A Village Feud (5 page)

‘And you, Greta.’

‘Mother. What can I get for you?’

‘A coffee from that miraculous machine of yours and then I want to choose a welcome-to-your-new-home card, please, for Sheila. Oh! And one for Louise, too. Cream no sugar.’

Angie Turner, who’d followed her into the Store, sat down beside her with a coffee in her hand.

‘I’ve been hearing things.’

‘You have?’ said Grandmama.

Angie nodded her bottle-blonde hair and pursed her lips. ‘Things I shouldn’t be hearing. About the Reverend Anna.’

‘What about her?’

‘That you’ve had the most enormous row with her and you stormed out.’

Grandmama chose her words carefully. ‘I did storm out but we didn’t have the most enormous row, I don’t know where that came from. We’re simply incompatible, that’s all. So Harriet very kindly offered me a home for the duration. My cottage isn’t large enough for two self-opinionated women.’ She gave Angie a smile to soften her words.

‘I can believe that. Colin and I get on really well most of the time, it’s only when disciplining the boys crops up that we have different opinions. He’d let them do anything, but I’m not having it. I like to be able to take my boys anywhere at all and they behave well and don’t show me up.’

‘Quite right. You’re quite right.’

The door bell jangled furiously and in came Jenny Sweetapple. Well, Grandmama assumed it must be she because she was entirely new and couldn’t be missed on a foggy night by a blind man. Her hair was the most alarming peroxide blonde and there was lots of it, which, when they all got to know her better, she swore was natural. It was swirled up into a vast chignon on top of her head and added at least four inches to her height. Dangling earrings filled the space between the chignon and her shoulders. Jenny wore a loosely crocheted sweater in a multitude of purples and acid pinks, black velvet trousers and heavy clumpy shoes more fit for the Himalayas than Turnham Malpas.

‘Hi!’

Grandmama hated that word, but she graciously replied with a clipped, ‘Good morning.’

Angie returned the ‘hi’ and smiled.

‘Coffee! Where do I pay?’ Jenny pressed all the wrong buttons, left a pool of coffee on the machine, dropped the sugar packet on the floor instead of in the waste basket and looked around to pay.

‘You don’t, it’s free. One of the few things in this world that is. You must be Jenny Sweetapple.’ Grandmama reached out her hand to shake Jenny’s and found her grip warm and strong. Jenny smiled a sweet, all-embracing smile, revealing slightly crooked teeth that gave her a vulnerable look.

‘And you’re …?’

‘Mrs Charter-Plackett.’

Jenny frowned as though the name meant something to her but she couldn’t remember why.

Angie Turner introduced herself and welcomed Jenny to the village.

‘Thank you. Everyone has been so kind to us. We’re really looking forward to living here and getting to know everyone. I’ve met your holy Joe already; she called yesterday while the van was still here. Nice person, but no thanks.’ She tossed her head and smiled brightly, looking as though she thought herself very up to the minute by rejecting Anna’s way of life.

‘I see,’ replied Grandmama ‘Well, it’s certain you’ll find no better Village Store anywhere else in the world than this one. There’s everything you need and more. If it isn’t here it will be, almost before you leave the Store. That right, Angie?’

‘Oh, yes. Do you work, Jenny?’

‘I do actually. I’m setting up a massage parlour …’ She rambled on but Grandmama didn’t hear a word, she was too scandalized. A massage parlour? Did she think this was Soho? Whatever next?

She interrupted Jenny’s flow and, in her most superior voice, declared, ‘I hardly think a massage parlour is suitable here. Have you got council permission to open up a business in a private house?’

‘Well, no. But that doesn’t matter. It’ll only be small. I might have a discreet board outside advertising what I do, and it won’t affect the traffic or anything; they won’t be queueing out the door.’ Jenny giggled.

‘I should hope not,’ Grandmama snapped.

Angie Turner looked interested. ‘My Colin always has tension in his neck and shoulders. Is that the kind of thing you mean?’

‘Of course. Any aches and pains, sports injuries, anything like that. Aromatherapy, reflexology. I’ve done all the courses.’

