MARY'S VISITOR

MARY’S VISITOR

It was Fugley who alerted Mary to the visitor in the doorway. A medium sized, grey smudge coloured dog of indeterminate heritage, he rose up from his position on the kitchen floor. With his shoulders forward, ears alert, and an impressive collar of hackles, he let go a long, low growl designed to scare the pants off any would-be miscreant.

Mary had been making a pot of tea, and blamed the noise of the boiling kettle for missing the sound of the doorbell. She looked up to see a stranger standing in her hallway, in his 30s Mary thought, and clothed in a black hooded jacket and dark jeans. She immediately apologised to him.

I’m so sorry”, she said, “I didn’t hear the bell. You must be the man from the Men’s Shed. Charlie did say he’d get someone to come round and change some globes for me, and sort out that blessed lock on the front door. It keeps sticking and I have to take a hammer to it sometimes.”

Being naturally hospitable, she took another cup down from shelf and beckoned her guest into the house. “Anyway, do come in and make yourself at home,” she invited. “Perhaps you’d like a cup of tea before you start, the kettle has just boiled.”

Fugley wasn’t so welcoming. He stood his ground in front of the visitor, lips curling and daring him to make a move, any move, that would give him cause to show that he took his position as head of security, superior to Missy the cat, very seriously. He’d found sanctuary where he enjoyed care and comfort, one good sized meal a day, plus treats and leftovers, so he’d pledged to defend Mary and his happy haven to the end.

Mary was embarrassed and called Fugley to her. He reluctantly retreated and lay down in a position closer to Mary but still close enough to the visitor to do damage if necessary.

Apologising yet again, Mary made the tea. “Sorry, but Fugley can get a bit over excited at times.” she explained.” I’ve only had him for a few months, but he is good company. Actually, he came to me”, she went on. “He belonged to the people on the corner, but they moved out in a hurry, and left him behind, and the neighbours said it was no wonder because he’s so fucking ugly, no-one would want him. That’s why they gave him the nickname. “I know it’s a bit vulgar, and I did try to change it to Leonard, that was my late husband, but he wouldn’t have any of it”

She looked sideways at Fugley. He knew he was being talked about but he wasn’t going to let his guard down so he remained on alert.” Anyway,” Mary explained, “he wandered around for a day or two, then cocked his leg on my doorstep, and he’s been here ever since”.

“Let’s move into the sitting room”, Mary advised, changing the subject. She directed her visitor to a lounge chair next to the log fire, and he shuffled over and sat down, not having said a word since his arrival. Mary followed with a tray carrying a pot of tea, two cups, milk and sugar, and a small plate of chocolate digestives.

Another apology. Mary had become accustomed to saying sorry as her hearing and eyesight had deteriorated over her nearly 80 years, and she felt obliged to constantly excuse herself.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name”, she said, going on to introduce herself. “I’m Mary, but I expect Charlie would have told you that, and he’d have given you my address of course. He’s very good you know. I told him the front door wasn’t shutting properly, so he said he’d get on to it straight away, and here you are”.

Pouring the tea, Mary left her visitor to add the milk and sugar and she pushed the plate of biscuits towards him

“We’ll have a nice cup of tea and then I can show you which globes need changing and you’ll be able to see for yourself what’s gone wrong with the lock. There’s the small matter of moving that table over as well”, she added, “because Fugley’s bed won’t fit in and that seems to be where he wants it. I don’t have the strength to do any lifting anymore, but I won’t bother you with that now. I’ll ask Charlie if he’ll move it for me next time he visits.”

It was indeed Fugley’s strategy, a position directly in line with the front door, and near enough to get in and catch anything that might fall off the kitchen bench.

When Mary asked the visitor to repeat his name, which he hadn’t actually said, but Mary thought she’d seen his lips move, he muttered just above his breath “Daimo”.

“Oh, that’s nice Mr. Demo”, Mary said, thinking it was short for Demonstration, a most unusual name. “Do have a biscuit”, she went on. they’re dark chocolate because I always think that it’s the healthier option.”

It sounded as though Daimo might have mumbled a ‘thank you’, and Mary was straight onto it, keen to keep the conversation going.

“I’ll have to ask you to speak a little louder please Mr. Demo”, Mary requested. “My hearing really isn’t the best, and I have got a set of hearing aids but they’re uncomfortable and they keep falling out, so I don’t bother with them. Mind you, I probably should because I do get into bother sometimes.”

She went on to tell one of her stories, at the same time stirring her tea. “Last week, we were at the café where some of us oldies meet every Tuesday for a cuppa and to put the world to rights, and Tom said he’d watched a tv programme about how many times, on a weekly average, people had relations after their wedding. It was something to do with comparing birth rates in different countries apparently, putting two and two together so to speak.”

