The Path

Chapter Four

“Do you take sugar, Alice?”

I’m seated at the kitchen table, with a tartan blanket draped over my shoulders. 

“No, thank you.”

His movements are slow and as he pours the tea into a fine bone china cup, his hand tremors causing a little of the tea to slop into the saucer.  He picks up the cup and carries it carefully to the table with his left hand, whilst holding the cane to steady himself with the other.  

“I’m afraid there may well be more tea in the saucer than the cup, Alice.”

I smile as he takes the seat opposite.

“Would you like a biscuit with that?”

“The tea’s just fine.”

I pour in some milk from a little jug on the table and stir the cup more than is necessary. 

“How are you feeling now?”

Mortified, embarrassed, wishing a hole in the ground would swallow me up…  “I’m ok, I’ll just drink this and I’ll head home,” I reply. 

“No rush, Alice.  I’ve nothing to get up early for in the morning and to be honest I am a bit of a night-owl.  Always have been.”

A warm, wet nose nuzzles my left hand and the dog which had been stood alert at the door, flops down onto my feet and sighs.

“Jet seems to have taken a real shine to you, Alice.”

I notice that he likes to use my name every time he speaks to me.  It is both strange and oddly comforting.

“Thank you, Mr Piper… for your help tonight.”

He looks surprised that I know his name and then his face alters and looks stricken, his eyes fill up.  He removes a handkerchief from his pocket and dabs at them.

“Mr Piper, are you alright?

“Forgive me, Alice.  I am an old man, with more time behind than I have in front of me.  Sometimes, the years that have passed me by, flood back all at once. But, you needn’t be bothered by any of that.  Why don’t we get better acquainted while you drink your tea?  So you’re Dorothy’s great-niece I’m told.”    

“I am, although we never met.  I’m not sure if she even knew I existed.”

“Oh, she knew alright.”

I look up to see him staring into space, his face furrowed, biting his thin bottom lip.

“She knew?” I ask, taken aback.  I have looked through most of her personal effects and yet haven’t found anything that mentions me or my mother.

“Sorry, what did you say?” He asks.

“You said that Dorothy knew about me.”

“Did I?” He replies vaguely, “my home help often tells me that I say things which I cannot recall later.

I decide not to press him further, although something niggles me about what he said and how he said it.

“So where did you grow up?”

I contemplate which story I will recount for him.  The light, abridged version or the real story, in all it’s dark, joyless detail.  The first story is well rehearsed; it falls from my tongue effortlessly.

“London.  My parents died when I was very small, and with no known relatives at the time, I moved into a children’s home and then later a succession of foster homes.  It wasn’t all bad, I even got close to being adopted a couple of times, but things always seemed to fall through at the last minute.  When I was sixteen I left my last foster home and have been living by myself ever since.”

“Goodness, Alice, I never realised you had it so tough.”

I dismiss his odd phrase and smile at his concerned face.

“Yes, it’s been tough at times, but I think I’m the better person for it and I appreciate everything that I have now.”

“And now you have Dorothy’s house.  Have you decided what you will do with your new home yet?”

“I’m still undecided.  It is very lovely here and I’m sure that I could probably be very happy here; it’s just that the word home probably doesn’t mean the same to me as it does to other people.  For me, a home is a temporary fixture, not about the location, or the people, just somewhere I lay my head at the end of the day.  The longer I stay here, the more I like it, but I just can’t see myself being here forever or anywhere for that matter.”

“You can’t leave Alice, not now, not yet!”  His words rush out and he reaches across the table and grabs my hand.  “There is so much here for you Alice, you just don’t know it yet.”

I am more than a little surprised by his reaction; in fact it’s more of a plea.  His hand then swiftly drops mine and he is back staring into space again.  Not having had grandparents, my experience with the elderly is limited, so I assume that his odd behaviour is characteristic of old age.  I decide to change the subject.

“So, Mr Piper, do you have any family.”  As soon as the words leave my mouth I regret saying them, remembering what the woman in the navy blue uniform had said about him being all alone.

He looks at me and shakes his head.  “No, I’m afraid I wasn’t blessed with a family, Alice.  I came close a very long time ago but that wasn’t meant to be, unfortunately.” 

A lump forms in the back of my throat.  He and I are generations apart, with nothing in common, and yet we share the fact that we are both totally alone.  Will I still be like this old man in fifty years?   

I reach for my cup and drain what’s left of the now cold tea.   I look up and catch him looking back at me, but not just looking, instead it feels as if he is gazing at something of value, like I am a rare jewel perhaps.  It’s unnerving to say the least, but strangely, it doesn’t feel creepy.  Do I remind him of the granddaughter he never had?

“I had better go, Mr Piper.  I’ve a lot to do tomorrow.”

“Are you sure you will be alright walking home by yourself?  I’m sorry, but these old legs won’t make it all the way to yours and back.”

“I’ll be fine.  I would imagine Tommy is back home by now, sleeping off the worst of it.  I may just threaten him with telling his mother, or better still Betty Jackson if he comes near me again.”

“Not all men are like that stupid boy, Alice.  Some dream of finding a girl like you and they would do anything not to drive you away.”

“Err…thank you…, for everything.” Embarrassed, I stand up, carefully extricating my foot from underneath the heavily snoring black Labrador.   I place the blanket over the back of the chair, pick up Tommy’s jacket but don’t I put it on and move to the door.

“You will come back Alice, won’t you, maybe for little picnic in the garden one day?”  His voice sounds so concerned I find it impossible to refuse.

“That sounds very nice, I’d love to.”  I open the door and the cool, night air creeps into the room.

“Well then, how about Tuesday?”

“Tuesday is good for me,” I say, taking one foot out of the door.

“Then it’s settled.  Noon on Tuesday and I’ll be sure to make Roast Beef and Mustard sandwiches with the crusts cut off- your favourite.”

“Ooh, sounds great.  See you then, Mr Piper and thank you again.”

“No, Alice, it’s me that should be thanking you.”

I walk off down the path, goose bumps prickling my skin.  The moon is high in the sky and the nocturnal sounds of the countryside area welcome companion on my short journey.   I make it back to my house within a few minutes and its only as I lay drifting off to sleep that I wonder how on earth he knew what my favourite sandwich is.