AnyaKimlin
Confuddled
This is the first part of what will either be chapter one or chapter two of Black's Nest. (different readers like different ones so I'm not sure it matters). Its evolved since I last shared it and still needs an edit.
Senility had knocked on the door of Ian Erasmus Black’s mind and he had invited it in, offered it a cup of sea and asked it to stay. That was the only explanation he had for the current state of abject terror that he was only just keeping under control. If he hadn’t been entrusted with Beanie and Little Tyke for the afternoon he’d have curled up on a bench with his thumb in his mouth.
Nessie, Smaug and the Gruffalo. Ian tightened his grip on the pram handle and checked yet another one of Umber Bridge’s mediaeval closes for a bogey man and their minions. He was unsurprised when yet again not one fabled beings jumped out at him. That he was now serving cake to dementia was without doubt. All he could hope for was that he got himself and his great-grandsons back home without incident. With Little Tyke in the pram and Beanie by his side he looked once more, just in case, before they walked past the dark gap.
It had started at 8.25 am precisely. He’d been standing in the queue at the bakers, trying desperately not to listen to the tale of Mrs Arbuthnot’s daughter’s hysterectomy complications. The details would have struck fear into the heart of any man but it didn’t explain the sudden abject terror and the constant wariness. Every lamp-post, pillar box and hedge felt like it posed a threat if not to his body then his sanity. God, he hoped his mother didn’t speak to her friends about him like that. He assumed an old lady voice, “Our Ian’s been castrated. The hospital were awful good. They even let him take his bits home in a jar.”
He felt a tug on his t-shirt and his heart sank.
“Greatpa, what’s castrated mean?”
Bugger! Bugger! Bugger! In his reverie he’d forgotten his great-grandsons were with him. How do you explain castration to a four-year-old? His brow furrowed deep in thought as though he was giving the answer great consideration. “It’s a medical procedure. Why don’t you ask your daddy – he’s a doctor?”
“Daddy’s not a doctor he’s a pathologist. He cuts up dead people.”
“Yes but he had to do a medical degree to become a pathologist.”
Beanie stopped walking and his eyes filled with tears. “Daddy and Mummy think I’m naughty cos I gave Oliver my Raffy.”
“You’re not naughty.” Ian stopped and gave Beanie his full attention. He put the brakes on the pram and sat on the wall of the park. When he patted next to him Beanie joined him. “If anything I think you’re too well behaved for a four-year-old. None of your great-uncles would have let me walk for...” Quickly, Ian checked the cartoon watch he’d picked up from Poundland. “...ooh about half an hour without talking my ear off.” They’d certainly not have let me forget them.
“Mummy gets angry if I talk to her when we walk. She doesn’t like it when we make noises.” Tears fell. Soft quiet tears.
Ian found his handkerchief and cleaned him up. “Blow. Is the fighting bad at home?”
Beanie responded with a nod. Misery wound round the kid until it almost became a separate being eating at him from the outside in.
With his forefinger Ian shoved his glasses back up his nose. “How about you stay the weekend with Greatpa Wilf and me.” Ian put the handkerchief back in his pocket.
This time Beanie’s face broke into a smile. It was the first time he’d smiled since Ian had picked him up over an hour ago. “Can Oliver come stay too?”
“Your Mum wouldn’t like that.” Ian knew she was going to hate him keeping Beanie. “I know. Would you like ice-cream?”
Again he smiled and the difficult conversation was forgotten. “Can I have sprinkles, sherbet and a flake?”
“And sauce.”
“Yeah.” The smile grew just a little more until it dominated Beanie’s handsome little face.
“Yeah.” Before Ian could stand up and take the brake of Little Tyke’s pram, Beanie dashed through the gates of the park. Ian had to practically run to keep up with him as they passed the bandstand that these days was a canvas for teenage graffiti rather than a venue for fine music.
Beanie had already stopped outside the ice-cream van and was shouting his order up to the kid in the white coat. The kid raised his eyebrow at Ian.
“What ever my great-grandson wants he can have. I promised him.” He readjusted the sunshade over Little Tyke who had begun to fuss a little. It had been obvious when he picked the kids up that they hadn’t been fed and Little Tyke’s nappy hadn’t been changed for hours.
The kid handed Beanie an ice-cream that was nearly as big as Beanie’s head. “That’ll be two pound fifty, Mister.”
How bloody much? “Say thank you, young man,” he gently reminded Beanie who was so lost in creamy heaven that he’d forgotten his manners.
“Thanks. And thanks, Greatpa. It’s super delicious.”
