(10/13) Friends at Thrush Green (27 page)

'I expect she asked for it,' said Albert. 'These young girls are all kittle-cattle. They take up with whoever comes along. Look at Doreen Lilly now.'

This did cause some reaction from Percy, who put his tankard down, and turned towards Albert.

'What about Doreen?'

'Got some new young man hangin' round her, they say.'

'Who says?'

'Well, most everybody. Some chap from London she met when she was workin' up there. Nice-lookin' bloke. Quite the film star.'

'She's a pretty girl herself,' said Percy equably. 'You can't wonder she gets a follower or two.'

He drained his glass, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and nodded to the landlord.

'Must be off. Got some sheep dip to pick up. Be seein' you, Albert.'

The door slammed behind him, and a gust of chilly air swirled about the room.

'You didn't get much change out of him,' observed Mr Jones, putting another log on the fire. 'And serve you right, Albert Piggott, trying to stir up trouble.'

'Silly old fool asks for it,' growled Albert, but he had the grace to look discomfited.

Meanwhile, at the Lovelocks' house things continued their erratic course.

On the morning after the disastrous birthday party, Violet went into Bertha's bedroom bearing the usual cup of tea. She had had a poor night herself, tortured with remembrances of the humiliating end to the party. The question of the will hung over her. Would Bertha go ahead with this deeply embarrassing plan? Would Justin be able to cope with it? Could Bertha really put in hand such a preposterous plan as the ordering of a stained-glass window, or an organ? Come to that, would Bertha decide on something even more extravagant: a side chapel, say, or a complete reorganization of the interior seating? Really, there was no end to the list of follies which her poor sister might decide to undertake. And would she be stopped? And if so, by whom?

She found Bertha sitting peacefully in bed, brushing her sparse locks with a silver-backed hairbrush. She smiled at Violet.

'Oh, lovely! How I do look forward to this first cup of tea! So sweet of you, dear, to provide it.'

'And how did you sleep?' enquired Violet, remembering her own disturbed night.

'Like a top, dear, after that lovely party. It all went so well, didn't it? I am so grateful to you and Ada for making it such a perfect day.'

Violet stood in silence, looking out of the window at Lulling High Street which was already busy with traffic. It was quite apparent that Bertha was not going to admit to any of the unpleasantness that had occurred. Was this intentional, or did she really forget anything disturbing?

She left Bertha sipping her tea, and returned to her own bedroom. She had come to a conclusion which was to support her throughout the years to come. She must simply take Bertha as she found her, day by day. It had to be faced. Bertha was slightly mad. She was senile, and quite erratic. In the future, she must be cared for as one would care for any patient with mental trouble. It would involve constant supervision, hopefully at home in the house they had shared all their lives, but if need be, in some suitable institution.

Meanwhile, she knew she had the support of John Lovell, Justin Venables, and dear Charles Henstock. With such a powerful trio behind her, Violet felt that she could cope with all that life with Bertha might bring.

After a fortnight away from school, Alan Lester tottered back to his classroom. He felt ten years older, and looked it too. Why was it taking so long to recover, he asked the doctor querulously.

'Because you were thoroughly run down when this hit you,' John told him. 'You've been under appalling strain for years now. I have a theory that those days in bed are nature's way of making you let up.'

'But it's absolutely absurd,' protested Alan. 'I walk across to the school and have to sit down to get over it. Then I try to write on the blackboard, and I can scarcely get my arm up. Can't you give me something to put some spunk into me? I'm a walking zombie.'

'I'll give you a tonic,' promised John. 'Just take things gently, and you'll be yourself again in a few days.'

The doctor was not the only one to supply jollop. When Betty Bell related the fact of Alan Lester's prolonged convalescence to Dotty, that resourceful lady produced a large bottle filled with a murky liquid which had already corroded its metal cap.

'Now, this is just the thing,' Dotty told her. 'You take this to the school house, Betty, and tell the poor fellow to take a tablespoonful three times a day. It's a wonderful pick-me-up. One of my old aunt's recipes. It has rose-hip syrup and black treacle in it.'

