PUSHOVER

I get pushed around; I always have. I`m no modern woman deciding the
fate of nations, nor even the power behind some male chauvinist throne.
My friend Marcia knew this, and when she needed some country retreat
from her latest romantic tangle she didn`t hesitate. She banged on my
front door at six one evening.

"Jean," she announced, "this place is just what I need - room to
breathe and no hassle. I could sleep in Somerset for ever and
ever.

"Then why don`t you, I replied. "You can afford it."

She looked at me as if I were crazy. Since we had been Best Friends in
our small town Comprehensive she, unlike me, had been busy "seizing
Life with both hands" as she put it.

This had entailed marriage to a property developer at sixteen, divorced
status at nineteen, two more marriages with their accompanying divorces
and a prestigious P.R. job. Now at twenty six she was reasonably
wealthy, and I suspected, short on happiness.

I regarded her smart little black dress and perfect hair do.

"Did you have your hair done just to come down here?"

"Of course not, It`s three days old."

"Oh," I muttered She looked me up and down. As I had not changed, done
my hair of even cleaned the grease out of my fingernails, I felt a bit
like the country cousin I was.

"And how about you? Is this the girl who used to obey every school rule
no matter how dowdy you looked?"

"Absolutely," I answered." Inside I`m just the same."

"What would I do with myself?" she asked.

"Marry someone with a country house who wouldn`t worry about your
money, or wanted you to replace the windows or the front door!"

She shot a glance at me. "Why haven`t you then? You`re pretty
enough."

"I`m fine. I like country life."

"What about men?"

"Nothing really."

Marcia shook her head sadly,

I added, "I`m pretty good friends with my boss."

"Who is ...?"

"Joe. He mostly deals with the cars while I -"

"I know what you do," she interrupted.

I liked to call myself an Agricultural Engineer. Tractor Mechanic would
be nearer the truth. I enjoyed the work while I got on fine with Joe.
And we could go down to the pub after a heavy day without tongues
wagging and that suited us well enough.

Marcia shook her head again so I suggested that she came down to the
garage to "examine my workplace".

"Big deal," she said, but she came.

Joe was busy with a stripped gearbox when we arrived in his workshop.
Marcia picked her way carefully round various chunks of machinery. Then
Joe looked up, smiling, and I heard her catch her breath.

Just for a moment I saw him with Marcia`s eyes. Not that he looked like
a film star or anything, he was homely. But his features were strong
and it would probably be clear even to the most insensitive that here
was someone worth getting to know. And I think I had done some of
that!

When I set off to rescue a farmer whose tractor had collapsed through
lack of tender loving care, Marcia was gazing with apparent wonder as
Joe slotted cogs into place.

I returned two hours later to find her in a spare pair of my dungarees,
still gazing, and handing tools as required, and neither her hands or
her dungarees seemed to get any oil on them nor was one hair out of
place. Neither of them noticed me so I sneaked off home.

On the second day she was down by ten-thirty, and by eleven o`clock
when I shouted to Joe that I was going to make the tea she appeared
with a pot made as she said, "Just as Joe likes it."

How could she know that?

"Easily," she said when I asked her, "Yesterday I watched Joe make
it.."

Joe said that he had never had a better cup! And he was enthusiastic
about the biscuits, from my larder, that she provided!

Naturally I did the washing up, and when had finished she was in
dungarees again. I should have mentioned that she had "borrowed" an old
pair of my jeans and one of my better t-shirts.

She stayed and helped Joe with his work. She seemed to know just where
every spanner should be, and neither her hands nor her dungarees seemed
to get any oil on them nor her hair become disturbed at all.

At lunch time I suggested that we went home and I would prepare
something for her.

"It's all right," she said, "I made some sandwiches from your smoked
salmon, enough for two."

I thought for a moment, and shrugged. "I'm going home, I said. I want
to finish something."

"Oh well, be like that!"

"Like what?"

"You know perfectly well."

"Oh, I do, do I?"

I stumped off to remove my dungarees.

That evening we went on down to the "Rose". This is my favourite pub,
in fact the only pub within three miles. I often used to meet Joe here,
and he sometimes bought me a Cider with blackcurrant. Marcia laughed
when she saw me ordering this, ordering herself a gin and tonic. Then
her laughter died in her throat when she saw Joe come in looking as he
usually did in the evening, very smart in his blazer and a tie.

"Doesn`t look the same man, does he? Except the eyes, they are ...well
you know." she whispered as he wandered over to us.

Then she began to monopolise his company. She bought him his beer and
offered him a bag of chips. Then she suggested our sitting down The
only table available was for two, but I brought up another chair. She
cast me a look and almost turned her back on me. I gave up and wandered
away and found a group of girls I knew to drink with.

She actually joined me at the final bell - Joe came and smiled at me
and went off to join some of his mates as they began to pour out.
Marcia smiled too, though not at me.

For the next few days I was privileged to watch her "giving Joe the
benefit of her encouragement" (as she called it). This was mainly
handing spanners and providing cups of tea. She always wore jeans, and
a colourful T-shirt which she borrowed from me like the
dungarees.

The evenings of course were spent at the "Rose". I came down most
nights, as I was beginning to see that Joe meant a lot more to me than
a mere boss.

She laid on the charm, at home that is. When she was down at my work
place she ignored me and concentrated on Joe. In the end, after three
days, I had had enough. No good trying to talk her into going back to
London, I knew this wouldn`t work. But I had an idea....

I knew a girl in Marcia`s office and taking a tractor and parking it
outside my house I phoned her. She didn`t mind talking about
Marcia.

"Seems to take leave whenever it suits her. She has broken up with
someone did you say? I hadn`t heard about it. She has about three boys
in tow I think. Yes, she has them round to her flat whenever she wants
to .... yes, she believes in some sort of safety in numbers ... her
boys last about three to four weeks usually. No, she isn`t very popular
among the ladies here! I suspect that`s why she came down to you. A
mechanic, really? Oh, your boss. No I shouldn`t let her get her oar
in."

At this point I found an excuse and rang off. I made one or two other
phone calls and returned the tractor to my workplace.

That night I went down again to the "Rose". Marcia was sitting by Joe
and was letting her head rest on his shoulder. I went straight up to
them and announced that I had a phone call about her flat. It had been
burgled.

"So," I added, Mark who was visiting with the key you had given him,
rang up and he should be down in about (I glanced at my watch) fifteen
to thirty minutes. You better get yourself up to my house to be ready
for him.

"Can`t you...?"

"No I can`t"

"I told him to come in here if there was no one at the house, I gave
him directions."

"Oh," was all she said as she grabbed her bag, and left."

I sat down in her chair.

"Thanks," said Joe.

"You what?"

"I was getting desperate. She was all over me but I didn`t want to hurt
her feelings like. She`s your friend...."

"Friend!" I said.

I leaned back in my chair. Joe was looking at me in a way I`d not seen
before and I felt that my knees would buckle if I tried to stand. He
opened his mouth to speak but I put a hand over it..

I suppose I am a pushover really.