Past Praying For (22 page)

‘
Do you,’ suggested Margaret gently, ‘have grandparents?’ ‘Yeah, sure. Grandad and Sarah. They live in Brighton.’ That wasn’t such a dumb idea. Grandad was pretty old, but Hayley still paid attention to what he said.

‘
I could go round and see her, of course, if you thought it might help.’

He
looked awkward. ‘Well, maybe not. She isn’t exactly into that kind of thing. But I could phone Grandad, maybe; get them to come and see her. Though if he comes I’ll have to cut my hair and lose the earring if he’s not going to have a coronary and make things worse.’

‘
Oh, what a shame!’

To
his further amazement, the vicar was looking at his ponytail and silver skull earring with what seemed to be genuine approval.

‘
I do think it’s a splendid hairstyle – neat, becoming, and at the same time rebellious. All the things a young man’s hairstyle should be.’

‘
You’re a funny sort of vicar,’ was all he could think of to say.

She
laughed at him. ‘If you mean vicars are usually male and boring and stuffy I’ll take it as a compliment. But it’s a bit sad if you feel I’ve got to be conventional. Jesus certainly wasn’t; he was notorious for having a pretty rackety set of friends.’

He
felt thrown off balance, yet at the same time intrigued.

‘
I’ve never heard anyone put it quite like that before.’

‘
Do me a favour? Come along to my youth club when I get it going. I badly need some street cred, if it’s not to be composed of intensely respectable teenagers. And if you think respectable adults are boring, try talking to a teenager who was born aged fifty.’

‘
You didn’t warn me you were starting the sales pitch.’ She grinned, and when she did she suddenly looked a lot younger.

‘
OK, so it was an ambush. Think about it, will you?’

‘
I might.’

Unlike
every other adult of his acquaintance, she didn’t labour the point.

‘
Good,’ she said briskly. ‘And now I must go. I’ve got a lot to do today.’

He
noticed then that she was looking quite tired, very tired in fact. Then she was gone.

He
turned back towards the house, and his spirits, which had lifted, sank again.

***

When Margaret arrived home that afternoon, Minnie Groak had Robert backed against the wall at the far end of the kitchen. He looked afraid to move, like the victim of a knife-throwing act in the circus, as she shot questions at him, her sharp black eyes brilliant with curiosity.

Margaret
’s heart sank. She had told Minnie not to come in Christmas week, but after last night naturally Minnie would be round, rootling like a pig for whatever truffle of gossip she might unearth.

Minnie
came to ‘oblige’ at the vicarage for two hours every week. This was not an arrangement of Margaret’s making; Minnie was a trial inherited from the previous incumbent.

‘
But I don’t need a cleaner!’ Margaret had protested to John Anselm when he broached the subject. ‘I live alone, I don’t have obsessive standards and I can keep a doll’s house like this perfectly well on twenty minutes a day.’

‘
Well, that’s a mercy,’ he said, the corners of his mouth twitching. ‘Minnie doesn’t come to clean. Oh, she always gets the Hoover out, but in much the same way as they carry in the Mace to the House of Commons, without any expectation that it will be used.’

She
stared at him. ‘Then what on earth –’

He
held up his hand. ‘Ah. Minnie is your channel to and from what most of your well-heeled parishioners would probably term the sub-stratum of the village. That’s the small local industry of people who go to the big houses to clean, rather than to attend drinks parties, the ones who rarely come to church and if they do shuffle past crab-wise while you are being sidetracked by the “Nice, morning, vicar,” brigade.

‘
Minnie Groak knows about everyone and everything that goes on in this place. If anyone is in trouble, I’ll hear about it; if I want to make a point I can be sure it will be circulated in the right quarter. Of course, it’s a bit like keeping a Venus flytrap as a pet; she has a sordid appetite which must be fed, but there’s plenty of harmless stuff that will keep her happy.’

‘
So you pay her to come and gossip?’

