you know your problem

What was at the root of my neighbour’s sudden desire to tackle that extremely stubborn old tree stump?

Ifancied myself as a bit of a problem solver. I’d devoured the agony-aunt sections of magazines for years. I’d learned all the tricks to good relationships.

I told my friend, June, she needed to join clubs to meet a man. I’d told my friend, Lucy, she needed time alone with her teenage son to reconnect.

Being an expert, I knew there was something wrong with Jim next door. I saw him from my window in his front garden digging around the roots of a big old tree stump.

When I wandered outside I pulled up a weed so I looked busy.

“The ground’s a bit hard, isn’t it, Jim? Maybe you ought to wait for a bit more rain before you try to dig that out?”

He’s always been an active pensioner like me. He raised his spade then bought it crashing back down to earth. “It’ll be fine, thank you,” he said. Men need displacement activities, don’t they? Jim, covered in sweat and already panting like a winded horse, hadn’t started this job because he loved to dig. No, he had a few feelings he needed to excavate. “How’s Mary?” He’d started seeing her six months ago. I never thought he’d see another woman after his wife passed away.

“She’s fine.” His spade bounced off a tree root with a loud ominous clunk. Ohright!Isee!She’snotfineatall. It would be a terrible shame if they’d reached a troubled phase. Still, at some point everybody has to deal with their partner’s imperfections.

I knew precisely what Jim needed me to do. I had to edge round things carefully so he wouldn’t clam up.

“How are you getting on with her son and daughter these days?”

“Fine. Thanks.” Clang went his spade. Clang. Clang. Clang. Notsogood,then.Ohdearme. Of course Mary’s adult children would take great care of their mother. Maybe they didn’t think Jim was up to scratch. He did live in a tiny bungalow. Maybe her brood suspected he might enjoy another form of digging – the type that involved gold, perhaps?

I had just opened my mouth, all set to get stuck into the meat of his worries, when he cut me off.

“I know what you’re doing and you can stop. I decided to dig up this stump this morning, that’s all. There’s no hidden agenda or subplots. You know what your problem is… you’re bored!”

With that he sloped off, his walk like a gunslinger’s. Well I never! Since I moved in, years ago, he’d always been a good friend. They’re the ones who tell the truth when everybody else is telling lies, aren’t they?

I read that in a magazine.

He’d left me a bit stumped now. I stared down into the hole he’d dug. I picked up his spade, using it to poke at the hard-packed soil. I used to do things like this a lot – you ask my wife.

I used to drill and hammer, saw and prune when I was a younger man. I’d do it in a frosty silence, too, like Jim.

AmIhelpingpeople…oramI interferingtoliventhingsup?

I pushed that spade into the rock-like ground so hard it made my palms ache.

“Leave that, Barry.” Jim’s voice made me jump. “Come and have a cuppa.” He gave a watery smile. “And a chat.”

Of course, my wife wasn’t the only woman in town partial to a magazine or three… and I suspect I’m not the only bloke ever to start off having a quick peek at the gardening section before progressing on to DearAngus or DearJane… and then, later on, moving on to all those TV shows full of folk trying to line up their emotions like little yellow ducks. I set Jim’s spade down. His brows hitch up then fall. I smiled too. We’relearning,Jim.At thisrateneitherofuswillneedtodigup atreeeveragain.Weknowabetterway thesedays,don’twe?

I gave him a wink. “Tea, cake and a chin-wag? Oh yes, that’ll sort us out.”