(10/13) Friends at Thrush Green (17 page)

Evidently, when allowed to, Doreen could tackle a household chore as well as her mother, and Jane found her invaluable. She cleaned brass, copper and silver, she scoured baths and washbasins, polished and dusted, and even coped with such recalcitrant objects as faulty cisterns and clogged-up drains. She was in the early months of her pregnancy and Jane, knowing much about such things from her nursing experience, watched her carefully and made sure that she did not overdo things.

She told her own mother how pleased she was with Doreen's work one morning.

'Well,' said Mrs Jenner, 'don't sound so surprised. Gladys Lilly's renowned for hard work, and Doreen's dad worked at the baker's all his life. He used to go along there at four-thirty every morning. Could set your clock by him, people said. Doreen may have been a silly girl over that young man of hers, but she comes of good stock. Does she ever talk of Bobby's father?'

'Never a word, and I don't question her. But it's going to be hard for her when the baby arrives. There's mighty little room in her mother's house, and neither of them want to live together anyway.'

'They'll have to sort out that problem when the time comes,' said Mrs Jenner.

12. An Accident in Lulling

THE whereabouts of Emily Cooke, which was still the subject of much conjecture, was settled by the arrival of a letter to the girl's mother. Miss Watson and Miss Fogerty would have been appalled at the grammar, spelling and general grubbiness of their former pupil's literary effort had they been in a position to see it, but Mrs Cooke seemed surprisingly thrilled.

'She's bin and got married!' she shouted to Mrs Jenner, who was tidying her front garden.

Mrs Jenner went to the gate. A less diplomatic woman might have commented: 'And about time too!', but Mrs Jenner was more circumspect. 'You must be relieved,' she said kindly. As I am too, she thought, remembering the narrow escape she and Percy had had from an alliance with this deplorable family.

'Oh, I'm over the moon!' cried Mrs Cooke, beaming broadly. 'Just think of it! Our Emily married at last! I never thought to sec her with a wedding ring.'

'Where is she now?' enquired Mrs Jenner.

'Up Oxford. Headington way, she says, and I'm to go over next Sunday to tea.'

'And what about Nigel? Will he be going to Oxford to live?

'I expect so. Emily don't say anything much about that in her letter, but I'll take him with me on Sunday.'

Mrs Jenner wondered if Emily would want to be reunited with her young son; she had left him without a qualm. Would Mrs Cooke be left 'holding the baby' yet again? It would not be the first time she had been the unwilling minder of her grandchildren.

'Well, I'm sure it will all work out for the best,' she said. 'You must excuse me. I've left some washing out, and it looks like rain.'

She made her escape from Mrs Cooke, and went round the house into the back garden where a line of washing billowed in the autumn wind.

She was struggling with the sheets when she was hailed from the hedge which divided her property from her brother Percy's. With some vexation, she deposited her bundle on the garden seat, and went to their common boundary. Percy's face, pink and lugubrious, loomed above the clipped hawthorn hedge.

'Saw you with Mrs Cooke. She tell you about my Emily?'

'Percy, she's not "your Emily". Why do you make such a fool of yourself? Yes, she did tell me. Something you probably know already. Emily's married and living in Oxford.'

'No need to be snappy,' responded Percy. 'A bit of sympathy wouldn't come amiss at a time like this.'

'Well, you won't get it from me, Perce. All Lulling's laughing at you. Keep your grizzling to yourself, and stop feeling sorry for yourself too. A day's work is the best medicine.'

'You always was a hard 'un,' moaned Percy. 'Don't my broken heart mean nothin' to you?'

'Nothing at all,' said she briskly. 'And I reckon you've had a lucky escape. Don't get caught again now, Percy. Pull yourself together. What about a few days' steady gardening? Your thistle seeds have been blowing over here for weeks now.'

She bustled back to her washing line before Percy could think of a retort.

Later that morning, Percy told his sad story to Albert Piggott as they sat in The Two Pheasants. Albert's reaction was much the same as Percy's sister's, and it soon became apparent that sympathy was not going to be offered.

