Never Too Late To Explore - 10. Out and About

On a bright, sunny day the following week, Eric stood with Andy in the area under the ancient, first-storey market house in the centre of town. It was the morning of the supper party. The older man leaned against one of the stone pillars which supported the timber-framed building. They were waiting for something, or someone. Which it was, Eric didn't quite know.

He turned to his companion to settle the question. Andy was idly watching the world go by. “I still don't understand why we're waiting here for a fishmonger? It's not as if one's suddenly going to appear out of thin air.”

Andy looked at him askance. “You've never bought anything from her? I gather she's been coming here for ages.”

“Who?” Eric couldn't help sounding a little exasperated.

The evening's meal, and its guest, featured large in his thoughts. He couldn't remember the last time he'd met with a woman socially. Would he have to talk to her? What about? The anxiety was starting to gnaw at his guts. This was something well outside of his limited experience.

Andy cocked an eyebrow as he replied. “The fishmonger – her business is called The Ocean's Bounty – comes with her van and parks here every Thursday morning. She has a loyal and appreciative following.”

Both men glanced round at the other people gathered there, apparently waiting for the van's arrival, shopping bags at the ready. Eric spotted several individuals who didn't look short of money, even if they were roughly his age. A sign if nothing else, that the fish wasn't going to be cheap.

He grunted. “Don't know why we're not going straight to the supermarket, rather than hanging around here.”

“Because the fish she sells is fresh. It hasn't been frozen, or stored …”

The transparently patient tone Andy used made Eric get a hold on his bad temper, though he didn't reply.

His friend continued his explanation. “In the supermarket, you never know how long the fish has been around, even when it's displayed on the slab.” Andy looked directly at him. “You are OK with fish for tonight's meal, aren't you?”

Eric made himself smile a little. Perhaps he wasn't the only one to be somewhat worried about the evening's gathering?

“Yes, though I don't know what I'm letting myself in for. Very occasionally I'll buy a pack of fish fingers if they're on special offer. Just for a change. Can't say I'm that fussed about them.”

Andy rolled his eyes. “With a fish content of twenty percent or so, it's hardly surprising they taste of nothing much. … If your ankle's hurting, do you want to wait in the car?”

Eric adjusted his position slightly. “No, it's fine.”

A stir amongst the others waiting made them both look in the direction of the main road. A dark blue van with a refrigeration unit was backing into one of the parking bays.

“That's her.” Andy moved forward with the rest. “You stay where you are, Eric. I'll be back as soon as I can.”

Some fifteen minutes later, Andy was the next to be served. He took a moment to look around the van which was kitted out like a high-street fishmonger's in miniature. The hope was his preferred fish might still be available, otherwise a menu change would be needed. He was never organised far enough in advance to order the fish specially.

Turning to the owner, a middle-aged woman wearing a white protective coat and hygiene gloves, he made an opening comment. “Hi. You've been busy so far today.”

She shrugged. “I never know. Some days, it's like this. Others, I might as well not have bothered turning up. Anyway, what can I get you?”

“Do you have four pollock fillets?”

She glanced at the tray. “Yes They've been selling well today.”

“Great. And err… a hundred and fifty grams of tiger prawns, thanks.”

“Is that shelled, or unshelled?”

Andy had to think quickly. “Oh… unshelled, according to the recipe.”

The woman started to weigh them out. “Would you like me to prepare them for you?”

Andy checked behind him to see how many people were waiting. There was still a short queue, waiting patiently and chatting amongst themselves.

“It won't take me long …”

“Yeah, thanks. I'll take the heads and shells with me. I need to make a fish stock.”

“OK.”

Andy tried not to watch the woman directly as she got on with it. He was a little squeamish when it came to pulling the heads and legs off the prawns. The fishmonger's quick, efficient manner soon left him with a heap of peeled prawns, and separate pile of body parts for the stock.

Andy handed over the cash and received a carrier bag in return. “Thanks very much. That'll save me a lot of time this afternoon.”

“No problem.” A quick smile. “See you soon. … Next, please!”

Eric caught a whiff of what was in the bag as Andy returned and pulled a face.

The younger man chortled. “It'll be all so much better once it's cooked.”

He eyed the bag suspiciously. “If you say so. … What you going to be making?”

“I haven't I said?” Andy juggled the bag as he was getting his car key fob out. “Well, what's in here are the principal ingredients of a fish stew. That's the pollock and king prawns, then there's garlic, tomatoes, and veg. Sound OK?”

Eric wasn't so sure about the garlic, or the prawns, but decided not to say anything. “It'll be another new experience, I suppose.”

“To add to your many others.” Andy gave him an encouraging smile.

“Hmm …”

Andy was about to deposit the bag in the back of his 4x4 when they both heard a greeting in the distance which seemed to be directed at them.

“Coo-ee! Mr Whitehouse! Wait for me!”

