Never Too Late (3 page)

“Did she have no family then?” Jean asked.

“Her brother was in the RAF,” Ada told her, “shot down over the Channel in the Battle of Britain. Her sister never came back from London where she’d trained as a nurse. She married one of the doctors in Guy’s Hospital. They had 3 children, goodness knows how many grandchildren, who sometimes visit, but not often.” She paused, her eyes unfocussed, as she tried to imagine life without her family close by, then shook herself back to the present.

“Her parents, of course, are long since dead. They were getting on a bit even when Hilda was born – she was a bit of a surprise to everyone, making her appearance six years after her mother thought she was safe. There were two older sisters but they died of scarlet fever when they were little – the vaccine came just too late for them. I suppose there must be uncles, aunts, cousins somewhere but I’ve never heard Hilda speak of them.”

“It must be quite a comfort to her, then, to have Sarah live with her now,” Frank added. “You’d think she’d be more careful not to upset her.”

“If I remember rightly she moved in with Hilda about the same time we came to the village,” Jean reminded her husband.

“That’s right,” Ada confirmed. “Sarah moved in when she retired after 40 years’ service.”

“So what did she retire from?” Frank asked.

“How come she never got married either?” his wife wanted to know.

“Oh, she was a Norland nanny,” Ada told them, with a degree of pride. “She had the best training and so got the best jobs. All her working life she lived in luxurious houses and went with her families on vacation all over the world.

“Her first position was with Lord Sampford no less. Imagine that – a lass from the village living in Sampford Park. Paris in the spring, Italy in the summer, skiing in Switzerland… oh, the tales she has to tell. If you can ever catch her away from Hilda that is. And the post she still gets from her ‘children’ – well, you know well enough, being postmistress, how many correspondents she has – that has to be a testament to how much the children she cared for loved her, and still do now they’re all adults.”

“What a shame she never had a family of her own.” Jean took a final look at the two elderly spinsters as they left the mobile library that always stopped by the green on a Thursday, and continued on their way home. “Can’t you just imagine Sarah as a grandmother, a nice plump lap for the grandchildren to cuddle into while she cleans up a grazed knee or reads a story?”

Frank watched his wife go back down to the post office counter with Ada, knowing she was thinking of the imminent arrival of their own first grandchild. Perhaps it was as well their Jenny and her husband had not been able to either afford a house in the village or find work close enough for them to be looking for help buying one. They had never been able to deny their Jenny anything she wanted, as so often happened with an only child he supposed, so would have been mortgaged to the hilt on her behalf if that had been the case. Nor would he ever get the help he needed in the shop if a grandchild lived just down the road.

“They’ll have got into their own routines and learned to rub along together like an old married couple by now,” he heard his wife saying. He smiled, content with being part of ‘an old married couple’. It would soon be their silver anniversary, which would coincide with twenty years here in the village, and, if the doctors were right about his Jenny’s dates, with the start of a new generation in the family too. Now that had to be worth planning a decent celebration for!

*

Just look at the time, Maggie worried as she dropped Ken off at his house. The supermarket shop would have taken no more than half an hour by herself, but she hadn’t had the heart to hurry him, knowing how much he enjoyed the looking as much as the buying. So many items inspected and replaced, so many comparisons before a decision could be made. “See you soon Ken,” she called as he took the last of the bags out of the boot.

“Won’t you come in for a while?” he asked her. “I have something for you.”

After another surreptitious glance at her watch – well gone two already - she gave in gracefully. He did so like to give something in return so as not to be beholden. “Just for a little while, Ken,” she said, turning off the ignition. “I have to get some flowers to the church yet.”

They went round the side to the kitchen entrance to his cottage. On the table ready for her was a cloth-lined wicker basket containing some scrubbed new potatoes and some slightly withered looking apples.

“There you go,” Ken told her proudly. “The first and the last.” He indicated the potatoes. “Those are the very first crop of the early variety, Maris Bard. Most folk will have to wait another month or more for them, but I keep a few under glass through the winter with plenty of rotting manure to keep the soil warm and encourage them along.”

