Trouble in the Village (Tales from Turnham Malpas) (21 page)
Read Trouble in the Village (Tales from Turnham Malpas) Online
Authors: Rebecca Shaw
‘Right, Bel, on the till for a while, if you please, shelf-stacking as and when.’
‘Sorry I’m late, someone was sick just as I was leaving.’ She smiled that captivating smile of hers, which lit up the whole of her face and instantly Jimbo saw no need to point out how her being late angered him. He ruefully acknowledged that had it been Linda he would have been bound to say something to aggravate her.
‘I see. The Rector needs a word with me. Bring your coffee through, Peter.’ He poured one for himself, black no sugar, his one stringent discipline in his fight against the flab.
Jimbo took him into his office, put his straw boater on top of a filing cabinet, pulled out a chair for Peter, then settled himself on a stool. After taking a sip of his coffee Jimbo said, ‘I guess I know what this is about.’
‘You do?’
‘It’s Tom, isn’t it?’
‘It is.’
‘You know, usually, Peter, I see eye to eye with you on everything. We’ve been through a lot together in one way or another, you and I, but on this I shall not be moved.’
‘You won’t?’
‘No.’ Jimbo drained his cup. ‘That’s not hot enough, the
damn machine must be on the blink again. What’s yours like?’
‘Fine, thanks. I really would like you on my side in this. We must have a verger whose word we can trust, and I can’t trust Tom any more.’
‘That’s as may be. But I shan’t change my mind. So your well-known persuasive powers will not work this time, I’m afraid.’
‘But, Jimbo …’
‘But, Peter … Is that all?’
‘I haven’t finished yet.’
‘But I have.’
‘Please, Jimbo, listen.’
‘He won’t.’ This was from Harriet, who had stopped in the doorway on her way to the kitchens. ‘I’ve tried, and what’s more he’s doing his best to persuade everyone else to insist on Tom being reinstated as verger.’
Peter stood up as she came in, as did Jimbo who offered her the stool. ‘No, thanks, Jimbo, I’m too busy to sit down. All I can say is, Peter, I’m very disappointed in my spouse, as you must be. He’s a stuffed shirt and a moral blot on the landscape.’
Peter would have laughed if the matter hadn’t been so serious. ‘People respect your opinions, you know, Jimbo, and it would be tremendously helpful to me if we were both on the same side. It’s very important that the post of verger is filled by the right person, and Tom is not the right person as well you know. Willie admits he is beyond the job now, but even so one doesn’t employ dishonest vergers just because there is no one else.’
Jimbo huffed and puffed for a moment and then said
‘What about the Church and Christian forgiveness? Isn’t that what it’s supposed to be all about?’
Faced with that kind of challenge Peter was silent. Then he broke his silence by saying, ‘To be honest I hadn’t looked at it from that point of view.’ He paused again. ‘However, I still feel the same. I cannot trust him any more.’
Jimbo shook his head. ‘Then I’m sorry, we’re still on opposite sides.’
Harriet sighed. ‘Well, I’m on Peter’s side. I’m sorry but I am.’
Peter pressed his argument. ‘The fact remains that he knew what Kenny and Terry were up to and never split. Morally he was in the wrong and he knows it. He’s hiding behind Evie’s skirts begging for his job back but –’
‘Peter!’ Jimbo turned to pick up his boater, intending to leave. He made a move towards the door then turned back to say ‘OK, OK. We’ll both have another think about it. Must press on.’ He tossed his boater into the air, caught it on his head, adjusted the angle and left Peter and Harriet looking at each other.
‘I’m so sorry, Peter. He has a lot on his mind at the moment, you know, but really that’s no excuse.’
‘The trouble is, on the face of it he’s right. Maybe I should bend over backwards to accommodate Tom, but I do not want him back, despite Jimbo’s attitude.’ Peter twisted his paper cup round and round in his hands too miserable to look at Harriet.
She sighed. ‘It’s not only him, it’s Ralph, Arthur Prior, Neville Neal, and loads of people not on the council.’
‘Those not on the council don’t matter. I didn’t realise Ralph still didn’t agree with me?’