He
sighed. ‘I suppose so, yes. It’s dirty work, my dear, but keeping one’s hands clean is a luxury which in our business you can’t afford.’

The
dreadful thing was, Margaret had begun to appreciate his argument. Reaching the have-nots in Stretton Noble was a serious problem, and she had not yet discovered a better way of making contact. Acceptance of the situation was not, however, enjoyment, and she had looked forward to the week’s respite.

‘
Minnie! I didn’t expect to see you,’ she said now with false brightness as she entered the kitchen. ‘Have you had a good Christmas?’

At
the prospect of a more promising quarry, Minnie turned and Robert, with impressive agility, dodged about her; greeting Margaret with the enigmatic words, ‘MacGregor! the grandest of them all’ he shot towards the kitchen door and freedom, muttering lines whose source Margaret registered vaguely as being ‘The Relief of Lucknow’, a childhood favourite.

Minnie
always arrived for work wearing a man’s raincoat, long, shabby and drooping. When she took it off, the impression remained; her slouching posture, her long thin arms and the grey drabness of her skin and clothing made it look as if she too might be suspended from a peg and ignored.

Only
her eyes and the loose, talkative mouth told a different story. As she switched her attention to Margaret, the floodgates opened.

‘
Well, that was a nice to-do last night, wasn’t it? What this place is coming to, God only knows – oops, sorry, vicar, but then, He does, I expect – and none of us able to sleep easy in our beds at night.’

She
sniffed, portentously. ‘Not but what we might have expected something, what with all the comings and goings this last bit. You might say it’s a judgment, but then it’s not them as deserves it that suffers, mostly. Still, that’s life, isn’t it?’

‘
Comings and goings?’ Margaret said feebly, finding herself as usual mesmerized against her will.

Minnie
’s rubbery lips curved in relish. ‘You know me, Miss Moon, never one to gossip,’ she said virtuously. ‘But being the vicar, it’s only right you should know.

‘
There’s some funny doings, that I can tell you, with all that lot; thick as thieves, they are, the Boltons and the McEvoys – she’s a poor soul, of course – and the Ferrars and that Mizz Cutler – no better than she should be, she isn’t. Sacked poor Tracy Weekes who did for her, didn’t she, just before Christmas – fine Christian time to do it, I said to Trace – and told her she was having to cut down. Well, according to Tracy there wasn’t much cutting down anywhere else, the drinks or the posh clothes. And just try asking my fine lady what it’s like up the reservoir of a morning – or of an evening, or any time she can get it – ’

‘
Minnie!’ Margaret protested.

‘
Oh, don’t go thinking I’m telling you what anyone else couldn’t tell you. That Mr McEvoy, of course –’

‘
I’m so sorry to hear about Tracy losing her job.’ Margaret at last managed to find her voice. ‘Is she all right, or is there anything I can do?’

Cut
off in full flow, Minnie subsided sulkily. ‘Oh, Tracy!’ she dismissed her. ‘That one’s just as happy signing on. Doesn’t know the meaning of hard work, she doesn’t.’

Ignoring
the Hoover standing in silent reproach at her side, Minnie changed tack.

‘
But you’ve been round talking to Mrs Bolton. Poor thing, all that happening. A dead man right on your doorstep; not very nice, that isn’t. All right, is she?’

‘
Yes, fine,’ Margaret said faintly. This was worse than usual, much worse; she felt too much sickened by this evidence of local prurience to pay her dues. ‘She’s being very brave. Now, Minnie, if I could leave you to do the kitchen, I’ve got a lot to get on with.’

Minnie
bridled. She had expected a better return on her investment of effort in coming today.

‘
That’s right, you go and shut yourself up, vicar,’ she said spitefully. ‘Better not to be about these days, not once it gets dark anyway, so I won’t be staying late. There’s queer goings-on, no doubt of it; people have seen shadows moving when they shouldn’t be, and there’s nothing to say that old man’s going to be the last.’

