Short Story: Call Me Madam

Short Story: Call Me Madam

Winter sunshine threw long shadows across the garden as Elaine Shaw hoovered up, what she called, deciduous debris. Her family laughed at her term for fallen leaves. It had become a family joke.

“Sounds like the clients of a seedy sauna,” Greg, her son, had said

“Is it a pop group?” Bill, her husband, asked.

“Didn’t think you knew any pop groups Dad,” Greg kidded.

“Don’t know any seedy saunas either,” Bill laughed.

Elaine smiled at the memory as she moved from the shade and lifted her face to the faint warmth of the sun. Switching the machine off she pushed up the sleeves of her fleece, breathed deeply and gazed around.

The windows of her Edwardian villa gleamed, vacantly, back at her. The house’s position, at the top of a long, climbing, crescent of similar houses, gave a view down over the village and, away to the east, the distant city skyline. The corners of the garden looked bare without the drifts of leaves left by autumn winds. Herbaceous plants straggled, like spillikins, beneath balding shrubs where a marigold or two still bloomed hopefully. Tall trees stretched half clad limbs skywards as if trying to beckon back summer or spur on spring.

“Can that hoover carpets as well?” a childish voice asked.

Elaine, startled, looked round the garden.

“Here am are,” she heard and, with the help of a shaking of beech leaves, spied a small, white, face peering through the hedge.

As she moved closer two little, grubby, hands thrust the branches apart and the face pushed through. Eyes, like raisins, scowled under furrowed brows.

“You couldn’t used to see through here,” the boy said.

Elaine looked beyond the hedge where an old and seldom used right of way wound round open land towards the golf course and the road into the village. She wondered who the boy was and where he had come from.

“I never seen that swing before. Can I get a shot?”

The swing hung from an old sycamore tree at the bottom of the garden. The children who had once played on it were long grown and flown.

“No, I don’t think so,” Elaine answered the boy.

“How not?” he demanded.

“The ropes are probably rotten. They could break.”

“I could get you new ropes.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I could so.” The boy’s head and shoulders were now through the beech hedge. His hair vied with the autumn colour of the leaves.

“I’m sure you could,” Elaine smiled but inwardly shuddered at the thought of this child and his pals overrunning her peaceful garden. “I don’t want new ropes.”

“How not?” he demanded again.

“Just because,” she said, hoping that would satisfy him.

“Can I get a shot of the hoover then?” and, in afterthought, he added, “Please.”

The sound of a car on the gravel of the drive saved Elaine.

“I’m going indoors now,” she told the boy, recognising the car as her brother’s, and she began winding the flex round the machine. “I’ve got a visitor.”

“Hi Tom,” she called as he got out of his gleaming BMW. “Just give me a minute to put this away.”

Locking the car Tom put a brotherly arm round Elaine’s shoulders before kissing her. “You’re looking good sis! Quite with it in the matching fleece and cords. Blondes always suit purple. Who would guess you’re nudging fifty.”

“At least I’m only nudging fifty - not pushing it back, like you. I suppose you’re looking for a free lunch.”

“A sandwich would be great,” he smiled.

Indoors, Tom leaned on a worktop as Elaine prepared sandwiches. They took them, with mugs of coffee, into the conservatory. The dazzle from the midday sun was soon shaded by the blinds and a pleasant hour was spent exchanging family gossip. She told him about the boy.

“Likely dogging school,” Tom said as he stood up to leave. “Send him packing if he appears again.”

Elaine went out to the car to see Tom off. He smiled down at her. “Thanks for the lunch. I’ll be in touch,” and he kissed the top of her head before getting into the car and driving off.

As Elaine manoeuvred the garden vac from the garage, the sound of a car on the driveway stopped her. Thinking her brother had forgotten something she turned to kid him about intellectual overloads in old age. A strange car drew up in a swirl of gravel. Her frown turned to a happy smile as her not long married son got out.

“Greg, what are you doing here?” she greeted him. “Why didn’t you phone? Is everything all right?”

The sight of him brought a happy lump to her throat. He was tall and dark haired like his father. He returned her hug.

“Everything’s fine. I didn’t phone because I wanted to surprise you. Do you like the new car? Top of the range, this one, and my salary rise will well pay the tax man,” he told her as they made their way into the house.

His promotion was celebrated in coffee. “We’ll crack the champagne when you and Dad come for dinner. Gillian will phone you to arrange a date.”

Once she had seen Greg off and popped another two mugs in the dishwasher Elaine returned to the garden to finish off her leaf clearing.

“I had a shot of that swing. It didn’t break.”

The boy was sitting on the low wall bordering the rockery. He looked like a garden gnome dressed in his red jacket and blue denims. He wore red wellies. They, like his clothes, were streaked in mud and leaves.