‘I like the idea of aromatherapy,’ said Angie, ‘all relaxing and that. With my three boys I need to relax more. Are you all set up?’

Jenny sipped her coffee. ‘Not yet. I’ll let you know. Have you heard of the name Sweetapple before? I’m supposed to have relatives in a village nearby. Dereham Magna, I think it’s called. They say my grandparents came from there.’

Wryly Grandmama answered, ‘You’re a bit late to be looking up relatives. The village disappeared after the Plague, something like six hundred years ago.’

Jenny looked uncomfortable and rapidly changed the subject. ‘Oh. Well, I’ll just catch the Post Office while there’s no queue.’ She dropped her empty paper cup in the basket but it missed by a mile.

Grandmama raised her eyebrows at Angie, got up and cleared up the mess Jenny had left behind. Scathingly she commented, ‘Some people have been dragged up not brought up.’

Jenny left with a bundle of notes.

‘She’s on benefit. How are they managing to buy their own house? Lucky them.’ Angie went to do her shopping.

Grandmama carefully placed her empty cup in the waste basket, chose her welcome-to-your-new-home cards, paid for them and went home to Harriet, then remembered she wouldn’t be in all day and recollected she’d intended to go home to pick up a few things. She tutted at her forgetfulness and sat down to watch morning TV before deciding it was a load of rubbish. Who in their right mind wanted mauve walls and lime green curtains with some dried twigs stuck in a vase and three squares of blue paint pretending to be pictures in their sitting room, or had they called it a lounge? She shuddered, closed her eyes and fell asleep thinking about the odd expression that Jenny had on her face when she’d said her name.

Later in the day she went back into the Store to find Harriet to ask if there was anything she could be doing towards their evening meal. A thin, and to her mind, wimpish man, was standing dithering about, obviously unable to make up his mind what to buy out of the desserts freezer, so she went across to offer him help.

‘Good afternoon. Can I help at all? You seem to be at a loss.’

‘Oh! Trying to decide what to buy. Jenny usually does this kind of thing, she’s so particular, you see.’

‘I can imagine. It’s a pudding you want?’

‘Well, yes. I’ll take this.’ He hoisted a great party-size cheesecake out and placed it in his basket.

‘You must be Jenny’s husband, then? How do you do, Mr Sweetapple? I met Jenny earlier. I hope you’ll be happy living here. And you? What do you do for a living?’

‘I’m in social work. My name’s Andy Moorhouse.’ He offered to shake hands. ‘And you’re …

‘Mrs Charter-Plackett.’

His head went back and then dropped right forward. He repeated the name, twice. It appeared to ring bells with him and she waited for him to say something but he didn’t.

‘Yes, that’s right. My son owns this place.’ She waved her hand around. ‘It’s excellent, isn’t it, for a Village Store?’

‘It is indeed.’

She pointed at his cheesecake. ‘Don’t you think that’s a little large for two? There is a smaller size.’

‘Perhaps you’re right.’ But he didn’t change it.

At this moment Jimbo came out from the back carrying a crate of oranges and began stacking them on the green grocery display. While his back was turned to the till, Andy Moorhouse scuttled off to pay for his outsize cheesecake and disappeared on winged feet. The Store bell scarcely stirred as he slipped out.

What a curious man, all kind of slippery and unfathomable. She really didn’t care for him at all. He looked as though he needed a good scrub down with a bar of carbolic soap followed by a large plate of dumpling stew. For the second time that day she shuddered. Andy Moorhouse? Then he wasn’t married to Jenny, was he? Now that she really didn’t agree with. Just one great big con to get his meals made and his socks washed without any obligation of any kind. No doubt they declared their love for each other and agreed they were so special there was no need for a piece of paper to seal their bond. But life had taught her that wasn’t always how it worked. She disliked him even more.

*

Andy slipped home with his cheesecake, cutting across the Green without for one moment considering the wet grass and that place where the ground went very soggy with water from a drain which didn’t merit any attention from the council. In any case, that patch had been soggy for eighty years that they knew of.