Eric pursed his lips. It was his neighbour, together with dog in tow. God, he loathed that over-fed, yappy mutt.

Mrs Turner hurried towards them, almost dragging the reluctant Pekinese along with her. She was dressed with more than usual care, everything visible co-ordinated to within an inch of its life.

Eric offered a hurried explanation to Andy. “Sorry … She's my next-door neighbour. Mrs Turner. Nosy, very nosy, and talkative, but fairly harmless. Unlike her dog.”

He glared in the direction of the Pekinese.

Andy smirked. “Yeah. Pekinese are such perfect attack dogs.”

“Hnh! You won't be so smug when it's nipping at your ankles.”

He was about to add something else, then realised his neighbour was now close enough to hear anything either of them said. She came to a halt a couple of yards away. The dog, true to form, started yapping and pulling at its lead.

Its owner attempted to regain control. “No, Bella! Bad dog. … Sit. Sit!”

Reluctantly, the dog came to heel.

“Sorry, Mr Whitehouse. Coming to the centre of town always gets her excited. All the other dogs around, perhaps?” She came a little closer and looked pointedly at Andy. “Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?”

Andy took over before Eric was able to get his words together. “Hello. Maybe I've seen you around when I've been visiting Eric? Andy Harper.”

Eric looked on as his neighbour gave Andy one of her most winning smiles.

“Very pleased to meet you. Yes, indeed – I've noticed you a few times when I've been out taking Bella for her walkies. It's always good to put a name to the face, Mr Harper…”

There was a slight pause. Eric wondered if she expected Andy to give her an invitation to use his first name. He imagined the other man often did, but not this time. And anyway, she'd known who Andy was for months.

It didn't put Mrs Turner off her stride. The smile remained firmly in place. “I'm Deborah Turner. I live in the cottage next to Mr Whitehouse.”

She turned back to Eric and launched in without waiting for Andy to reply. “I've been so worried about you, Mr Whitehouse. When you didn't come back the other day, I thought maybe I'd missed you. Then when I didn't see you around over the next couple of days, I didn't know what had happened. I even went and rang your doorbell the one day. The worry really upset me, and then it upset Bella as well. Put both of us off our food. I didn't know what to do for the best …”

He stood there, unable to get a word in edgeways.

Andy finally managed to stem the flow of talk. “I'm glad you were looking out for Eric, Mrs Turner …”

Eric stifled a disbelieving snort with difficulty: she'd been more concerned about herself than him, if what she'd said was anything to go by. He turned to open the passenger door, more than happy to let Andy take on the burden of the conversation, and anyway, his ankle needed a rest.

“Eric's been staying with me and my partner for a few days. He suffered an accident when the pavements were so slippery and he's needed a short time away from home to recover. I've been checking on the cottage in the evenings.” Andy closed the boot of the 4x4 and stood holding onto his car keys.

Mrs Turner took the hint. “Well, I'll let you get on.” She raised her voice slightly. “I hope you're back home soon, Mr Whitehouse.”

Eric raised his hand in acknowledgement from the safety of the passenger seat.

Andy did the goodbyes. “Nice to have met you, Mrs Turner. Eric should be back home before too long.”

“My pleasure, Mr Harper. It's always a privilege to make my acquaintance with a handsome, polite young man.”

Eric imagined her upping the wattage of her smile and perhaps fluttering her eyelashes. He rolled his eyes at the thought.

Andy opened the driver's side door and dived in. The expression of relief on his face was plain to see. “I don't know about the dog, but she's a force to be reckoned with. … Just as well neither of us is that way inclined.”

Both men sniggered briefly before Andy started to back the car out. They were on their way home.

After lunch, Andy dealt with his work emails and brought his accounts up to date. All the while, he was conscious of Eric in the background. The old man seemed incapable of settling to anything – book, TV, or newspaper. As he looked up, Eric closed his book, an expression of discontent on his face. The older man had been grumpy for most of the morning. Was it something to do with the supper party?

Andy decided to find out. “Eric?”

He was now wrestling with the newspaper. “What?”

Andy gave him a moment before replying. “You worried about something? This evening maybe?”

Eric tossed the crumpled paper onto the side table. “This woman who's coming …”

“Yes. Claire. She's my boss in a way. She runs A Helping Hand.”

“What am I meant to say to her? I know nothing about women's things.”

Andy snorted. “She's a very busy person. I think you'll find she has very little time for 'women's things' as you term them. … Look, Claire knows some details about you, from what I've told her, and from my reports. I guess she'd like to know more?”

Eric shrugged. “What's there about me that's interesting? Nothing.”

Andy suppressed a sigh. This was the Eric of their initial encounter – cross-grained, touchy. He decided to turn the question round. “Claire has other ideas for schemes that should help disadvantaged people like you. Wouldn't you like to know more?”