Elaine looked at the child. He was probably six or seven years old. His little face was pinched and pale. A drip decorated the end of his nose. She felt like cuddling him - after she had wiped his nose.

“You should have a hat on,” she said.

A wide grin showed his small, even, white teeth. He reached inside his jacket and produced a woollen hat. He waved it aloft then pulled it down over his bright hair. His face looked small and pathetic below the hat boldly emblazoned with its designer logo.

“How did you get in here?” Elaine asked.

“Fell through those bushes,” he nodded to where broken branches showed white spears against the dark wood of the beech hedge. “Can I get a shot of the hoover now?”

“No,” Elaine said, “and you shouldn’t have had a shot of the swing. What if you had fallen and hurt yourself?”

“I told you I didn’t so can I have a shot of the hoover, please.”

“It’s electric and I don’t think children should use it.”

“How not?”

“Electricity can be dangerous and you need to be big and strong to push it around.”

“My Dad’s big - ‘shuge. And he’s awful strong. Could he use it?”

“Yes. He could. But they cost a lot of money.”

“How much? My dad’s got loadsa money.”

“About a hundred pounds,” Elaine smiled and wondered why on earth she was having this conversation.

“My big brother’s got a Game Boy and that cost more’n a hundred. I’m getting one when I’m big,” he nodded.

“You’re a very lucky boy,” Elaine said.

“I know. My dad’s always telling me,” the boy said, sliding off the wall. He sniffed and drew his sleeve across his nose. Elaine looked away to hide her smile.

“You’re busy today,” the boy said. “There’s another man for you,” and he nodded towards the drive where her husband’s Volvo was pulling up.

“Right,” she said to the boy. “What’s your name?”

“Harry Joseph McLean.”

“Right Harry. You can go out the proper way....”

“Harry Joseph,” he insisted. “Joseph after my da. My brother is William Peter and the Peter’s after my other da. This next one’ll be something Robert - or something Roberta if it’s a girl. My Mum says that’ll really be something different.”

Elaine closed her gaping mouth.

Bill, coming towards them, asked, “Who’s this then?”

“This is Harry Joseph,” Elaine sighed. “He fell through the hedge and had a shot of the swing but he’s going home now.” Guiding him past the car she asked, “Where do you live Harry Joseph?”

“Over the road,” he waved an arm in that direction.

Beyond the crescent local authority houses, known as the “wee scheme”, bordered the far side of the road. Elaine, looking down at the small, pale, face, reckoned that’s where the boy lived. Harry Joseph returned her gaze. His dark eyes were fringed with long, gold, lashes. The smudge below his nose smeared across his cheek to his ear. Another shiny drip was beginning to form.

Elaine searched her pockets for a tissue. She held it out to him, expecting him to take it, but he offered up his nose, just as her own children had done. Automatically she placed the tissue gently round his nostrils.

He blew, vigorously and wetly, then sniffed, noisily, pulled his sleeve across his face, adjusted his hat and said, “Cheery bye. I’ll be seeing you,” then plodded down the drive and out the gate.

“What was all that about?” Bill asked.

“Oh, it would take too long to tell. You tell. Why are you home in the middle of a Friday afternoon?”

“Go and put the kettle on,” he smiled. “Otherwise I’ll have a dripping nose like your wee friend. Then I’ll tell you.”

Soon they were sitting in the conservatory, still pleasantly warm from the lowering sun. Bill explained how a visit to a new client, in the local business park, had been cancelled at the last minute.

“I wasn’t going to battle my way back to the office, only to drive all the way home again through the Friday traffic jams, so I just skidged off early.”

He gave her a leery grin. “I didn’t expect to interrupt you entertaining gentlemen callers”

Elaine brought him up to date about the number and identity of her callers. Referring to Harry Joseph, she said, “I guess he and his brother are called after the two princes. Harry and William. I didn’t ask about the ‘other da’ - or about which ‘da’ the Robert/Roberta was going to be called for.”

“Don’t encourage him if he comes back,” Bill warned. “Heavens knows what kind of a home he comes from, poor child.”

“I hope he managed home all right.”

“Oh, come on,” Bill smiled. “He was a right wee, snottery nosed, street-wise kid if ever I saw one.”

“I’m not so sure. His clothes were good quality and there was something appealing about him,” Elaine shrugged, “I wish I’d seen him across that road.”

Leaving Bill to his newspaper, with his eyelids beginning to droop, she went to change out of her gardening gear.

Showered, hair washed and dried, the doorbell disturbed her, mid-lipstick. The milk boy and paper boy usually called at this time on a Friday. Knowing Bill would never hear the bell from the depths of a snooze, she made her way downstairs and, getting her purse from the kitchen, went to open the front door as the bell rang again.