Ian prevented himself from making verbal comment about the extortionate price and reminded himself it was worth every smile Beanie threw in his direction. By the end of this weekend he would be Super Greatpa. “Let’s have a seat by the pond. I think Tyke needs feeding.”
“Mummy doesn’t like us calling him Tyke. His name’s Oliver, Greatpa.”
Hatred for Sarah and what she did to his grandson and her children ate at Ian. He breathed calm breaths like his son Pete had taught him and winked. “Well I won’t tell her if you don’t?”
“I won’t.” Beanie attacked the ice-cream again.
Ian pushed the pram over the grass to a bench near the shallow pond. It had once been the pride of the park but these days it was home to a couple of friendly Muscovy ducks, a flotilla of hungry seagulls and a swan family. Mr Cob was a legend in his own pond. He was over the other side making a couple of tourists aware of his views on cameras. They had to be new to town as everyone local had already been told. Ian pointed at his eyes with two fingers and then pointed at the swan with the same fingers. “That’s right pal. You and me get each other. I know you’re protecting your babies. Well if you come near mine I’ll put you in a pie – well I’ll do the shooting and get my Wilf to put you in a pie.”
Beanie giggled. “Greatpa, you’re funny.” He sat on the bench.
Ian picked up Little Tyke and balanced him with the practised ease of an experienced father. He found the bottle and sat down to feed him. With it being so hot he covered the baby with a light blanket. The baby made contented noises as he sucked on the bottle.
“Any room on this bench for a couple of ladies?”
“Ruth! You look fabulous. Excuse me for not getting up.” He nodded towards Little Tyke. “Little feeder on board.”
She sat down in between Ian and Beanie and kissed first Beanie’s cheek and then Ian’s. In a plain white shirt and jeans, and wearing a brightly coloured sling with Ava in it she didn’t look like a woman who had given birth just three weeks ago. Pulling apart the blanket she leaned in and took a peek at Little Tyke. “He’s such a cutie.”
“Any chance of some time with Button when I’ve finished here?”
“Of course. I’d never deny you time with her. She’s not long been fed and changed so she should be delight to hold as long as she doesn’t puke.” She covered her mouth and in an exaggerated whisper said, “She does that a lot. Matt’s a bit nervous about holding her as a result.”
“I hope my son’s helping you out.”
“As much as can be expected. More than really. He was quite honest that he didn’t mind if I had a baby as long as he wasn’t expected to change a nappy or get up at night.” She laughed. “But actually he’s besotted if very nervous round her.”'
Senility had knocked on the door of Ian Erasmus Black’s mind and he had invited it in, offered it a cup of sea and asked it to stay. That was the only explanation he had for the current state of abject terror that he was only just keeping under control. If he hadn’t been entrusted with Beanie and Little Tyke for the afternoon he’d have curled up on a bench with his thumb in his mouth.
Nessie, Smaug and the Gruffalo. Ian tightened his grip on the pram handle and checked yet another one of Umber Bridge’s mediaeval closes for a bogey man and their minions. He was unsurprised when yet again not one fabled beings jumped out at him. That he was now serving cake to dementia was without doubt. All he could hope for was that he got himself and his great-grandsons back home without incident. With Little Tyke in the pram and Beanie by his side he looked once more, just in case, before they walked past the dark gap.
It had started at 8.25 am precisely. He’d been standing in the queue at the bakers, trying desperately not to listen to the tale of Mrs Arbuthnot’s daughter’s hysterectomy complications. The details would have struck fear into the heart of any man but it didn’t explain the sudden abject terror and the constant wariness. Every lamp-post, pillar box and hedge felt like it posed a threat if not to his body then his sanity. God, he hoped his mother didn’t speak to her friends about him like that. He assumed an old lady voice, “Our Ian’s been castrated. The hospital were awful good. They even let him take his bits home in a jar.”
He felt a tug on his t-shirt and his heart sank.
“Greatpa, what’s castrated mean?”
Bugger! Bugger! Bugger! In his reverie he’d forgotten his great-grandsons were with him. How do you explain castration to a four-year-old? His brow furrowed deep in thought as though he was giving the answer great consideration. “It’s a medical procedure. Why don’t you ask your daddy – he’s a doctor?”
“Daddy’s not a doctor he’s a pathologist. He cuts up dead people.”
“Yes but he had to do a medical degree to become a pathologist.”
Beanie stopped walking and his eyes filled with tears. “Daddy and Mummy think I’m naughty cos I gave Oliver my Raffy.”
“You’re not naughty.” Ian stopped and gave Beanie his full attention. He put the brakes on the pram and sat on the wall of the park. When he patted next to him Beanie joined him. “If anything I think you’re too well behaved for a four-year-old. None of your great-uncles would have let me walk for...” Quickly, Ian checked the cartoon watch he’d picked up from Poundland. “...ooh about half an hour without talking my ear off.” They’d certainly not have let me forget them.
