Food For The Soul

Josh wasn’t a boy any more. Was Yvonne just being overprotective?

FOUR flights, a one-hour boat trip and several jabs, including those for yellow fever and rabies. Not to forget the malaria tablets.

Yvonne gave a sigh. This was what it took to take part in a volunteering programme in Peru. Her seventeen-year-old son was adamant. Josh wanted a career in environmental science and this trip would help him get into a top university.

A wry smile crossed her face as she put down the shopping bags and knocked on Bert’s door. She was proud of Josh. He was brave and passionate about the earth’s climate and animals.

Yet wasn’t it her job, as a mother, to counsel him and give advice? He wasn’t yet an adult and this was a mammoth journey.

Bert opened the door. He’d employed her two years ago to do his shopping and keep the house clean – or rather his daughter had. During the interview Bert had pulled a face and insisted he could manage on his own. Apparently his daughter knew better.

As it turned out, she did have a point. With his arthritis Bert found it hard to carry heavy shopping, and cleaning the bathroom aggravated his creaky knees and sore back.

“Come in, young lady,” he said and led her through to the kitchen.

Feeling like a twentyyear-old, Yvonne closed the door, took off her shoes and put on the slippers she always brought.

Bert had lovely terracotta carpets. His daughter had helped him refurbish the house last year with new buttermilk wallpaper and flooring, plus a more supportive three-piece suite.

He’d turned ninety last month and with a wink had said he hoped the new decor would last him another 20 years.

“It’s lavender cake today.” Bert rubbed his hands.

“Oh, really? Another adventurous recipe from Annie?” Yvonne’s voice sounded uncertain.

“Now come on, Yvonne,” Bert replied. “We really should support my granddaughter’s creative nature. It’s food for the soul to step out of your comfort zone.”

“True. I never used to like beetroot until I tried her vegan chocolate cake. She’ll be the next Mary Berry at this rate.”

“Yes, so we’d better watch out for any soggy bottoms,” Bert joked.

They looked at each other and laughed.

“I’d better get on,” Yvonne said. “Meet you back here in one hour for our tasting session?”

“It’s a date.” Bert gave a little bow and slowly began to take out the food items from the bags and store them in his cupboards.

Yvonne carried her cleaning products upstairs and started by dusting his bedroom. Then she set about changing the sheets.

The room was full of character, with his collection of pipes set out, even though he didn’t smoke any more.

They looked like a set of wind instruments that might play a merry tune.

By his bed was a tower of books – memoirs of various global politicians and leaders that, all together, looked like a totem pole symbolising the history of the world.

Photographs punctuated the walls – colourful family ones and black and white shots from his military days.

On his late wife’s side of the bed lay a Steiff teddy bear. He’d told Yvonne she used to collect them. This one wore a wedding veil and held a bouquet.

Carefully Yvonne laid it back on the pillow after smoothing down the green sheets.

One paw was worn and an eye was missing, but for Bert it was probably the most valuable item in his home.

Next she moved on to the bathroom. She cleaned the bath and sink, then sprayed and wiped the mirrors.

Normally Yvonne found housework therapeutic. The physical movements acted like a brush that swept her mind clear of petty obsessions and worries.

However, today her thoughts centred firmly on Josh and Peru. Tomorrow was the final date for signing up to the project.

Still mulling all this over, she eventually headed back downstairs for her half-time break.

Bert sat ready at the kitchen table. He’d set out two slices of cake, two cups and a steaming teapot.

Yvonne smiled and put down her dusters, bottles and sponges.

“How are you, Bert?” she asked as he poured two cups of tea. “Did you win at chess club yesterday?”

“Two out of three games,” he replied proudly. “Alfie wasn’t happy. He’d learned

a new move from his nephew but I still beat him.”

Bert gave one of his hearty bellows.

“You should have seen his face. His eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. But it’s about time I had a chance. He’d won the three previous games to that.” He sipped his drink.

“But enough about me. What’s the matter today? I’ve not heard a peep out of you, whistling wise.”

“Count yourself lucky,” she said and forced a smile. “We both know I’m as out of tune as a violin that’s been left in the sun.”

Bert took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

“Is everything tickety-boo with your mum? You said last week that she had a bad dose of flu.”

“Yes. Everything is fine, thanks.”

Bert raised one of his bushy eyebrows.

“You’re talking to ex-military here, madam,” he teased. “I can always tell when someone is bending the truth.”

Yvonne pushed away the unusual-looking cake and sighed.

“It’s Josh.”

She told him about the Peruvian jungle trip and how her son and husband thought she was worrying too much.

“I can see why they think that,” she admitted. “The trip is run by a reputable company and he’ll be travelling with a couple of other volunteers.

“But I won’t have internet or phone contact with him whilst he’s away. What if he gets homesick?”

Eyes twinkling, Bert tilted his head and Yvonne gave a sheepish look.