'What else?' asked Betty suspiciously.

Dotty looked flummoxed. 'Now what was it? Certainly hore-hound and a bunch of garlic, so good for the chest. And I am sure there were half a dozen other things, all wholesome of course. I will look at the recipe if you like.'

Betty said she was not to bother, accepted the bottle, and privately determined to warn the patient to leave it sealed.

She confided her decision to Harold Shoosmith some days later, and he heartily approved.

'Well, I was afraid it might explode in his face,' said Betty. 'It looked dangerous to me. Do you reckon it might have been any good?'

'As paint-stripper maybe,' replied Harold.

Isobel was able to tell her Barton friends that the headmaster had returned to his duties, and that Mrs Hill had now departed to brush up her 'Look-and-Say' method of reading for her next session as supply-teacher in the district.

Dorothy sounded greatly relieved. 'And I will ring next week, Isobel, for we're setting off in a day or two for our little break. We shall be at The Swan at Lavenham. Such a good centre, and we were very well looked after there last time.'

Isobel sent her best wishes for the jaunt, and asked about Timmy.

'Oh, Eileen is looking after him. And Teddy too,' was the reply.

I wonder, thought Isobel, as she put back the receiver, who will worry most? Agnes about Timmy, or Dorothy about Teddy?

The day before the ladies were due to depart from Barton, they suffered an appalling shock.

The packing was half done, and last-minute duties attended to: the newspapers had been cancelled, the milkman instructed to leave only half a pint each time for Timmy's use, and the spare keys deposited with Eileen. The maps were ready on the hall table, the coffee flask waiting in the kitchen and Agnes had already put out the clothes she intended to wear on the journey.

They were having their after-lunch rest when the telephone rang, and Agnes answered it. Dorothy sat up, alert. It was Eileen's voice at the other end, and it sounded strained.

'Such a dreadful cold. I was coming up to tell you the news, but frankly it wouldn't be fair to you, just as you are going off.'

'What news?' enquired Agnes.

'Well, dear, we both wanted you and Dorothy to be the first to hear—Teddy has asked me to marry him.'

There was a little cry, hastily checked, from Dorothy. Agnes found herself trembling, but kept her voice steady.

'But that is wonderful!' she said. 'Congratulations!'

'It won't be for sometime, but no point in waiting about at our age. I only wish I hadn't developed this appalling cold. I think I must have caught it from Teddy.'

There was another choking sound from Dorothy, who now hurried to the bathroom. Agnes heard the bolt slam home. Her heart sank.

'This won't make any difference,' Eileen was saying, 'to my looking after Timmy. I shall be quite fit enough to pop along tomorrow when you have gone. Is Dorothy there? I should like to tell her our news.'

'She's not at the moment,' said Agnes truthfully, 'but I shall pass on the message. I know she'll be as delighted as I am.'

'Teddy asked me to give you the news. He said women are so much better at these things.'

The great coward, thought Agnes indignantly!

'Well, our love and congratulations to you both,' said Agnes. 'We'll ring before we go, and if you are not up to it, I will ask Mrs Berry to see to Timmy, so don't worry about that.'

She hurried to the bathroom door.

'Are you all right, Dorothy? I expect you heard?'

'I heard,' said a muffled voice, 'and I'm quite all right.'

Reluctantly, Agnes returned to her chair. Her heart was thumping in an alarming way, and her hands trembled as she picked up her knitting. Poor, poor Dorothy!

She seemed to be a very long time in the bathroom, and Agnes's anxiety grew. Was she prostrate with grief? Had she collapsed on the floor, perhaps striking her head on the wash-basin and now lying stunned? Could she—dreadful thought!—be contemplating
suicide?

The bathroom cupboard certainly held medicine, but nothing much more toxic than aspirin, TCP and calamine lotion. To be sure, there was a bottle of disinfectant for the lavatory. And prisoners in cells sometimes
hanged
themselves, but apart from the belt of the bath-robe there was really nothing to hand in the bathroom in that line. In any case, Agnes thought wildly, that hook on the door would scarcely stand the weight.