‘I see.’
‘Must love you and leave you. I’ll work on Jimbo tonight, OK?’
‘Thank you.’
Peter went off to call at Orchid House. It was Evie who answered the door. A strange Evie with a nervous tic that made her whole body shudder every few seconds. Her hair, with its striking resemblance to a bird’s nest, and the curious outfit she was wearing reminded Peter of a bag lady he knew in his previous parish. Evie looked at him with blank staring eyes. ‘Good morning, Evie. I’ve called to see Tom, is he in?’
Evie nodded, opened the door wider and let him in. She left Peter standing in the hall and disappeared through the door into the garden. Tom came in without Evie.
‘Tom, Evie doesn’t seem well this morning.’
‘No, she isn’t. Have you come to say I haven’t got my job back?’ Peter didn’t answer him straight away so Tom continued, ‘Make no mistake about it, if I haven’t then so be it, I shan’t lay blame at anyone’s door because I can understand why.’
‘To be frank none of the council agree with me at the moment.’
‘I see.’
‘It’s the deceit, Tom, that’s what I don’t like. A position
of trust and you didn’t come clean, and you should have done. You should have confided in me at the very least.’
‘I know that now, but you see the state Evie’s in? I did it to avoid this very thing happening. The signs are there again, and I can’t bear it. She’s argued herself into thinking that if I get the job back that means we’re safe here. She loves it here, you see, and now she’s going to have the embroidery class, well …’ Tom’s eyes filled up with tears.
Peter nodded. ‘Curiously enough, it isn’t the threat of someone else getting beaten up, it’s not being truthful that’s my stumbling block.’
Tom nodded. ‘Living two lives for so long, the odd bit of not being truthful is kind of what I’m used to, if you see what I mean.’
‘Give my regards to Evie and send her round to see Caroline any time. She’s excellent at talking to people, being a doctor you know.’
Tom opened the front door saying, ‘Thank you for that, be seeing you.’
‘Indeed. God bless you, Tom.’
‘And you.’
Next he called on Ralph, whom he found sitting in the big armchair which had so impressed the missing Kenny.
‘Take a seat, Peter. Coffee? Muriel’s not in but I am, despite what she believes, quite capable of making coffee. Please allow me to?’
‘Thank you, no.’
‘In that case let’s get down to business.’
‘I will. I was under the impression you agreed with me that we couldn’t possibly have Tom back as verger. But I understand that’s not so.’
‘As Muriel isn’t here we can speak quite frankly just between these four walls.’ Peter looked at Ralph to assess his state of mind; he appeared amenable so he plunged on. ‘You weren’t here when Muriel had her breakdown. It was heartbreaking to see her so defeated, so withdrawn, sitting there in the hospital, dreadfully isolated and quite literally unable to speak. If you had seen her you would have been devastated.
Anything
that you could have done to protect her or to make her better you would have done, believe me, and I mean
anything
. Well, Tom cares as much for Evie as you do for Muriel, and that’s why he acted as he did, because he desperately needed to demonstrate to her that they could put down their roots. Despite
all that
, I can’t stomach his return.’
Ralph sat looking at his hands. He studied the backs and then turned them over and looked at the palms.
After the silence had lasted more than a minute Peter said, ‘Well?’
Ralph looked up at him. ‘One needs to remember that the ordinary fellow in the street has emotions just as powerful as one’s own; his reasons cannot be ignored. But I do understand what you mean. When all is said and done it goes against the grain, doesn’t it? The damned fellow even lied to Muriel one day. Told her she couldn’t go in the church to polish the brass because he’d been spraying for spiders so she waited outside for ten minutes or more. Of course, it was really because Kenny was in there doing whatever he was doing with my family tomb. So he was
downright lying to protect Kenny, that I can’t forgive. You’re right, of course, as usual, I see that now.’
Peter stood up. ‘Thank you for that. Evie is ill again, so to salve my conscience I just hope we can find Tom a job here in the village. Thanks again, Ralph. I’ve still got Jimbo, Arthur and Neville to persuade, though.’
