A Village Dilemna (Turnham Malpas 09) (12 page)

In church on the Sunday morning Peter prayed for those who had been stricken so badly with chickenpox and that soon the village would be restored to its usual quiet everyday calm.

A worshipper in the pew in front said, ‘Sh.’ While someone in the pew behind leaned forward and asked, ‘What do you know that I don’t know?’

The neighbour replied
sotto voce
, ‘There’s to be a demonstration at the dig.’

‘No!’

‘Really?’ asked Mrs Jones.

‘There is.’

‘Sh!’

‘When?’

The worshipper in the pew in front turned round angrily. ‘Sh! Have some respect.’

Mrs Jones winked at her neighbour and said, ‘Tell me later, Annie.’

After church she was told that the demonstration was to be the next morning and they’d be ready and waiting for the students when they arrived. ‘I’m going to support the demonstration. It’s downright disgusting what they’re doing, disgusting. You’ll be there, won’t you? We need all the help we can get.’

‘Come rain or shine, I’ll be there all right.’

To Mrs Jones’s embarrassment the neighbour insisted on making a ‘Protest against the dig’ placard for her.

Mrs Jones, Sylvia and Bryn arrived to represent the supporters of the dig. It all felt rather like a damp squib and the dejected representatives on each side of the debate huddled in two opposing groups.

Bryn yelled, ‘It’s pointless you standing there. The dig’s going ahead come what may.’

‘Not if we can help it,’ Willie shouted in defiance. Sylvia blushed at his vehemence.

‘You might as well go home right now.’

‘We shan’t till you’ve gone.’

‘Look! They’ve almost finished, you know. They don’t expect to find much more.’

‘If that’s right, why are you here?’

Mrs Jones piped up with, ‘Because we got wind of what you were going to do, that’s why we’ve come.’

Willie sniggered. ‘I can see you’ve got lots of support.’

Sylvia felt ashamed of herself, but stuck to her guns. ‘You’re not much better.’

Willie, broken-hearted by their differences, didn’t reply to her, but Vince did. ‘We’ve got plenty of support as you well know. They’re all frightened to death, what with this rain and the chickenpox and that.’

‘Rubbish!’ shouted Bryn. ‘You’re talking absolute rubbish. You all need a good shake-up. You’ve lived here too long. You’re too set in your ways. Here am I, trying to bring business to the village and this dig will be a highlight and all you can think of is that it’s evil.’

‘It’s not the dig,’ declared one Miss Senior. ‘It’s the Rector threatening to bury the bones in the churchyard. We don’t like it at all, do we?’

Bryn roared with laughter. What fools they were. ‘We’ve got to move with the times, you daft old biddies.’

Sylvia protested at his rudeness.

Mrs Jones said, ‘Hey, hold on, there’s no call for that.’

‘Well, they are! We’ve got to move on, get modern. Onward and upward. So what if there’s a few old bones in a coffin buried deep. What harm can they do, for heaven’s sake?’ Bryn laughed aloud at their dyed-in-the-wool attitudes.

‘Doesn’t look as if they’re coming today,’ Willie said. By now his faithful anorak, which he normally only wore in winter, was letting in the wet.

‘They’re usually here by now.’ Vince adjusted the angle of his umbrella and it dripped down his neck. ‘Blast!’

Alan Crimble spoke up for the first time. ‘If you ask me …’

Bryn interrupted him. ‘Nobody’s asking you and what’s more you should be on this side not that, you being an employee of my pub.’

‘Your pub! That’s rich.’

‘Yes, my pub.’ Bryn began to boil with temper. ‘I gave you a home and a job when you’d nowhere to go, just you remember that. By rights, Alan Crimble, you should be standing shoulder to shoulder with me.’

‘Well, I’m not, and I wouldn’t be if it was the last job on earth.’

‘You snivelling little … pipsqueak.’ Bryn closed up his umbrella, laid it on the church wall and put up his fists.

‘Oh, “pipsqueak”, is it?’ Alan shaped up to Bryn.

Bryn shouted, ‘I don’t mind. Not at all. I’m a match for anyone.’ Huge drops of rain fell from the branches above his head. He glanced up at the sky and wondered what the blazes he was doing here in weather like this, losing his temper with a fool like Alan Crimble. He lost all his fight at that moment and decided to leave. ‘To be honest, there’s not much point in us all standing here getting pneumonia. They’re obviously not coming today. Let’s agree to go home, shall we?’

There was a general nodding of heads from both sides and what had been intended as a fight to the death on the part of the objectors ended with them creeping home defeated and soaked to the skin.

Bryn rallied his troops. ‘Round one to us, I think?’

‘Definitely,’ agreed Mrs Jones.

‘But no more threatening to fight, Bryn, I don’t want Willie hurt,’ Sylvia begged, conscious that this was the first rift ever between her and Willie and not for the world did she want him injured.

‘Pity there weren’t more of us here, but it can’t be helped. Thanks for turning out, you two.’

Jimmy was one of the last to become infected and he lay for three days in his house, alone and ill, until it occurred to Grandmama Charter-Plackett that she hadn’t seen him about and she went to investigate.

