A few weeks ago our cooker died so we tracked down a second hand one and went down to St Ives one sunny Saturday to collect it. St Ives, in season, is one of my least favourite places, but in early May it was bearable and we even managed to park, having got the cooker, and had a couple of hours strolling round in the sunshine.
Despite the crowds of early grockles (tourists), the sun made it all bearable and there were plenty of glimpses of what a special, fairytale like places St Ives was, and why so many people flocked there to paint.
Back home we then had the problem of trying to heave the old cooker out onto the pavement (which is five foot above road level), given that I'm not superwoman and Himself isn't getting any younger. We managed it, with a lot of heaving, sweating and swearing, and left it on the pavement outside the flat. Next we got the sack truck and lugged the new cooker up as far as the bit of pavement opposite the house which is on a steep slope.
As we stood there, I suggested ringing a friend. “Rob would help,” I said cheerfully. Himself refused – of course (male pride?) and we braced ourselves for the next heave when a young fellow – in his mid 20s at a guess – came along the road, wearing jeans, a hoodie and with a sharp face like a ferret.
“Wanna hand?” he said.
“Thanks – that would be great,” I said, before Himself could refuse.
So our new mate stubbed out his rollup and picked up the cooker. Given his skinny frame I was surprised he could lift anything more than a packet of fags, but up came the cooker and the next thing we knew he and it were inside the house.
We stood and gaped in astonishment, but he shrugged. “Wanna hand with the other one?” he said.
Himself declined and I decided not to push it this time, but beamed happily as matey shuffled off. “Wasn't that good timing?” I said, thinking no way would Himself have accepted help if I hadn't pushed it.
He grunted, and I wondered if we should have offered tea, or a beer? I looked down the road - given that it's a long street, I reckoned he'd be half way along. I could call after him, offer him a coffee or something.
But there was no sign of him. I ran down the path, surely he must be at the end of the road?
But he'd gone..... just – vanished.
While I like the idea of guardian angels, I find them difficult to fit into everyday life. But now and then you get something that makes you think.....