Ralph grunted, ‘Leave them to me, I’ll persuade ’em. They’ll all agree by the time I’ve finished with them, believe me.’ He smiled rather grimly at Peter, who smiled thankfully back.
Ralph got up to see Peter to the door. ‘Thank you for making me see sense. You’ve a gift for it, you know, though some would call it emotional blackmail.’
Peter grinned down at him. ‘Me? Emotional blackmail! Never!’
They shook hands and Peter went home still feeling very uncomfortable at what might be the outcome of his objections, but determined to stick to his guns.
First he stripped and used the newly installed power-shower, the pride of his life, then he shaved. He’d already had his hair cut very short so that only the tips were black and the rest was growing iron grey, like Vera preferred. At the thought of Vera his insides quivered. He’d staked his all on her having him back. What more could a chap do but make a complete fresh start? The bedroom furniture had gone to the auction rooms along with Ralph’s washstand, all the old rotten stuff was up at the Big House awaiting 5 November, he’d sold his motorbike, and what greater sacrifice could a woman ask than for a fellow to sell his BSA Gold Star motorcycle, which he’d ridden with such joy for more than thirty years?
He tied his third new tie since he’d renovated himself, inspected the state of his shirt collar. Ah! He’d forgotten
those new stiffeners to keep the points straight. There, that was better. Right then, he’d be off. A bit of sly questioning of Rhett had established that this was Vera’s Saturday off and there was no way he, Don Wright, was going to miss her.
He roared up the driveway of the nursing home at exactly nine o’clock. He saw through one of the big windows that the old dears who were mobile were breakfasting. Don rang the bell. The door was opened by a bright young thing wearing a cheerful golden yellow tabard over her white uniform.
‘Good morning!’
‘Good morning to you, young lady. I’m calling to see Mrs Wright.’
‘Oh, Vera! Come right in. Do you know the way?’
‘Yes, thank you, right to the top and turn left.’
She nodded.
Rhett answered his knock, gave his grandad a huge wink, admired the chocolates he was carrying and shouted over his shoulder, ‘Gran! You’ve a gentleman caller.’
Don heard Vera calling out, ‘Don’t be daft! Is it yer grandad?’
‘Come in, Grandad. We’re just going to have some breakfast, want some?’
‘Won’t say no.’
Vera appeared. Don searched for a word to describe how Vera looked this morning but he didn’t know the one he needed. If he had known it he’d have described Vera as vibrant. From the top of her well-groomed hair down to the naughty-looking gold slippers she was wearing she looked, well, great.
‘Rhett’s invited me to breakfast. Here, these are for you.’ He held out the box and she took them from him.
‘Thanks! My favourites. Rhett, set another place.’
They exchanged small-talk while they ate, a meal Don enjoyed for the kitchen was welcoming and the gay little posy of flowers Vera had placed on the breakfast table suited his mood.
Rhett pushed his chair away and stood up. ‘I’ve a day’s work to do. Will you be all right without me?’
Vera said, ‘I didn’t know you were working today.’
‘Well, I am. They asked me yesterday.’
‘Who?’
‘The Bissetts. Neither of them are well enough to garden yet and they’re worried about winter coming on and the garden needing tidying so I said I would. Then, on the proceeds, I’m going into Culworth with Michelle to the cinema and a meal.’
‘Oh, all right, then. Take care of that girl, you know what I mean?’
‘Gran! She’s only fifteen.’
‘Exactly!’
Rhett blushed bright red. Shortage of girls his age limited his choice. As for hanky-panky as his gran called it, he respected her too much for that. Besides, her step-dad Barry Jones was a man to be reckoned with and he didn’t fancy getting at odds with him.
Rhett gave his grandad the thumbs up as he passed behind his grandma’s chair. ‘Will you be here when I get back, Grandad?’
‘Don’t know, do I?’
Vera didn’t say whether he was welcome or not. Faced with this new Don whom she could scarcely recognise she was nonplussed. Chocolates? Flowers? Car! He must really mean business.
‘You know it is, you old devil.’
Don laughed. ‘Long time since you called me that.’
‘Long time since you paid me any attention.’
