Mr. Rosenblum's List Part 18

It flapped its wings and opened its beak to display an empty mouth.

'Here you are then.'

She tossed the bird a corner of bread. A glossy mallard swam over and tried to s.n.a.t.c.h it away, but the black duck objected with a loud quack and a fearsome hiss. In a minute there was a noisy chorus of squabbling birds. The sound echoed all around Sadie until, suddenly, she remembered. She was in Berlin and the Zoologischer Garten at crocus time. The flowers reached her knees, she was so small, and she shrieked as a duck s.n.a.t.c.hed a crust from her outstretched hand.

'He's hungry, don't be frightened, my little one,' soothed Mutti. 'Watch!' Mutti laughed as she tossed a sc.r.a.p up into the sky, watching as the birds swooped to catch them in open beaks. Mutti laughed as she tossed a sc.r.a.p up into the sky, watching as the birds swooped to catch them in open beaks.

Sadie threw another crust and a speckled duckling dived.

'See them fly, Sadie,' called Mutti, her shouts mingling with the call of the birds.

Now, standing in the London park all these years later, Sadie shut her eyes and listened: she could still hear Mutti's voice in the crying of the birds.

She walked away from the pond and onto the open heath. The green rolled down to the city, where buildings and concrete replaced the gra.s.s, but here the sky above was empty. It was one of the few places in London where she could see the expanse of sky everywhere else it was hidden by roofs and she saw only slivers of blue peeping between the houses. She was overwhelmed with longing for the empty s.p.a.ces and the fields of the Blackmore Vale that was where her memories were hidden, like a mouse's nest in a cornfield. Walking along Bulbarrow Ridge she had remembered chasing Emil as a boy through the German countryside. They had been running through the long gra.s.s when he shouted at her to stop but she refused, thinking it a ruse for escape, and caught hold of his arm. He pointed to the heavens, where a buzzard hovered, its wings barely seeming to beat, before diving to earth. In her memory, the Dorset landscape replaced that of Bavaria and she chased Emil along the top of Bulbarrow. Only now, when they had returned to the city, did she finally understand. While she had lost their faces, in the open fields she had learned to remember them and somehow, they were waiting for her there.

Jack sat in the hotel bar thumbing through the Financial Times Financial Times. He tried to interest himself in the headlines and failed, then noticed a copy of the He tried to interest himself in the headlines and failed, then noticed a copy of the Daily Mail Daily Mail on the table and started to flip through that instead. On page two, a news story caught his attention: on the table and started to flip through that instead. On page two, a news story caught his attention: Blushes at Red Carpet Trip-UpOfficials organising the Coronation have been left red-faced after ordering insufficient carpet for the big day. More than a mile of carpet is needed but careless measurements by staff have left a shortage of hundreds of feet! So will the Queen break with tradition and be forced to walk up a Paisley swirl? A Palace spokesman declined to comment.

Jack felt a p.r.i.c.kle of excitement as an idea began to emerge like a fox from its winter den. He seized the paper, and half an hour later arrived at the gates of Rosenblum's Carpet Factory. At a half-run, he tore along the corridor to his old office and flung open the door. Fielding was seated at the desk, eating a grey ham sandwich and speaking on the telephone but he lowered the receiver in surprise on seeing Jack, who stood backlit in the doorway, white hair s.h.i.+ning like some kind of elderly, bespectacled genie. Jack thrust the newspaper at him and paced anxiously while Fielding read the piece.

'Well?' He demanded, when the other man had finished. 'Can we do it? Can the factory produce all that carpet in a week with one loom out of action?'

Fielding stared at him and then at the newspaper. 'It would be almost impossible.'

Jack banged the desk with a fist. 'But almost impossible is still possible.' He leant towards the younger man. 'This order is big enough to save us. Imagine in a week's time, Her Majesty walking up a red Rosenblum carpet.'

Carried away by Jack's enthusiasm, Fielding leapt from his chair, 'Do you think we'd get to have the Royal Warrant "By Appointment to Her Majesty the Queen" stamped on the side of the delivery pantechnicons?'

'I am sure we could.'

A flush of excitement suffused through the pallor on the manager's face, and Jack grinned.

'When this is over, I'm going to retire, Mr Fielding. I'm making you partner. I should have done it years ago, and then we wouldn't be in this mess. The decisions are up to you. I won't take any more money for loony plans. This is your office now.' Jack glanced down at the 'Tulip Surprise' colour swatch on the floor. 'And Mr Fielding, George, I'm sorry.'

