William's Startling Emails Read online

  “I’ll have to think about these classes,” he told Ginger. “Most of them are in the evening. I’m not sure if it’s worth missing the pub.”

  He looked at the rest of his list. The garden! It was a rubbish-strewn mess out there. He really couldn’t manage gardens. He realised that after his abortive attempt to manage Mrs. Brenner’s. Couldn’t he get it paved over or something? There were several adverts in the booklet, one of which was about providing patios and paving for modern gardens. You had to phone them up and ask for a quotation. That’s what he would do. He’d have it all paved over. Flattened. Tidied up. He’d get in touch with Perfect Patios tomorrow.

  Brilliant! The last thing on his list was a telephone. Everyone seemed to have a mobile phone these days. Why didn’t he have one? If he had one, he could get an estimate from this paving firm.

  “You see what you can achieve with a bit of careful thought, Ginger,” he observed. “Now let’s go and fix something to eat.”

  The next few days passed peacefully enough, if you discount a letter of severely-worded admonition from William’s credit card company. The idea of sending over £4000 in the post in cash had apparently caused uproar and great concern in their offices and, should he ever feel tempted to do any such thing again, they would withdraw his card. It was entirely reprehensible behaviour on the part of Mr. Penfold and his final flourish of ‘Keep the Change’ was not viewed as humorous or acceptable and they had added that amount towards his next payment. His actions had been dangerous and risked losing his money to opportunistic thieves and the company was appalled and would not be held liable for any loss if Mr. Penfold did anything so outrageously foolish again.

  “Well they accepted the money, Ginger,” said William, “told you they would. Pompous sods. They should be glad they got anything at all.”

  William concentrated on home improvements. He found an old radio at the back of a drawer in the old chest of drawers in his bedroom. He bought some batteries for it and put it in the kitchen. He bought some teacups and mugs, in case the apple pie woman came again and maybe brought her friends and hopefully some more pies, also some plates and – this was a great step forward, he bought a sugar bowl. He also began to tidy up the conglomeration of cans and bottles which lurked everywhere, not only in the kitchen. He found three underneath the sofa, which he put carefully in the dustbin. He bought another baseball cap, this time in red. There was a bath mat for the bathroom and a new, very large towel.

  He also picked up a newspaper as he felt that he should be more up to date with the news. Somewhere it might say in it who the Prime Minister was. Then the Social people couldn’t trip him up any more. The various items of news astonished him. He had no idea things out there were so bad and some of the things people got up to were shocking. Some of the scandals were amazing and he found them very absorbing. The Prime Minister didn’t seem to be mixed up in them so he didn’t find out what his name was. He’d have to use the Internet if he really wanted to know. How had he let himself get so out of touch?

  His next enterprise concerned the question of a mobile phone. He didn’t really know where to get one of these. Then he remembered that the big supermarket, where he had bought his new towel, stocked them. What sort did he want? He knew there were lots of different sorts and people had a lot of trouble with them. You were always being told to turn them off. Well, he wasn’t going to go to the trouble of buying one only to be told to turn it off. He needed one in order to phone the paving people. So his would be on all the time if he wanted it to be. He could feel the anger rising up inside him already at the threatened interference into his freedom to phone people.

  It was still troubling him by the time he went to the pub. Jimmy Donovan wasn’t there, as it happened, but William was a known face in the pub now, since his run-in with the Old Bill, and total strangers offered to buy him a drink. When he started to explain his problem about what sort of mobile he needed to buy he was overwhelmed with advice. He was steered towards buying a pay-as-you-go model and the name was written down for him so that he wouldn’t have too much unwanted interference from the supermarket manager. William explained his dislike of the manager and was cheered up to discover that several of the pub’s customers also disliked him and had had arguments with him. “You get what you want, William, he’s well out of order, you tell him where he can put his artichokes.” William felt encouraged.

