The Neighbour, Mrs. Middleton
Grandad! Peter burst into the garden, slamming the ancient gate so hard against the post it set the hinges screeching. Something snapped, then sighed, and the tired old gateabout as elderly as the allotment itselfgave out and fell flat onto the sun-baked, parched earth.
Arthur, who had been tending the cabbageslifting outer leaves, pouring water gingerly from his can to the rootsstraightened up, startled. He glared at Peter, then at the battered gate, and let out a proper old-school curse, feeling Mrs. Middleton, one of the best GPs in town, peering out at him with unmistakable disapproval from her window. He barked, deep and gruff:
Whats your game, eh? Youve lost your head, boy! Whats made you wreck the gate like that? Whats happenedfire? Flood? Or did the fish salesman start giving out money? He shook his head, exasperated. You lot just charge about with no sense! No lunch for you. No food at all until you fix it, you hear me? None!
He hurled the watering can asidepromptly landing it in a cabbage and immediately dashing to rescue his beloved soldier.
From her kitchen window, Mrs. Middleton called out with sly amusement, Do you want some Dettol and plasters for first aid, in case casualties need stitching?
Leave off, Mary! You spoil the lad rotten and look what hes come to! Were raising a vandal! Oh, Nora, darling, hold on, sweetheart, Ill prop you upthere, all better?
On this patch of English soil, every plant boasted its own namesometimes a mangled variety, often a proper persons name, handed down to a group of particularly plucky beetroots or the cucumbers that had conquered the greenhouse. It was just one of Arthurs quirksa surgeon on sabbatical, making do with what the world had given him.
Arthur remembered every patient by name. He loved to hear about their lives, what dreams came at night, how the little aches and pains were behaving. Now, he did the same with his plants. They stayed stubbornly silent, so he filled in their side of the conversation: Ooh, chilly last night, wasnt it? hed say to a rosebush. Damp dew settled too early, you poor thing.
And you, Mrs. Hopkinshed tell the ancient apple tree thatd been there long before hed taken over the plotYoure skimping on your routine again. Drinking too much at bedtime!
The old apple tree seemed to objecthow could it not drink, when it rained? But Arthur pressed on, adding supports under the branches so loaded they resembled a new mother, fussing over everything.
Our Arthurs gone a bit dotty, dont you think? the local women would whisper to Dr. Middleton, rolling their eyes and sharing stories. Shame, really. He was a sharp man. Are you giving him his tablets, Mary?
Hes perfectly fine. You’ll all be the first to come running if anything happens, Mary shot back, turning away.
Oh, the nerve! Burying Arthur before his timehe was younger, sharper, and had more sense than most of them, she thought. Shed never discuss her Arthur with these busybodies, not the way he wandered the house at night, dreaming of his old hospital rounds, missing the work, mumbling about temperatures, checking stitches, calling for Nurse Tanya, who had burst into floods of tears when she found out Arthur was retiring…
Grandad! Theyre here! The Middletons are here! Peter rattled off, barely stopping for breath as he fussed with the ruined gate, hopelessly trying to wedge the splintered boards back in place. Rusty nails stuck out like blackened teeth. I thought that place was derelict, you said it was a dump, but theyre already there. And theyve got a massive dog! He gave the wood a frustrated kick and looked pitifully at Grandma. Shed promised pancakes for dinnerapple pancakes, Peters absolute favourite, fluffy and rich! That was surely the end of him.
Forget the Middletons for a moment, Petey, have you even bought the bread? Or did you just sprint over to give me the news? Arthur snappedwhich was mostly for show, because really, he couldnt help but crane his neck to check for himself if Mrs. Middleton or her relations were really back.
Get to the shedfetch a hammer, grab some planks from under the lean-to, and bring the saw! Are we going to spend the summer without a gate?
Arthurs tone was all tight eyebrows and stern authority, secretly pleased for the excuse to loiter by the fence, perfectly placed to spy on the neighbours.
Dr. Mary just rolled her eyes, waved him off, and went inside to rattle about with saucepans and bowls. She flicked the radio onsome chap reciting Tennysonand, unimpressed, switched it off again in favour of humming Greensleeves, though even that sounded rather bleak today.
