Writing for Fun
February 2015
Foxes - Maureen Rampersaud
Dan went outside, closing the door after him before Doris could grumble about letting the heat out. He breathed deeply, savouring the fresh spring air. He decided to take a turn round the garden before he started the planting. How wonderful to see green shoots everywhere. He pulled out some of the pesky dwarf bamboo which, like so many things, had started as a pleasure and resulted in a pain.
He stopped short at the compost heap. It had been piled high with twiggy prunings before the winter, it was now very compressed with his planting plank on top of it. He stepped up onto it and peered over into the Jackson's garden. They were a square of lawn with a patio type of people. He got down and scratched his head, he knew the foxes liked to use his compost heap to jump over the fence. Maybe he had left the plank there, he was becoming very forgetful. Dan surveyed his empty raised beds and hurried off to the greenhouse to get sowing.
It was a glorious summer morning and Dan's basket was groaning with produce. He took the path by the garage so he could check on the fig tree. Doris would be happy with this lot, he smiled with anticipation of the soups and chutneys. Dan's bushy eyebrows met in dismay, the fence by the fig was damaged, and a branch of the fig had snapped. He put down the basket and examined it. Those foxes must be obese, he suspected over-feeding by one of his neighbours . . . probably 'Animal Rights Alan' from number 69, the pillock. He stepped up on the enclosed bed he'd built for the fig; you need to restrict the roots, he'd been told, but a ripe fig was still a distant dream. He gazed thoughtfully into the Golightly's garden, gravel and flowerpot sort of people. He'd better fetch his tools and mend the fence.
Christmas was approaching fast. Dan sighed as Doris dragged him next door to the Jackson's sherry and mince pie party. He felt even more disgruntled this year because he was missing David Attenborough on the telly. Jemima Jackson was bursting out of a sparkly dress which looked several sizes too small, talking non-stop to any poor soul who passed her way. Dan didn't blame young Jessica when she sidled up the stairs to her bedroom muttering about homework.
The place was heaving with neighbours, unknown to Dan. Doris was in her element, so Dan edged into what looked like a quiet corner.
'Hello Dan, you had the same thought as me.'
It was Jerry Jackson . . . poor fellow looked done in. Dan mused, 'Jessica not joining us then . . . I recall she got on rather well with young Harry Golightly at the party last year . . . by the way, where are the Golightlys?'
Jerry gave a mournful sigh, 'Not invited! Jemima wouldn't have it, said Harry was a waste of space. She wants Jess to go to Oxford. The poor kids were devastated, they really got on well. It's been hell in this house, Jess doesn't even want to go to Oxford. I miss old Pete Golightly, he made these things bearable, oh well . . .'
Dan gave a sympathetic grunt, then looked around desperately for an escape route. He spotted Doris and with a flash of inspiration, told her he had a headache then scuttled home with glee.
He was just about to turn the telly on when he heard a noise. The foxes . . . he would catch them this time so he looked out of the back window. The moonlight shone on a figure climbing over the fence by the fig tree. Dan grabbed the meat tenderizer and crept out through the back door, just in time to see the figure jumping over the fence by the compost heap. He was about to call out when a light appeared at the upper window. The figure climbed onto the flat roof and was warmly welcomed inside by Jessica Jackson.
Dan smirked contentedly as he went back inside, thinking, 'Talk about Romeo and Juliet. Mind you . . . give me David Attenborough any day!'