The Ivy and the Holly

Lois and Neil had decided that they would have to do something about Mrs Carter. About Ivy. Neither of them really wanted to, and both of them had been putting it off for months, but they knew it would have to be done.

“It’s the kindest thing in the long run,” said Lois, when they discussed it, in one of the many discussions they had in that long, surreal week between Christmas and the New Year. They had discussed it before, of course, but those discussions had become more frequent and more serious. Even if you didn’t make resolutions as such, there was still something symbolic about the start of a New Year.

“But it will still seem unkind,” fretted Neil. “And she’s a lovely old lady.”

“She’s not THAT much older than us, only about 20 years,” Lois pointed out. They both paused uneasily at that, and pretended that it wasn’t especially significant. After all, 20 years was still a long time. It was just that it only seemed like the blink of an eyelid since old people were 40 years older than then were. “And nobody is talking about,” (Lois had a habit that Neil convinced himself didn’t get on his nerves of saying “nobody is” when she meant she wasn’t) “that we shouldn’t help her out on occasion, if she’s ill or – or has a fall, or whatever. We’re not monsters.”

“Of course not,” Neil agreed.

“But she’s not immobile or housebound or anything like that.”

“She never says she is,” said Neil.

“But she acts as if she is,” Lois stood her ground.

“She was so sweet to us when we first moved into the village. Recommended us a decent plumber and baked us some jam tarts.”

“I haven’t developed amnesia, Neil, so I know that perfectly well, and I’m still grateful, even though the plumber was her nephew – and I’m not denying he’s a good plumber – and I can’t abide jam tarts. But she’s starting to put on us. To take us for granted.”

“Lois, that’s not true!”

“It is, and you know it. Look, I’m not saying there’s a whit of malice behind it. I’m not for one minute saying she’s a bad person. But admitting that some things have gone too far and have to be stopped doesn’t make us bad people either. Some of the phrases she always uses – you can’t pretend you haven’t noticed, That word just.”

They were both silent for a half minute or so. But it was as if Ivy’s voice was ringing round the room. “Oh, Lois, while you’re in town, would you just pick up this bit of shopping for me? I’ve noted a few items down – just a few bits and pieces.” “Neil, can I be a nuisance and just ask you to put up these new curtains for me – no, no rush dear, as long as they’re there for when my granddaughter comes round tomorrow. I told her all about them.” “Lois, would you just pick up my prescription? I don’t like to trouble you, but my insides are playing me up.” “Neil, could you just change my library books while you’re out – oh, you know I’m not fussy. Just a couple of murder mysteries will do nicely, as long as it’s nothing too gory.”

Lois was the one to speak first. “Neil, you said yourself the other day that you’re starting to be scared of poking your nose outside the door.”

“I was joking,” he protested.

“No you weren’t. Not entirely. And it’s not even as if she always sits by the window – I might feel sorrier for her if she did – she seems to have some kind of ruddy radar.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the fanciful one. But surely we can at least try to …. wean her off. Let her down gently.”

“That’s a cop out, and you know it. Listen, nobody is suggesting,” (yes, it did grate on him, no point to denying it) “that we march round to Number 37 and say, Ivy, enough is enough, and don’t you dare ask us to do anything for you again. But we have to put our foot down more often, and the time to start is now.”

“Should that be foot or feet,” Neil mused. Lois was something of a word and phrase obsessive and also inclined to the pedantic. It was one of the things he loved about her, and they could discuss such matters for hours. So he seized his chance. But in this instance, hope proved forlorn. Lois showed not the remotest interest in an amiable wrangle over the rights and wrongs of foot or feet in that particular expression. And her particular expression was one he knew, and if he didn’t exactly dread it, he knew that it meant business. Lois wasn’t a conventionally pretty woman and never had been, but her slightly puckish face had a charm and humour and warmth about it that had genuinely only been enhanced by the few lines that now surrounded her navy blue eyes. And he was the first to admit he was no oil painting himself. Unless it was a Picasso. But every so often the humour seemed to retreat with a rapidity that would have satisfied those entreating Canute to command the waves, and if the face could never be entirely drained of its warmth, the air conditioning certainly came on. Lois had one of those mouths that couldn’t set into a hard line, but it could certainly set into a firm one. Yet when she spoke, her words weren’t exactly confrontational. “Neil, part of the reason for us moving into the country was to stop us having that Empty Nest syndrome, and for you to finally have a proper garden – we both know how much you’ve always wanted one, and for me to take up my writing properly again. And be honest, both of us were quite glad when Laura at the shop told us that though Hazeby is a friendly village, and has a good community spirit, people still kept themselves to themselves to a certain extent and don’t live in each others’ pockets. It seemed like the best of both worlds. And we were both glad to find out we had a friendly neighbour. I’ve never denied that. But – yes, I know this sounds harsh, but she’s spoiling things for us. And nobody has the right to do that.”