Fielding stared at him for a moment in silence, and then nodded, 'Thank you.' He picked up the telephone receiver, 'Hullo, operator? Can you put me through to Buckingham Palace?'

Walking into the hotel, Jack knew he had done the right thing; his heart had gone out of the business and so it was right that he handed it on. He wasn't sure what he would do next, but he knew it wouldn't be carpets. The porter held open the door as Jack slipped inside. A second later, he dropped his hat in shock: there in the marbled lobby stood Jack Ba.s.set and Curtis.

For a moment Jack thought he was seeing things. Both men had dressed for the occasion: Curtis wore an ancient tweed suit and for once used smart braces to hold up his trousers, rather than his old spotted tie; Ba.s.set was in his Sunday suit with a neat neckerchief but still seemed out of place in the mirrored lobby. There were beads of sweat on his forehead and he rubbed his hands nervously. He s.h.i.+fted awkwardly from foot to foot and gazed about him, spying Jack with relief. Skidding on the polished floor in his hurry, Ba.s.set enfolded the smaller man in a large embrace, so that Jack was sandwiched against the wool of his suit jacket. A woman in a mink stole stared curiously at their little group.

Jack eased himself free and shook hands with Curtis, bewildered. He pointed to several stiff velvet armchairs.

'Shall we sit?'

Ba.s.set continued to lurk near a tall rubber plant, reluctant to join them, and Jack realised that he was self-conscious amongst the smart set.

'On second thoughts, let's go upstairs. Sadie will want to see you,' he said firmly, guiding them towards the lift.

Curtis started as the metal doors of the cage clanged shut. 'Aye. This is like them cattle cages at Stur market on a Monday. Feel like I is 'bout to be sold for 'alf a crown.'

When Sadie opened the door, her face went wide with surprise. It was nearly six and she was just beginning to wonder what had happened to her husband. She ushered them inside, busily straightening cus.h.i.+ons, trying to tidy her hair and wis.h.i.+ng she had cakes to offer. Having visitors and not being able to feed them was a travesty.

Ba.s.set undid his neck cloth and restrictive top b.u.t.ton, and sank into one of the deep armchairs with a grateful sigh. Underneath his weather-beaten suntan he looked exhausted. 'Traffic was terrible. N'er see sa many cars in all my life. An 'ee wasn't no b.l.o.o.d.y use,' he muttered with a dirty look at Curtis.

'May I get you a drink?' Jack asked, always the host.

Curtis produced from his other pocket a large, familiar-looking flask. 'Brought 'ome brew.'

'Only thing 'ees good for. Stupid auld b.u.g.g.e.r,' complained Ba.s.set s.n.a.t.c.hing the flask. He unscrewed the cap and after taking a swig pa.s.sed it to Jack, who took it gratefully and helped himself to a deep draught.

'So,' said Jack, trying to sound casual. 'What has brought you to town?'

'I 'as al'ays wanted to see Tower o' London. My great-great-great-uncle Billy got 'is 'ead chopped off there an' I wanted to see. 'Bout time I sawed the world.'

Jack studied Curtis and saw a smile flicker at the corners of his mouth. Then, the old man's eyes narrowed. 'Yoos left without even a goodbye. I doesn't 'ave yer fancy ways, Mister Rose-in-Bloom, but where I is from, that's rude, that is. Enough to make you a ninnywally.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Right you are. 'Ave another.'

Curtis pa.s.sed the bottle back to Jack who took a gulp.

'We came to give yer this.'

Ba.s.set fidgeted on the chair, pulling out an uncomfortable satin cus.h.i.+on, which he placed reverently on the floor. Then, he slid a hand into his breast pocket and proffered a telegram to Jack, who stared at it for a moment.

'Well, gowarn. Op'n it.'

'Yes, open it.'

Sadie, Curtis and Ba.s.set watched closely as Jack read the sender's name.

'It's from Bobby Jones.'

'Aye. Aye.'

Jack's hands began to tremble.

'Give it to me Jack,' said Sadie.

Unable to speak, he pa.s.sed her the telegram and she unfolded it.

DATE: 15 May, 1953Post Office TelegraphsNo fees to be paid unless stamped hereon.TO CHIEF EXECUTIVE DORSET COUNCILFROM BOBBY JONES AUGUSTA GEORGIA USANO LONGER SUPPORT SIR WILLIAM WAEGBERTS GOLF COURSE STOP DID NOT REALISE MY FRIEND JACK ROSENBLUMS GOLF COURSE NEARBY STOP FULLY SUPPORT JACK ROSENBLUM STOP WILL PLAY IN CORONATION MATCH AT PURSEBURY ASH STOP Jack took the paper from Sadie, read it and then read it again, all the while his head swimming. Ba.s.set decided that a little explanation was necessary.