Margaret
had reached the door, but she turned. ‘What do you mean, Minnie? Do you know something? If you do, you should go to the police.’

Minnie
’s eyes, dull and opaque now, surveyed her malevolently. ‘Me? How would I know? Nobody ever tells me anything.’

With
which pointed remark she switched on the Hoover and fell to pushing it to and fro across the carpet tiles with a fine show of industry, ignoring the whistle indicating that the bag was already full.

***

Elizabeth McEvoy had no wish to go to the Golf Club Christmas Dance. It seemed so tasteless, somehow, but that consideration wouldn’t deter Piers. Nor could she tell him bluntly that the thought of dancing with him, held close with his hands moving insolently over her body, made her feel sick. He would mock as over-reaction her reluctance to go out, though in her fragile emotional state, she felt tears come to her eyes at the thought of abandoning her children. He certainly wouldn’t agonize over precious, delicate, vulnerable flesh. But wood burned too, and porcelain would crack and glass would shatter; he might fear for his own treasures, if she could hint at the threat from a faceless terror with a compulsion to incinerate, destroy...

‘
Do you think it’s wise to go out?’ she said. ‘It might be our turn next, and it would be awful if anything happened to the house.’

Piers
’s eyes did flicker with brief concern round the room with its exquisite furniture – the Louis Quinze commode, the William Kent mirror – and its lovingly-amassed paintings and porcelain. Then he snorted.

‘
We’ve got a baby-sitter, haven’t we? And there’s a smoke-detector in the hall, after all. She’s no mental giant but even she would surely notice if flames began licking round the legs of her chair. In any case, the village must be stiff with flat-feet; who’s going to try anything now?’

‘
They don’t think it’s murder. Patrick said they were all gone by five o’clock,’ she argued, but not hopefully.

Patrick
had phoned to say that they were calling off tonight. Suzanne was still upset, they were all suffering from lack of sleep and all that anyone wanted was an early night.

They
had not spoken since their meeting in the supermarket. With some constraint, Elizabeth said, ‘Poor Suzanne. It must have been awful, for all of you.’

Patrick
sighed. ‘Yes, poor Suzanne. She’s not like her usual self at all. Perhaps it’s an improvement.’

He
laughed. Elizabeth didn’t.

‘
Joke,’ he said. ‘It was a joke. I think.’

Then
his voice softened. ‘And you, Lizzie? How are you? Are you all right?’

‘
Oh, I’m fine, just fine,’ she tried to say brightly, but the genuine concern in his voice was her undoing, and her voice wobbled.

‘
Oh, Lizzie – ’ He broke off, and she could hear the harsh edge of frustration. ‘I can’t bear it that you’re upset, and not to be able to do anything, to have no right – ’

She
cut him short. ‘Patrick, there’s nothing you or anyone else can do. I’m just so worried by all this.’

‘
Aren’t we all?’ he said grimly. ‘To be honest, I’m not sure how I would cope with another night like last night, and Suzanne would simply fall apart.’

‘
But surely you’ve had your turn?’

‘
Who knows? The police certainly don’t.’

She
asked briefly about the progress of the enquiry, then rang off. She had problems enough at the moment without adding guilt about possible disloyalty.

But
even hearing that the Boltons had scratched did not discourage Piers, and Elizabeth went off reluctantly to give the children their supper and change.

When
she appeared, dutifully strapless in black chiffon, he had a large whisky at his elbow. It seemed unlikely it was his first; he downed it in two gulps then rose, his colour high and his eyes glittering.

‘
Come on, Lizzie, let’s party! Boogie the night away – or at least until the band packs it in at one o’clock. Oh, and do you think you could possibly, just for me, rearrange those martyred features into some semblance of a smile? It won’t bother me if your face curdles the cream on the trifle, but other people may find it hard to get into the party mood with you playing the part of chief mute at a Victorian funeral.’