Two's a Crowd

'Yes, dear,’ Harry sighed, as he put down the shears to go indoors to make the coffee. Agnes was demanding more and more of his life. All he wanted to do was to enjoy his retirement and grow his beloved roses, and to avoid a heart attack.1

‘And don’t forget, Harry, I want that hedge cut by tonight,’ she said, while an index finger fenced with the air. ‘Fiona is calling by and I don’t want her to think we can’t cope. So see that you finish it!’2

‘I’ll need help,’ he said.3

‘And I want you to clean my shoes. I’m going out this evening.’4

As Harry stepped into the garden, her voice was in pursuit.5

‘Why can’t you be like Fiona’s husband? And do these things when they need doing?’6

‘I'll need help, dear,’ he called.7

‘The trouble with you, Harry, you've always an excuse. You need to be more like my father. Now there was a man.’8

The shears sliced into the stems of privet tossing them high into the air: his thoughts turned to Agnes as the blades snapped.9

I’ll need help, he thought.10

Harry had taken early retirement. The financial future was in peril for Dunecott Chemical Research Centre. He had secured an early retirement deal that meant they could live out their retirement comfortably.11

‘Huh!’ Agnes huffed from the sitting-room. ‘Where’s my coffee you’re suppose to be making?’12

Harry’s eyes narrowed as he walked towards the French windows.13

‘Coming, dear.’14

‘And don’t forget I need you to press my dress for tonight. I’m not fully recovered you know.’15

‘Your coffee, dear,’ he said wryly, as he passed her the cup.16

‘Too much milk,’ she said impatiently, looking over the rim of her glasses. ‘Where’s the sugar then?’ she added.17

‘By your side, dear. Where I always put it.’18

‘Huh! How did you manage? “I'll need help”,’ she mimicked, rocking her head from side to side. ‘And where are my tablets?’19

‘There in the bottle cap, as always, dear.’ Harry swallowed her remarks, as he usually did. He went back into the garden to dig the flower-bed with slow and methodical cuts, admiring on the way, his cluster of ‘King’s Ransom’. He looked up at the sky that had suddenly darkened. He turned towards the clothes-line.20

‘Get my dress. It looks like rain. And wipe the mud off your feet!’ She commanded, as he walked in carrying the basket of washing. ‘Are your hands clean?’21

‘Yes, dear. Of course, dear.’22

‘I need that dress for the concert tonight.’ 23

Agnes had married Harry forty years previously, when she had captured the musical-hearts of her audiences for a number of years with her repertoire of Mozart’s piano pieces. But since a road accident, two years previously, she had been unable to play. Harry was driving the car that struck the on-coming vehicle.24

‘That must be Fiona now. Is it seven-thirty already?’ she said, and looked up with watery eyes. ‘Don’t forget to light the oven for my supper, Harry.’25

She shuffled with an awkward gait through the wrought iron gate under an arch of ‘Peace’ hybrid teas. His roses this year bloomed well. Her thoughts turned to the year she was awarded a cash prize for the youngest composer. She was given a bouquet of roses; scattered with soft pink carnations. Agnes climbed into Fiona’s black Escort and wound open the window.26

‘And don’t forget to . . .’ The roar of the engine blanketed her voice as they sped off into the evening.27

I’ll need help, he thought, from within a plume of grey smoke, enjoying her diminishing from sight.28

Later trying to focus through semi-closed eyelids Harry asked, ‘Good night was it, dear?’29

‘How many times do have I to tell you, Harry? I don’t like you drinking!’ Agnes frowned and looked at her watch. ‘I have to see Doctor Stewart at one o’clock tomorrow!’30

‘Yes, dear.’31

‘As long as you don’t make a hangover an excuse! And make sure it’s warm in the car. You forgot last time.’32

‘I'll need help, dear,’ he said quietly, and drained his glass.33

‘If it hadn’t been for Fiona, I would’ve gone hungry. You were dead to the world. You’ve no idea how embarrassed I was, Harry!’34

‘Must’ve dropped off, dear.’35

‘I’ve invited Fiona to tea tomorrow. I want you to make some scones. I can’t do it with my wrist. I’ll need help?’ she asked, sarcastically.36

Harry mixed the ingredients with an agitated grind. He had hoped her recovery would be sooner than Doctor Stewart predicted. The car accident impaired her mobility, having sustained a broken ankle and fracturing both wrists. The tranquillisers didn’t seem to subdue her memories - they were claiming Harry.37

‘Don’t pound the mixture! You're not making bread!’ 38

He took a deep breath, and rolled out the dough until it resembled a circle.39

‘You need flour on it. Can’t you see it’s sticking to the rolling-pin!’ Agnes prodded at the bag of flour on the table with her walking-stick. ‘The sooner you get it done the sooner I can get to bed.’40

He dusted the rolling-pin, only to drop it on the floor.41

‘Fool! It’s simple enough. Even for you!’42

‘Sorry, dear, feel a bit dizzy.’43

She bent over and picked up the rolling-pin with her back towards him. He looked down at the greyness of her hair as he took the rolling-pin from her hand. Then he suddenly felt how hard beechwood was while he browsed the texture with his palm. His grip tightened around it. It swayed involuntarily back and forth at eye level. Undeterred, his stare focused on the back of her head with his cudgel suspended just above.44

‘Can’t you get anything right,’ she sighed. ‘Or are you going say you need help with a rolling-pin too?’45

‘No, dear!’46

She didn’t make a sound.