'Clerk in council's office gave me this. Sold his dad some cows at good price last year like, an' 'ee thought it jist might interest me yoos and me bein' friends like. Mr Jones sent this 'ere telegram to the council and another to Sir William. Auld Waegbert's s.h.i.+ttin' a fury.'

Curtis could no longer keep quiet but jumped to his feet and began to prattle excitedly.

'Yer see, Jack, yer see? Din' I tell yer to keep an writin' to ol' Mister Jones? I said it were right thing to do an' look now! I bet it were the bit we told 'im 'bout the woolly-pig mischief what dun it, mind. That ud bring dew to a man's eye, right enuff.'

Jack swallowed hard, trying to take in this momentous news.

''Ee won't work no more for old Sir William s.h.i.+tterton cos 'ee don't want to spoil yer chances at 'appiness an' success. Yoos alwa's said 'ee was a nice man, mind.'

'And he really wants to play in the coronation match? You're quite sure?' Sadie asked, incredulous.

'Aye. Says so right 'ere in black 'n' white.'

Jack could hardly believe that his letters had achieved such a profound effect. He had confided everything to Bobby Jones in part because he had come to accept that Bobby would never, ever read them. But he had, and they'd inspired in the greatest, most ill.u.s.trious golfer of all time a feeling of friends.h.i.+p towards him, Jack Morris Rose. It was a miracle. His head felt fuzzy and he needed another drink. He took the flask from Ba.s.set and drained it in a single swig. Was it possible? Could there be hope after all?

He stared at the others. 'So, I might get permission for the course? I can open?'

Ba.s.set looked a little ill at ease and stared at his grimy nails. 'Well. You'll jist 'ave to trust us a bit.'

Curtis fixed Jack with a steady gaze. 'Come 'ome,' he pleaded. 'Got ninth hole to finish. Can't let Mister Jones play on an 'alf-cooked course.'

Jack was struggling to absorb all of this new information and when he started to speak it was only to find he had forgotten his words.

'But what about the other course?' said Sadie.

Jack found his voice and wagged a finger. 'Yes, yes. Sir William will just hire another chap to design his perfect eighteen-holes.'

Ba.s.set's nose twitched and he stared at his feet before looking up and meeting Jack's eye.

'Well, it's a funny thing, but Sir William Whatnot seems to 'ave a terrible woolly-pig problem.'

Sir William Waegbert was sitting quietly in the breakfast parlour and sipping a cup of tea with a nice slice of lemon when he noticed a deep, muddy furrow slashed across his manicured fairway. He rushed outside, s.h.i.+rt-tails flapping, and stared aghast at the desecration of his perfect green turf. There, on a sc.r.a.ping of muck, was a fat, round trotter print, bigger than that of any domestic pig. It was of such a size that it could only belong to a giant boar. Sir William had his gardeners rake over the damage and reseed the lawn but in the morning, as Sir William surveyed the garden from his bedroom window, he saw instantly that the woolly-pig had struck again.

Labourers arrived at Piddle Hall from all over the county to prepare the estate for the plans drawn up by the new golf-course designer. They dug and they raked and they preened and they pruned, but every morning, all across the grounds, they were met with fresh marks left by the furious rampaging of the woolly-pig. The course progressed like Penelope's web, advancing during the day, but unravelling every night.

Several miles away, Jack arrived home to discover that his course was complete. Ba.s.set and Curtis led the Roses through the garden gate and out into the field where, fluttering in the summer breeze, were nine chequered flags. Jack stood on the newly rolled ninth green and surveyed the finished scene with awe. It was done: his very own golf course. Ba.s.set and Curtis watched with interest as he turned white then pink, and briefly were concerned he was going to cry, but then Jack seized Curtis and kissed him solemnly, while the old man made popping sounds of surprise.

'You've done it. I despaired, I gave up but you didn't abandon me. This, this is friends.h.i.+p,' Jack concluded, gravely planting another kiss on the rough cheeks of the other man.

Sadie shook hands with each of them in turn, grat.i.tude radiating from her eyes. Across the fields there was a thud and clatter as the last touches were put on the squat houses belonging to Wilson's Housing Corp, but nothing was going to spoil this moment for Jack. The sun burned through the clouds and the air was filled with the scent of flowers. The rose bushes Sadie had planted around the dew pond were budding open and formed clumps of crimson and cream against the green gra.s.s. Curtis produced his flask from his back pocket and held it up.

'A toast, to our very big success.'

