Riverside
Mary and Ruby try their hand at painting . . .
CAROL and Mike?” Ruby whispered. “Are you sure?” “George said he saw them sitting together in the Old Engine Room having lunch,” Mary whispered back.
“Are they dating?” Ruby asked.
Mary shrugged. “They’ve already tried dating, if you recall,” she said.
“And Carol dumped him because he wasn’t exciting enough for her.”
Ruby leaned in close. “Well, I think . . .” Ruby began, but was cut off before she could say more.
“Ladies!” a stern voice called from the front of the group.
“No talking. I’m trying to explain the basics of watercolour techniques and constant chattering disturbs everyone.”
Ruby nudged Mary and gave the art tutor a sheepish grin.
After their art class ended, Mary and Ruby packed up their brushes and headed out of the community centre, chatting about Carol and Mike.
They were heading to the Old Engine Room deli café on the riverside path.
“I wonder if Clive’s summer menu is still on?”
Mary mused.
“I had his watercress quiche last week and it was delicious.”
“I’m hoping he’ll have the strawberry cheesecake.” Ruby winked. “George’s strawberries are the best.”
They walked on in silence and Mary turned her face to the sun that was peeking out from behind the clouds.
“What do you reckon to our first art class?” Mary asked.
“Painting a bowl of fruit?” Ruby smiled. “Hardly thrilling stuff, is it?”
“We have to learn the basics before we try anything more ambitious.
“Next week we’re painting outdoors, so that ought to be good,” Mary reasoned. “And the instructor seems keen.”
“He seems young,” Ruby retorted. “Very young.”
Mary slipped her arm through Ruby’s and pulled her gently towards her.
“Everyone does these days.”
****
At his allotment, George was busy tying sweet peas around wooden supports.
He breathed in the sweet, peppery scent of his flowers and decided to cut some to take home for Mary.
He walked to the greenhouse and picked up his secateurs.
When he began snipping, he saw someone approaching from the corner of his eye.
He caught the outline of a flowing purple skirt, then saw bare feet in flip-flops and a small tattoo at the ankle of a tanned leg.
He spun round, surprised to see Harry Mason’s wife, Angela.
“Cutting all the flowers off, George?” Angela asked.
George stood with a sweet peas in one hand and the secateurs in the other.
“That’s the trick with sweet peas, Angela. The more flowers you cut, the more will come.”
“I wish I had green fingers like you,” Angela remarked.
“For all I want to save the planet, I haven’t a clue about growing things.”
“I could teach you, if you’d like?” George offered. Angela laughed.
“We don’t have a garden in our riverside apartment.”
“But you have a windowsill, I’d bet. And a balcony. You could grow flowers and vegetables in pots.”
“Harry’s not keen on having plants about the place,” she explained.
George carried on snipping the blooms.
He was curious to know why Angela had come to see him.
If she wasn’t interested in gardening, then what did she want?
Angela cleared her throat.
“Speaking of Harry,” she began. “Mary had a quiet word with me last week about some trouble at the heritage centre.”
Was Angela about to confess that land developer Harry Mason was the one behind the damage?
He opened his mouth but Angela interrupted.
“It wasn’t Harry.” George was startled. He’d never breathed a word of his concerns to anyone other than Mary, and he knew she wouldn’t have told anyone else.
“I can understand if you thought it might have been Harry, after the council voted to stop him developing the site.”
George looked into Angela’s eyes and knew she was telling the truth.
“The police said there had been trouble up at North Ryemouth the same night. Just kids, they suspect,” George replied.
“I think they’re right,” Angela replied. “Oh, Harry was angry. Your campaign hit his pride and his wallet.
“But I know my husband. He’d never seek revenge. He’s already planning his next development.”
“On the riverside again?” George said, alarmed.
“North Ryemouth this time,” Angela replied.
“He’s going to build a community centre for the kids to run off their excess energy with indoor football and climbing frames.”
“Harry’s really planning all of that?” George asked, surprised.
“He’s not so bad, you know, as long as I keep him on a tight rein.” Angela laughed.
“Well, I must go, George. I just wanted to put your mind at rest.”
Angela turned to leave. “Angela?” George called. “Before you go, take these for your window-sill.”
And he handed Angela a bunch of sweet peas.
More next week.