“I know. His old mum will be the last thing on his mind when he’s looking after spectacled bears and feeding spider monkeys.” She shrugged.

“But there are also tarantulas there, and apparently moths the size of hands and –”

“It sounds like a once-ina-lifetime experience,” Bert interrupted.

“So you agree with Josh and Martin?”

Bert sipped his tea slowly then put the cup in the saucer and replaced his glasses.

“In 1944,” he began, “I was seventeen years old, like your Josh. The conscription age was eighteen. I was a frustrated young man, working on a building site, watching older brothers and neighbours in their glamorous uniforms, heading off to defend our country.” “Glamorous?”

Bert shook his head. “We were young and naive. The life of a soldier seemed honourable and somewhat exotic. Many of us lied about our age and enlisted.”

Yvonne’s brow knotted as she pulled her plate nearer.

“Didn’t the authorities find out?” She took a bite of the cake.

“My mother did.” Bert grimaced and lines formed in his forehead.

“As D-day approached, officials began to turn a blind eye. They knew they were going to need as many young men as possible. But Mother . . .”

He swallowed.

“She shouted at me. She never did that. Not even when we got into scrapes as young kids.”

“Didn’t your eldest brother pass away during the war?” Yvonne asked softly.

“Yes. He never came back. It hit Mother hard. She was never quite the same again. I didn’t mean to bring back all that pain, but I wanted to serve my country, too, and was frustrated that just one year lay between me and adulthood and fulfilling my dream.”

“A bit like Josh,” she said.

“A volunteering trip isn’t like going to war – but in these civilised times I understand how scary the idea of the jungle must seem to you, as his mum.” Yvonne nodded.

“I’d never presume to compare my situation to your mother’s, but yes.” A lump formed in her throat.

“What if something happens whilst he’s on the other side of the world? There’s nothing I can do. His fate is out of my control.”

“That’s exactly how my mother felt,” Bert said.

“But she must have agreed in the end. What changed her mind?”

Bert straightened up and brushed crumbs off his sweater.

“I said I was sorry, and that I should have been honest and told her. But then I explained how important it was to me.” His voice wavered.

“I wanted to do my bit. My brother had and he paid the highest price. I felt his death wouldn’t be in vain if we all kept on fighting the good fight.”

Yvonne’s eyes felt wet as she imagined all those parents waving goodbye to their sons, knowing that it might be the last time they saw them.

“Mother said years later that she hadn’t much choice. She knew I’d resent her for ever if she held me back.

“I like to think I wouldn’t have, but . . .” His shoulders bobbed up and down. “Who knows?”

This had crossed Yvonne’s mind. Josh had his mind set on a career that involved the environment and travel.

Would he always hold it against her if she prevented him from grasping what sounded like an amazing opportunity?

Josh was no longer her little boy. At some point she had to let go, however difficult that was.

She blinked away her tears. Martin and Josh often made jokes about her not cutting the apron strings, but Yvonne had spent nigh on 20 years looking out for her son.

It was more than a habit – it was an inbuilt instinct. She couldn’t imagine a life without Josh.

She shook herself. She had to face the fact that Josh wasn’t a child any more.

His lust for independence showed she’d done her job.

“Did you ever regret it?” Yvonne asked. “Did you ever wish you’d never signed up?”

Bert thought for a moment.

“I was a stretcher-bearer. It was my job to pick up the injured. At that young age I had to decide who should be saved and who should be left to die.” His voice turned hoarse. “Nothing prepares you for holding your dying comrades in your arms.

“But no, I didn’t regret it. It made me the man I am today. I acquired lots of skills I’d never have gained on a building site.” He fiddled with the teaspoon. “It taught me gratitude for what I’ve got – and resilience. I’m content with the life I’ve had.

“Rosie and I had sixty blessed years together. I’m not rolling rich, but I’m not penny-pinching poor. I’ve never forgotten my brother and those comrades who didn’t make it home. It’s made me appreciate the simple things and that has enriched my life.”

Yvonne nodded. No doubt the remote reserve in the Peruvian jungle would be challenging in its own way, but in the long run, getting through that would benefit her son.

Perhaps he’d gain a different – and valuable – perspective from living somewhere simpler without the internet and mod cons.

She took another bite of the fragrant sponge.

“What’s your verdict, then?” Bert asked as he polished off his slice. “It’s a jolly decent cake, I say.”

“It is rather delicious.” Yvonne wiped her mouth with a napkin. “A very subtle flavour. I should step out of my comfort zone more often.”

And that’s what she had to allow Josh to do, even though it frightened her every waking moment.

Josh had his own path to follow now. Eighteen was only a number, and he was almost there.

Stepping out of his comfort zone would broaden his mind and be food for his soul.

Feeling lighter than she had in days, Yvonne picked up her fork again and ate the last mouthful of lavender cake.