“Mummy gets angry if I talk to her when we walk. She doesn’t like it when we make noises.” Tears fell. Soft quiet tears.
Ian found his handkerchief and cleaned him up. “Blow. Is the fighting bad at home?”
Beanie responded with a nod. Misery wound round the kid until it almost became a separate being eating at him from the outside in.
With his forefinger Ian shoved his glasses back up his nose. “How about you stay the weekend with Greatpa Wilf and me.” Ian put the handkerchief back in his pocket.
This time Beanie’s face broke into a smile. It was the first time he’d smiled since Ian had picked him up over an hour ago. “Can Oliver come stay too?”
“Your Mum wouldn’t like that.” Ian knew she was going to hate him keeping Beanie. “I know. Would you like ice-cream?”
Again he smiled and the difficult conversation was forgotten. “Can I have sprinkles, sherbet and a flake?”
“And sauce.”
“Yeah.” The smile grew just a little more until it dominated Beanie’s handsome little face.
“Yeah.” Before Ian could stand up and take the brake of Little Tyke’s pram, Beanie dashed through the gates of the park. Ian had to practically run to keep up with him as they passed the bandstand that these days was a canvas for teenage graffiti rather than a venue for fine music.
Beanie had already stopped outside the ice-cream van and was shouting his order up to the kid in the white coat. The kid raised his eyebrow at Ian.
“What ever my great-grandson wants he can have. I promised him.” He readjusted the sunshade over Little Tyke who had begun to fuss a little. It had been obvious when he picked the kids up that they hadn’t been fed and Little Tyke’s nappy hadn’t been changed for hours.
The kid handed Beanie an ice-cream that was nearly as big as Beanie’s head. “That’ll be two pound fifty, Mister.”
How bloody much? “Say thank you, young man,” he gently reminded Beanie who was so lost in creamy heaven that he’d forgotten his manners.
“Thanks. And thanks, Greatpa. It’s super delicious.”
Ian prevented himself from making verbal comment about the extortionate price and reminded himself it was worth every smile Beanie threw in his direction. By the end of this weekend he would be Super Greatpa. “Let’s have a seat by the pond. I think Tyke needs feeding.”
“Mummy doesn’t like us calling him Tyke. His name’s Oliver, Greatpa.”
Hatred for Sarah and what she did to his grandson and her children ate at Ian. He breathed calm breaths like his son Pete had taught him and winked. “Well I won’t tell her if you don’t?”
“I won’t.” Beanie attacked the ice-cream again.
Ian pushed the pram over the grass to a bench near the shallow pond. It had once been the pride of the park but these days it was home to a couple of friendly Muscovy ducks, a flotilla of hungry seagulls and a swan family. Mr Cob was a legend in his own pond. He was over the other side making a couple of tourists aware of his views on cameras. They had to be new to town as everyone local had already been told. Ian pointed at his eyes with two fingers and then pointed at the swan with the same fingers. “That’s right pal. You and me get each other. I know you’re protecting your babies. Well if you come near mine I’ll put you in a pie – well I’ll do the shooting and get my Wilf to put you in a pie.”
Beanie giggled. “Greatpa, you’re funny.” He sat on the bench.
Ian picked up Little Tyke and balanced him with the practised ease of an experienced father. He found the bottle and sat down to feed him. With it being so hot he covered the baby with a light blanket. The baby made contented noises as he sucked on the bottle.
“Any room on this bench for a couple of ladies?”
“Ruth! You look fabulous. Excuse me for not getting up.” He nodded towards Little Tyke. “Little feeder on board.”
She sat down in between Ian and Beanie and kissed first Beanie’s cheek and then Ian’s. In a plain white shirt and jeans, and wearing a brightly coloured sling with Ava in it she didn’t look like a woman who had given birth just three weeks ago. Pulling apart the blanket she leaned in and took a peek at Little Tyke. “He’s such a cutie.”
“Any chance of some time with Button when I’ve finished here?”
“Of course. I’d never deny you time with her. She’s not long been fed and changed so she should be delight to hold as long as she doesn’t puke.” She covered her mouth and in an exaggerated whisper said, “She does that a lot. Matt’s a bit nervous about holding her as a result.”
“I hope my son’s helping you out.”
“As much as can be expected. More than really. He was quite honest that he didn’t mind if I had a baby as long as he wasn’t expected to change a nappy or get up at night.” She laughed. “But actually he’s besotted if very nervous round her.”'