  CHAPTER 13

  All his problems seemed to be well on the way to being resolved, once the Social people came. True, it rained the next day, but that was of no worry to someone with a large golfing umbrella and he set off towards the supermarket almost cheerfully. It wasn’t a state of mind he was used to and it left him a little uneasy. Once there, he found the stand where the mobile phones were and chose the one that had been recommended to him the night before. To his relief, there was no sign of the manager and the cashier obligingly inserted the card necessary to start it all up and he brought it triumphantly home.

  He also brought home a warm cooked chicken and he and Ginger shared it enthusiastically in the front room whilst watching Prime Minister’s Questions. “So it’s him, is it?” muttered William. “Who’da thought it? No good, any of ’em, Ginger. Couldn’t run a whelk stall in a brewery.”

  His last muttered pronouncement surprised even himself and he paused to try to work out what was wrong with it before continuing with another piece of chicken. However, his use of mixed metaphors continued to baffle him so he decided to get on with sorting out his new phone. He settled on the sofa along with Ginger and the book of instructions.

  An hour later, in perhaps one of the worst tempers he had ever had, he threw his new phone on the floor and growled his fury at Ginger, who took one look at William and made for the toilet window. Once again, William read the manual of instructions on how to make a call. He seized the apple pie woman’s booklet yet again and found the advertisement which had attracted his attention before. Patiently, he began to dial, this time remembering to include the local code, also pressing the icon which claimed to start up the call. This time it worked. Perfect Patios answered. “How may I help you?”

  Relieved and triumphant, William shouted, “I want the garden done!”

  “Yes Sir?” said the startled lady at the other end of the phone. “No need to shout Sir. What was the name?”

  Somehow William restrained himself, spoke in a reasonable tone and got through the ensuing conversation without becoming embroiled in one of his unfortunate misunderstandings. He gave his name and address and arranged for one Ed Smithers to come and inspect the property the next day at 10 o’clock. He even remembered to press the icon which finished the call. Exhausted after this technological struggle he realised he needed a drink like never before and made for the kitchen.

  When he returned he drank his lager as if his life depended on it. Mobile phones! He seemed to remember there was something about charging the thing up or it wouldn’t work. Surely it wouldn’t give up the ghost after just one call? He was about to set it up to charge when he suddenly thought, well nobody knows I’ve got one, so they can’t phone me anyway. And I’m not going through all that again in a hurry to make more calls. So he left it, for the time being, although he didn’t turn it off. He wasn’t sure how you did that. It was one of the many features he had not mastered.

  At this point, he thought about his computer. How simple it seemed after a mobile phone. He switched it on and opened up his emails. There was one from God again!

  Here we go, he thought. More daft directives I bet. Still, the old boy has been pretty helpful, really. Now what?

  The email said:

  Plan ahead. Keep calm. Be yourself. See clearly.

  He read and reread this brief missive several times. The Almighty didn’t seem too interested in his query regarding his ferreting out what had happened in the past. ‘Plan ahead’? Well, that could mean anything from working out what to do next Tuesday or booking a holiday in foreign parts, couldn’t
it? He most definitely didn’t want to do that. The idea of not being able to make himself understood somewhere filled him with horror. He had enough trouble with English-speaking people as it was. He did not want to go abroad. He did not rate abroad. Perhaps he had been there, he thought, in the days when, and hadn’t enjoyed it. Planning ahead would have to reveal itself some other way, he thought.

  ‘Keep calm’. Yes, he knew in his heart of hearts what the Top Guy was getting at. His sudden bursts of temper. His awful rages. He should make an effort. Definitely. He would try. ‘Be yourself’. Well, who else could he be? That was a daft directive if ever there was one. ‘See clearly’. Well he wore glasses, now and then; mostly he lost them and spent a lot of time looking for them. Of course he wanted to see clearly. The glasses helped him to see clearly. What else could it mean? A small shoot of anger threatened to swell up inside. I haven’t got time for all this nonsense, he thought.

  He was also disappointed. Sometimes the messages had made him very angry, but it had all come clear in time. This time he just didn’t understand it. Was he supposed to ask the Social people about the past or not? The problem wasn’t solved, so he shrugged his shoulders and temporarily forgot about it. He settled down for a prolonged afternoon sleep; his life seemed to have become more exciting and interesting of late, he thought. Perhaps he had God to thank for that but it was certainly tiring. Ginger joined him and they enjoyed a comfortable doze on the sofa.