It was really devastating, decided Agnes, knitting furiously, how one's mind encompassed a hundred horrors in the space of a minute. If she did not pull herself together she would be mentally choosing the hymns for Dorothy's funeral, and wondering if the Distressed Gentlefolks Aid Association could do with her clothes.

At that moment, Dorothy returned from the bathroom and stood with her back to Agnes, gazing out into the garden. Her hand clutched the wet ball of her handkerchief, which she was turning round and round.

Agnes dared not speak, and waited with a pounding heart for Dorothy's first words.

'Thank you for coping with that, my dear. I couldn't have spoken. I simply couldn't.'

'I understand. It's been a shock to us both.'

Dorothy went back to her armchair. Her face was blotchy, but the tears had gone. 'I've been a fool, Agnes.'

'That happens to us all,' said Agnes gently. 'It doesn't really matter, you know. Just don't upset yourself. I think Eileen will make Teddy a good wife. After all, they've known each other for many years.'

'Well, I'm not forecasting anything,' said Dorothy with a slight return to normality. 'It's their affair. I shall ring Eileen, and Teddy too, this evening, to congratulate them.'

'That's right,' said Agnes approvingly. 'We must leave things comfortably here before we set off tomorrow. It's a very good thing we are having this break. It will do us both good, and we shall be able to come back and face their wedding.'

'Do you think we'll be invited?' asked Dorothy in alarm. 'I don't think I could face it.'

Agnes was silent for a moment, gazing in dismay at her knitting. 'I've done at least two inches of
moss-stitch
when it should be
rib'
she cried. 'I shall have to unpick it.'

Dorothy rose. 'I shall make us some tea,' she announced. 'I don't care if it is only three o'clock. We both need it.'

Agnes heard her in the kitchen, filling the kettle for that never-failing help in times of trouble.

To her surprise, Dorothy reappeared within a minute. 'What I cannot
stomach
,' she told Agnes fiercely, 'is the way
Teddy
asked
Eileen
to break the news. So like a man!'

'Just what I felt,' cried Agnes. 'Men are such
cowards!'

Neither of the ladies slept well that night. Dorothy, though proud of her good behaviour on the telephone that evening to Eileen and the perfidious Teddy, still smarted from self-recrimination over her conduct during the last months. It was hard to accept the fact that one had been foolish and invited ridicule. She thought of Agnes's kind remark about everyone being foolish at some time. It gave her some slight comfort.

In the adjoining bedroom, Agnes's thoughts were more anguished, mainly on her friend's behalf. Certainly, Dorothy had appeared calmer as the evening had progressed, and her congratulatory messages to Eileen and Teddy had been done most graciously. Agnes, knowing how much she was suffering, was immensely proud of her. But was it a good thing to suppress her feelings, wondered Agnes, as she lay worrying in the small hours, still unable to sleep.

Those dreadful moments considering Dorothy's possible suicide in the bathroom came back to torment her. Was Dorothy
really
over it? Or would she do something senseless within the next day or two, suddenly distraught? Agnes recalled reading about some unhappy person who had driven deliberately straight into a lamp-post after being crossed in love. And only last week she had read about another poor fellow driving over a precipice to his death.

Well, thought Agnes, trying to find some crumb of comfort, there were not any precipices between Barton-on-Sea and Lavenham.

And on that somewhat unsatisfactory thought, she fell into an uneasy sleep.

20. Weddings

AS if to compensate for the wretched winter, March grew more balmy as the days passed.

At Thrush Green, the sticky buds on the chestnut trees were beginning to sprout tiny green fans, and the stark hedges were softening with young leaves. Daffodils and early tulips brightened the gardens, and at the edge of Lulling Woods the banks were starred with primroses. Beneath the hedges, hidden in dead silky grass, blue and white violets lurked.