She peeked through the curtain. The sun shone full in her eyes, making everything swim with golden spotsdancing sunbeams that scattered across her vision.
There she was. The mysterious neighbour, Mrs. Middleton, perched on her own terrace, wearing a robe decorated with a Chinese dragon and a cloud of smoke around her from a cigarette in a long holder. A hat of Italian straw, sandals on her feet. What a character.
A beauty, too, back in her day. Mary smiled privately, remembering.
Agnes Middletonshed been a stunner from the cradle, they said. The perfect lips, eyes blue as a Cornish bay, golden curls and a sturdy, dimpled body. The angel had grown up very well indeeda slender, curvy, headstrong woman, a little reckless, flirtatious, loved to pop round to the Romany camp for a midnight spree. She did it all with such style that every man she met became dizzy and lostall in a moment, and happy for it.
Agnes said men hung about her neck like medalsand she rather liked it.
Mary met Agnes here, at the allotments. Shed only just married Arthur, who had brought her to show off his empire, inherited when his parents quit the plot for the comfort of a council flat. Arthur had wrangled the flat as a thank you for treating some local dignitarys sons rogue appendixalways a bit of luck, that.
Arthur was an all-round golden boy from medical schoolbright, curious, rosy-cheeked, always trying to get into the thick of surgery, even where students werent allowed, often flustering his professors with suggestions and questions. They scolded him for his boldness, but sometimes took on his outlandish ideas, too.
The text books dont have that trickwheres it from? a stern surgeon would scowl.
Oh, my grandad was a vetlearnt a thing or two from him, Arthur would shrug, not fussed what they thought.
He worked his way up, and eventually became the right hand of old Vera Parker, head surgeon at the district hospitala tough, sharp woman whod survived the war with frostbitten fingers and an instinct for reckless, keen young doctors. Vera had gone blind, but would still call Arthur in the night for operations. He talked her through every cut and suture, and she trusted him with her department.
She clatters around the theatre, just getting in the way, reallyshouldnt she just stay in her office? the junior doctors would mutter. Vera knew she shouldve retired, but the hospital was her whole world. No family, no pets, nothingnot even a cat, as she was never at home. She kept going till her legs refused to carry her.
She died in wintera tiny coffin, a flash of red velvet, and Arthur carried her to the grave, muddling his words at the service before slinking away to sob.
Come on, lad, Veras old deputy said, laying a wrinkled hand on his shoulder. Give her her rest.
Arthur looked up, and the sun just then burst through the clouds above the fresh grave, a beacon over Veras resting place, as if someone had lit a theatre lamp. She was gonebut not lost, not really. She was still with him in the operating theatre, always would be.
Arthur would talk about Vera for years after. Mary, if only youd met her. What a doctorthe sense, the gift hed sigh, as they walked together through the park. Mary just wished hed talk a little less about Vera and kiss her once in a while.
Then their son John arrived, and they decided country air would be good for hima run-round boy needed garden space, vitamins, and adventure.
Arthur fixed up the old allotment, patched the cottage, rebuilt the shed, while Mary made the kitchen bright and homely. Little John would race about, rolling through the grass, with the neighbours smiling at his laughter.
Those neighbours, the old crowd whod dug up their share of ancient tree stumps and sweated over tiny summer houses, were dwindling. Some, too ill to travel. Some, lost to city comfort. The Middletons, though, were newcomersbought their patch, rebuilt the house, and Mrs. Middletons father had soon wormed into the finances committee, always balancing books and playing big man.
Mary, softer and slower after pregnancy, was always chasing after John, while Agnes Middleton lounged on her porchgorgeous, sophisticated, always perfectly groomed. Apparently shed done ballet as a girl; it showed, even as she puffed away on imported cigarettes.
They might have gone on just being neighbours, but one day Agnes asked Arthur for a bit of advicesomething wasnt right with her, could he take a look?
