\u201cAll set, Mum?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDon\u2019t fuss me, Pop.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mum tugged her trolley to the hall where Pop\nwas appraising himself in the mirror.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou might move out of the way.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cGot to look my best,\u201d Pop huffed. He cocked a\nglance over his shoulder. He straightened, pulled back his shoulders, tugged in\nhis paunch.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHark at Valentino,\u201d Mum grumbled. She buckled\nup the trolley and was set.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cVoice to a min,\u201d Pop whispered. \u201cYou\u2019re right\nby the door.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mum chuckled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAs though anybody\u2019s up!\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n
All the same, they hushed. Pop tiptoed to their\ndoor, finger to his lips. A safety light glowed at the end of the corridor.\nThey crept the carpet to the stairs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
#<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The front desk was empty. There was meant to be\nsomeone on at all hours but the night shift boys were ever so relaxed. The pair\nscurried over like beavers, slipped through the double doors and were out in\nthe night air.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
#<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When they\u2019d cleared the lawn Pop fell into a\nstride. He performed a hop in the air.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cShazam!\u201d he sang, spinning on his heel and\njabbing a finger at Mum.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She chuckled. It was warm and still. The street\nlamps glowed orange. Pop\u2019s spectacles made a long shadow on his cheeks and his\nnose and he smiled all over. He lifted his arms and crept the edge of the curb\nlike a tightrope walker.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHowsat?\u201d he leapt from the curb into the road.\n\u201cThere\u2019s life in the old dog yet.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mum smiled, keeping apace, trolley in tow. Pop\ndanced about her. He undid the buckles on the trolley, lifted the lid with a\nwhip of his hand and pulled out the sun umbrella. He opened the brolly, rested\nit over his shoulder and offered Mum his hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMad bugger,\u201d she remarked, taking it in her\nown.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
#<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There was pink coming up from the houses when\nthey reached the other side of town. They\u2019d not seen a body all that time but\nwhen they got to the motorway a single car whistled by in front of their eyes,\nas fast as you like. They crossed into the first of the fields. Mum wasn\u2019t\noverly keen on cows and Pop had said he couldn\u2019t promise there wouldn\u2019t be\ncows, these being fields, but they seemed to be lucky with this one. Gingerly\nhe led her from the bushes at the field\u2019s edge and stamped down the grass.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cBlanket out,\u201d Pop instructed. \u201cTime for brek.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mum was already giving the blanket a good shake.\nThey had apples and some sort of dip and fresh bread and grapes and a flask of\ncoffee which, believe it or not, was still hot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThat\u2019s the stuff,\u201d Pop said, tucking in. \u201cGood\njob, Mum.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The sun was up by now and birds sang, but it\nwasn\u2019t yet warm enough that they could take off their layers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cLook at that,\u201d Pop said, his eyes fixed across\nthe field. Mum looked. A fence post was all off-kilter and one of its wires\nhung broken. The other posts had been dragged under the weight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThat\u2019s what I\u2019m talking about just there,\nMum.\u201d He pointed the butter knife. \u201cHow long do you suppose it\u2019s been left like\nthat? Just what I\u2019ve been talking about.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIt\u2019s no good, is it Pop?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIt\u2019s a flaming joke,\u201d Pop exclaimed, punching\nat the ground with sudden fury. His face was red and the punch had caused white\nstrands of hair to fall over his forehead. Mum looked at the ground.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cPardon me, Mum,\u201d Pop said at last. \u201cIt\u2019s\nseeing it all go to pot, gets me that way.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIt\u2019s not good enough, is it?\u201d Mum sighed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Pop nodded, taking another bit of bread in his\nfist.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cQuite right,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSun\u2019s up. I wonder what the time could be.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Pop eyed the sun as he chewed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAround about six, I should say. Time to be\ngetting on, I think.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mum shook the crumbs from her lap and looked at\nthe spread, ordering the tidy-up in her head before getting started.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
#<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The trolley got to be a bother with the grass\nso long. Pop complained that Mum was moving too slowly. They stayed lucky with\nthe cows anyway. Sometimes they\u2019d catch sight of farmers and field workers, far\naway, and they\u2019d wave.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWe must look a sight,\u201d Mum remarked. \u201cA pair\nof old timers wobbling across their field.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWho\u2019s an old timer?\u201d Pop scoffed. \u201cBesides,\nit\u2019s the country code. It\u2019s not like crossing a fellow\u2019s garden.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