'Best thing that could've happened,' maintained Albert. 'She was always a bit of no good. That Oxford chap don't know what he's taken on. You forget her, Perce.'

Even Mr Jones, the soul of propriety, added his contribution. 'Albert's right, you know. You put her out of your mind, Percy. Plenty of good fish in the sea.'

'But they don't seem to swim my way,' said the disconsolate suitor, with a sigh.

'Here, have another half on me,' said Albert, with unwonted generosity. 'Nothin' like a drop of beer to put new heart in a man.'

'That's right,' agreed Mr Jones.

One bright October morning, soon after the news of Emily's wedding had rustled round Thrush Green, Winnie Bailey saw Margaret Lester emerge from her gate and set off towards Lulling. She carried a shopping bag, and Winnie guessed correctly that she would come back on the bus that left Lulling High Street at eleven-thirty with the shopping bag full.

She herself, and most of the Thrush Green shoppers, were grateful for that particular bus. It was a pleasure to trot down the hill with an empty bag in the cool of the morning, when one was fresh; it was quite another thing to struggle uphill from Lulling with a bag heavy with potatoes, celery, carrots, and groceries, an hour or so later.

Margaret had told her one day that Alan did not like her driving alone. He was afraid that she might be overcome by a sudden migraine attack, she said. Knowing a little more now, Winnie guessed that Alan dreaded a mishap when Margaret was at the wheel, and a breathalyser being produced. Poor fellow, thought Winnie, he must live under the most appalling strain.

Other eyes had also noted Margaret passing.

Replenishing the stocks, thought Ella Bembridge.

Wonder what she's off to buy? thought Albert Piggott, unlocking the church door.

She's looking better this morning, thought Jane Cartwright. But all three had bottles in mind.

Nelly Piggott, putting a basket of croissants in the window of The Fuchsia Bush, watched her neighbour going purposefully into one of Lulling's three supermarkets. The thought of bottles crossed her mind too, but the appearance of Bertha Lovelock, with Violet in close attendance, put all conjecture about Margaret Lester from her mind.

She opened the door for the two ladies, and noted with approval that Violet steered her sister to a table farthest from the display of cakes, scones and other delightfully tempting titbits on the counter.

'Now what can I get you?' she asked. 'Coffee as usual, I suppose? And I'm just bringing through some Eccles cakes. Would you like to try 'em?'

Violet agreed to all these suggestions, and Nelly hurried away.

She and Mrs Peters had been relieved to see the Lovelocks again. They had wondered if the unfortunate affair of Bertha's pilfering would mean the end of their visits, but Violet had been as good as her word, and Bertha was now never seen unaccompanied on their shopping expeditions.

The Fuchsia Bush was exceptionally busy that morning. A number of people who intended to catch the popular eleven-thirty bus which made its way north, passing through Thrush Green as it went, had called in for refreshment, their heavy bags and baskets littering the floor.

As the time grew near, half a dozen or so paid their bills and departed to join the little knot of waiting travellers at the bus stop immediately outside the cafe.

Nelly Piggott, replenishing the basket of croissants in the window, saw the bus pull up, and the queue mounting the step.

At that moment she saw Margaret Lester, with a laden bag in each hand, hastening awkwardly across the road. The bus began to pull away when she was half way across Lulling High Street, but it stopped abruptly as presumably someone had pointed out Margaret's plight to the conductor.

Obviously quite breathless and flustered, she hurried forward—and tripped over the kerb, her bags flying forward on to the pavement.

The conductor leapt down to the sprawled figure, two passersby set about rescuing the shopping, and Nelly Piggott hurried out to help.

'I'm all right,' gasped Margaret. 'Quite all right.'

But it was immediately apparent that she was not. Blood was beginning to ooze from a badly grazed knee, and her hands were covered in dirt.

'You come into the shop,' said Nelly, taking command. 'You can't get on the bus like that. You come and rest for a bit.'