If you have a moment, pop over and see. Its embarrassing, really, she asked, all shy, but Mary saw through it; Agnes was eyeing her husband, sizing him up like a Christmas present.
I really well, perhaps youd be better off coming to the surgery, Arthur stammered, feeling Marys hand squeezing his arm like a vice.
I cant stand clinics. Panic attacks. Youll come to me? Ill open some fizz, we can have a natter. Mary has the baby, you come alone. Agnes batted her lashes.
So Arthur went, found nothing alarming, but left well fed and slightly tipsy, feeling altogether too comfortable for Marys liking.
You stink, Mary said drily, when he got in, plopping down beside her.
Of what, love? Listen, you should actually see her, Mary, just in case. I promised
Marys jaw clenched. He promised! Now she had to go! I do my clinics at the hospital. If she really needs to be seen, she can book in. Put John to bed, Ive got work. She snapped the book open, fuming in silence. You might as well divorce me if youre so keen on your new friend!
Arthur looked stunned. Mary, you dont understand Vera always told mecompassion is our duty. Agnes isnt herself. You dont…
Oh, and you know her well enough already, do you? Marys eyes blazed. Arthur could only cradle his head and retreat upstairs with John in his arms.
Mary stayed at the table long after, staring at her open book, reading nothing at all. And that feeling…suspicion, self-doubtjealousy, that terrible, gnawing thing.
Arthur skulked off a couple more times, making apologies, standing with Agnes on her porch, while that vixen made sure her laughter carried straight to Marys windows. Arthurs seen every inch of me, shed purr to anyone who asked, as a doctor, of course. Were nearly intimate now! It drove Mary mad.
Arthur, for his part, got so wound up he reverted to chain-smoking on the porch, biting his lip, fiddling with his old pipes.
Then Agnes dared to call on them, bearing a dish of plums from her gardenand her big, shaggy dog, Rufus, trotting in, shedding fur everywhere while little John kept trying to climb all over him.
Dont let him in the house, please, Mary finally snapped.
Oh, dont worry, Rufus wouldnt hurt a fly, would you, old sausage? Agnes crooned, stroking his tangled fur.
Mary glared at Arthur, who only furrowed his brow, remembering Veras old lectures about care and compassion. Vera had always said, Patients, especially the frail ones, they need everythingattention, warmth, a proper chat. Hospitals are not theatresno acting, thank you.
Arthur carried these words with him, but Mary just couldnt find it in her to like or trust Agnes Middleton.
And then, out of the blue, Mary packed up John and went off to her aunts in Bath for the entire summer, only talking to Arthur about the child, never about herself. Jealous as anything.
Arthur sulked in the city, buried himself in work on his research. Agnes, too, vanished after receiving some letter, moving on without so much as a goodbye.
Mary returned in September, sent John off to nursery, and life went back to its usual torrentshifts, duties, night calls, sandwiches under tea towels, winter, the living Christmas tree the cat Felicity toppled, spring tulips, bright sunlight, the ring of the doorbell…
But that spring, Arthur arrived home with not one, but two bunches of tulips. He was giving someone chocolates, coming home late. Suspicion was rising.
Is this how its going to be, Arthur? Just tell me the truth and lets get it over with, Mary finally lost her temper. Lets divorce. Clearly, youve made your mind up.
Arthur, startled, looked at her over his newspaper. Mary, what are you on about? Im tired of this. Enough.
And so am I. Me and John will just go, then, shall we? Go give her another bunch of flowers. She was calling yesterday. Your Mrs. Middleton, demanding you. How can she just keep taking, how? Mary burst into tears, turned to go, but Arthur caught her, held her close, and for a moment the world stood still, all heat and pulse and the kind of darkness that comes from closing your eyes too tight.
After that, Mrs. Middleton all but disappeared. Mary was expecting again. John hit a relentless string of Why? Why? His father worked himself to exhaustion, now the new head of department, always comparing himself to Verabut knowing hed never quite match up.
Their daughter, Rosie, was born. Summers were spent at the allotment again, but now it was just Mrs. Middletons parents visiting across the road. Agnes was not mentioned.
