12/27/11

The Cherry Punnet
By RM Nicholson


David stood, leaning on his stick, gazing into the mist across the field, waiting for signs of activity. Finally a white flag waved. He lifted his stick and waved in acknowledgement and set off at a steady pace across the turnip field. Shapes that had been invisible in the mist because of their stillness became other people moving in a line. His job on this, the last drive of the day, was to walk towards a large clump of holly, driving any partridge that were in the field towards a cover crop in the distance. At the holly clump he would meet another beater and together they would prevent as many partridge as possible from flying back across the field by turning them across a wood and towards the guns in the valley below.



He didn't recognise the other beater at the holly clump. She was about his age, slim, dark haired with fine almost elfin features and she had a dog that was sitting patiently beside her. He had been aware that a couple of beaters had arrived at lunch to join in for the afternoon and couldn't work out why he hadn't noticed her at the time.



“Hi,” he said, “we have to make our way over there then stand off the wood about 50 yards”. He pointed his stick towards the edge of the wood. “There is a wire fence to negotiate; will your dog be ok?”

“She'll be able to scramble through,” said the girl.

“Ok let's go then,” said David.



At the fence he held the top strand down so the girl could get over it. Once over she stood on the bottom strand and lifted the one above it and called for the dog to climb through the gap. The dog was halfway through when it got caught on the wire and let out a whine, causing a flock of partridge to wheel up and fly back over their heads. “She's caught her skin on a barb, can you help hold her please?” said the girl.

David dropped to his knees and took the weight of the dog while the girl tried to free her. He was aware of her hair, her perfume and when they touched he felt a surge of energy. The dog was struggling and she soothed her with gentle encouragement and finally freed her. They both stood up and she looked David in the eyes. She was beautiful.

“Thanks,” she smiled, “I'm Gemma by the way.” She carried on smiling, really smiling, not a fixed polite smile but a proper smile as if they were old friends. They looked deep into each others eyes.

“You're welcome,” he said, finally, aware of a slight strain in his voice.

“I think I'll take her back to the house,” said Gemma, “see you later at tea?”

“Ok, that will be great,” said David and they parted, Gemma through a gate into the next field and David inwardly smiling and pleasantly surprised at what had just happened.



However when they all got back to the farm, Gemma was no where to be seen. David asked one of the other beaters, a woman he vaguely knew as Sheila, who had apparently invited Gemma onto the shoot.

“She got her dog caught on the wire and I helped her free it. I just want to get in touch to make sure she's ok. The dog I mean,” he said lamely.

“Be careful there,” said Sheila, “Gemma's husband is insanely jealous and he keeps her on a tight rein. I think that they are in the throes of a separation so now might not be a good idea.”

“Will she be beating again this year?” he asked.

“Possibly,” said Sheila, looking at him slightly quizzically.



The last shoot was a fortnight later and as it happened David was forced to go on a work trip so he missed it. He attended his meeting, silently screaming inside, desperate to see Gemma again.

David had been away from the chase for so long he didn't know where to start. In truth he had never really been in the chase; his marriage had been a wonderful long and happy one; they had found each other at University one drunken night and that had been that. Here he was, a widower at 40 behaving like a lovesick teenager.



A few weeks later he Googled Facebook, signed in and spent an hour trying to find people who might lead him towards Gemma. He started with Sheila who turned out to be a single 42 year old into horses. She ran boarding kennels and appeared to have quite a wide circle of friends including, finally, Gemma. He decided to ask Sheila through Facebook if he could be her friend and move on from there. Sheila emailed back the next evening and offered the information that Gemma and her husband had now separated and that she and Sheila were going to be in town together the following Saturday, if he was still infatuated and up for a chance meeting. David's heart leapt and he started playing all sorts of scenes in his head, the meeting, the cappuccino, their eyes meeting and hands touching briefly before he asked her out for a meal and she gave a breathy 'yes'.



On Saturday in Waitrose, David had just found everything, including the last punnet of cherries in the shop, when a soft voice behind him said “It's David isn't it?”

David turned and gazed deeply into the eyes of the woman he had thought of above everything else over the last weeks. Sheila stood behind her, smiling. “Er, yes, how are you?” he asked.

“Bearing up,” said Gemma, “I missed you at the end of the shoot because my husband, ex-husband, arrived early and I didn't have a chance to thank you properly for being so caring with my dog.”

David was just going to ask after the dog when Gemma added “Are those cherries in your basket?”

“Yes,” said David, “I'm trying out a new recipe tonight. I was lucky, there aren't any left.”

“I know,” said Gemma, “I was after cherries as well. I'm having a dinner party tonight and really need some because I've already started preparing the desert. I don't suppose you would let me have them, seeing as my need is slightly greater than yours?” She looked up at David with an inquiring innocence.

“Why doesn't David buy them then you two can split them up outside the shop?” said Sheila.

“Because I need all of them,” said Gemma in a strident tone. David was surprised; she sounded like a spoilt child.

“Why don't you ask the manager if he has any more?” he suggested. Gemma put her basket down and strode off and left David feeling confused, his dream crashing around him.



“What are you cooking?” asked Sheila.

“Oh it’s a cherry pie thing,” said David from the depths of his despair. “I just want to get it right for friends who are coming over next week.”

“So if I come over at about 7.00 with a bottle could I help taste it?” said Sheila, smiling at him. “I'll bring some cream and a spoon and bowl if it helps?” David looked at Sheila and engaged her blue eyes, her laughter lines at the corners, and he broke into a happy grin.

“Seven is fine, I think I can find you a spoon and bowl but a bottle would be great.” Sheila reached up gave his arm a squeeze and planted a kiss on his cheek.

“I'm looking forward to it,” she said “now go and cook.”


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The author is new to creative writing and this is his first romantic short story. It was inspired by an incident on a recent shoot when the author’s spaniel got caught on some barbed wire…