Archie steadies himself at the top of the ladder and carefully extends his arms until the blades of his long-handled shears close on another tuft of small branches at the top of his laurel hedge. For many years he has shaped, snipped and loved the high hedge which shields his house from the intruding gaze of passers-by. But in recent months he has come to accept that it also challenges him. As he grows old, as various aches remind him of his advancing frailty, it continues to flourish, sending out strong new branches which sometimes resist his pruning efforts. It will outlast me, he often thinks sadly, but it is a magnificent hedge.
He thinks it possible that after he is gone, the new owners of his home would tear down his hedge. And sometimes, as now, he briefly allows himself to visualise the scene: the chain saw ripping into the branches, the skip filled with the torn and shattered remnants of his magnificent hedge.
A familiar voice breaks his reverie. “You dinnae look very safe up there.”
Archie carefully adjusts his balance, turns and looks down to see Percy, a neighbour, scrutinising him from the pavement. “I’m coming down, Percy. Best to stand clear. If I fall, which you seem to think is possible, I don't want to fall on top of you.”
Percy watches him sweep the hedge cuttings littering the pavement into a pile then scoop them into an orange garden tub. “Would you no’ be better with one of these electric power trimmer things? You know, these things that are always being advertised on the TV, the cutters with the long flexible arms. It might be a wee bit safer.” He pauses for an instant then nods as if to acknowledge the sagacity of this judgement.
Archie responds with a grunt. Safer! Don't take risks! Old people shouldn’t take risks! Yeah, yeah. But, taking risks - not stupid risks - is important. Risk-taking is part of the business of keeping going, of not giving up, of having the courage to face the challenges of life. "Percy, do you want to make yourself useful?” he says, curbing his irritation.
For an instant Percy’s face registers slight apprehension. Percy, he is aware, does not take kindly to the prospect of any unusual form of physical effort.
“It would save me a double trip if you could take the tub and the shears round the back of the house. I’ll take the ladder.”
He positions the ladder beside the garden hut, stows away the shears, takes the tub which Percy has been clasping to his rotund abdomen and empties the contents into the Council’s generously proportioned household ‘Organic Waste’ wheelie bin.
“Would you not be better getting the hedge cut down a bit? Make it easier to keep in order? Or maybe get one of these quickly erected scaffolds rather than using that ladder? A lot safer, I would think.”
Safe, safe, safe! For an instant he debates whether he should offer Percy a coffee? Not a bad chap really, old Percy, he reminds himself. A survivor - old Percy. Holding on, contentedly aging... committed to staying safe. Over the years the old folk in his corner of the neighbourhood have been dying off - gradually dying off or moving into residential care and then dying. New people move in. Middle aged people, he is always pleased to note. New middle-aged people getting old. Not frantic young folk, with their noise and commotion and their screaming, ill-disciplined children.
They sit together in his kitchen in silence for a while. Then Percy clears his throat and flicks his thumb towards the hedge just visible from the kitchen window.
“Would you not be better off getting a gardener to do some of your gardening work? As you know I’ve got a gardener - Babs. She’s a retired school teacher and she's ferociously energetic. Don't know where she gets the energy from. Makes you ill to look at her working. Mind you, she's injured herself once or twice. Doesn't always take precautions like she should. I could ask her to call by and give you a quote. She could at least cut your hedge.”
“I'll think about it. I'll let you know.” He glances at the clock on the wall.
Percy takes this as a hint. “Well I'd best be going.” He grins. “Leave you to your hedge cutting or any other hazardous activity that happens to take your fancy.”
‘Hazardous activities’. Percy’s words come back to him in the course of the afternoon. Even walking can be hazardous. His knee is still recovering from a recent stumble in the nearby park. His attention shifts to other problematic areas of his body. His right shoulder is now aching slightly. Perhaps the hedge cutting is the cause? Possible, he thinks.
He dislikes computers but prides himself on mastering the elementary aspects of their use. He enters ‘hedge trimmers’ into the Google search box and focuses on items described as ‘cordless pole’ hedge trimmers. “Lethal looking things,” he murmurs as he imagines himself waving it above the hedge. Objections and problems float to the surface of his consciousness. How do you know if you've got all the cuttings off? You have to get the cuttings off otherwise they rot. And ...you have to climb the ladder to look. And... where do I store the thing? The option of easily assembled garden scaffolding is swiftly considered and dismissed along with Percy’s other suggestions.
A bright autumn day. Archie's attention is attracted to irregularities along the top of the hedge. One or two bits that could be doing with snipping off, he judges. A few minutes work. Nothing more than that. Nothing demanding. He climbs the ladder easily. His legs seem strong, he is pleased to note.
In the near distance he hears a woman shouting. A large dog suddenly appears beneath him, barking madly then jumping up against the ladder.
The ladder starts to tip to one side, slowly at first then arcing towards the ground. Then, lancing pain. Breathing - painful, so painful. The two-tone sound of an ambulance grows louder. Hands are on his body. Voices - professional, calm, reassuring. Questions about pain. He thinks he hears Percy’s voice. “I told him the ladder wasnae safe.” A jab in his arm. The pain retreats. A mask is placed over his face, and he feels himself lifted. As the doors of the ambulance shut he catches sight of his hedge. “My hedge. So green. What a magnificent hedge!” he murmurs.
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