A Village Feud (20 page)

Fortunately for her Caroline was in and they settled down to an involved talk over the best subjects for the proposed Beauty Evening. Thank heavens, thought Jenny, a glass of wine. They’d arrived at the conclusion that a facial, some Indian head massage, and make-up hints would be the best subjects to build the evening around. But she and Caroline were still debating if they had got the programme sufficiently interesting and had just refilled their glasses to keep the ideas flowing when Beth walked in. She was carrying a glass of apple juice and asked if she could join them.

Jenny patted the sofa cushion next to her. ‘Sit here. I say, would you be a model for me?’

‘A model? For what?’

‘A young teenage daughter going to a party and me using you to teach mother how best to advise her and make her up. You’ve a lovely clear skin and stunning eyes. Wouldn’t make you look tarty; that wouldn’t be right, would it? What do you say?’

‘Where would it be?’

‘In the small village hall, for the Women’s Institute Beauty Evening.’

‘When is it?’

‘Monday next week, at seven for seven-thirty. The Women’s Institute isn’t a load of old grandma’s, is it Caroline?’

‘No, but I don’t think it’s really Beth’s cup of tea, is it, darling? I think perhaps she isn’t quite ready for that kind of thing.’

Beth protested. ‘No, it isn’t my kind of thing, not really, but—’

Desperate to reassure her Caroline said very positively, ‘Don’t fret, Beth, that’s absolutely OK.’

Jenny thought differently. ‘Look, ten minutes and it’s all over and you go home looking dazzling. Go on, give it a try. Please?’ Jenny’s beautiful smile, which had captivated Jimbo and Muriel, won the day.

‘I will. But on the night I might—’

‘Don’t you worry about nerves, I’ll see you’re OK. Believe me.’ Jenny leapt to her feet and embraced Beth. ‘I’m so glad you’ll do it. So glad. You won’t need to speak, not a word. Dottie has volunteered very bravely to be the older woman. What fun it’s going to be.’

Caroline rather felt things had been taken out of her hands, but at the same time was very grateful for Jenny’s positive approach.

‘I think we’ll do you first, Beth, then the facial, and then move on to the thirty-year-old make-up, then the aromatherapy, then the sixty-year-old make-up, that’s Dottie. It’s going to be so interesting. Brilliant. The Indian head massage can come last and they can all have a go at that, working on each other.’ She clapped her hands together with delight. ‘There, I’d better go. I’ll have a word at the weekend, Beth, in case you have any questions. Right?’

‘Right.’ Beth stood up. ‘Thanks for the offer.’

‘It’s a pleasure. Night, Caroline. I’ll write out the programme then you’ll know what’s happening seeing as you’re programme secretary.’ She left in a swirl of excitement every bit of which left her the moment she exited the Rectory.

She had Andy to face. How angry might he be? The few steps it took her to reach their house gave her no time to settle her nerves. Her heart was fluttering like a butterfly’s wings.

Key in door.

Key out.

Close door.

Silence. She slung her key on the hall stand and went to make their evening meal. A glance at the clock told her it was getting late. An omelette, cheese, no ham, green salad and new boiled potatoes would have to do.

She began clattering about in the kitchen and soon had the meal organized. As the new potatoes came up to the boil she heard Andy’s footsteps coming down the stairs. Jenny called out brightly, ‘Hi! Who was it at the door earlier?’

He came to the kitchen door and Jenny glanced round at him. ‘Who was it?’

‘You know damn well who it was.’

‘How could I?’

‘Because they’d been here earlier in the day.’

‘Had they?’

Andy moved deliberately to place himself between her and the cooker. ‘It was the police, not at all satisfied that I’ve nothing to do with the poison pen letters nor the damage to the Store. Very, very curious they were. Poking about in all corners of my life and I don’t like it. What did you say to them?’ His right hand gripped her wrist and twisted her flesh slightly. ‘Well?’

‘Leave go of my wrist. You’re hurting me.’

‘That’s nothing to what I shall be doing shortly. Tell me! Tell me what you said.’

Jenny began to shake from head to toe. ‘Let me go, then I’ll tell you.’

