Gone to Seed

GONE TO SEED

Bob lay down his trowel and consulted his watch. Nearly half past ten. He wondered if she’d be up yet. Her indoors. He reached for the packet of peanuts hidden behind the tray of Marigold seedlings.

         “Better have a snack before I go in.” He sat on the solitary garden chair in his potting shed, aware it would be a few hours before he would be able to prepare his meal, not daring to use the kitchen until she had vacated it. Munching his peanuts he cracked open a can of the lager he’d secreted under the plant pots.

         “Told me not to eat peanuts in the house,” he chuntered. “Can’t stand the crunching noise. And like a fool I do it.” Bob sighed. “Should have stood up to her years ago; what am I, man or mouse?”


         After a few handfuls of nuts and mouthfuls of lager, Bob returned to potting up the chilli plants. He pushed the dibber into the rich compost then hesitated.

         “Don’t know why I grow them anymore. It’s a rare occasion I pluck up the courage to cook a chilli lately. She always complains about the cooking smells. Have to watch what I eat these days too, get a lot of indigestion. Doctor says it’s nerves, stress related. And passing wind is not allowed in this house. Comes to something when a man has to hold in a fart until he can get to his potting shed. But, like a fool I do it.” Bob put aside the chilli plant and let rip with force. He smiled in satisfaction.


          His watch said eleven o’clock. She’d be on her second cup of tea now. Half an hour to wait before she went out and then he’d be able to use the toilet. The upstairs one of course, she didn’t allow him to use the downstairs one. She said he always left the bowl soiled and the lingering stench put her off her food. Even upstairs she made him open the window and strike a match when he’d finished, to disperse the smell.

         “And like a fool I do it.” Bob shook his head, ashamed of his own weak character. “What a weed I am, should have left her years ago.”


         He contemplated cutting a bunch of the Sweet Peas he’d grown for her. They were her favourites, though Snapdragons were probably more appropriate. But he decided against it, remembering the last time he'd given her flowers. In the confines of the lounge, the flowers had brought on one of his nervous sneezing attacks and she didn’t like that. Only she was allowed to have bodily functions.


         He'd tried so many ways to win her approval through his gardening skills but nothing ever pleased her. He preferred growing vegetables but she liked fresh flowers, particularly to take to the Cemetery to place on the graves of her dearly departed loved ones. That was the only time they were seen out together in public. He’d escort her once a month, travel on two buses and a train to the wild and windy hilltop so she could pay her respects. She was too frail now to go alone, so she demanded that he accompany her.

         “And like a fool I do it. Bet she won’t bother putting flowers on my grave when I kick the bucket. Probably won’t even bury me, just put me on the compost heap along with the potato peelings.”


         Bob looked up to the house from the shed door. He could see her through the kitchen window, standing at the sink. He'd bought her a washing machine but she continued the ritual of washing small items in the sink every morning. Not his things of course, men’s underwear was not allowed to exist in her life. “You can put them to soak in that bucket in the bathroom and wash them when I’m out, “she‘d told him.

         “And like a fool I do it.”


         A sudden heavy downpour of rain accompanied by strong gusts drove Bob from the garden to the back door of his house. God forbid he should use the front door. Creeping in as quietly as possible he neglected to wipe his muddy shoes on the door mat.


         “Look at the mess you’ve made you stupid man. Why didn’t you wipe your feet? I expect that floor to be scrubbed and polished by the time I get back and don’t go cooking anything smelly while I’m out. Turns my stomach.”

         “I do have to eat you know.” Bob had a sudden attack of bravery.

         She glared icily, her voice reaching new threatening heights. “Well have a sandwich then but not until you’ve seen to that floor and cleaned the doormat.”

         Maybe it was the mention of doormat that made Bob snap. Let’s face it; he’d been one all his married life.

         “Do it yourself woman. It may be a bit too late but I’ve had enough of your endless nagging. I’m leaving.”


         Bob strutted from the room, climbed the stairs and packed his few belongings in a suitcase. As an afterthought he forced the biggest fart he could manage; he’d leave her something to remember him by.


         She was standing at the bottom of the stairs as he descended, hands on hips, glaring.

         “What on earth do you think you’re doing? You’d never cope without me to look after you. Now go and unpack that suitcase and get that floor cleaned up.”

         And like a fool he does it.