Without realising it, Neil had stood up and started pacing restlessly around. Lois’s words troubled him. Spoiling things for us. Nobody has the right. They were petulant words, words they would have chided their grown-up children Maya and Mitchell for using when they were little, not the kind of words that a mature, intelligent woman like Lois should be using.

And yet the trouble was, they had more than a grain of truth in them.

“We can’t always play Mr and Mrs Nice Guy,” she went on. “Not at the expense of our own contentment and our own relationship.” Lois finished what she was saying. She wasn’t the kind of woman who would break off in mid-sentence because it was uncomfortable. But Neil knew her well enough to know that she wished she hadn’t said that about their relationship. They had known from the start that in many ways they were different, and had been fine about it. It wasn’t exactly a case of opposites attracting, for they had many things in common, but Neil was a bit of a putter-offer, by his own admission, and by her own admission, Lois could be a bit obsessive about seeing to things straight away. She was naturally tidy, and he wasn’t, and yes, he had always been readier to compromise than she was. But she had never been inflexible. And as the staff at the insurance office where he had risen to be branch manager knew, yes, he was sympathetic and did not hit the roof about genuine mistakes, but he was anything but a pushover. Nobody could take advantage of him, as they found out soon enough if they tried.

And now Lois used that very expression. “She’s taking advantage of us. Oh I daresay she doesn’t mean it in any kind of nasty or intentional way. But have you ever wondered – really wondered why Beth and Tim moved?” Beth and Tim had been the previous owners of Number 39. They were a lovely couple, and though they hadn’t exactly become long term friends, they were still in touch and had exchanged Christmas cards.

“Lois, for pity’s sake! People DO move! We can hardly read too much into that ourselves, can we?”

“I suppose so but – we did have reasons. So far as I can see they didn’t. And they’re still living in a village, and it’s actually slightly further away from where they work.”

“There could be any number of reasons! Yes, we get on well, but we’re not privy to all their secrets and their private life.”

“Looking back, though, don’t you think they were a bit – well, cagey, about the neighbours – or neighbour, should I say?” There was a decidedly uneasy silence. And Neil couldn’t deny it. Beth and Tim had been laudably honest about the downsides of the house, speaking quite frankly about the issues with low water pressure (which Ivy’s nephew did seem to have fixed!) and the noise that sometimes came at odd hours from lorries using the path through the village as an illegal rat run through the village to the North Sea ports. Something was going to be done about that – and something had been going to be done about it for at least a decade. But all they said about Number 37 (Number 39 was the last house in the village proper) was that “Oh, it’s a nice old lady, tends to keep herself to herself.” Well, they were prepared to give her the doubt about her being a nice old lady – even Lois – but she most definitely didn’t keep herself to herself. They didn’t like the thought that Beth and Tim might have lied to them. Or at any rate been economical with the truth. But they also knew without needing to say a word that they might be tempted to do the same themselves if they moved.

If they moved. Those words and that idea hung frozen and throbbing in the air. No. No! They had barely moved in! There was not even the remotest possibility of them moving. That was a road they weren’t going to go down. Were they?

A YEAR LATER

“Well, we made it,” said Lois. “And we made the right decision.” She looked worriedly at Neil. He had his first grey hairs now. She knew, logically, that there was no real psychological link to such things, that was an old wives’ tale, and anyway, it was genetic. His dad had gone grey quite early. And she had to admit Neil’s growing pepper and salt look was rather distinctive. Come to that, she had lines she hadn’t had a year ago, and was starting to be less cynical about slightly more expensive face creams.

It had, indeed been a difficult year. Moving house is proverbially life’s most traumatic event after bereavement and divorce and doing it twice within such a short period had taken its toll on them. The first move had been less upsetting, as it was for all the right reasons and done with bright hopes. This was another matter, but in the end they had decided they had no choice. For their own peace of mind and the future of their relationship. They had taken a financial hit, but told themselves they were still hardly poverty-stricken and money wasn’t everything. And they felt guilty about the way they had been less than honest with Rosie and Phil. But they both still went out to work every day so surely it wouldn’t affect them as much. Mind you, so had Beth and Tim.

They hadn’t had anything to do with the owners of Number 21. The last person to live in it had died six months ago, and her grandson, who had inherited the property, had no wish to live in it and had left everything in the hands of the estate agents.

They had decided that one little job they would have to see to very soon was the doorbell. It had a horrible rusty twang that grated on them like fingers on a blackboard. And they heard that noise right now. “I’ll get it,” Lois said.

An old lady stood at the door. “Oh, I hope I’m not disturbing you, my dears, so nice to have someone living in the property again. I wonder if you’d just mind picking up a few things for me next time you’re in town, it would be much appreciated. But where are my manners? Let me introduce myself. I’m Mrs Driver. But call me Holly.”