Life couldve gone on like that, the years quietly passing, but fate brought Mrs. Middleton back. So many seasons had rolled pastMary and Arthur now had grandkids for goodness’ sake!and yet, there she was.
Mary! Mary! the cry came clear as a bell through the window. Why all the lurking about? Come over for a cuppaIve got fudge and marshmallow, fresh from Marks. Lets have a natter, at long last.
Agnes, ever the enigma, stood in her Italian straw hat, waving a long-sleeved robe like bunting. A very old, grumpy, but equally shaggy dog panted at her feet.
Mary hesitated, then gave a little wave back.
Later that evening, she and Arthur went across, leaving Peter and John tinkering with the gate.
Things inside Agnes house hadnt changedchampagne, grapes, all a bit glitzy. But the spark had faded from her eyes; her cheeks hung looser, her delicate wrists fiddled with old bangles.
So, neighbours reunited at last, Agnes smiled, once theyd all sat. I wanted to see you both, before I run out of time.
Now, dont talk nonsensetheres plenty of time still, Arthur grumbled.
Oh, come on, Arthur. We both know my clocks ticking faster. I wanted to say thank youArthur, for our fleeting romance that never quite happened, she winked, Youre solid as stone. Oh, but you couldve She trailed off, then smiled, And Mary, thank you for helping me, when you had every reason not to. I was never after your husband out of lovejust a bit of envy. But you helped me anyway. Why?
Marys face was stern. It was my duty. Arthur accidentally left your file on the table. I knew what you needed. So I sorted itsent you to Dr. Barnes, the best in the field. Had to. Thats all.
Barnes didnt let Agnes go until shed had a proper operation and months of care. He even fell hard for herproposed, in fact, and Agnes almost said yes, if Arthur hadnt shown up with those tulips and shattered everything. Thats just how things play out; no changing fate now.
Arthur blinked. You mean it was you sent her to Barnes? All these years I thought!
Agnes grinned. We still dont get on! Not with you stuck between us like some grand prize. Right, Mary?
Mary straightened, and then, out of nowhere, smiled. Come on, Agnes. Forget all that. Arthur, fetch the kettle, play the host like alwayssurrounded by all these women! Honestly, Arthur, you never change!
And that was goodthat Agnes had gone to the hospital, that Barnes had done the job, that she was still here sipping tea with them now. She had a daughter, Julia, who, oddly enough, is the spitting image of Barnes’ mother, though Agnes insisted otherwise. Anyway, Julia is hereand thats what matters.
Vera Parker used to say, A doctors for everythingbody, soul, a chat with the lonely. Youre more mother than judge. Care, and youll cure. Withhold it, and youre useless. Dont bring in your own baggage. Mind the patient.
She was right, and Arthur never forgot it.
Oh really, Mary, you just wanted Barnes to keep Arthur away from me, and you know it! Agnes teased, before gently squeezing Marys hand. Im glad youre back. The place wasnt the same without you.
Mary couldnt disagree. She and Arthur had journeyed this far togetherover bumps, through shadows, through ice and sunlight, always side by side. Agnes managed alone, raised her daughter, worked hard, even if she dreamed of an easy life, and laughed in deaths face, keeping it at bay.
For a moment, Arthur thought he glimpsed Vera Parker, tiny, wrinkled, standing by the gate, smiling fondly. Shed grown a decent maneven if, truth be told, a bit of an eccentric.
Eccentric? Now, hang on! Thats just unkind. Simply talking to the cabbages, thats all! hed protest, hearing Veras imaginary tsk in his mind.
Well, talk all you like, but make sure the harvest is grand, you hear? shed scold. Hed murmur, Understood, aloud and snap awake in his old chair, to find it was just Mary handing him a strong cuppa, Agnes smiling with tired but warm eyes, an old dog snoring beside the cool floor, Peter and John nearby, and the rest of life bustling along.
And MaryMary was still the most beautiful of them all, no doubt. The crops on Arthurs patch would be the best ever this year, simply because he loved it all. That was his promise to Vera Parker, and to himselflove what you do, and life will find a way to blossom.