Don lavishly spread butter on his last piece of toast. ‘You know, Vera, I’d no idea how tired I was. All those night shifts. Tired right through to my bones I was. Dragging myself about. In winter I hardly knew what daylight was. I seemed never to see the blue sky, or hear the birds singing, it was just as if I was deaf and blind. Since I’ve been just doing days ’cos of them cutting back, and not working twenty-four hours I’ve caught up on sleep. Given me a whole new outlook. It’s no excuse, I know, but for what it’s worth there it is. The house, when I see it now, all shining and new, it’s still the same house, you know, where I was born and where I want to die. I’d got in such a groove I thought if we changed it it wouldn’t be the same, but it is and I don’t mind. In fact I wish I’d done it years ago.’
Vera nudged his elbow. ‘Get on with yer, yer daft thing.’
‘But we couldn’t have afforded to do what I’ve done now, then.’ He winked at her, folded his last remaining slice of toast in half and pushed it into his mouth. When he’d finished munching it, and had rinsed his mouth with another drink of his tea, he patted his pocket. ‘In here I’ve got a surprise for yer.’
Vera didn’t show much delight, better not look too keen too soon. ‘Oh!’
‘A weekend away. Your choice.’ He dragged a well-thumbed holiday brochure from his jacket pocket. ‘You decide when and where and I’ll fall in with it.’
‘I’ve always fancied London.’
‘Yes, a good musical on the Saturday night and a chance to see some of the places you only read about.’ Vera smothered her excitement as best she could. New horizons opened up in an instant. Strolling down Piccadilly past Fortnum and Mason’s, peering through the railings at Buckingham Palace, eating in a restaurant in Leicester Square, climbing up to the Whispering Gallery at St Paul’s Cathedral where the Princess had married, bless her. All the brightness, all the thrill of the place, all the lively noise of it was so vividly in her mind, she could almost be there already. Suddenly she realised Don was speaking. ‘What did you say?’
Now he had to repeat those difficult words as if it hadn’t been hard enough to utter them the first time round. ‘I was saying, I’m more than willing to come and live here. I did all those improvements to get you to come back to the cottage, but I’ve realised you won’t, so I’ll have to come here and we’ll rent out like you said. It’s the most sensible thing to do.’
‘I see.’
Don reached across the table and let the tips of his fingers touch her hand. ‘That’s if you’ll have me, which is what I want, if you will, that is.’
Vera filed his request at the back of her mind and dealt with more immediate matters. ‘It seems to me you must be living in an empty house.’
‘I am, almost. I couldn’t bear to put all that old kitchen stuff in those nice drawers and cupboards so I’m afraid I went two or three times to the tip the other day and got rid of it all. Most of it belonged to my mother, God rest her soul.’ Amen to that, thought Vera. ‘So apart from one chair
and the telly, Rhett’s bed and that built-in cupboard in his room, and a new kettle, yes, it is an empty house.’
‘So what about yer meals?’
‘Willie and Sylvia are very good. Jimmy asks me round and Mrs Charter-Plackett.’
‘I’d heard but I didn’t believe it. What’s she like as a cook then?’
‘Brilliant.’
Stirrings of jealousy manifested themselves in Vera’s insides. ‘So about this holiday, if we book it and I don’t go, Grandmama Charter-Plackett could have my ticket, could she?’
Don spluttered his disgust. ‘Look, she’s grand and we get on very well, and it’s her’s inspired me to press on, and she has good ideas about colours and what’s right, but I have to be on my best behaviour all the time and it gets wearing.’
‘Oh, I see. I count as nothing then. You can burp or fold yer toast up in front of me and bung it in, but not in front of her, oh, no!’
‘Could you enjoy eating meals with her day in day out? I’ve got to put a stop to it.’
‘Dear, dear, you are in a fix.’ She stood up and began to clear the table. ‘Well, I don’t know what you propose to do all day, but I’m not wasting my Saturday off.’
‘Where did you intend going?’
She’d no idea and had to come up with an answer quickly. Vera plumped for the bus into Culworth.
‘Don’t bother. I’ll drive you in and we’ll go rowing on the lake and we’ll have a look at the shops and have some lunch out. How about that?’