Jenny shrieked, ‘We’re not made of money, whatever made you buy one as big as that? Here, give it to me.’ She snatched it from him, speedily slashed and hacked it in half and then half again, wrapped three-quarters of it in clingfilm and banged it in the freezer. The remaining piece was thrown on a plate to thaw. ‘Shan’t send you shopping again, mark my words I won’t.’

Andy ignored her. He picked up the newspaper and sat down in front of the fire to read it.

‘Well, cat got your tongue?’

He gave the paper a shake, a significant kind of shake, and flicked her a mysterious look over the top of it. She snatched it from him and asked, ‘You’ve got news. I can tell. What is it?’

‘That’s for me to know and you to find out.’

She began tickling him mercilessly, till he was rolling about in the chair incapable of avoiding her slender fingers with their long, square nails.

‘All right, all right! Stop it. Stop it!’

Breathless, Jenny flung herself down in the chair opposite him, caught a stray lock which had escaped the chignon and said, ‘Well, spill the beans.’

At this moment the doorbell rang and Jenny got up to see who it was, but the door had already opened and a face was looking round the door calling out, ‘It’s Caroline Harris, come to welcome you.’

‘Oh! Please, do come in.’

‘I live next door and thought I should pop in to make myself known. I’ve brought a cake. I didn’t make it, Sylvia did; she helps me. I do hope you haven’t got allergies or anything and can’t eat cake.’ Caroline smiled so fetchingly that Jenny was quite bowled over.

‘We both love cake. Thank you very much indeed. Andy! We’ve been given a cake. A sponge, I think, your favourite. I’m not much good at baking cakes, so it will be a nice change for Andy.’ That stray lock of hair fell down again and while she attended to it she sat the cake on top of a great pile of books stacked on the hall table. ‘Andy!’ This time she shrieked his name.

Andy appeared, dishevelled and still breathless from their tickling session. He held out his hand for Caroline to shake. Which she did and then, Jenny noticed, surreptitiously wiped her hand on the side of her skirt. That angered her.

‘So what do you do to justify your existence … Caroline, is it?’

‘Yes, that’s right. At the moment nothing except look after my twins. But I am actually a doctor and will be back at work when I’m able.’

‘How old are the twins?’

‘Beth and Alex are thirteen.’

Jenny noticed Caroline beginning to look defensive. ‘They need you at home, do they, at their age?’

‘For the moment, yes.’ Caroline began to make her exit. ‘I hope you enjoy the cake, Sylvia’s well known for her baking. I’ll see you around, then. Bye-bye Jenny, Bye, Andy.’ The smile Caroline gave them both was pleasing, but it made Jenny’s resentment mount.

‘Lady Bountiful! Didn’t even make the cake herself. Who does she think she is?’

Andy, rather taken with Caroline’s manner, said, ‘Hush up. She was only trying to be friendly in the best way she knew. She’s a lady, believe it or not, which you won’t recognize being as you’re not one.’

Jenny playfully lashed out at him with her foot and kicked his ankle. ‘Doctor indeed. I bet. Didn’t mention her husband, did she? Maybe he’s given up on her toffee-nosed attitude and done a bunk.’

‘Then again, maybe not. So I still haven’t told you about what happened in the Store. Go on, then,’ Andy settled himself in his chair and pointed at Jenny. ‘Sit down.’

Jenny took a tube of moisturiser from the mantelpiece and began idly spreading it over her arms and hands, rubbing it in with practised sensual fingers, ignoring Andy. Then she began on her legs, smoothing the cream on almost to the tops of her thighs. It was only when he said ‘… got away with it because she withdrew her accusation before it came to court. But I know for a fact she was paid off because she gave me my commission.’

Jenny’s ears pricked up. ‘Paid off for what?’

‘For what she said he’d done.’

Jenny screwed the cap back on the bottle. ‘But what had he done?’

‘What do you think?’

She hadn’t been listening, her mind occupied with her limbs, so she said what appeared appropriate. ‘No!’

‘But yes. Vowed it wasn’t what she said it was and with her withdrawing her accusation he got off scot-free. He won’t want that story getting round the village, will he now? Not well-placed Mr Jimbo Charter-Plackett.’