Juliet Alone

Could anything replace her precious statue, or what it represented?

Moving on

Awhoosh and smash from outside makes me abandon my lasagne for one and rush to the window. The sight of Romeo’s head lying in my tiny wilderness of a garden explains the noise.

My gorgeous statue of two lovers entwined – Romeo and Juliet, Jon christened them – is no more. Well, Juliet is still all there, but her lover is minus his head which lies alongside large chunks from the rest of him. A huge black and white ball sits at their feet surrounded by grey chippings and bits of plaster, scattered among nettles and bindweed.

I sink into an armchair, wanting to cry, scream or shout, but am too shocked to do anything. Fred, my beautiful black cat, sensing something is up, blinks at me from the settee. It’s only by chance that I’m here at lunchtime to witness this “murder”, having taken a flexi day off. No doubt Darren, the would-be Wayne Rooney from next door, thinks I’m safely at work. The family only moved in about two weeks ago, yet that ball’s been over more times than Rooney has scored.

Today’s tragedy is the last straw. My statue, placed ceremoniously out there by Jon on our second wedding anniversary, is ruined. I close my eyes and think of Jon staggering in, having lugged my present from the car boot.

“Romeo and Juliet!” he announced. “They’ll make us do the garden; can’t have these beautiful people wallowing in weeds,” he laughed, not many months before the sudden heart attack that killed him far too young, three years ago.

Well, I might not have got around to the gardening, but I do realise we were lucky to find this flat with its own little patch of garden. And I’ve treasured my love-struck pair; so romantic, on freezing nights, to imagine them keeping each other warm out there!

Now the tears are welling up and I grab my phone before they take hold. Sue, my lovely friend, will hear me out.

“Sue, guess what…” I ramble on and on, describing Romeo’s sad demise in great detail. Sue finally interrupts.

“Just listen to yourself – Mrs Grumps doesn’t cover it! You’d think you were in your eighties, not your thirties. The lad has to play somewhere. It’s just a statue!”

Shocked, I remind her of Romeo’s origins and she apologises. But I finish the call feeling like the cruel witch of the West. Yet I love children, always have done. Sue’s two think I’m the bee’s knees – or something equally sweet.

But I’m still furious. R and J were not “just a statue”. Something has to be done – and right now, while I’m still angry.

I shall go and rave at the parents. I’ve never met them, just heard the mum shrieking “Darren!” in the garden. Even now, in the depths of winter, the child seems to spend most of his time outdoors And I’ve always tossed his ball back over. Not today, though – no way! I tip my wretched lasagne in the bin and stride purposefully into next door’s drive.

The man of the house answers. Tall, dark and pleasant-looking he might be, but that welcoming smile of his is about to be wiped off his face. “I’m Liz, from the flat next door,” I

announce. “He’s done it again, your lad; kicked his flaming football into my garden! Only this time he’s broken a precious statue – shattered into bits. And my husband, Jon – my late husband – it was an anniversary present…”

My voice trails off. I can’t go on because I’m choking and, horror of horrors, any minute I’m going to break down. I’m in as many bits as Romeo.

I stand gasping and stuttering and this wide-eyed man looks horrified.

Out of the corner of my tearful eye I glimpse Darren, the culprit, heading down the hall.

“Oh, no – I really am so sorry!” Dad turns and yells the boy’s name. Then he smiles at me. “Do come in – ” I shake my head. “Well, is there anything we can do? Can it be mended? Can we buy another?” I shake my head more vigorously. “No way, thanks all the same. That’s not why I’ve come…” I flounder. Why have I come? “This is awful,” he adds. “I shall have words with Darren right now!”

I smile weakly. Yet he actually looks as though he means it.

“I’m Kev, by the way. His mother’s not here at the moment, but –”

“I just thought you should know,” I interrupt, suddenly feeling embarrassed because, quite honestly, what can they do about it?

“I’ve been meaning to mend that fence between the gardens,” he begins, but I’m already fleeing.

Back in my flat I make myself a strong coffee and mutter darkly to myself, “Liz, get a grip. Sue was so right!” Fred yawns and stares at me; I’m disturbing his sleep.

I must calm down, either forget the whole episode or one day go out and chip away at the rest of Romeo, just leaving Juliet. But she’ll be lonely… and so cold without her lover.

I give in to the tears I’ve fought all day. Of course, I’m not crying for Romeo, but for my Jon. A bit later I feel better.

“Onwards and upwards,” I say aloud, quoting one of Jon’s favourite sayings.

Next day is Saturday and it’s raining. I answer a few emails, trying to avoid looking out of the window at the lovesick Juliet, now peering into space.

I’ve made a decision – when spring comes I shall rival Alan Titchmarsh. Weeds and plants all look alike to me, especially in the winter, but I can learn.

I’m just about to Google the price of lavender – I have this vision of Juliet wallowing happily in a purple scented mist – when the doorbell rings. Darren and his dad are standing there in the rain.

Of course I’m not CRYING over broken Romeo, but for my late HUSBAND

“Er, Liz – is it? Darren here has something to say,” Kev announces.

I grin stupidly, wishing Mrs Grumps to the moon and back.

The lad looks terrified. “I’m – er – sorry I broke your statue,” he stutters.

“Please, don’t worry! Look, do come in out of the rain,” I interrupt. This is all so embarrassing. I feel terrible. “It was an accident,” I say to Kev, following me inside. “It’s just that it was a rather special statue.” “Irreplaceable, yes. We do get it –” He breaks off. Darren runs back to the porch and grabs something from behind a pillar before re-joining us. In the lounge, he thrusts a bulky object at me.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I bought that for you out of my pocket money. Picked it myself. Ooh, a cat!”

He beams, crossing to the settee to stroke a wary Fred.

I stare down at the object I’m clutching. It’s a gnome. A fat little man in a mustard tee shirt, green trousers and red hat grins up at me.

How thoughtful of the lad to do this! I glance at Kev, who is silently shaking his head and rolling his eyes behind his son’s back.

“Entirely Darren’s idea,” he says. “His Mum suggests you call him Romeo 2,” he adds, trying not to laugh.

“But he’s gorgeous, Darren,” I declare. “Thank you so much. Did your mum help you choose him?”

“No. I just told her I was buying him. Mum’s still in hospital.” Oh, no… I frown at Kev. “I’m so sorry to hear that – ” “Janine’s in for tests,” Kev explains. But, touch wood, everything’s fine and she’s due out in a couple of days. So, I shall be going home.” “Pardon?” “I’m just Darren-sitting. Janine, my sister, is divorced, like me.” I take a deep breath. “D’you want your garden done?” Darren asks, tickling a blissful Fred’s chin. “I’m a wizard at gardens!” Kev laughs. “He is, too. A dab hand at digging.” “That would be great! When the weather improves we can do it together, Darren,” I suggest.

“Now let’s go and introduce Romeo 2 to Juliet and you can also fetch your ball.”

Darren scoops up the gnome and we traipse out into the rain.

“I reckon I’ll be back soon,” says Kev, smiling at me warmly. “That fence needs urgent attention and, who knows, your garden might need a third pair of hands.” I nod, grinning broadly. Darren places the gaudy gnome next to Juliet and we all three gaze at the very odd-looking couple. Then we start to giggle. I just know that somewhere, my Jon is laughing along with us, urging me onwards and upwards.