A Measured Amount

Ernie stood at the bay window watching the kids playing in the sand dunes opposite his beach front cottage. Now the last of its type and style on the strip, the rest having gone to property investors. Owners had either left for new grounds or passed away, leaving their property and possessions to greedy, destructive relatives who couldn’t wait to tear down the walls and erect some monstrosity, some concrete phallic idol to the god of greenbacks!

Ernie sighed, the kids laughed and ran around and across the sand in a frantic game of tag. Laughing, screaming, falling or throwing themselves to the sand, assured there would be no pain or injury in the fall. The sand soft and caressing like some maternal earth goddess.

There was a picture show of images flickering in his head, him running along the beach proud and strong, lean and athletic. His girlfriend had called him – ‘Sex on legs!’

Ernie chuckled at the memory ‘a sack on legs’ he murmured to himself. The girl had become his best friend, his wife, lover and mother to his three sons and two daughters. ‘Aye, sex on legs’ laughed Ernie.

He was drawn back to the movie playing out across the road. One of his neighbour’s kids had brought a ball over and the kids were screeching ‘me, me, over here, over here’.

Ernie closed his eyes and Thomas his eldest was throwing the ball to Robert. Felicity jumped up and down between them – desperately trying to catch the ball, laughing and screeching at the top of her voice, her brothers just keeping the ball out of her reach.

When Thomas had moved out to University at Otago, Malcolm had taken his place in the line-up – now teasing Janice. Felicity insisting to all around, that she was too old for those sorts of games. Besides she was waiting for her boyfriend to take her into the city on his motorbike.

Ernie shuffled painfully to the kitchen. He filled the jug with water and set it away to boil. Taking a measured amount of tea, he put it into his favourite mug. Janice had made it for him at school. ‘It’s an Ugly Mug’ she had said when she handed it to him full of pride and wide eyed hope. ‘Do you like it daddy?’, ‘I bloody love it!’ he had said picking her up and hugging her like he’d never let her go. But he had let her go, eventually.

The jug boiled and Ernie made himself a hot cuppa, just a dash of milk for colour and three scoops of sugar. Smiling to himself he saw his wife, Mary at the other side of the table

‘Do you like a drop of tea with your sugar dear?’ she would tease, then pop over and kiss him on the nose and whisper ‘my sweetie’ in his ear as she headed to the living room.

There was only a little tea left in the caddy and just a few slices of bread in the packet. He had better ring Woolworth’s and order some groceries. They were his lifeline. He could pay for the items over the phone now that the bank had sent him one of these new fangled Debit Cards. It took a while to understand how it all worked, but it had turned out to be a life saver. He no longer had to go to the bank for money and the groceries were all delivered to his door.

Ernie lifted the receiver; Robert had bought the phone for him some years back. It was old but did the job – or at least it used too! There was no dial tone. Ernie stiffened and grabbed at the edge of the table. He pressed the cradle a few times without any effect. Gradually he put the receiver back and closed his eyes.

The call had been quite brief. ‘Mr Jackson? Mr Ernie Jackson?’

‘Yes, how can I help you?’

‘Mr Jackson this is Senior Constable David Watt from Otago police, Is there anyone with you?’

‘No’

‘Could you go and get a neighbour? I’ve sent word to Paraparaumu police, there should be someone with you shortly’.

‘I’m Sorry” said Ernie somewhat puzzled. ‘What’s this - what is this all about?’

‘Can you tell me where your wife is Mr Jackson?’

‘She’s visiting family and friends in Otago, she’s with my kids. I’m actually expecting her back at any time now’ said Ernie his voice breaking.

‘I may have some bad news for you sir, can you sit down’

‘Bad news?’ an ice cold hand gripped his spine and a fist plunged into his stomach plucking at his courage.

There was a knock at the door ‘Mr Jackson – its Paraparaumu police, can we come in?’

‘Hello – Mr Jackson are you there?’

KNOCK, KNOCK, HELLO.......

The phone fell from Ernie’s hand and he crumpled to the floor.

He opened his eyes and shook his head, clearing the memories and concentrating on the task at hand. There was no doubt about it, the phone was as dead as a door nail, stupid expression thought Ernie to himself - bloody Telecom! He pulled himself up straight and wandered to the window cup in hand.

KNOCK KNOCK, ‘Hello Mr Jackson are you there?’

‘Helloooo Mr Jackson’ knock knock .

Ernie stiffened and slowly turned towards the back door. It opened slightly and two shinny faces poked through the gap and stared at him.

‘Hello Mr Jackson, dad says sorry but he’s just cut through your telephone line. He was trimming the Ivy from the pole and snipped through the line. He said if it’s any compensation, he’s got no internet now! Is there anything you need?’

Ernie smiled at the two youngsters; two mischievous imps stared back at him. Ernie had been a substitute granddad ever since they moved in next door. Gradually they had embedded themselves into his life. They once again filled his life with their laughter and stories of school and friends.

‘Well guys there is something you can do for me’ laughed Ernie. ’I need some tea!’