‘Hello-o-o-o! Jimmy, are you there?’

She could hear Sykes scuffling behind the door. ‘Hello! Jimmy?’

Sykes began to bark: his odd little noise which came between a yap and the bark of a much larger dog. Then he started to whine and scrabble at the edge of the door.

Mrs Charter-Plackett cautiously tried the doorknob and found to her surprise that the door wasn’t locked. She spoke to Sykes so he could recognise who it was. ‘It’s me, Sykes. All right?’ She pushed open the door and bent to pat him. There’d been no fresh air in the house for several days, she could tell that; the air was stale and smelt of dog. There was no water left in Sykes’s bowl either, and not a sound from upstairs. She went to stand at the bottom of the stairs and called up, ‘Jimmy? Are you there?’ He must be, his car was parked at the end of his garden as usual.

Having reached the top of the stairs, she peeped into one of the bedrooms and found Jimmy fast asleep in a seriously tousled bed. The air offended her sensibilities so she crossed the room to open the window. It creaked and groaned and the noise woke Jimmy. She didn’t think she’d seen anyone with as many spots as he had. Not even little Fran.

Jimmy lifted his head from the pillow and groaned. ‘It’s Sykes. I haven’t been able to feed him.’

‘I’ll see to that. It seems to me you need seeing to, too. First things first. I’ll attend to Sykes and then you. A cup of tea. Eh?’

Her patient croaked a thank you and laid his head gratefully back on the pillow.

‘You should have rung me, you silly man.’

Jimmy nodded a little impatiently. He was in no mood for Mrs Charter-Plackett’s vigorous brand of jollying up.

By the time she’d fed and watered Sykes, and he’d rushed out of his cat flap into the garden and back in, and up to see Jimmy and generally decided life might have got back to something like normal, had the kettle boiling, had found a packet of porridge oats and made Jimmy a bowlful, Jimmy had been to the bathroom and flung some cold water on his face and dabbed it dry and run a comb very tenderly through his hair, desperate to avoid the spots on his scalp, and was back in bed.

‘Why, that looks better. Now sit up and eat this. No argument. I like my porridge with golden syrup so I’ve put some on for you.’

She left him and went downstairs to do some bits of washing up he’d left. She wrinkled her nose at his carefree bachelor ways but manfully battled on with her tidying up.

A quarter of an hour later she was seated on his bedroom chair, watching him drinking the last of his tea. ‘There, you must feel better. So you’ve got chickenpox.’

‘You realise why you’ve got the chickenpox, I suppose?’

‘No.’

‘Because you’ve opposed the dig. That’s why, according to all the pundits who reckon they know it all.’

‘It could be that. It could, yer know. There’s stranger things ’ave ’appened, believe me.’

‘You’re soft in the head if you think that, Jimmy Glover.’

Jimmy smiled. ‘You can scoff, but I bet they’re right. Anyway, thanks for helping. I should be up and about tomorrow.’

‘You haven’t got rid of me yet. I shall cook a nice meal this evening and you shall partake of it. A nourishing chicken casserole, I think. On my way back from walking Sykes I’ll call in at Jimbo’s and see what he’s got.’ She stood up, brushed down her skirt, picked up his tray and noted with satisfaction that he’d eaten all his porridge. ‘You look as if you need a sleep. Snuggle down. Sykes and I shan’t be back till the casserole’s ready, so you can relax. I won’t lock the front door. Your cupboards look a bit bare of the essentials so I’ll take the liberty of getting a few things for you. Jimbo will put it on the slate. Take care.’ She didn’t tell him he was as white as a sheet between his spots, nor that his long thin face was even thinner; he really was a sickly sight.

After she’d taken Sykes for his walk and become thoroughly wet, even though she’d worn her waterproofs, she tied him up outside the Store and went in.

‘Good afternoon, Linda. I can’t be long, I’ve tied Sykes up outside and he’s not best pleased.’

‘Sykes?’

‘Yes. Jimmy’s ill with the chickenpox so I’m caring for him. Is Jimbo about?’

‘He is, he’s in his office, he said to call if it got busy.’ She pressed her thumb on her emergency bell. One press for Jimbo’s presence, two presses for a serious emergency. Jimbo came bustling through from the back immediately. ‘Mother!’ He kissed her on both cheeks as she preferred and said, ‘Thank heavens we’ve got a customer; it’s been so quiet this morning.’

‘No wonder with this chickenpox. Jimmy’s got it now and he’s been very poorly. The silly man didn’t ring anyone so I’ve only just found out. I can’t be long, I’m soaking wet. I’m making a chicken casserole for Jimmy, so have you fresh chicken today?’

Just as she was about to pay for Jimmy’s groceries Sylvia came shopping for the Rectory. She shook her umbrella vigorously and put it in the umbrella stand so kindly provided by Jimbo. ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Charter-Plackett. The weather doesn’t improve, does it. They’ve had to stop the dig, everything being so wet.’

‘Oh, good! I’m glad.’

‘You’re one of the ones who doesn’t approve, then?’

‘I was at Willie’s meeting.’

‘Were you indeed?’

‘Didn’t you know?’