(10/13) Friends at Thrush Green (24 page)

'A nice girl. Your Jane thinks the world of her. Your brother was very good to her too, when she was took bad that day. Does he still keep in touch?'

Mrs Jenner, who was no fool, realized that Nelly was avid for information. Normally she would have been somewhat terse in reply for she disliked gossip and, as a nurse, had been trained to be discreet. But she was fond of Nelly, and would not wish to snub her.

'To tell the truth, I don't take much interest in Percy's affairs. He's never been the same since his Gertie died, and made a fool of himself over a lot of silly young things, as everyone knows.'

'It's understandable,' said Nelly tolerantly, 'men being what they are. Poor tools really, compared with us.'

'Exactly!' agreed Mrs Jenner. 'But I know no more than you do, Nelly, about Percy and Doreen. I did have a quiet word with Jane, but she says the girl hardly ever says very much, and in any case she'd be extra careful when speaking to Jane, her being Percy's niece, you see.'

'Well, who knows?' said Nelly cheerfully. 'It might turn out very nicely. Gladys has brought her up proper, good at cleaning and cooking, and that little Bobby is as nice a child as you could meet in a month of Sundays. Percy could do a lot worse, I reckon.'

By this time they had reached the hall. It was noisier than usual, as people greeted each other after their enforced absence and compared notes on burst pipes, leaking roofs, coughs, colds and all the other ills of a hard winter.

'Good to have a bit of company,' cried Nelly to her friend, as they settled down to a convivial evening. To be sure, she had not learned anything about the Percy-Doreen affair from Mrs Jenner, but no doubt time would tell.

At Thrush Green, Margaret Lester was slowly coming to terms with life. The spring term was now in its stride, and with the worst of the weather over, attendances became more normal.

Alan Lester watched his wife with acute anxiety. She was still as adamant as she was on her return that no alcohol should be allowed into the house. Some medical men, she told Alan, were of the opinion that a tiny amount now and again could do no harm to those trying to break the habit, but Margaret, in her zealous mood, would have none of it, and Alan thought that she was right.

He thought that it was right too that she talked freely about the dangers to their children. She could not forgive herself for what might have happened on the night of the power cut, and was filled with such horror and remorse that Alan sometimes wondered if this bitter self-torture might be holding back her full recovery.

His tough old mother was more realistic. 'She's working things out in her own way, and in her own time,' she told him when Margaret was out of the room. 'It is one way of keeping her off the bottle, which is the main thing, and she is getting it out of her system with this suffering. I know it's distressing for you to watch, when you've been laid open to all these wishy-washy ideas that things should be easy for everybody, but I was brought up to fight the good fight, and to recognize the devil as well as the angels. And it's fighting that's going to be poor Margaret's salvation.'

Old Mrs Lester certainly was a tower of strength to the family during these first weeks of Margaret's return. It was planned that the whole family would go to Yorkshire at half-term, to take Alan's mother back and to give them all a change of scene.

Meanwhile, Isobel and Harold, in company with other friends nearby, gave as much attention as they could to the family. The little girls were invited out frequently. The Shoosmiths took Margaret out with them on their afternoon strolls. Winnie Bailey and Ella Bembridge had pleasant henparties which included both Mrs Lesters. There was no doubt about it; what with her own determination, fears of what-might-have-been, and the support of family and friends, it was apparent that Margaret had every hope of winning her battle.

When the first pale rays of spring sunshine emerged, life started to look more hopeful. The snowdrops, aconites and crocuses began to bring colour to the gardens, and along the road to Nidden yellow tassels of catkins waved from the hazel bushes.

Seed catalogues were studied, and orders sent for stocking the kitchen and flower gardens. Travel brochures, adorned with sun-bronzed men and maidens with enviable teeth, hair and figures, were browsed over in the homes at Thrush Green and Lulling. Should it be Greece this year? Or Spain perhaps, or even Turkey? What about taking some savings out of the Lulling Building Society and having a real splash somewhere in the Bahamas?

Most of these day-dreams were shattered by programmes on the television of fractious infants, exhausted mothers and bad-tempered fathers, jammed together in airport lounges for hours on end, awaiting flights which failed to materialize.

The brochures were thrown away. What was wrong with dear old Ilfracombe anyway?

Hardy souls such as Ella Bembridge took their first long walks of the year, striding along enjoying the exercise and the heady smell of spring in the air.

Those who were just over bouts of the widespread influenza tottered out for a few turns in the lanes, well-muffled up against any chill in the air, and felt greatly relieved to get back to the comfort of their armchairs after ten minutes or so.

Among this last category came Doreen Lilly and Gladys, each holding the hand of young Bobby. They came slowly up the hill and stopped to speak to Albert Piggott who was picking up litter by the church gate and depositing it in his bucket. Most of it came from careless customers at The Two Pheasants, for although Mr Jones provided a conspicuous litter-bin, there were always a few untidy consumers who preferred to fling their litter to the ground.

When the wind was from the west, a certain amount ended up by the churchyard, much to Albert's fury.

He was glad, as always, to stop work.

'Say "Good morning" to Mr Piggott,' prompted Gladys.

'I've 'ad the flu,' said Bobby with pride.

'Oh-ah!' said Albert.

'And
my mummy. She 'ad the flu.'

'Oh-ah!' said Albert again, looking at Doreen. She smiled but said nothing.

'But my Granny never,' continued the child.

'I was the lucky one,' said Gladys briskly. 'We thought a little fresh air would do us good.'

'We're goin' to Uncle Percy's to see the lambs,' volunteered Bobby.

Albert became more alert. 'Better watch they don't bite you,' he said.

The child looked at his mother with alarm, but she remained silent.

It was Gladys who answered. 'Mr Piggott's making a joke,' she explained. 'Lambs don't bite. Now, come along or we'll be late.'

