Mrs. McCoubrey a robust little woman of maturing years with a sharp voice to match stood on the pavement outside her home, her fat midriff straining like a second bosom under her cotton dress.
“There is a nest of wasps in them eaves of mine, and I don't know a’ tall what I'm going to do with them," she related loudly to no one in particular, the street was empty with a Sunday morning emptiness.
Janice Johnston, the local busybody was sweeping her path on the opposite side of the street and curiosity becoming the better off her; she ceased her brushing and traipsed across the road to her concerned neighbour.
"Having some bother Mrs McCoubrey?" she inquired, resting her chin idly on crossed knuckles on the brush shaft.
"I am indeed," came the curt reply, "a nest of wasps have taken up residence in the eaves of my house and that oul ijit of a husband of mine wants to smoke them out;… sure it’s the house he'll set on fire! ….. so he will!"
"Aye!.... I see what you mean alright,… aye!" she affirmed whimsically twisting her neck elastically as she observed the wasps flying around the exposed nest on the underside of the eaves of the single storey cottage.
"Aye!.. Fire can be dangerous!… well sure the council have a rat man........" babbled Janice flippantly.
"Would you talk sense woman!" interrupted a short-tempered Mrs. McCoubrey, wincing as she relieved the weight on her bad leg.
"Them’s wasps!" she stressed vigorously, emphasising the point by tapping her walking stick solidly on the pavement.
"Aye, .... But they're vermin," returned Janice plausibly, looking into her eyes. Her eyes were grey, yet dominant and caught by them she felt unable to look away.
"Vermin!... Wasps!....huh!" Scoffed Mrs McCoubrey derisively, and she turned on her stick and shuffled concernedly towards her front door, mumbling derogatively as she went, her right shoulder thrust higher supporting the load.
A short time later Janice returned and knocked on the front door,
"I'm back Mrs McCoubrey," she greeted giddily, "I've been thinking about you and I've a good idea to sort out those wasps."
"Aye … An what’s that?" Inquired Mrs McCoubrey warily, an expression of doubt drifting across her flaccid face.
"You just leave it to Janice," came the self-assured reply, "I'll get rid of them wasps, … so I will, … don't you worry, “ and she rubbed her hands with verve.
Ah! … could I borrow your Hoover for a wee while?"
"My Hoover?" enquired Mrs. McCoubrey dubiously, her sharp eyes querying her giddy neighbour, an expression of wariness on her sallow face, "..... you won't damage it, ....will you?"
Twenty minutes later Janice called Mrs. McCoubrey.
"There you are Mrs. McCoubrey, there’s your wasps nest," and she pointed to the remnants lying scattered on the ground at the wall of the house.
"The jobs a good one," she boasted confidently, "if you'll just lend me your brush and shovel, I'll clear up the mess. You'll have no more trouble with them wasps, Mrs. McCoubrey," she affirmed positively a broad smile of satisfaction beaming,
Mrs. McCoubrey supported on her stick shuffled over to the side of the house and looked up doubtfully to the underside of the eaves. A smile of appreciation spread across her sagging cheeks as she prodded delicately with her stick at the broken nest lying on the pavement.
“Janice you’re a marvel!” she commended warmly, “I must admit I had my doubts, ……. You’re a marvellous woman……you’ve a great head on those shoulders”
Janice could read from her expression that she had risen suddenly in her estimation and she savoured the moment.
She hesitated looking fearfully towards the Hoover, the distinct drone increasing as the insects recovered from their surprise eviction, her head tilted in accusation.
“An … where’s the wasps now?” says she, her voice sharp and the smile slipping back into her more usual vexed grimace as she coldly eyed the jovial Janice and her smug grin of satisfaction.
Janice felt the disdain of the question, like the sting from a slap on the face.
“Ah!……” dithered Janice hesitantly, her confidence waning as the crescendo developed. Her breath came harder and little muscles in her face twitched. “Ah!…..the wasps are in the Hoover,” and she let off one of her nervous guffaws further aggravating Mrs. McCoubrey.
“In the what?” questioned Mrs. McCoubrey with a flash of bad temper?
