Chapter Three
Cecily loomed over Josiah. He looked guiltily at her.
“Have you been reading the book again?” she demanded.
He shifted uncomfortably, mainly because the book was stuffed between his leg and the arm of the chair. Had Cecily seen it? It was a close call. His heart sounded in his ears with the fear of it. He wasn’t sure why she made him feel so bad. The stern look? Maybe. The tapping foot? Probably. The trained, angry assault stoat poised for attack under her arm? Almost definitely. She was waiting for an answer, her forehead unusually crinkled into a frown. He decided to come clean.
“It was only a quick look,” he mumbled.
“Yes, I am sure you did only have 'a quick look'. But, lovey, can't you understand it keeps you stuck in the past. The days you have photos of are all gone now. Don’t you want more for yourself?” she responded sharply whilst plugging in an electronic keyboard.
Inwardly, Josiah groaned. He knew this meant that a song was coming.
Cecily was warming to her theme, speaking in a voice trembling with sincerity. Meanwhile, the keyboard began to hum a sequence of portentous chords under her prologue.
“I was out on my walk,” (C flat major). “There’s a whole amazing world out there.” (E sharp augmented 9th). “I want to move on.” (Drum fill followed by hurdy-gurdy riff getting steadily louder). “I want you to move on too.”
She began to sing, in a warm soulful voice, a song about self-discovery, fulfilment and homemade ginger marmalade. It wasn't Josiah's favourite song. That had been 'My New Cardie makes me Itchy', a heart-rending blues song that held out the faint prospect of undressing. After a performance of that, Josiah generally needed to lock himself in a dark wardrobe until he felt normal again.
Snapping back to the present, he noticed with grim fascination that the stoat had now donned some delicate garments and was gliding across the floor in a literal yet soulful interpretation of the song through dance. It pirouetted as the chords swelled during the middle eight. Josiah could sense a key change like other men could detect the changing of the weather. He braced himself. It was no use. The full force of the relative major hit him and he groaned. The stoat paused, looked knowingly at his shin and bared its teeth. Josiah decided to clap along.
The coda of the song dwelt horrifically with making the most of your life and being positive. The hook, now in a major key, became unrelentingly cheerful and jaunty. The keyboard burbled an automatic ending and the cymbals hissed the closing of the song. Cecily stood, poised and emotional, blinking back the tears in her eyes. Josiah applauded heartily. Finally, after the stoat had detached itself, he felt that he could stop. Pink and flushed, Cecily bowed to him and he nodded appreciatively.
"You see?" She asked.
"Oh yes," he agreed, trying to avoid the stare from the rodent crouching menacingly on the floor.
"I just want you to start to embrace your life again. Who knows what the future will bring if you just strive once more?" She was almost begging for him to take this ride to positivity.
He grabbed a pad of paper, a box of paints and a fine brush.
"But Cecily," he whined as he dabbed, "you know that I am trying to become a watercolour artist."
Cecily patted his hand as she surveyed the mess on the page.
"Keep trying," she advised him.
"It's just so hard," he whimpered., "I am a spent force."
"Tsk! Self-pity!" snorted Cecily in disapproval.
"Self-pity is a terrible emotion. I have been dogged by other people bringing me down with it all my life. Just when I think I am getting somewhere, some whinging, whining halfwit makes me feel sad due to their problems. Just think who I might have been without all their self-pity. Instead I'm a failure, a complete flop who-"
"You can stop now," Cecily ordered. "That joke, as much as it showed irony, wasn't funny enough to be sustained for any longer."
There was a silence. After a while, it grew to be awkward, having just reached that age when it was neither boy nor man. It slouched around for a bit then wordlessly informed them both it was going up to its room. It stomped soundlessly out of the room.
A howl reverberated in its place.
"The cucumbers!" Cecily yelled, bringing her hand to her mouth.
She dashed from the room.
Finally left alone once more, Josiah replaced the book with a wistful pat onto the teetering pile of wordsearch books, old copies of 'Cool Breezes Monthly' magazine and free samples of eyebrow tonic on the table beside him. The clock ticked and that could not be undone. The past got paster and could not be brought back. The future became now and then it was then.
Just to be sure, Josiah counted his fingers. They were still all there.
The call of the cool cucumbers roused him and he got up, ready to see what Cecily was doing. Like a man trying to remember the way, he bumbled out through to the kitchen and the back door to the garden, all the while trying to remember the way. Once there, he followed the hubbub until he was standing next to the cucumber patch. Cecily was wrestling a long green shape into submission under the cold frame.
"It's the bull one," she explained breathlessly, "it gets very territorial at this time of the season."
He hitched his dressing gown up a little, knelt beside her and warily began to help her stuff the unruly cucumber back into its glass prison. This took much time and effort so long as it resisted but, eventually, the struggles subsided to nothing. At last it was docile and back in place.
Once the emergency was over, Josiah realised his hand was very close to Cecily's. His face was very close to Cecily's. His appendix was very close to Cecily's. He yearned for her, he needed her. All too soon, she stood; the moment had passed. As a parting shot, the bull cucumber gave him a vicious and unprovoked nip on the finger. He trailed after her, finger outstretched, wailing loudly as they went back to the house to find a plaster and a lollipop.
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