‘Tell me.’ Gripping her wrist as he did made it really hurt when he shook her till her head rattled back and forth. Her hip hit the edge of the cooker and she came close to knocking the pan with the potatoes bubbling and spitting in it because they needed the gas turning lower.

‘Let me lower the gas, they’ll be boiled to pulp at this rate.’

Momentarily he released his grip while she adjusted the flame. But then Andy gripped both her wrists even tighter. ‘Tell me what you said.’

‘Honestly. I told them exactly what you told me to say. Word for word.’

‘If you did, why were they even more suspicious than before?’

‘I don’t know what you’re so worried about seeing as it isn’t you who broke the windows or threw the paint.’ A curious expression came over his face and Jenny saw the truth in a flash. ‘It
was
you. It was you. And the poison pen letters, too? I can’t believe it of you. Whatever did you do it for? And you made me lie to the police. How
could
you. Just let go of me.
Please
.’

Blast. She shouldn’t have pleaded. The light in his eyes grew more intense, more hateful. It had only made him more dangerous.

He twisted his grip on her flesh and it made her squeal. ‘Let go of me. Let go of me.’ But then because of the agonies she was suffering she had to say please again and he almost licked his lips with a kind of deep satisfaction and squeezed her wrist even more cruelly. Now she was beginning to grovel because the pain was so severe. ‘Please, Andy. You love me, why are you hurting me like this?’

Somehow the more she pleaded the more he enjoyed hurting her. Her pleading excited him and he enjoyed his power. The stupid bitch. The stupid, stupid bitch. How he hated her long nails the colour of blood, the immaculate make-up, the long, vivid peroxided hair, her waxed legs, her intense concentration on her personal hygiene when he really rather liked a more relaxed earthy approach. He tightened his grip on her wrists, then kicked her shins, both of them, very hard, and enjoyed the shuddering response she gave. This was power and he had her right where he wanted her.

In desperation Jenny began to kick Andy’s ankles and twisted and turned as she struggled furiously to escape. Her elbow caught the pan handle and as the pan tipped over, the potatoes and the boiling water shot out and caught Andy’s bare arm before they spattered to the floor. The shock of the scald finally threw Andy’s escalating emotions clean out of control. He clamped his hands around her throat while she was preoccupied with rubbing life back into her hands. Tighter and tighter. Stronger and stronger. He revelled in the choking sounds she made, the scrabbling of her blood-red nails on the backs of his hands, the desperate gasps then the silence as her body collapsed in his grip and the two of them fell to the floor amongst the scalding water and the still firm potatoes.

He disentangled himself from her body and stood up in the confined space between the cooker and the kitchen table. He examined the redness of the scald on his arm, tested the fingers which had gripped her throat so tightly and then looked down at Jenny. Jenny Wren he used to call her. His Jenny Wren. He bent down and pressed two fingers to the side of her throat. There wasn’t even a flicker of a pulse. Not a flicker. So he’d done it. He’d killed her.

Had he meant to? For a brief moment he had, when she’d said, ‘Why are you hurting me like this?’ What power he’d had at that moment. It had been a pleasure at the end as the life went from her; he’d felt it ebb away like a tide going out, slowly but inevitably.

The new moon was completely obscured by heavy black clouds that night. The Met Office had forecast a clear cloudless night, but in Turnham Malpas the rain came flooding down, accompanied by almost ceaseless rumbles of thunder interspersed with massive flashes of lightning. The chimney stack on number three was struck and the beck on the spare land began overflowing its banks, reaching the back fences of Hipkin Gardens in no time at all. Lightning struck the church steeple and the most enormous crack of thunder anyone had ever heard terrified every single person in Turnham Malpas. No one could sleep. Lights went on while they all made restorative cups of tea and it wasn’t until four o’clock that the storm abated and they could snatch some sleep in what was left of the night.

Jimbo, Harriet, Fran and Grandmama were all up keeping an eye on Turnham Beck, which ran past the end of their garden. By the time the rain stopped, the beck had flooded right to the edge of the patio. That had never happened in all the years they’d been living in Turnham Malpas.