  Later, he and his umbrella went to the pub and again had a pleasant session. Jimmy was there and had to be filled in with the police episode and William recruited several people to help him with his mobile phone, which was just as well as he had apparently set the alarm to go off at 3 a.m. Choosing which ringtone he preferred occupied most of the regulars for at least half an hour but he got the hang of it all after a while. He even found out how to switch it off. There were one or two games on his phone which intrigued him, but it was disappointing he couldn’t take pictures. Up until now he had no idea that people could take pictures with their phones, anyway, but to find that he was one of those who couldn’t annoyed him but there it was. At least he could phone people now.

  He came home very pleased with life in general, slightly tipsy but not as much as usual, went to bed and slept well.

  The next morning he made a good substantial breakfast, which Ginger joined in with appreciatively, and decided to go and buy a paper, as he wanted to catch up on what had happened in the scandals he had been reading about. However, before he could do that, Ed Smithers turned up to look at the garden.

  “How much do you want done Mr. Penfold?”

  “All of it,” said William. He was in no mood to haggle over bits and pieces.

  “Well, it’s not a very big garden, so it wouldn’t cost that much. You’ve already got quite a few large plain slabs outside your kitchen and toilet end of the garden. Do you want herringbone pattern, or to continue the large slabs or crazy paving? I’ve got pictures here.”

  William considered the illustrations. “I like the crazy paving,” he said firmly.

  “Want any more spaces left at the edges for a border or in the middle, for plants?”

  “No,” he said firmly.

  “Well, we’d have to charge you for taking away all the rubbish. There’s a lot to clear, you realise. What about the shed?”

  “I don’t want it. Take it away. And what’s inside it.”

  Ed Smithers fiddled about with his pencil and brochure. “Could do it for £580.”

  William was shocked. £580 for covering his garden area with concrete! “£250,” he said, sticking his chin out belligerently. “There’s a proper lawnmower in the shed, and a spade and so on. You’d get all those.”

  “Not worth anything. Four fifty for plain slab paving,” said Ed Smithers, “ that’s my last word.”

  “Four hundred,” said William. “That’s mine.”

  “Gawd,” said Ed. “I’ll do it next week. Monday. What’s that plank doing there?”

  “It’s for the cat,” explained William.

  “You need a cat flap,” said Ed. “One of my men’ll put one in for you in your back door. Can’t have that plank there.”

  “Alright,” said William.

  “£420 then,” said Ed. “Plus cost of cat flap,” he added hastily.

  He and William shook hands and William offered him a drink as they went back through the kitchen. William had to give Ed a deposit, which he managed from the £1,000 he still had left from the lorry driver. He put the remainder in his wallet. The conversation seemed to have suited both of them and they parted amicably.

  Well, that’s going to make a hole in my £1000, thought William. On the other hand, it would solve the garden problem in one go. “You can’t take it with you,” he said philosophically, as he considered his purchase.

  Well satisfied with his morning’s encounter, he returned to the front room. Before he could make himself ready to go out, he saw that he had received some post. There were two letters. One was from Denis and Robert, who had sent him a new bus pass and given him a date for their next visit in two weeks’ time, which would coincide with the annual review of Mr. Penfold’s case. They also warned him that there would shortly be a visit from a Mr. John Forbes from the Psychiatry and Counselling Outreach Department. He would prepare a report of William’s case to be considered at the annual review, at which several people would be present from the Social Services. There was also a letter from Mr. Forbes, who said that he would be visiting Mr. Penfold next Friday at 2 o’clock in the afternoon and hoped that would be convenient.

  William began to consider his position. He didn’t like the sound of the Psychiatric Department. Were they thinking of sending him back to the place with the red curtains? He was getting on quite nicely these days. Yes, he did drink a lot, but nowhere near as much as he used to. He was eating better and looking after himself and Mrs. Brenner’s cat. He’d made friends. He’d bought a sugar bowl. He knew he hadn’t got on with Denis and Robert as well as he might. They were a bit daft in his opinion but they had tried to be helpful. So long as he didn’t tell them about the motor scooter episode and the credit card and money he had found in his jacket they couldn’t find anything to complain about, could they?