They nodded farewell and continued their journey towards the farm.

Albert crossed the road to The Two Pheasants.

'That girl don't say much, do she?' he said to Mr Jones. 'Cat had her tongue, I shouldn't wonder.'

'I like a quiet woman myself,' said Mr Jones diplomatically. 'Maybe she's shy.'

'Not shy enough, to my way of thinking,' commented Albert censoriously. 'Anyway, old Perce is "
Uncle
Percy" now. I suppose he'll be "
Daddy
Percy" before long.'

'I shouldn't count on it,' advised the landlord. 'Not with Percy's record.'

It was on one of these early spring mornings that an extraordinary event took place in the house of the three Misses Lovelock.

It was the custom each morning for Violet to make a pot of Earl Grey tea in her bedroom, and to take a cup to each of her sisters.

Years before, of course, there had been a resident maid who would mount the stairs with a jingling tray and distribute the tea. She would also pull back the curtains, and comment on the weather in Lulling High Street.

Those days had disappeared long ago, and Violet, with great initiative, had bought herself a tea-making machine which she installed in her bedroom and learnt to manipulate with commendable speed.

She quite enjoyed the early morning ritual, and Ada and Bertha were grateful for her service. Each sister kept a tin of biscuits in her room. Violet favoured Gingernuts, Ada Rich Tea, and Bertha stuck to Digestive. Sometimes the cup of tea, with a dip into the biscuit tin, was all that was required by way of breakfast as the ladies grew older and frailer.

On this particular morning, Violet carried in Bertha's cup and found her sister sitting bolt upright and looking rather flushed. She nodded her thanks as Violet deposited the steaming cup on the bedside table, and patted the bed, inviting her sister to sit.

'What is it, dear?' asked Violet.

'Spring-cleaning,' said Bertha.

'It's rather early to be thinking of that,' countered Violet.

'We'll start in here,' announced Bertha. 'This room has become most frightfully cluttered. Why have you brought up so much rubbish from downstairs?'

'You brought it up yourself, Bertha.'

'Nonsense! Why should I want all the silver and some of the furniture too! It
hampers
me. It must be cleared away.'

By now, Bertha was becoming much agitated, and Violet decided to humour her.

'Well, we must make some plans, dear. Meanwhile, drink your tea while it's hot, and I'll come in again when I'm dressed.'

By that time, Violet surmised, her sister would have forgotten all about it, and the day would proceed in its usual way.

But she was wrong.

When, some half an hour later, she opened Bertha's door, it was to discover a scene of complete chaos. Wardrobe doors stood open. Every drawer gaped, and the unmade bed was piled with an assorted jumble of silverware, porcelain, photoframes and bric-à-brac of every variety.

'Bertha!' cried Violet aghast. 'What on
earth
are you doing? I've never seen such a mess!'

'Must make a start,' puffed Bertha, now scarlet in the face. She threw a silver tankard, presented years before to their father, on to the bed, dislodging a heap of smaller articles which cascaded to the floor.

Violet took charge. She forcibly pushed Bertha into a wicker chair, and stood over her.

'You will give yourself a stroke, rushing about like this, and then where shall we be? Just leave everything alone, get dressed, and Ada and I will help you to put everything away later this morning.'

Bertha seemed to see reason and shrugged her shoulders. 'Very well,' she replied, with immense dignity. 'We'll spring-clean later on.'

Without speaking, Violet collected Bertha's underwear from beneath a pile of assorted objects, and put the articles by her.

'I'll be back,' she said at last, and went to apprise Ada of this latest domestic upheaval.

Later she returned, meeting Bertha on the stairs. Her sister was carrying a large silver tray piled precariously with small objects.

Violet took it from her and preceded her to the drawing-room, where she deposited the tray on a sofa.

'Now sit down, Bertha, and we may as well sort out this pile now.'

'Such an odd collection,' replied Bertha, who seemed quite calm. 'Do you know, I'm sure we have a silver coaster that is Charles Henstock's. And a pair of sugar tongs that I distinctly remember seeing at Ella's. Why on earth did they give them to us?'

Violet, who knew very well the acquisitive nature of her sister and indeed had been equally guilty on occasions, decided to ignore the question.

The two articles mentioned were on the tray, and she quietly put them aside. She also returned a pair of silver vases, three photoframes and a pair of candlesticks to the mantelpiece.

'It looks better at once,' said Bertha approvingly. 'It was a very silly idea of yours to lumber up to my bedroom with all this stuff. And some of it, you see, not even belonging to us. It looks so dishonest.'

'It does. Shall we go upstairs and fetch some more?'

After an hour or two of sorting out, all three ladies were exhausted and decided to have lunch, which could only be biscuits and cheese with tinned pears to follow, then their usual short rest, before continuing with their labours.

What was really peculiar, thought Violet, as she lay on her bed after lunch resting her aching bones, was the way in which Bertha had put aside all those pretty pieces which had been begged, permanently borrowed, or simply purloined over the years, and those which were legitimate Lovelock property. Could there be some deep-seated guilt which had been suppressed all these years? Was this frenzy of activity a form of remorse? Or was Bertha simply suffering from another mental breakdown, and would she be her usual inconsequent and kleptomaniac self by morning?

It seemed best, thought Violet, to go along with this spring-cleaning urge. At least, it restored Bertha's hoard to their rightful places in the house, and a lot of prized objects to their rightful owners. It was not going to be simple, thought Violet uneasily, explaining the return of such valuables as Ella's tongs and Charles's coaster, but it would just have to be done. Bertha's eccentricity would be a good excuse.

Wearily, she clambered from her resting place and went into Bertha's still cluttered bedroom.

The clearing of the room, and its return to comparative normality, took the three sisters the best part of a week to complete.