**Diary Entry: The Old Woman**
Our little cottage sits in a row of houses near the shore, just outside a small town in the Lake District. Next to us live Valerie and Tamara, and beyond them, the old womans place. The rest of the street doesnt matter much, not right now.
Valerie bought the plot next door about seven years ago and wasted no time building. Bulldozers, labourers, gravel foundations, trenches, pilesyou name it. From May to September, the racket never stopped. Before long, there stood a grand house, a well, a summer kitchen, sheds, a sauna, and a garage. Peace? None of it. Valerie wasnt just the bosshe hauled logs, mixed concrete, wired the place himself. Hardworking bloke, that one. Most folks here are patient; they understood he was putting down roots, not just passing through. Everyone except the old woman.
Every morning, the bus rolled in from town, and she was always the first off. Always! No one ever called her anything but the old woman. Shed scurry to her cottage in a faded grey smock, a black headscarf, and scuffed-up shoes, clutching a battered tote bag and a five-litre jug of water. None of us drank from the riverit wasnt mountain-fed, just slow and murky, blooming with algae in summer. Some had wells, but the water stank of sulphur, no matter how deep they dug. Only good for watering plants. Except Valeriehis well was clean, and he had a pump.
But back to the old woman. The second she set foot on her plot, the shouting began. The diggers were too loud, the diesel fumes too strong, the labourers too chatty, Valeries house too tall, stealing sunlight from her strawberries (though hed followed every regulation). You could find fault in anything if you tried, and she was a professional. Valerie was every name under the suna bastard, a brute, a monster, a swine. The insults never stopped, only grew more colourful.
Valerie ignored her, mostly. But sometimes, leaning against the fence with a cigarette, hed mutter in his deep voice, Youre like a horsefly on a hot day, woman. Either youll suck me dry or Ill have to swat you.
Go on, threaten me, you mangy cur! shed shriek back. Ill burn your fancy house down, see if I dont! High and mighty, scaring an old lady!
Needless to say, my summers there werent exactly relaxing. I started visiting less.
Years passed. Valerie and I never became close, but we got on well enough. Turned out he had two passions: British rock and tomatoes. Hed play his stereo at a reasonable volume and disappear into his greenhousean enormous thing. The man knew everything about tomatoes. New varieties, fertiliser schedules, soil rotation. Every spring, hed fumigate the greenhouse, lay down manure, cover it with compost, drape the inside with fleece to shield the plants from frost or scorching sun. Infrared lamps in spring and autumn. It wasnt like the south, where you just planted and forgot. Here, you had to open the doors in the morning, close them at night, mind the wind, the rainevery little thing.
Ever heard a great hulk of a man talk to his tomatoes like they were his children? I have. Gentle, coaxing. Meanwhile, in town, he was known as a tough bossstrict but fair. Funny, that.
Youd think wed forgotten about the old woman? Wrong. Turns out she hated rock. Not The Beatles, not The Rolling Stones, none of it. Every daysometimes even at night if she stayed overshed bellow her opinions on the racket and the tasteless fools who listened to it. Valerie would boil over, pour himself half a glass of whisky, down it in one, growl, switch off the music, and stomp inside. And repeat.
Then came the floods. Rain poured for weeksremember that storm up in Yorkshire? Were only sixty miles from there. The marshes soaked up what they could, but the river swelled anyway. Logs, fences, dog kennels, shedsall swept away. People marked the waters rise with stakes, then fled when the roads flooded. The buses stopped. Valerie held out until the last minute, then roared off in his Land Rover. Halfway down the lane, he remembered the old woman. He turned back.
Go on without me, you devil! she snapped. Ive moved my things to the roof. Im not leaving my cottage to looters!
Some places went under. Ours stayed dry, the water stopping just inches short. A week passed before we could return. Valerie was beside himselfnot about the house, but his tomatoes. Hed forgotten to open the greenhouse.
When we finally got back, he came over with a bottle. Steve, he said, pouring us both a drink, I dont get it. The greenhouse was watered. The doors were open. I know I didnt do itI was in a panic, the water was rising. I asked around. No one stayed behind.
Except the old woman.
Except the old woman, he echoed, glancing toward her cottage. But weve been at each others throats for years!
Except the old woman, I said again.
He drained his glass. I dont believe it.
The old woman returned the next day, lugging water in bucketsher little pump mustve been washed away. Valerie watched her slip, fall, drench herself, but she kept at it, not a single curse.
That night, his place was full of banging and sawing.
What were you building? I asked the next morning.
Bought some pipes and fittings, he said. While she was gone, I ran a line from my pump to her plot. Saw her struggling yesterday.
A few weeks later, Valerie invited me over for the first tomatoes of the season and a barbecue. Be here at seven, he said.
I brought whisky and a couple of bottles of homemade wine. The skewers were nearly done.
Shall we wait, or start without them? I asked.
Give it fifteen minutes.
Whore we waiting for? Tams right there.
Youll see.
A knock at the gate. In walked the old woman.
But not as Id ever seen her. Her silver hair was neatly combed, a floral dress on, pretty sandals, a shawl over her shoulders. Even a string of amber beads.
Mind if I join you? she asked, smiling.
Come in, Mary, Valerie said, grinning.
I was gobsmacked.
We sat for hours, eating, drinking. Mary told us about her lifegrowing up in an orphanage, raising two kids alone after her husband died tragically, her forty years working on the railways. Then she and Tamara sang old songs while Valerie and I listened, smoked, and smiled.
Val, she said later, Tam told me you wont go to the spa with her, worrying over your tomatoes. Go. Ill water them, open the doors. Theyll be fine.
Was it you? I blurted. During the flood?
Course it was. Saw how much work hed put into them. The way he talked to them! She cackled, shooting Valerie a look. Felt sorry for the poor things!
Valerie did go to the spa. And when he came back, we listened to rock againbut only from noon till two, just for Mary.