'You going to be all right?' asked the conductor solicitously. A row of concerned faces in the bus window watched anxiously.

'I'll see to her,' said Nelly, collecting the bags. 'You get on. You've got your bus to look after.'

'I'm a bit late now,' confessed the conductor. 'Righto, missus. Hope you'll soon be all right.'

One of the bags seemed to be intact, but it was plain that the other had a broken bottle in it, as a trickle of liquid was running freely across the pavement. Nelly investigated, and found one bottle of gin with its neck shattered. Ruthlessly she poured the remaining liquid into the gutter, tested what appeared to be a second bottle in the bag, and found that intact.

Margaret was leaning against the bus stop post, shaking visibly and near to tears. A little knot of spectators were offering sympathy and advice, but all, Nelly noticed, were quite aware of the broken bottle and its contents. The smell of spirit alone was enough to give it away.

One of the men carried the bags into The Fuchsia Bush, and Nelly supported Margaret through the cafe and into a chair in the privacy of the office. Rosa was dispatched for a bowl of warm water and the first-aid kit, and Nelly set to work on her patient.

Margaret was in a state of great agitation. 'I must get in touch with Alan,' she cried. 'I must ring him. He'll be so worried if I'm not home.'

'As soon as I've done this,' said Nelly, 'I'll ring him, and tell him to fetch you home in the car.'

But at that moment Mrs Peters appeared, offered sympathy, and said she would do the telephoning.

Meanwhile, Rosa and Gloria had gone through the shopping bags. One held a few groceries, some toiletries from Boots, and one bottle of gin wrapped in a carrier bag from one of the supermarkets. Nothing appeared to be damaged.

The second bag held the remains of the broken gin bottle, which had been wrapped in another carrier bag from a second supermarket. The third bottle, luckily undamaged, was wrapped in a bag from yet another of Lulling's supermarkets.

The girls said little, but exchanged meaningful glances as they settled the undamaged bottle in the grocery bag. The dripping carrier with its shattered glass was put into the cafe's dustbin.

'Well, if that's sorted out,' said Mrs Peters, bustling in and out, 'for pity's sake get back to the tables. I can see to things here.'

Alan Lester had sounded remarkably agitated on the telephone, she thought. She had done her best to minimize his wife's injuries, but he sounded quite distracted.

'I'll be down immediately,' he told her. 'I wouldn't have had this happen for the world.'

He had the car outside within ten minutes and Margaret, now calmer, and sporting a neat bandage on her knee, was helped into it by Nelly.

Alan was full of gratitude towards the two good Samaritans when he went back to the café for the bag of shopping. Rosa handed it over, obviously full of excitement at this unexpected fillip to the day.

'One bottle was broke,' she said brightly, 'but me and Gloria put the good one in with the other.'

Alan Lester looked startled, but simply thanked her before making his way to the car.

Mrs Peters surveyed her assistant coldly. 'There was no need to say anything about the breakages,' she pointed out. 'Mrs Lester is quite capable of explaining things to her husband, even if she has got a cut knee.'

'Well, I just thought he ought to know,' replied Rosa sulkily.

'It's not your place to tell him,' said Mrs Peters. And in any case, she thought to herself, no doubt the poor fellow knows well enough, without anyone telling him.

The news of the accident was soon the subject of local interest. The fact that it had occurred in Lulling High Street, amidst so many spectators, meant that there were varied accounts of the incident, and plenty of confirmation about the contents of the publicly shattered gin bottle.

To be fair to the inhabitants of Thrush Green and Lulling, it was concern for Margaret and her family rather than censure which was paramount. There was widespread sympathy for the headmaster in his domestic difficulties, and there was great care in keeping the matter as quiet as possible.

Even Betty Bell, who had summed up the situation early on, checked her ebullient tongue, although Dotty Harmer was less restrained when they met.

'I hear that Mrs Lester is a drunkard,' she remarked brightly to Betty one morning. 'Fell down in the High Street, they tell me.'