked blearily over her shoulder. ‘Don’t panic, it’s only Eddie.’
‘Eddie?’ she said blankly.
‘Your youngest brother, remember?’
‘You mean my brother actually lives in that – thatheap?’
‘Yes, didn’t you know?’
‘No, I thought he was living in some sort of commune. I haven’t seen him for ages, because last time he stayed Gerald found him stark naked at dawn in the garden, playing his flute, and he won’t have him any more. The neighbours all complained.’
‘He still does that, winter orsummer. He must be much tougher than he looks – or perhaps the demon weed makes you impervious.’
‘Perhaps he’s grown out of doing it now,’ she said hopefully.
‘What, the nude flute playing, or the weed?’
‘Both.’
The van looked deserted as we made our way down the path towards the car, but at the rumbling of Jane’s suitcase wheels Eddie stuck his head of flaxen dreadlocks and naked shouldersout of the window and said cheerily: ‘Hi, Cass! Hi Sister Immaculata! Long time, no see. Did you get your Christmas present?’
‘If you mean a bundle of twigs with knitting wool wrapped round it, then yes,’ she said icily. ‘Excuse us: I’ve got a train to catch.’
She edged past and wedged her suitcase into the car with some difficulty.
‘Eddie, I’m just taking Jane to catch a train to Cornwall,but I won’t be long. You know where the key is – help yourself to anything you want. See you later.’
I drove off, the corner of Jane’s suitcase sharply nudging my back through the seat, and Jane’s disparaging commentary about Eddie and his mode of life buzzing around me.
At least Mrs Bridges enjoyed a naked Eddie in my garden. She said he was a lovely boy, and if he wanted to mend her washertaps next time in the rude nude, she’d no objections.
Were it not for Mr Fowkes, I expected Chrissie would say the same.
While Jane and the Giant Suitcase pursued the road less well travelled to a destination that might not be quite what she was imagining, her car remained parked on the verge at the front of the cottage, solid metal proof that she is in residence, should anyone care to comeand do a visual check.
She had dispatched two long missives to Gerald and the parents giving the Gospel according to St Jane, so I expected they would swallow it down like they usually did, and Gerald at least would be beating a penitent path to my door before we knew where we were.
If she was still away exploring Clint’s possibilities I was instructed to say that Jane was deeply hurt, stressedand incommunicado, but was just as likely to impart the information that she was deeply warped, selfish and a plausible liar.
I told Eddie all about it when I got back from the station, but he just smiled vaguely and then wandered off down the garden to his van in a cloud of wonderweed.
Eddie is well-meaning but not terribly bright (traits he shares with Jamie), so you never know whether hehas taken in what you are saying. His eyes don’t register anything: the lights are on but there’s nobody home. He beams a lot though, having a happy and uncomplicated nature, and he is strangely practical and good with his hands.