‘Sounds interesting.’
‘And while we’re there we’ll book this weekend away.’ He pushed the brochure back in his pocket.
They got back about half past five having achieved the major objective of booking the weekend away. It was to be in two weeks’ time, in London as Vera had requested. Don had been a courteous escort, which had gone a long way to persuading Vera that she might, just might, have him back seeing as she was getting all her own way, and above all they had enjoyed each other’s company, which they hadn’t done for years.
She’d forgotten that Don could row with such smoothness that the boat glided easily through the water, and the weather was so beautiful, sunny and warm with just a slight breeze. The trees had the first of their autumn colours and she lay back enjoying herself.
‘I’ll have a rest, we’ll tie up under that willow there, while I get my breath back. I’m not the man I was.’
Vera studied him as he skilfully drew the boat under the tree and tied the painter around one of its stout trunks. He was right, he wasn’t the man he was when he was seventeen but … ‘Shall we sit in the boat or get out?’
‘Sit in it. That bank looks too wet and slippery to stand on.’ He lay back and spread his arms out so he was gripping the sides of the boat.
‘I’d forgotten you could row.’
‘Either you’re a natural or you’re not.’
Vera looked out over the lake and pondered again about having him back. ‘I’m not having you falling into your bad ways again.’
‘Bad ways? What do you mean?’
‘Like being idle, and not washing enough. Sitting in front of
the telly for hours not speaking. Refusing to get dressed up when we go out, that is if we go out. Not being nice to me.’
‘It’s all self, isn’t it, Vera? I’ve slaved to put things right these last weeks and still it isn’t enough.’
‘After thirty years and more of not putting yourself out you owe me something.’
‘I’m only human. You’re perfect, are you?’
Vera almost answered yes. She couldn’t think of a single fault. ‘So what are my faults, you tell me.’
Neither could Don. He caught her eye and magically they both burst out laughing. The boat rocked dangerously and Vera had to cling on. They hadn’t laughed together like that in years. Somehow it cleared the air between them. Don looked at his watch.
‘The time! They’ll be charging us extra.’
‘So?’
Don looked at her. ‘So! What the hell?’ They lounged there mostly in silence with Vera giving him covert looks to help her decide about him. From time to time they studied each other without speaking, finding this fresh development in their relationship both pleasing and satisfying.
‘We’ll have a coffee in that little coffee shop by the boathouse.’ Don untied the boat and rowed them back. Now when he caught her eye she smiled, and all he’d done was row a boat that had cost him five pounds. When he thought of the money he’d spent already on the house …
But the coffee shop was dingy and unkempt, and whereas at one time it would have sufficed for Don, he turned his nose up at it today. ‘This won’t do, come on, let’s go.’
They drove into the centre of Culworth and parked in the multi-storey. He took her arm and guided her through
the sweet wrappers blowing about, round the cigarette butts scattered by a hundred feet, and the urine-soaked stairs, all things he would never have noticed before, out into the sun. ‘The George! What about it?’
‘The George? I’m not dressed well enough for there! What about the Belfry Café?’
‘No, the George it is.’
They’d stayed so long drinking coffee that they had lunch there too. She was surprised by how well he conducted himself in the restaurant, there was a new finesse about him which, she decided, had come from dining with Grandmama Charter-Plackett. While Don paid the bill Vera went out to watch the swans go by, so Don begged bread from the waiter and took it out to her, and together they fed the water fowl, and laughed at the cygnets and Don took her arm and squeezed her hand. There were moments when Vera felt the old Don was back but mostly it was the new Don and she began to feel better disposed to his return. They went out to look at the shops and returned to have afternoon tea at the George too. When they got back to the nursing home Vera said, ‘That’s cost a packet that has.’
‘As you would say. So?’
‘You’re right, why not?’ Vera went to look out of the window, not trusting herself to look at him while she spoke. ‘I’ve talked to Jimbo about renting out the cottage and he says no rent book. You have an agreement, a lease he called it, and you keep renewing it if they’re satisfactory. That means you can get them out quick, if need be.’
‘I see.’ Don began to feel hopeful.
‘So how about it?’