The Guy Who Couldn't Say No

“Ask Tim,” or “Ask Mr Sands,” people would say, depending on how well they knew Timothy Sands. But even those who didn’t know him personally at all (though in a small town most peoples’ paths did cross) knew about his reputation. Tim was the man to go to if you wanted something doing. Whether it was organising the annual carnival, or booking the British Legion’s trip to the war graves, or making sure that the children’s centre had a decent Christmas party, Tim would see to it. He was one of the regular drivers on the hospital cars service, and treasurer of the local bowls club, even though he rarely played himself. “Ask Tim,” someone had said, “He’s been an accountant and so of course he’s good with figures. You know he’ll say yes.” He duly said yes.

     He had got into the habit of saying that it was doing him as much of a favour as anyone else, and this was not untrue. Retirement had never sat entirely easy on him. He’d always had a busy life, first of all in the Navy, and then working for a telecommunications firm. He wasn’t used to idleness and probably didn’t even know how to potter. There’d been a spell when his wife Matilda was very ill, that he’d cut back on his other duties. But sadly, Matilda had passed away, and now as well as having time on his hands he wanted something to occupy his mind. 

     There was something about Tim that made people trust him. Though there was nothing severe or overweaning about him, he still had a slightly military bearing, and was one of those men who looked taller than they actually were. He liked to wear a collar and tie, even in summer, though he admitted himself he knew it was a bit of an affectation, and had a ready smile, though it was tinged with sadness since Matilda’s death. 

     But Tim still had friends who worried about him. Delia who helped him run the Information Hub, and whose untidiness drove him to distraction and who regarded him as a bit of a father figure, though neither of them ever used the expression, and Ambrose, a local councillor and one of the trustees, who was pompous in his manner and entirely too vain about his bushy beard but had a good heart, were especially concerned, and got together for a coffee to have a talk about it. “The thing is,” said Ambrose, “That for Tim, enforced indolence would be enervating.” Which translated, thought Delia, as doing nothing would drive him mad. And he was quite right. “But there’s such a thing as a happy medium,” she said. “I know better than to say so to his face, but he’s not as young as he used to be. And apart from that, he deserves some time of his own.”

     “He does indeed,” Ambrose nodded. Because Tim was not one of those men who only lived to work. He had interests. He was a bit of a railway enthusiast, and a lot of a radio ham. He was forever saying he’d like to take a holiday on a narrowboat. 

     “He’s certainly having more grumpy days lately,” Delia said. Now, Tim was not one of those elderly gentleman who feels compelled to be perpetually smiley and twinkly, despite his winning smile. He even seemed mildly proud of the fact that his only great grand-child, Joe, whom he doted on, sometimes called him Grumpy Grampy. But it was, well, a nice grumpiness. There was no spite in it, or resentment, or small-mindedness. He saw himself with admirable clarity, and had labelled his little tin of extra strong mints Grumpy Old Git Drops. There were strict unwritten rules about those mints in the Hub. If you asked for one, he would be happy to give it. But if you took one without asking, then woe betide you.

     But this was turning into a different kind of grumpiness. It was becoming peevish and weary and no wonder. 

     “There’s always Michael,” Ambrose said. “He may be able to help us out.”

     Michael was one of their clients at the Hub. He’d been having trouble with his landlord, and though they were careful not to take sides, and not to automatically assume that tenants were in the right and landlords were in the wrong, it definitely looked as if he were more sinned against than sinning. But his problems were getting sorted out, and now he had a shower that worked and a door that shut properly. They were fond of Michael though Delia had her suspicions that Ambrose regarded his rather wispy beard as a very sorry and inferior thing. They had got to know him quite well, too. 

     Although Michael’s problems were now more or less sorted, he still dropped in to have a word, and to thank them at the Hub for their help. He had, as Delia always thought, a very pleasing way of saying thank you. It was sincere and yet it was never fawning. He said he specifically wanted a word with Tim, as he was having, now, a few issues with his telephone provider. It was the best that they had managed to come up with between the three of them, and they knew it was pretty flimsy. Tim frowned and said, “I’d like to help, Michael. But though I worked in telecommunications it was the accountancy side, and I’ve been retired for years now. There are people you’d be better getting in touch with.”

     Ambrose wasn’t in the Hub at the time, but Delia was, and was shamelessly listening in. Not that you could help hearing when it was one of their quieter days and the two men were at a table only a couple of metres away. Michael had promised to do his best, and as he put it, with a disarming honesty that Tim himself would have appreciated, because of course he wanted to do something to help Tim, who was a brick, but it was helping himself, too. Delia had to admit that his subject segue was masterful. When she looked back on it, she still would have been hard pushed to say quite how Michael managed to change the subject from faulty phonelines to the joys of narrowboating without it being obvious, for Tim was nobody’s fool.

     She was positively piqued when someone asked her for information on the local childcare centre just when it was beginning to get interesting, though of course she obliged and did all she could to help (no protégée of Tim’s would have dared do otherwise) it was still immensely frustrating.

     Tim beckoned her over for a chat when they had both attended to their duties, and Delia had her cup of strong black coffee that Tim said looked like tar, and Tim had his cup of weak milky tea that Delia said looked like bilgewater, and they both had a custard cream, lamenting the fact that they weren’t really dunkable. “I had a good old natter with Michael,” he said. “He’s a very interesting character, you know. Had a sad life in some ways – he’s divorced, and of course he didn’t go into all the ins and outs, but it looks like she left him for a younger chap – he said, well, I’m no oil painting. That made me want to give him a hug, I’ll tell you, though I’m not one of life’s hugging sorts. Lord knows I’m no Mona Lisa – or whatever the male equivalent is! – and it never seemed to matter to Matilda, though she was a beautiful woman, inside and out.” He paused to collect himself and gather his thoughts. “Anyway, he’s all on his own. And you know what he’s interested in?”

     “No, what?” asked Delia, crossing her fingers behind her back as she told a fib!

     “Narrowboats! He really knows what he’s talking about, and says he’d love to go on another narrowboat holiday, but though he’s happy with his own company, for the most part, going on holiday by yourself isn’t much fun, and just from the practical point of view …..”

     “The locks, I expect,” said Delia, hoping she sounded as if she knew what she was talking about.

     “Anyway, and it meant a lot, because I get the impression he’s not used to sticking his neck out like that, when I told him that I was a huge fan of them, too, he asked me if I’d like to consider going on a holiday with him – along the Kennet and Avon Canal, maybe. I know it well, though I’ve not been there for years.”

     “And what did you say?” Delia asked.

     “I said I’d think about it!” But the twinkle in his eyes, and this was evidently a twinkly day and not a grumpy day, told Delia that he probably would think about it, because he wasn’t the kind of person who agreed to such things instantly, on principle, and because he’d nearly forgotten what a holiday was like. But she was pretty sure he would say yes.

     After all, he found it very hard to say no!