Jack put out a hand. 'Yes. A toast to our success and and to the Queen Elizabeth Golf Club. G.o.d save the Queen.' to the Queen Elizabeth Golf Club. G.o.d save the Queen.'

Curtis grinned, took a swig and then pa.s.sed the jar around the group. Each took a sip in turn, echoing the toast. Ba.s.set gave the flask to Sadie who, with scarcely a shudder, wetted her lips with the pungent liquid.

'G.o.d save the Queen,' she said, 'And all of you.' Unable to further articulate her thanks, she smiled and quietly retreated to her garden, leaving the men alone on the hillside.

'So how did you get permission?' Jack asked in wonder.

Curtis and Ba.s.set exchanged looks and chuckled. Then, Curtis flopped down on a bank of daisies, sticking his large leather boots out in front of him.

'This is an auld place. We doesn't care too much for these snivlin' rules. No busybody's tellin' me whats to do with my land, or nothin'.'

The ancient man spoke slowly, while Ba.s.set harrumphed his agreement.

'But I can get arrested. Go to prison,' said Jack, still worried, as he settled down between them.

Ba.s.set chuckled, 'Aye right. They takes you and they takes us all. They isn't goin' to do nothin'.'

From the top of the hill the church bell began to chime midday. As the deep note echoed around the valley, Ba.s.set got to his feet.

'Right you are then. That's my dinner bell, that is. Best get 'ome or Lavender will give us a right earful.'

With a friendly wave, he disappeared across the meadow, while the other two lay down sleepily upon the mossy banks.

'I is glad that 'ee 'as gone. Jack Ba.s.set is a nice enuff fellow but still a bit o' a noggerhead. No such thing as a woolly-pig, my a.r.s.e.'

Jack laughed and wiped his forehead with his stained monogrammed handkerchief.

'Take a big breath, Jack, an' look at the gleam in the gra.s.s an' the sun in the sky.'

Jack filled his lungs with fresh air and looked again at the light s.h.i.+mmering along the gra.s.s. The wind rippled through it like waves on an emerald sea. He felt safe under this big blue sky. The village was at the edge of the world where the mundane rules did not apply. He remembered Curtis telling him months ago that this was part of the old world, an ancient place belonging to King Alfred or was it Albert? Jack resolved to be like one of the men of old and ignore the piffling rules of planning departments and councils. He disliked modernity and so he would be like the other men of the village and pretend it wasn't there. This was a corner of another place, with bluebells, willow herb, fat glossy ducks and mythical pigs.

'No one tells us what to do but Jack,' murmured Curtis softly.

'Oh?' said Jack in surprise with a sideways glance at his friend, who was lying on his back, head propped on a molehill pillow.

'Not Jack Ba.s.set,' said Curtis. 'Jack-in-the-Green.'

'Jack-in-the-what?'

'Jack-in-the-Green. You know. The Green one. Robin of the Wood. 'Ee keeps everythin' in balance.'

He gestured to the concrete bungalows on the horizon. ''E'll flood out them houses, in time, turn 'em back to water meadow an' muck. Not these ten year perhaps, but 'Ee will.' He pointed with a stubby thumb at Bulbarrow Ridge. 'Aye. That's 'is back.'

Jack turned to gaze once more at the jagged outline of Bulbarrow against the horizon and realised that if he shut one eye and squinted it did resemble a giant man sleeping. The curls of cloud looked a little like smoke rings from the giant's pipe, which was in reality a lightning-struck tree. But, he wondered if this was the same as the tall tale of the woolly-pig. 'So, have you ever seen him, this Jack?'

Curtis chuckled. 'No one 'as seen Jack-in-the-Green. 'Ee's not like that a thing or a man. 'Ee is the trees, an' the gleam in the gra.s.s an' the damp mornin' dew an' that feelin' you gits in an evenin' when the wind's in the ash leaves.'

Jack felt a strange sensation in his belly, and when he closed his eyes he imagined that he could hear the worms churning the earth beneath the gra.s.s. There was something familiar about Curtis's words, as though he was telling a story that Jack already knew.

'A barn owl's white wings under a full moon,' he said.

'Aye. An' in the stink of badger s.h.i.+t on a nice summer's night that's a good 'un.' Curtis sat up and looked straight at his friend. 'That's 'ow we knew yoos was all right. You'd seen Jack.'

'I had? But no one sees Jack.'

'Aye. Not as such. But yoos dug this land all by yerself for what, thirty days and thirty nights. We all watches you from top o' Bulbarrow. That were Jack.'

He stared at Curtis in wonder.