“Aye….ah! …. the wasps are in the Hoover! ..Aye… but don’t worry yourself. .Aye!.. they’ll soon suffocate. Ah!…. sure they’ll be deed in a ween of minutes, so they will….. so they will.” She repeated unconvincingly and then she released her giddy laugh again whilst her face slipped into a clownish grin.
Mrs. McCoubrey did not speak but the sharp contours of her face held more words than a dictionary, as she stared menacingly at Janice.
Janice her flushed face now portraying beads of nervous perspiration.
“Oh they will!…they’ll be dead in a ween of minutes,” vouched Janice her nervous voice barely audible now above the drone from the Hoover.
Mrs. McCoubrey, her under-lip thrust out with contempt, the anger portrayed in her sharp tongue, shot back. “I hope you know what you’re doing woman! …..if that Hoover is damaged, I’ll hold you responsible!”
“Its getting like a wee drop of rain, do you want to take the Hoover inside …… ? an sure I’ll call back later and empty it for you…...”
“Indeed you’ll do no such thing, you may leave the Hoover in the shed till you clean it out,” came the piqued reply in a tone that commanded obedience and she turned and walked ploddingly with a stoop that thrust her knees forward of her, mumbling derisively as she went.
Janice watched her go, her slippers making light slow clicks on the pavement.
Later that evening Janice returned to empty the Hoover. She went straight round to Mrs. McCoubrey’s shed at the rear, with her quick eager little steps that sounded so eager to please, waving conspicuously to her unresponsive neighbour through the kitchen window as she past.
A few minutes later a distraught Janice, knocked on her neighbour’s rear door. Mrs. McCoubrey her lips pursed stared dourly at the pallid countenance of her neighbour.
“Well?” she exclaimed sourly when her neighbour did not speak.
“The ..the wasps have escaped,” Janice stuttered nervously, tears in her eyes, and offering her exposed left arm for sympathy, “an … and they stung me, so they did.”
There were two wrinkles across her neighbour’s forehead that cut deep when she was angry and her strong-arced eyebrows dropped lower.
“The wasps escaped!” stormed Mrs. McCoubrey angrily offering no sympathy before letting fly in her infamous temper with a litany of scathing ridicule.
“You caused the problem, you resolve it!” she concluded angrily and slammed the door in poor Janice’s face. Before Janice could gather her senses the door re-opened and a threatening Mr. McCoubrey emerged letting fly once more, “and If my Hoover is damaged you’ll pay for the repair!” and she stared at Janice, her tense pale face that showed red forming in the centre of her flat cheeks and the door slammed noisily once more.
After a sleepless night, Janice phoned the local council office and sheepishly explained her embarrassing situation. A pleasant young woman assured her that the pest control officer would call later that day, fumigate the shed, and resolve her problem. A relieved Janice returned to her usual light-hearted self, lavishly praising the assistance and efficiency of the council services and their staff. As the conversation concluded the young woman enquired, “To whom shall we send the bill madam?”
A stunning silence ensued
“There will be a charge for this service,” confirmed the female council official.
Her heart rate quickened at the implication.
“A ..a b..bill?” queried Janice timidly.
“Yes madam,” replied the lady officiously, “our department will consider dealing with such vermin free of charge when the general public are at risk, as was the case when the nest was on the front of the house. Unfortunately your decision to shift the wasps to the rear makes them a private nuisance and we have to charge for the council’s services in those circumstances.”
No response forthcoming the young woman dutifully enquired, “Will I send the bill to the occupier?”
“No! .. No! ..Ah!.. you may send the bill to me,” she replied dejectedly, “so much for doing good deeds.”
“Sure it’s the thought that counts madam,” consoled the young woman as she recorded Janice’s name and address.
“Huh! .. I’m not so sure,” returned Janice, “this bill’s bad enough, there could be another bill for the Hoover, and Mrs. McCoubrey will ridicule me for the next year! It’s an unfair world!”
“Ah well console yourself with the words of Sophia Loren,” proffered the young woman, "Mistakes are part of the dues one pays for a full life."
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