Old School Tie

After lunch Henry sat in his usual chair in the lounge, by the French doors which opened onto the expanse of the lawn. It was a warm day and he did not feel like doing anything. Looking across to a small table he noticed that the pewter plate he had been given when he retired from the firm was dull, the peaches in it wrinkled. He knew he ought to do something about that. Doria, the black Labrador at his feet, gave a deep sigh, turned and fell asleep. Henry felt his eyes closing too. He dreamt, as he often did, of a different life, of the wind in his hair, running through fields of wildflowers with...

...The noise of the doorbell woke Doria, who barked. Henry shuddered awake, feeling as dulled as the pewter plate. He blinked, one, twice, three times. It helped to bring him back to himself. Henry lumbered to his feet, careful of Doria. He patted the dog.

"Don't worry, girl," he said, "We'll send them away, whoever they are."

The doorbell rang again. At the bottom of the garden, beyond the lawn, his wife Mary was watering the young trees. Two wateringcansful for each, once a week, that was what it took for them to get their roots down. She was meticulous about it. Mary was meticulous about everything. Henry sighed and moved towards the front door.

He flung the door open. The two girls had turned away and were walking back to the gate. They were wearing dresses of a thin material. Henry couldn't help seeing the curve of their backs, their buttocks. He blushed and coughed to cover his embarrassment. The girls turned back towards the house. One had a clipboard. They smiled. Henry was disarmed but he drew himself up.

"I suppose you want money," he said. He had not meant it to sound so brusque.

The girl with the clipboard smiled again.

"I see you have a dog," she said, nodding towards Doria, who was at Henry's side.

"How old is she?"

"Ten," he said, once more disarmed. "She's as old as me!"

The two girls laughed, and they were, suddenly, united by a common interest, a little band of dog-lovers.

The first girl told him they were from the RSPCA and they were asking people to give 28p a day, just for a month, to help them stop the awful cruelty that so many dogs suffered these days. So terrible it was. 28p a day sounded like nothing. Henry said as much.

He found himself talking to the girls about his job, the job he'd been so glad to retire from. The job his father had found him in the firm. The job he'd travelled to in the City for forty years. The job that had made him lots of money. The job alongside all those other men like him, the lucky ones. The old boys' network.

The girls listened. Then they did the paperwork for his standing order and they left. He found that he indeed signed up to pay just 28p a day, but that that added up to over £100 a year for the charity. They were clever, those girls. But goodness, he thought to himself, what was £100 a year to him?

When Mary came in from the garden she asked who had been at the door, she had seen someone. Henry was vague.

"Someone wanting money," he said.

"Which I hope you didn't give them," she said, nearly spilling his tea as she set down the cup, a small biscuit in the saucer.

"Of course I didn't give them money." It was no more or less than the truth. Mary was what some people called penny-pinching. Henry hated her for it. He would have liked to have showered the girls with money for their charity. What was money anyway?

After tea Henry fetched Doria's lead and told Mary he was taking the dog for a walk.

"Good," she said. "I need the extra time in the garden."

Henry and Doria cut across the common. They both walked slowly now. He talked to the dog as they went, and halfway across they sat, Henry on a bench and Doria at his side, and together looked over to the buildings of the City in the distance.

"What was the point of it all, girl?" he said, and the dog gave one of her ineffable sighs.

At the far side of the common was a row of shops which Henry rarely visited, small craft shops, a cafe and a couple of charity shops.

"Wait here, girl," he said to Doria on an impulse. The dog sat patiently.

In the shop Henry heard himself asking the young person behind the counter whether they needed any volunteers. He told her that he had worked in the City.

"I'm at a bit of a loose end now," he said, looking her in the eye.

She gave him a form and, with a smile, said she hoped that they would be able to work together.

Henry and Doria almost trotted across the common as they went home. The sun was casting long shadows and the warmth was fading from the day, but Henry felt that something had lifted from his shoulders. There was, after all, something to look forward to.

"And I might even polish that pewter plate when we get home," he said to Doria. "Give it back some lustre!"