Mary hurried along, not wanting to go into any further detail. “Anyway, they went around the table asking those who could remember what their personal experiences were. When it came to me, I thought they’d said how many relations did I have at my wedding, so I told them 35, give or take, so that certainly gave everyone a laugh”.

Daimo looked mildly amused, the corners of his mouth stretching to a slim smile.

“If you need any tools to mend the door”, all of Leonard’s stuff is in the cupboard over there”, Mary indicated. “He liked to think he was an expert ‘do-it-yourselfer’, but the truth was that he couldn’t even put a flatpack together because he never read the instructions properly. He made a chair once. It looked really lovely, very arty crafty, with carved legs, but then his sister came over. She’s a well upholstered lady, and when she sat on it, it collapsed and she went tits up onto the dining room floor. That’s her husband’s description, by the way, not mine”. Mary was keen to explain.

“Anyway”, she went on, “he’d make excuses to go to the hardware store to get a paint brush or something, and he’d come back with a chainsaw, or a glue gun as well. One time he came back with a high-pressure sprayer thing, and started cleaning the windows, but he didn’t make sure they were all shut did he. Next thing we know, he’s flooded our bedroom, and we had to sleep in the spare room for a week while everything dried out”.

Mary realised she was getting started on a rant, so she pulled herself up.

“Anyway, they’re all in there, some of them are still in their boxes, and my daughter said I should sell them on that Marketplace thing on the internet, but I wouldn’t know which button to press, so she can do it if she wants”.

Daimo, the visitor, turned his head and glanced at the cupboard. Again, he muttered something that Mary couldn’t pick up but she was reluctant to apologise yet again, or ask him to repeat himself, so she let it go.

Looking at the clock, Mary realised that she was prattling on and needed to get down to business.

“Well, I should let you get on Mr. Demo”, she said, “but if you’ll excuse me, I have to pop next door to get my mobile seen to. Their son Tim says he’ll have a look at it for me. He’s a lovely boy, very bright, and I think he’s just finishing Year 11”.

“It’s doing all sorts of strange things, you see”, she went on to explain, “like it keeps asking me if I want to buy a blowup doll. I didn’t even know what a blowup doll was, and when I asked the oldies circle why I would want one and what I’d do with it, no-one seemed to want to answer me.”

She paused for a moment, as if considering whether to keep going but then, lowering her voice, as if telling a secret, Mary continued.

“And I had a message from someone who said they had pictures of me when I was younger and they were going make it look like I was up to some very funny business. They even sent through a picture of a women who had to be a contortionist to do what she was doing, and they said that if I didn’t pay them $500, they would put my face on her body and let the world see it. Apparently, it’s artificial interfering or something, but I couldn’t even do the splits, let alone get my legs up around behind my head, so I don’t think anyone would believe it, and I certainly wasn’t going to pay them all that money”

Daimo was looking uncomfortable. He shifted in his seat and picked at the fabric of his jeans, which Mary took as a sign to let him get on with the work.

“Yes, well I’ll go now, and I’ll take Fugley with me so he won’t bother you. Let me know what I owe you, because I think I’ve got some cash in my purse in my bag so I can pay you when I get back”.

It took Tim a while to clean out Mary’s phone, and he did his very best to keep a straight face while he was blocking the rubber doll adverts.

With a bug free phone Mary returned home. Light rain had begun falling so she hurried along and when she got to her front door, she found it was locked. Luckily, she’d always kept a spare key under the geraniums, just in case, and when she entered, she found the place empty. Fugley did the rounds to confirm that the visitor had left.

Mary wasn’t sure what to think. She checked the lock and it had been expertly repaired, and not only had all the blown globes been replaced, but Fugley’s bed was nestled neatly in his chosen space. Her immediate reaction was to open the back door, thinking that Mr. Demo might be out there having a cigarette, but there was nothing but the rain, and apart from the repairs, there was no evidence of Mr. Demo’s visit other than a handwritten note, on the back of an envelope, that simply said ‘Thank you’.

Returning to the kitchen, Mary made a note to ask Charlie to thank Mr Demo for his kind and efficient assistance, and to tell him that if she ever needed any more jobs done, she’d like Mr. Demo’s help.

It was time to make lunch and Mary was just washing some lettuce when the doorbell rang and Fugley, quick to respond, was at the door in a split second with Mary following. She opened the door slowly, not knowing who it could be because she wasn’t expecting anyone else.

On the doorstep was a man of pension age, with a bright smile, and carrying a toolbox.

“Good morning, Mary. My name’s Bob”. he announced. “I’m from the Men’s Shed and Charlie asked me to call in to do a couple of small jobs for you. Can I come in?”

Lost for words, Mary just stood there. What could she say?

I