He handed her an apple. “And the last. Just smell that,” he told her. “The essence of autumn. Lovely.” He watched carefully for her reaction to the apple that had once been handsome, flushed with red and orange, but was rather wrinkled now. “Now, for eating they’re best used by December, but very few apples make an Apple Charlotte as well as a Blenheim Orange and I’ve kept these wrapped in straw, cool, dark and dry.”

“Thank you, Ken,” Maggie said, taking the basket. “I shall really enjoy those.”

“1740 they started growing them,” he told her. “No need for anyone in this country to go buying those French golden delicious that are anything but delicious – bland pap! Apples like these have stood the test of time and our climate is ideal for the hundreds of varieties we have. Do you have any idea how many varieties are only maintained in one or two orchards now? It’s criminal, buying in all these foreign apples when our own are so much better.”

Oh dear, Maggie thought. She’d be here for hours if she let him get going on one of his hobby horses. “You really must tell me all about them some time,” she managed to slide in edgewise. “Perhaps a talk for the WI would be well received? But I really must go now or the ladies in the church will be waiting.”

Ken recollected himself. “Of course, of course.” He held the door open for her. “If you bring that basket back when you’ve finished with it I’m sure I can always manage a refill for you.”

“Thanks, Ken. I’ll bring you round a portion of the Apple Charlotte.”

Ken didn’t bother much with cooking since he was widowed. He’d learned enough culinary skills to keep body and soul together but ‘fancy stuff’, ie anything needing more than one pan, didn’t feature much in his repertory. “I look forward to that. I’ll have some endives for you then, and there’s a bit of the forced rhubarb left too.”

He waved her off, well content with his outing. Maggie, meanwhile, was frantically rearranging her day’s plan. A quick dash home, she decided, to at least unpack the (hopefully still) frozen items in her shopping, gather some of the daffodils and tulips from the garden and take them and the bought flowers to the church. She should still make it by 3 o’clock. That would put her back on schedule for popping in to the school to sort out what was needed for the Easter Parade for the children, but the rest of the day’s plan would need to be thought about later. ‘Plan’, she thought ruefully. Why did even her best laid plans always end up with a depth charge under them?

*

The ‘flower ladies’ were busy refilling the vases with fresh water when Maggie arrived at the church. Their chatter sounded like the twittering of birds.

“Ah, good, the flowers,” Sarah called as she noticed Maggie come in.

“About time too,” was Hilda’s comment as she took two matching vases to the altar steps ready to start creating her famous paired displays, one for each side. Her arrangements were always in prime position, visible to the whole congregation. In fairness they always were indisputably the best, but Maggie sometimes thought it would be nice for the commitment of the other ladies to be recognised with an occasional turn in the A1 spot.

“Sorry I’m a bit late,” Maggie apologised.

“Don’t you worry,” Sarah patted her hand. “It’s only ten past. We’ve hardly got our coats off yet.”

“I’m afraid I didn’t have time to gather any greenery, though.”

Phillipa Rose, the GP’s wife, overheard and picked up her secateurs. “I’ll pop out and get us some,” she told them. “Won’t take long – there’s plenty just round the churchyard.”

Phillipa was a placid, unflappable soul and had been a real boon to her husband. She’d been his wife, confidante and receptionist for nearly forty years. She knew everyone in the village, and just about everything going on in their lives, but was the soul of discretion. Her big battle now was to convince her husband to take on a junior partner so that they could at least semi-retire. Outright retirement was out of the question. She knew her darling Montie would wither unless he died in his boots.

The vicar popped his head round the vestry door and beckoned Maggie over. “Could I have your advice, if you’ve a few minutes spare?”

What on earth could he want her advice about?

“Shut the door would you?” he asked. Hilda had stopped working and was watching with great interest. He tapped the side of his nose and whispered to Maggie, “Don’t want certain family members to hear if I can help it.”

Maggie closed the door wondering what on earth could have happened.

“I’m asking you as the best seamstress in the village,” he held up two surplices. “Is there anything that can be done to salvage these or do we now have extra polishing rags?”

Maggie took them for a close inspection of the rips and grass stains. “Let me guess,” she said, looking up at him. “Jules?”