As they muddled along the colour of the scenery\nchanged from green to brown. Later, when they stopped for a rest the mud was\ndry and there were only little patches of grass.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThese flies,\u201d Mum complained at one point,\nperched on a mound.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIt\u2019s the air,\u201d Pop told her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWell, all the same.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
#<\/p>\n\n\n\n
By early evening the farms and the sounds of\nlife were behind them. No soul about and the ground dry and bare. They had\nentered wild country. Pop led them through a sort of valley with great beige\nformations at either side, blocking the low sun out of view. Beyond the valley\nthey saw flatter ground, dusty and dead for miles in front of them. It was\nquieter here than Mum had ever known. Pop unbuttoned his waistcoat. Mum stopped\nto remove her cardigan. She had a light shawl that was much better for the warm\nweather.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In time the sky darkened and the stars came\nout. All day they\u2019d nattered about the scenery but in wild country they said\nnothing at all, only looking at the edges of the cliffs and at the great lumps\nof rock in the valley. They walked closely together, hand in hand, trolley\ntrailing faithfully behind them. The cliffs yawned black against the sky.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cBetter rest here, I think,\u201d Pop said at last.\nHe took the handle of the trolley and dragged it to the edge of the valley. A\nhuge rock lay balanced upon another, hanging over like an upside-down boot. Pop\nparked the trolley and clambered halfway up the rock to check that it was\nstable. He paced about, tapping at the rock with his foot and the umbrella.\nSatisfied, he lowered himself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThis\u2019ll do nicely,\u201d he declared, clapping his\nhands together. He began to unpack the trolley. Mum joined him, quietly taking\nover the job while Pop rummaged. She lay the picnic blanket down and the\nsleeping bags on top and put the last of the food between them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Together they lay, the rock overhang filling\ntheir eyes and, past its edge, a sky of stars.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
#<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHmn,\u201d Mum chuckled. \u201cPuts me in mind of when\nwe were young.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSecond childhood is it, Mum?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cCheek!\u201d she tapped him through the sleeping\nbag. \u201cDo you remember camping that year, with the school? In Devon, was it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cShouldn\u2019t wonder,\u201d Pop assented. \u201cYou had the\ntent with the Irish. Maureen, was it? Never could bear the girl.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cShe had a clever tongue and no time for you,\u201d\nMum chuckled. \u201cI seem to remember you tried to give her a peck at some point or\nother.\u201d
\n\u201cThat was a bet,\u201d Pop chuffed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAnd I\u2019ll bet it was!\u201d Mum giggled. \u201cThat was\nthe year the Healey boy asked me to the end-of-year dance, do you remember that\none?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDo I ever? Little spiv,\u201d Pops chuckled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThe scene you made! \u2018No sister of mine\u2019ll be\nseen within a mile of a ruffian like you\u2019 wasn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSomething along those lines,\u201d Pops smiled,\npulling his arms from the sleeping bag to wipe at his eyes. \u201cAnd his people\nsaying we were queer folk anyway so what did he care, and mother saying \u2018what\ndid it matter?\u2019 I might have knocked his block off.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cTold me he\u2019d like to father a few by me,\u201d Mum\nsighed. \u201cI liked him too, a little bit.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The pair fell silent, remembering.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThe fellow had a grubby shirt on him when he\ncalled at the house, I remember that much.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThat he did.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Pop raised a brow, cast his gaze across at Mum.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat might have been, is that the theme?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mum smiled, eyes closed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cA silly business,\u201d Pops sighed. He peered\nacross, tapped her sleeping bag. \u201cAnyway it\u2019s all done now.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYes,\u201d Mum echoed. \u201cIt\u2019s all done now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
#<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In the early hours when the sky was brighter a\nfigure appeared on the sheer cliff above. It was a man on horseback, a\nsilhouette against a pale patch of sky. He was heavily burdened, his things\nclattering and clanking as the horse drew to a stop. The man peered at the\nvalley below; at the big rock, the tips of their sleeping bags and their\ncamping things. He lifted a bugle to his lips and blew a tune for them both.\nThen he lowered the bugle, took the reins and was gone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Christian Butler-Zanetti is an author, visual artist and musician living in London, UK. He is a member of post-punk band The Pheromoans and sound collage duo The Teleporters. Christian is the creator of Spineless Authors’ Night, a monthly open mic event for new and emerging authors and poets. He also performs occasionally as the appalling poet and fringe figure Mad Headed Octogram.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":388,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-374","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/12\/keenan-barber-2LeFfog65WU-unsplash-scaled.jpg?fit=2560%2C1707&ssl=1","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/374","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=374"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/374\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":387,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/374\/revisions\/387"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/388"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=374"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=374"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=374"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}