“Oh …”

At least that provoked some response other than grumbling.

“What kind of thing?”

The question was an added bonus. Andy was cautiously relieved. “You'd need to ask her. But I know she's looking into setting up a foodbank.”

Eric frowned. “I've read about them, but I'm still not clear what they are.”

“They're run by charities using food donated by individuals or companies …”

By the end of his short explanation, Eric had asked a couple of additional questions. The older man was looking more himself again. Clearly though, just staying where they were for the rest of the afternoon wasn't going to be a good idea. Eric needed something to occupy him.

He thought of a possible solution. “How about we have a short trip? There's an art supplies shop I discovered the other week in Leominster. Do you fancy a browse? Perhaps we could see if they stock a book which would help you with your sketching?”

Eric had refused Andy's offer to bring his pad and sketching pencils from home. Andy thought what the other man needed was something to restore his confidence, give him the tools to practice.

Eric sat up straight. “Yes, please. I'd like that.”

“Great. Five minutes to get ready, then we'll be off.”

Eric stood up and headed out for his coat and scarf.

Once they were on the main road, Andy tried striking up a conversation with his passenger. Eric hadn't said a word since they'd left, and was only occasionally looking out of the window.

“When were you last in Leominster, Eric?”

Eric stirred. “Pardon?”

Andy repeated the question.

“Err … can't remember.” Eric's forehead furrowed as he thought. “Maybe when I was a kid? My parents used to go there sometimes. Never understood why.”

“Not since?” He glanced sideways. “It's only a couple of stops on the train, isn't it?”

Eric shrugged. “What's there, that I can't get at home?”

“Artists' stuff, to start with.”

A wry smile of acknowledgement appeared briefly on Eric's face.

“Eric, do you never visit a place just to have a look around? See something new?”

“What? Like a tourist, you mean?” The older man grimaced. “No. Can't say I have. Not recently, anyway. Had a few days out when I was working. Couldn't see the attraction myself.”

Andy sighed inwardly. Sometimes, the old man still took his breath away. So blinkered, so lacking the ability to enjoy himself. He and Adam went away two or three times a year. June was the next one they had pencilled in – ten days in Yorkshire. Great cycling country. They both loved visiting new places, and revisiting old favourites.

“I'm sure you can afford the train fare now, or there's probably still a bus service. That'd be free.”

“Hmm …” Eric frowned as he thought. “I forget that my pass can be used on other services. I get so fixed on my routines.”

Andy smiled. His client wasn't so lacking in self-awareness, he only needed a push sometimes to move him onto other paths. “Well, your routines have had a real shake-up recently. Summer's coming. Make the most of the better weather. It'll do you good.”

“Maybe.”

Andy decided to leave it at that. The idea had been planted.

In Leominster, Eric wandered round the small, densely stocked shop. He had no idea there were so many things an artist needed. Or could be persuaded to buy. When he drew, he'd always managed with the sort of paper the local stationer stocked – when there was such a shop locally – and cheap children's pencils. What the lads gave him at Christmas was so much better. Pity he hadn't put them to much use yet. He stood in front of a wooden easel costing upwards of a hundred pounds. Who was going pay that sort of money? Then he moved to a display of oil paints, the tubes displaying the names of colours he barely recognised. Burnt sienna? What kind of colour was that?

“Eric?”

He looked round to see Andy waving a book at him.

“Come and take a look at this.” The younger man appeared excited at his find.

When he opened the book, it was clear why. The volume contained a clear, simple explanation of the basics of landscape sketching – balance, viewpoint, perspective, composition. And colour. Eric stared at the pages. It was just what he needed. He turned the book over in search of the price. Fifteen pounds. His heart sank. Even with the increased pension, he couldn't justify that.

His face must have told the story because Andy leant towards him with a question.

“When's your birthday, Eric?”

Eric blinked. His birthday was a non-starter; had been since he was a kid. Except for filling in forms, he never bothered to remember. “Err… End of April. The twenty-eighth.”

“So, soon. Awesome.”

Eric wondered what was 'awesome' about that particular date.

Andy continued. “Will you let me buy you this as a birthday present?”

“A present?”

“Yes. Why not? Adam and I make a fuss of each other's birthdays.”

Eric shrugged. “OK … If you want to.”

“Great.” With a beaming smile, Andy strode off to the counter and paid immediately.

Coming back, he asked another question. “Would you like it now, or on your birthday?”

“Err …” It didn't make any difference to him, but he wanted to please Andy. “On my birthday?”

“Done. Right …” Andy looked at his phone. “We need to be getting back. Supper isn't going to cook itself.”

They strolled back to car.

“Thanks for the trip, Andy. I'm sorry if I was bad tempered earlier.”

“That's OK.” Andy gave him a quick side-on hug. “Enjoy this evening. The food, if nothing else.”

“I'll try.”