Harriet shuddered. ‘I don’t like this at all. Everything’s going wrong. This is a sign.’

Grandmama, tough and determined, pooh-poohed her fears. ‘Heavens above. It’s only a storm, for goodness’ sake. Let’s finish our tea and go back to bed. Fran, you’re all right, aren’t you?’

‘I’m for bed. Thank goodness it’s stopped. Night-night, everybody.’

But Jimbo, already jittery about life in general, couldn’t help but feel that the storm was ominous, and went to bed braced for worse to come.

Dottie had an appointment for another massage with Jenny the following morning after she’d finished at the Rectory and was really looking forward to it.

Beth asked her, ‘Dottie, do you think I would enjoy a massage?’

‘Depends how much money you have to spare, it’s not cheap.’ She put down her cup of tea and rested her elbows on the kitchen table.

‘Well, I have lots of spending money because I’m not spending any, am I? And if I haven’t enough I know Alex would lend me some. Do you really feel better after it, relaxed kind of?’

‘Definitely. Seems to soothe the mind, and after last night that’s just what I could do with. It was godawful, wasn’t it, all that rain?’

‘Yes, but thunder doesn’t frighten me. Nor lightning. Does it frighten you?’

‘Well, I admit it does. Sounds like the heavens are angry with human beings and they’re letting them know. You won’t believe it but Penny Fawcett didn’t get a drop of rain, and them so close. They could hear it, apparently, cos it was so loud, but they had no rain at all and nothing was struck by lightning. It’s funny, isn’t it? A storm meant only for us. I wonder what we did to deserve it.’ Dottie stood up. ‘No good. Got to go or I won’t be finished in time for my appointment.’

‘OK. I’ll clear up.’

But when Dottie went to ring Jenny’s bell dead on the dot of twelve there was no reply. That seemed odd because Jenny was going to go through what she was doing to Dottie for the Beauty Evening, just to make her feel relaxed about it then there’d be no nasty surprises. But she rang the bell three times and still no reply. Dottie was certain it was twelve o’clock. She checked her watch, checked her diary. Yes, she was right. No Jenny, then.

She stepped back from the doorstep and glanced up at the windows. Not a sign of life. Then suddenly the front door burst open and there stood Andy. He looked haggard, and, oddly, he was wearing gardening gloves. His shirt-sleeves, usually rolled up to the elbow, were down by his wrists.

‘Sorry … Dottie, isn’t it? Jenny’s not at all well. Sorry I couldn’t let you know earlier. Got this flu thing that’s going about, nasty. Won’t be ready to go back to work before next week at the earliest.’

‘Oh dear! I am sorry. What does the doctor say?’

Andy paused as though recollecting what had been said. ‘Three or four days in bed at least. So …’ He shrugged and began to close the door.

‘Give her my love and say I hope she’ll soon be better. I’ll ring next week to make another appointment. Bye! Let you get back to your gardening.’

Andy looked puzzled, then looked down at his gloves and said, ‘Oh! Yes. Get the weeds out while the ground’s wet.’

Dottie stood outside thinking. He could have let her know. She’d so looked forward to it. You’d think he could give her a call. Then she remembered that she wasn’t on the phone like everyone else so how could he have rung. How daft can you get? She could have kicked herself.

But for some reason it didn’t smell right. He didn’t smell right. The whole thing didn’t smell right. Dottie wondered why someone as nice as Jenny with her lovely smile had married a man like Andy. Dottie’s mother would have called Andy a lying hound. He wouldn’t know the truth if he met it in the street.

Then it hit her. What about the Beauty Evening with the Women’s Institute? More than likely she wouldn’t be fit enough to do it if it was real flu.

Dottie spun round on her heel and went straight back to the Rectory.

‘Sorry, Doctor Harris, but it’s me again. I’ve just been to Jenny’s for a massage and believe it or not she’s in bed with flu. They’ve had the doctor and he says three or four days in bed before she even thinks of putting a foot to the floor. So it looks as though the Beauty Evening is off, doesn’t it? Thought I’d better let you know.’