The Aylesbury Welcome That Went Sideways

The first person to give me instructions in Aylesbury that morning was a knitted pineapple wearing spectacles. It sat in a front window beside a handwritten sign that said, PLEASE LOOK SURPRISED. I was carrying two buckets, despite having only one useful job for either of them, so looking surprised came fairly naturally.

A lady in purple gardening gloves hurried out before I could get the hose unreeled.

‘You haven’t seen a small woman pushing an enormous fern, have you?’ she asked.

I said I hadn’t, but I’d only been on the street four minutes.

‘I’m Verity,’ she said. ‘And this was supposed to be straightforward.’

In my limited experience of being an apprentice, people only say that when something has already gone properly sideways.

Verity explained that their new neighbour, Mrs Orla Penfold, was moving into the little bungalow opposite. She’d mentioned she was nervous about starting again somewhere unfamiliar, so the residents had arranged a welcome. There were sandwiches in Verity’s kitchen, three folding chairs in her hallway and a banner waiting to be displayed in the front window once I’d cleaned it.

The knitted pineapple was a housewarming present. Apparently, Mrs Penfold collected knitted fruit.

‘Her removal van’s been and gone,’ Verity said. ‘But nobody’s seen her since she went to fetch her last plant.’

I got on with the glass while Verity tried ringing. No answer. Across the road, a man called Cedric appeared holding a plate beneath a tea towel. He looked at Verity, received a worried shrug and went back inside.

Then the drizzle started. Not proper committed rain, just enough to make everyone regret putting cushions outdoors.

With the window finished, I helped Verity lift the banner into place. From where we stood, inside her sitting room, it read WELCOME, ORLA! beautifully.

From the pavement, it was backwards.

We discovered this when Cedric returned and asked who Alro was.

By then, Verity’s shoulders had dropped. ‘Perhaps she’s changed her mind about coming over. I don’t want her feeling she has to.’

I knew that feeling: being new, wanting to get everything right, and somehow ending up holding more things than you had hands for.

‘Let me take a quick look round the corner,’ I said.

I found Mrs Penfold halfway along a narrow passage beside the bungalows. The fern was enormous. Its pot was strapped into a shopping trolley, but the little front wheel had dropped into a gap between paving slabs. She was holding an umbrella over the plant while getting thoroughly damp herself.

‘It belonged to my sister,’ she explained. ‘I didn’t want to tug and tip it over.’

I set my spare bucket upside down beside the trolley so we could rest the edge of the pot on it. With the weight supported, I eased the wheel free. Then we settled the fern back securely and wheeled it towards her new gate together.

‘There might be a few sandwiches waiting opposite,’ I said. ‘Only if you fancy one.’

‘Oh, thank goodness,’ she said. ‘I’ve packed my lunch and I’ve no idea where.’

Verity spotted us and turned the banner round so quickly that one end fell down. Cedric caught it with his free hand, still guarding his plate with the other.

Mrs Penfold laughed before we’d even crossed the road.

I left her in a folding chair with a sandwich, explaining to three delighted neighbours that she had seventeen knitted fruits but had always wanted a pineapple.

As I packed away, Verity brought me a piece of cake wrapped in a napkin. Through the clean window, I could see Mrs Penfold laughing again, her umbrella forgotten by the door.

For once, I carried both buckets back to the van without wishing I’d brought one fewer.