Kind Hearts and Brunettes

In September I posted a story focusing on random acts of kindness https://www.abctales.com/story/gletherby/random-acts. For World Kindness Day (13^th November) (posting a little early) I decided to develop the story of one of the characters in my original tale a little further.

****

Since Lou’s death, twelve long years ago, Mick has lived alone. Each other’s first love they hadn't spent a night apart for more than four decades when she died. He feels her loss keenly; still. The children keep in touch but the contact is somewhat sporadic. They all three live far away with their respective families and Mick sees them only on high days and holidays and not always then. They’re busy after all. Even when they do meet up it’s rare that the whole clan, which includes seven grandchildren, all get together. Mick wouldn’t admit it to any of his loved ones, or indeed anyone else, but he is lonely a lot of the time. On occasion he weeps a little and has thought about telling his doctor about this out of character behaviour. But not wanting to waste her time he keeps it to himself.

The council allotments is where he is happiest. His middle-sized plot keeps him busy and gives him a focus. And there’s always folk to talk to. He goes most days, even when there’s not much that needs doing. It’s worth an aching back and the growing Radox bill. He knows he’s one of the lucky ones. His wonderful memories of the love of his life warm his heart. He doesn’t doubt that the kids care for him despite their sometimes thoughtless neglect. On the occasions he drops by the pub - not that often, but he likes a pint every now and then - he sees the same old blokes propping up the bar. To a man they make one drink last all afternoon just for a bit of company. He’s convinced it’s no easier for women for whenever he (increasingly) short-cuts through Wilson Street he sees the woman from No 11 staring, sadly (at least it seems so to him), out of her front room window. They generally share a smile and a wave. She has a lovely face and reminds him a little of Lou. She never went grey on top either, unlike him. More than once Mick has contemplated knocking on the front door and suggesting they have coffee together. It’s a long time though since he’s made any kind of romantic advance towards a woman. He’s too shy, too nervous to do so now.

No believer Mick thanks a lucky star or two for his allotment friends. And for Jacquie the young woman that stops to chat to him nearly every day. Funny that the most significant women in his life all have, or had, beautiful brown hair. Jacquie asks him about this family and listens to him talk about his life with Lou. In return she tells him about her own daily doings and her children’s exploits. Yesterday she accepted his offer of a cup of tea, as she often does, and whilst they drank, perched on upturned fruit crates, she told him about a rare night out she had recently with her best friend. Their meal at the pasta place in town was clearly a disaster gastronomically but the way she told the story had Mick snorting with laughter. Today she’s in a hurry but nevertheless lingers to talk for a while. He gives her a big bag of cooking apples and his mouth is already watering at the promised slice of juicy pie she’s going to bring him tomorrow. He will make some custard to go with it. Before stowing away his tools he packs his own bag with root vegetables with which to make soup. It’s getting dark as he walks home. He’s been through the Radio Times and circled an interesting documentary to watch later. He’s not expecting a call from anyone tonight. Not wanting to be a bother he leaves it up to the family to get in touch with him. But, not to worry. By the time he’s made and eaten supper, read the paper and watched his programme and the news he can go to bed. The sooner he does the sooner tomorrow will come. And come the morning there are things to look forward to. A peek at his late life crush. Some chat with his fellow community gardeners and with Jacquie. A little hardish labour to tire him out. And the apple pie. What a treat. If it’s a big piece maybe he’ll pluck up his courage and ring the bell at No 11 Wilson Street and offer to share more than a smile with the woman who answers the door.