Tyrone

The knock came, as knocks are wont to do, at the precise moment Peter’s skinny arse touched down on the guest loo.

“Sandra? Be a love and get that for me would you? It’ll only be Harris.”

“What does he want?” Sandra’s voice rose as she got closer to the toilet door. “I wish you wouldn’t invite him here on the weekends Peter. He freaks me out.”

“This’ll be the last time my love. I promise. He’s just come to see about the new gardener. Needs someone every second Sunday.”

“You promised that last time. No more Peter. I’m warning you.”

“No more. Agreed. Now will you please let the man in?”

*

Peter heard the front door slam as he walked downstairs. Yes, see you later then my love.

“Harris. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Not at all Peter, not at all.” Harris turned away from the window, looked at Peter’s outstretched hand and grimaced. “I won’t shake if it’s all the same to you.”

“Ah. Yes. OK. Cup of tea then?”

“Don’t trouble yourself for poor old Harris. Who would want tea with me I wonder?” Harris shook his bald head solemnly and sat on the sofa. “The garden looks magnificent Peter. All down to this new chap of yours I suppose? Stark contrast to old Ned. What happened to him by the way?”

“Moved back north last winter. It had been coming for a long time.”

“Winter?”

“No. His retirement.”

“I did like old Ned. He was a very serious man but he could trim a bush I’ll give him that.”

“Without a stepladder either. Not like Tyrone.”

Harris raised an eyebrow. “So he has a name. Tyrone. And would I be correct in surmising he is short of stature?”

Peter nodded. “Very. But it doesn’t stop him. Like the bloody grass whisperer he is. Would you like to meet him?”

Harris stood up slowly. “Well I didn’t just come here for a frosty greeting, a moist handshake and to decline a cup of tea.”

“Quite. Quite. Look I must warn you…”

“Go on.”

“Well he’s a bit unsightly. Dreadful scar across his face. Rose bush accident he claims but I’m not so sure. Doesn’t say a lot about his family either. I get the impression he doesn’t like his father much and he mumbled something about…ahem…fucking siblings. He means well but he’s just a bit odd.”

“Don’t we all and aren’t we all? He sounds perfectly normal to me Peter. I have many faults and blemishes. You have that odd little finger. We each have our cross to bear.”

“You’re right of course. I’m just being…well I’m just…” Peter gave up and opened the door to the conservatory. “Tyrone? Could you pop inside? I’ve got someone I’d like you to meet.”

Tyrone stepped into the conservatory and took a swig from a hip flask. “Well. Here I am.”

“Indeed. Here you are indeed,” said Peter. “I’d like to introduce you to an old friend of mine, this is…”

“Harris,” said Harris in a voice that brooked no handshake. “My little birds tell me you’re quite the gardening expert, and I must see on the evidence of Peter’s garden I believe they were right.”

Tyrone’s eyes never left Harris as he took another long pull from his flask. “I find it peaceful. Except when the birds talk too much.”

“Ha!” said Harris with a smile that touched neither his eyes nor indeed his lips. “I like this one Peter. Quite the little imp! So Tyrone. Tyrone, Tyrone. Do you have a last name perchance?”

“Bannister” said Tyrone lifting the flask again, this time draining it completely.

“Steady old boy,” said Peter. “It’s a bit early in the day isn’t it?”

Tyrone put the flask in his pocket and glared at Peter through bloodshot eyes. “It’s what I do. I drink and I grow stuff.”

Harris stood still in a manner that implied a jig of delight. “I’d like you to work for me on occasion if it would suit you Tyrone. I’m over in Highgarden so not too far.”

Tyrone brought forth a second flask from his opposite pocket and unscrewed the cap. “I’ll need money for bus fare up front. Two quid should cover it.”

Harris nodded. “Of course. Here’s a fiver. Consider it a welcome present.”

Tyrone took the money and shook his head. “No. No gifts. A Bannister always pays his debts.”