A tall, broad shouldered, man stood there. His somewhat serious expression was lightened by bright, dark, eyes and his head of vivid, copper, hair. Elaine gathered her housecoat round her. She knew at once who he was.

For what seemed an age they looked at one another. Then Bill appeared in the hall asking, “Was that the door?”

“Mr Shaw!” the caller looked quite horrified.

“Rab,” Bill smiled, “come away in.” He held out an arm to show the way and said to his wife, “This is Rab McLean, my cancelled appointment.”

To the man, still standing on the door-mat, he urged, “Come in, man, come in. Did the office send you? Did you get your family crisis sorted out?”

Rab McLean walked slowly through the hall and into the living room. He sat on the edge of the chair he was directed to and rubbed his large hand across the lower part of his face.

“I didn’t know this was your home,” he began. “It was the lady of the house I wanted to have a word with. I think she knows the family crisis.”

The lady in question said, “You’re Harry Joseph’s father.”

“Oh, lord help me. He gave you his Sunday name. I dread to think what else he gave you.”

“Well, we had an interesting afternoon,” Elaine smiled, weakly.

“If half what he told me went on here you had a more than interesting afternoon. I was beginning to wonder what kind of street I’d moved my family into.” Rab McLean sounded indignant, yet he grinned, widely.

Elaine and Bill glanced at one another, completely at a loss.

After a deep breath their caller continued.

“Harry has been off school with tonsillitis. He was let out to play - in the garden. The wife phoned me, just before you were due to arrive at the office,” he nodded to Bill, “when she couldn’t find him. We only moved here two months ago and Lyn, the wife, was afraid he had wandered too far and couldn’t find his way back. Anyway,” Rab sighed, “the bold boy arrived back just after I got home. But the story he spun us beggared belief.”

Bewildered, Elaine said, “He was certainly here about lunch time. Tom saw him,” she told her husband. “When Greg left I spoke to him again. He was still here when you arrived.” To Rab McLean she said, “I didn’t realise he had been here all that time. Your wife must have been worried sick. She’s expecting another one too, isn’t she.”

“Aye. The boy’s told you all about us, right enough. He told us all about the happenings here!”

“Nothing happened here,” Elaine said.

“What did the lad tell you?” Bill asked.

Rab began by explaining how he and his family had previously lived in a much less salubrious area. Neighbours included two very colourful blondes whose regular ‘gentlemen callers’ and their cars had fascinated his sons. To stop them asking questions the lads were told the men were visitors.

As Rab’s contract cleaning company prospered they moved on, to the village, to a villa just round the corner of the crescent from the Shaw’s.

Harry’s experience of happenings in past years had obviously coloured his view of Elaine’s gentlemen callers in big, shiny, cars. His yarn of the ‘lady kissed them and pulled down the blinds’ was embroidered by him insisting she expected his father to ‘go round there and get a shot of her hoover because she liked big, strong, men’!

Elaine, afraid to look at her husband, gave Rab an embarrassed smile, “And you arrived here to find me, in a frilly housecoat, answering the door, purse in hand.”

He grinned back. “It was a toss up between going for my wallet or going away - fast.”

Bill was shaking with laughter. “I’ll get a good few miles out of this story at the golf club,” he said, wiping his eyes.

“Don’t even think it,” Elaine threatened with a grin and turning to Rab said, “I hope you realise my gentlemen callers were my brother, my son and my husband.”

Encouraged by his widening smile she asked, “Would you tell me how your sons got their middle names?”

“Their middle names? You mean the Peter and Joseph bits? That’s after their Grandfathers. Why do you want to know that?”

“Harry said he was called after his da and his brother was called after his other da. I assumed he meant father. I’ve guessed where Robert or Roberta comes from for the next one,” Elaine looked shamefaced, “I thought he came from a multi fathered family. I apologise. But you thought you would find a red light over my door.”

Rab shook his head. “Maybe you should let your husband tell the story at the golf club. Nobody would believe it.”

After promises of a loan of the garden vac and plans to meet Lyn, along with Harry Joseph and his brother, Rab McLean left.

They watched him walk down the drive and Bill said, “That was an interesting afternoon. Certainly better than auditing accounts.”

As he closed the door the last glow from the setting sun shone through the stained glass panel. Jewel bright motes of light blinked on Elaine’s face.

“You’ve got red lights all over you,” he smiled, caressing her cheek. “Just wait till I tell Greg you got the name of setting up the village’s answer to a seedy sauna!”

Elaine covered his hand with her own hand and, with a suggestive wink, said, “Just call me madam.”

Bill raised his eyebrows. “Perhaps I should come home early more often.”

Hand in hand they turned. Tiny, glittering, beams, like electric confetti, flickered down their backs and on to the floor as they walked across the hall and up the stairs.