Carl smiled. “Got it in one,” he agreed. “Just a minor altercation, really, but Timmy wouldn’t let it rest and Jules stood up for himself.”

“Good for him,” Maggie applauded. “That’s a very necessary skill in this life.”

Carl took her hand. “It’s not one you’ve ever mastered, though, is it?”

“Oh, I get by,” she assured him, but she didn’t sound convincing, even to herself. She found she had subconsciously crossed her arms defensively.

He gently held the tops of her arms. “Look at me, Maggie,” he ordered her.

Reluctantly she raised her eyes to his. Dark brown eyes always looked so kind and trustworthy, she thought.

Carl took a deep breath. “You do know I’m always available if you want to talk something over, don’t you Maggie? I’m not just a provider of Sunday services you know.”

She gave a small laugh. “I know, Carl, and I’ll bear it in mind if I need you.”

“Don’t bottle things up too long,” he admonished her. “Kept locked away worries can poison your soul. Share them with a friend and once they’re acknowledged and out in the open they can be dealt with.”

Maggie fluttered her hands. “What worries could I possibly have that are so deep and dark?”

Carl looked at her with concern. He’d noticed how little Iain was in evidence, and had heard various rumours on the clerical grapevine. “Back to work then. But come to me when you’re ready.”

He opened the door and Maggie tucked the surplices into her capacious ‘Mary Poppins’ bag before returning to flower duties.

When they had finished, the church was looking lovely, ready for another week of worship. The ladies made their farewells, Sarah, Hilda and Phillipa heading for the path to the village, Maggie going round the side to her car.

She got to the end of the lane and was about to turn left towards home when she remembered she had said she’d pop in on Ada Riley today. She turned right and made for Ada’s cottage, wondering how long she’d be there.

“Cooee! Ada!” she called as she opened the back door. Ada preferred her callers to just go straight in as her rheumatism made her rather slow to get out of her chair if it was at all chilly or damp.

“In here, Maggie,” Ada called her.

Maggie went through the kitchen to the back sitting room. Ada kept to the old way of the front room being kept ‘for best’.

“Slowly now,” Ada warned her. She was stood just behind the curtain, looking out into the garden. Maggie approached and looked over Ada’s shoulder. “Just look at those blue tits, back and forth non-stop for the meal worms. They must have an early brood hatched.”

 “An early brood that will have no trouble surviving with the amount you spend on feeding the birds,” Maggie said teasingly.

“Well, I don’t get out much now. It’s nice to see a bit of life in the garden.”

They watched together as a group of sparrows gathered on the roof of the shed, squabbling amongst themselves before agreeing to visit the bird table. It really was better than some of the wildlife TV programmes, watching them leap out over the edge, with only a very last split second flutter of wings to halt their fall.

Ada shuffled stiffly over to the kitchen. “Come and have a cup of tea and a slice of cake,” she told Maggie. “It’s warmer here by the range.”

Ada started her ritual with pot, loose tea leaves, cosy and the family heirloom silver strainer that sat in its own matching little bowl. Maggie reached two robin’s egg blue cups and saucers down from a cupboard and sat at the table. Long standing routines were very comforting and Ada never varied this one.

She could see Ada was struggling a little today, but she said nothing. It was understood by Ada’s friends that her rheumatism, whether it was a good day or a bad day for it, was never mentioned. Ada maintained that she had it, it wouldn’t ever be cured, so accept it – end of story.

Once they were settled with tea and a slice each of rich fruit cake Maggie asked if there was anything Ada needed doing.

“No, dear, thanks for asking,” she told her. “I got out to the post office this morning and I’ve taken my time this afternoon, pottering around doing my ‘bits’. David said he’d come and sort the heavy digging in the garden over the Easter weekend. He’s a good son to me.”

Ada smiled, faded hazel eyes twinkling as she thought of him. “Complains about old bones aching more than I do.” She chuckled. “Elsie slaps him down fast enough though – ‘quit your nonsense and get on with it’ she’ll tell him. Eh, dear me! He wouldn’t have got so far with his business without Elsie to keep his nose to the grindstone, that’s for sure.” She shook her head and tucked a stray wisp of white hair behind her ear.