  None of it was his fault. But he would certainly keep quiet about the emails from God. That would put the cat among the pigeons.

  The bus pass cheered him up. He wondered what he had done with the previous one. He must have been stupid to get rid of it. Now he could go to the Protect and Save building society place and demand a cheque book. Not that he actually intended to use it, given that that was all he had. Still, you never knew, he felt he ought to have one. And he could track down the dressing gown shop and try to get it into his head where the pharmacy was. He had no idea where his doctor’s surgery was, he realised, but then he didn’t want to go there.

  Also, he suddenly realised, he could go to see Mrs. Brenner, on the hospital bus. He had seen that outside the newsagent’s. He could take Ginger in his covered cat carrier. The world was wide open!

  That afternoon he walked to the library and from there he discovered where the Community Institute was, more or less next door, where they held all the classes. He went in and found a small queue with the sign ‘Enrolment’ above them. He’d had a sudden brilliant idea. When it came to his turn he said, quite loudly, “I want to sign up for a class.”

  “Certainly, Sir. Which class was it?”

  “Sculpture in stone.”

  The signing-up assistant hesitated. One had to be so careful. Classes were open to everyone, of course, but here was an elderly gentleman who seemed to be not so very steady on his feet and who did smell somewhat of alcohol, wanting to join a class that was perhaps a little strenuous for him. Gently she attempted to put these considerations into tactful words and William reacted, as he always did to opposition of any kind, with a furious response. He said he was perfectly capable of hauling bits of stone around and carvi
ng it up and he was having his garden specially paved over so that his statues would have a safe home. He could see very clearly (there he paused, as the phrase jolted his memory a bit) and he knew what he was doing, which was more than the Community Institute did. Did they expect him to go to silly things like bridge or line dancing? She explained he would have to manage all sorts of tools, some of which might be dangerous, and there would be dust flying about, which might cause irritation, and your hands had to be very steady indeed. The row began to escalate, as rows do, and a senior person arrived on the scene. He was more adamant and hostile from William’s point of view and despite William waving his umbrella and threatening to consult his solicitors about his human rights, he got nowhere.

  Eventually he signed on, reluctantly, for cookery, at £50 for 11 weeks, which partially calmed him down. “Only if they know something about artichokes,” he snapped at them. The assistant assured him that the teacher knew everything there was to know about artichokes and, with that, he had to be content.

  CHAPTER 14

  After this disquieting conversation William got on the No. 74, intending to go to the Protect and Save building society. He dutifully showed his bus pass and took a seat. But it was some while before he realised the bus was going in the wrong direction and he was almost out of the town. It was approaching leafy lanes and a huge garden centre on his right before he managed to get off the bus. Swearing to himself he decided to enter the garden centre as it offered a café and cream teas, which he felt he needed. The centre was not his sort of place at all, “Full of bloody plants,” he muttered, but he enjoyed the cream tea that he bought in the café. Wandering through this, to him, alien world, he saw a sign directing him towards Statuary and Garden Ornaments. There he entered an area brimful of all sorts of stone creations, everything from garden gnomes to ducks, dogs, cats, meerkats and larger, more original statues.

  One in particular attracted his attention. It was taller than he was, 6’ to 7’, and seemed to be of two figures, though what exactly they were doing was not absolutely clear. One had a raised arm which held a bit of wire or something. The other had a rather twisted foot, though you couldn’t be sure whose foot it was. You couldn’t really tell where one figure ended and the other began nor even what gender they were. You had to make your own mind up. There was a long piece of red-painted metal going across the middle, almost through the centre of the statuary, though it was difficult to see the relationship of the bar to the rest of the design. William walked round it several times, gazing intently. It was called Night Vision. He couldn’t see why it was called Night Vision. He tried to look at their faces but one was half-hidden in some drapery and the other looked quite blank. One of them held a sort of remote control in his or her hand but what that was controlling was not obvious.