Short story: Prickly pyracantha – and egos

Written by: Paula Truyens
Published: 21 January 2025

Mom and I were clearing away a corner of my garden to put up an inflatable pool for the summer. This involved trimming down a pyracantha that had taken on the proportions of a stegosaurus through years of neglect. Mom, an intrepid and experienced pruner of trees and shrubs, shot up the ladder without waiting for me to hold it in place. As she started pruning the beast, the ladder leaned over and before I could intervene, she toppled into the bush. Luckily, the pyracantha broke her fall and apart from being quite painful, the spikes merely deflated her gusto.

Naturally, Mom didn’t fall silently… her squeals alerted my brother Ben, who was enjoying a beer in the hammock. He came over to see what the hullaballoo was about and saw Mom lying in the prickly pyracantha. He helped me pick up Mom and as I took her inside for a calming cup of tea, I solicited him to finish the pruning job we’d started. In typical Ben style he mumbled ‘Yep, no problem’, but I wondered if he, the ladder or the pruning shears would come out of the job unscathed.

Fifteen minutes later, after we’d had tea, I went outside to see how Ben was getting on. To my surprise, he had disappeared and the ladder and shears were nowhere to be seen either. I did hear several thuds, clanks, and tap-tap-taps coming from behind the shed and, as I got closer, some choice expletives.

‘Ben, what’s going on, what are you doing?’

‘One of the ladder pads has come loose, so I’m fixing it.’

‘Do you think that’s what caused Mom to fall from the ladder?’

‘Yep.’

I went back inside to tell Mom about the loose pad and that this was probably what caused the ladder to slip and her to fall. ‘How is this possible? The last time I used the ladder it was fine, and it’s not that old.’ Knowing how my brother manages to break even the most solidly built objects in the strangest of ways – even a robust metal spatula (which he’d used for something it wasn’t designed for) – I started to suspect that maybe the loose ladder pad was no coincidence…

Two days later, Ben’s best mate Phil popped by with a couple of six-packs and snacks and they invited me to join them on the veranda. A favourite spot of ours on a sunny day, as you get a sweeping view of the magnificent, snow-topped Pyrenees. When Ben went inside for a pee, I told Phil about the ladder.

‘I think Ben broke it and didn’t fix it properly – you remember that time he broke my bike? He said he’d fix it but the next time I rode my bike the chain came off. So I think he didn’t really “fix” the ladder.’

‘But he did fix the bike, I was there and saw him working on it. The chain coming off probably had nothing to do with that,’ said Phil.

‘And what about all that smoke in the kitchen last year? He’ll put something on the stove and forget about it.’

‘He told me something was wrong with the toaster and it was burned bread that caused all that smoke.’

‘Hmm, I’m not sure. He’s just naturally accident-prone; he has some kind of reverse Midas Touch.’ I told him about the strange mishap with the spatula.

‘Yeah, but that spatula was probably one of those cheap, flimsy ones.’

I suspected Ben had misled his bestie…

Mom Knows – at least, I think she must do. She’s our mother, and if anyone knows Ben, she does. So when I popped by for a cup of tea the next day I asked her about these ‘mishaps’.

‘Phil seems to think Ben is perfectly innocent in all this, but I’m not so sure.’

‘Hah, Ben doesn’t do it on purpose, but he’s the most maladroit person I know. But rather than just owning up that it was a clumsy accident, he’ll make out there was something inherently wrong with what he broke.’

‘So do you think he could have broken the ladder?’ I asked Mom.

‘Could well be, and if it was him and he doesn’t fix it, he’ll damn well get me a new one.’

I felt my heart sink for Ben, because he wasn’t exactly strapped for cash and now more shame, guilt and pissed-off-ness at having broken something. But as I leafed through the local newspaper at Mom’s kitchen table, I saw a small piece tucked away on page nine that would normally escape my attention. ‘Escalade Idéale are recalling their X-135 ladder due to defective base pads. If you have one of these, get in touch with us as soon as possible.’ I rushed out to see if the ladder was indeed an X-135 Escalade Idéale. If it was, Ben might be off the hook!

I decided not to tell Mom or Ben about this until I’d made quite sure it was a product fault and not Ben’s fault. So I went over to where Ben had abandoned the ladder, evidently not that concerned about doing anything to fix it or, for that matter, to smooth things over with Mom. To my delight, it was indeed the model and make mentioned in the newspaper blurb.

As I rushed back to tell Mom, Ben strolled past me to where the ladder was. ‘Are you still going to try and fix it?’ I asked him.

‘Yep.’

‘Don’t bother, it was a product fault, I just saw it in the paper! We’ll bring it back to the shop.’ His face lit up and visibly relieved, he said, ‘Cheers, sis.’

When I told Mom, she managed a chuckle but also ‘Hmm, he got lucky this time.’

After the scare of Mom’s fall into the pyracantha, aspersions cast on my poor clumsy brother Ben and the relief (for me at least) of knowing it wasn’t his but a product fault, I felt lunch out on Saturday would do us all good. Mom was up for a walk through picturesque St. Bertrand de Comminges and a visit to the gothic cathedral in the village – which bizarrely houses a large stuffed Nile crocodile. Ben said he’d meet us at the restaurant.

As it was lovely weather, we decided to sit outside, overlooking the village square. Just as the waiter brought us our main meal – boar stew and a jug of Madiran wine – we heard strains of windpipes, drums and lyre strike up a jolly jig. When the troupe came into view from around the corner we saw it was Prima Nocta, a favourite medieval band of ours. Such merriness was just what we needed and I could see Mom and Ben were enjoying themselves. But right after dessert, Ben got up and said, ‘Thanks, sis, I’m heading back home now. See you later!’ Which I thought was odd as we hadn’t even finished the wine and the music was still building up.

When we got back home a few hours later, I heard the familiar clip-clip of shears in my garden and to my surprise I saw Ben on a brand new ladder finishing the job Mom had started a few fateful days ago.