A Real Gentleman
Mistakes are forgiven in this engaging short story by Kate Blackadder.
WHEN Nathan got home from school, Mum called to him to come into the kitchen. “Look,” she said, brandishing a letter. “I’ve heard from that garden scheme that I applied to.”
Nathan headed for the biscuit tin.
“I was thinking,” Mum went on, “it would be great if you could come with me.”
“What scheme?” Nathan asked. He hadn’t a clue what she was on about. Mum sat at the table. “You know I’ve always wanted an allotment, and there’s still a three-year waiting list?”
Nathan vaguely remembered Mum bending Dad’s ear about that when he was home. He nodded.
“There are elderly folk with big gardens they can’t cope with. Someone had an idea of pairing them with people like me. We go in, tidy a garden and grow veg in it. Win-win!”
“What’s it got to do with me?” Nathan asked, although he had an inkling.
Life was rubbish at the moment. Dad had been home for two months, but he was back at sea now and Nathan missed him.
Last week he’d been in big trouble – a teacher had reported him to the head for “gross impertinence”.
Mum would be thinking this gardening thing would keep him out of mischief.
“So,” Mum went on. “We’ve been matched with a Mr Gentleman in Pear Tree Avenue.”
“Mr Gentleman?” Nathan’s voice squeaked.
“Friday,” Mum said in a no-nonsense tone. “We’ll introduce ourselves.”
“Whatever. Can Josh come?”
“Another time. Be nice and polite,” Mum said,
“and we’ll get fish and chips afterwards.”
****
On Friday afternoon, Nathan trudged along behind Mum. Josh and the others were skateboarding.
“On the other side of the road. It’s that house with the green gate.”
Nathan looked up and took in his surroundings.
“You never said we were coming here.” A cold hand clutched his heart.
“I did. Pear Tree
Avenue.” Mum checked he was following her, as if he was still a little kid, before crossing the road.
Short of running away, Nathan couldn’t think of any way of getting out of it.
He pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt. He was sure it had been down the last time he’d been in the garden at number 42.
The house had pillars on either side of the door. Beside one of them was a big pot with carvings of leaves on it and purple flowers growing in it.
“That’s pretty,” Mum said. “Shame there aren’t two.”
She rang the bell.
“Mr Gentleman? I’m Corinne Forbes. We spoke on the phone. This is Nathan,” Mum added, trying to draw him round beside her.
“Hello! Come in!” Mr Gentleman’s face and thick white hair reminded
Nathan of his grandad, who’d died last year.
He used two sticks to walk with so it wasn’t hard to see why he needed help with gardening – and why he was unable to chase Nathan and Josh last week, when they’d carried off the other flowerpot.
“I’ve made tea,” Mr Gentleman said, leading them into the front room. “Unless you’d prefer something else, Nathan?”
“Tea’s fine,” Nathan mumbled.
On the table was a plate of buns and chocolate cake. “How kind,” Mum said. Nathan made steady inroads into the food while Mum and Mr Gentlemen yattered on about planting and growing.
“Thought you’d be hungry,” Mr Gentleman said to him. “I always was at your age.”
Nathan glanced up, knowing that Mum would expect him to say something.
Mr Gentleman looked back at him with slightly narrowed eyes.
He recognises me,
Nathan thought.
His words of thanks stuck in his throat.
“I’m glad you like the cake, Nathan. It’s my favourite,” Mr Gentleman said instead.
He pulled himself to his feet.
“Shall we brave the jungle that used to be my garden?”
Mum laughed.
“I’m looking forward to the challenge.”
They walked round, deciding what to do first.
Nathan would be required to help cut down the jungle and cart stuff in a wheelbarrow down to the bottom of the garden, where Mum planned to have a compost heap.
He liked the thought of that. When he was younger Grandad had kept a red wheelbarrow for him to use when they visited.
“I can’t wait to start,” Mum said. “We’ll see you at ten tomorrow morning.”
They walked back round the house.
“Nathan,” Mr Gentleman said. “I need a strong lad like you.”
He leaned on his stick and pointed to a far corner of the front garden.
Nathan held his breath. “There should be two pots by the door. The other one has somehow ended up over there. Could you use the wheelbarrow tomorrow to return it to where it should be?”
“OK.” Nathan pushed his hood back. “Thanks.”
He didn’t mean for the cake. Moving the pot was a laugh at the time, but it seemed pretty stupid now.
Mum tucked her hand into Nathan’s arm as they walked to the chip shop. “What a lovely man.” Nathan felt tons better and was even looking forward to tomorrow.
“He’s a gentleman,” he agreed.
With any luck, maybe the old man wouldn’t recognise Nathan . . .
The End.