(3/13) News from Thrush Green (15 page)

THE wind increased to a gale during the night, screaming down the hill to Lulling, rattling windows and even shifting some of the heavy stone roof tiles of the town. The few remaining leaves were wrenched from the trees, and an old oak crashed across the road near Percy Hodge's farm, bringing down some telephone wires, and causing more than usual confusion in the Lulling exchange.

It was no better in the morning. Willie Marchant could make no headway on his bicycle in the face of this fierce northerly blast. Even his tacking methods were no use against it, and he was forced to wheel his bicycle up the steep hill, his eyes half shut against the cigarette ash which blew dangerously against his face from the inevitable stub in his mouth.

It was useless to try to prop a bicycle against the kerb in this wind, and when he reached Tullivers he prudently lodged it against the wall while he battled his way up the path.

There was no one about, and he thrust the letters through the flap beneath the admiral's dolphin and continued on his erratic course.

Everywhere he met tales of damage. A flying tile had broken the glass in Joan Young's greenhouse. The school dustbin had been found in the hedge at the end of the playground. Albert Piggott's cat was missing, 'blown to kingdom-come,' its owner surmised gloomily.

Little Miss Fogerty did not tell Willie about her own troubles, but they had been severe. Two pairs of sensible long-legged knickers, of a style which she had been brought up to know as 'directoire', had blown from the discreet little clothes line hidden by laurel trees, over the hedge into her neighbour's garden.

Much agitated, she had watched until the man of the house had gone to work, and then had knocked timidly at Mrs Bates' door to explain about her embarrassing loss. Mrs Bates, a kind-hearted woman, forbore to show any coarse amusement, as some less refined Thrush Green folk might have done, rescued the garments from the roof of her hen-house and returned them gravely, wrapping them first in a piece of brown paper. Miss Fogerty was much touched by the delicacy of this gesture, but the horror of the incident haunted her for the rest of the day.

Harold Shoosmith heard about the havoc in the Lulling Woods area when Betty Bell burst into his house at half-past nine.

'I found Miss Harmer's letters all twizzled up in her string bag in the road. Soaking wet, of course, but it never bothered her. 'They'll dry, dear,' was all she said when I took 'em into her. Willie won't be best pleased, I'll lay.'

'And the roof blew off the hen-house at "The Drovers' Arms" and landed in the pond! My, what a night! Any damage here?'

Harold had to admit that he had found none. Betty looked disappointed. She thrived on daily drama.

It was later that morning that the telephone rang, and Harold's spirits soared when he heard the excitement in Phil's voice.

'Wonderful news! Frank's taken the latest story, and for more money.'

'I'm so glad. Well done!'

'Isn't it splendid? And he wants me to meet him "with a view to further work", so his letter says. I'm going to ring him in a few minutes.'

'You'll find him very easy to talk to,' said Harold. 'What's more, he can explain the sort of thing he wants done, which saves a lot of time and temper.'

He paused, wondering if the girl would tell him about the awkward story. As if she knew his thoughts, she spoke of it next.

'I've decided to scrap that other thing. You were quite right.'

'That's extremely generous of you.'

'Not at all. It could have upset people here - though I still think the chances were slight, particularly if I'd used a penname. Anyway, this second acceptance takes care of most of the builder's bill, and I don't feel so hard-pressed.'

'I can't tell you how pleased I am,' said Harold warmly. 'You deserve to succeed. You've worked so hard lately.'

'I hope you weren't expecting a call yesterday,' said Phil suddenly. 'Jeremy was off-colour and I didn't really bother much about the other problem. He's much better this morning, thank goodness, but won't go to school until next week.'

'Well, give the young man my regards,' said Harold. 'Now, I'm not going to hold you up - you must be anxious to get in touch with Frank. Remember me to him, if it enters your head. I hope he'll come down here one day. Meanwhile, the best of luck with all your ploys.'

He put down the receiver, feeling unusually elated. It was a relief to know that the story would never appear, and even more gratifying to know that the girl was having some success. Frank would treat her right, thought Harold robustly!

He went into the windy garden, whistling like a boy, and Betty Bell, well-versed in affairs of the heart, winked at her reflection in the hall mirror as she polished it.

Richard was as good as his word and appeared some evenings later dressed in his working overalls and carrying his drain-clearing equipment. His expression was animated, and when Phil opened the door to him she was struck by his good looks, which she had not noticed before.

'Got plenty of newspaper?' asked Richard, mounting the stairs. 'I like lashings of
really thick
paper to spread about.'

'About a dozen
Telegraphs
and great fat wads of
Sunday Times
,' said Phil. 'And all those lovely Business Supplements no one reads. Absolutely unopened, they are.'

'Good, good! Pity you don't take the
Sunday Express
though. Wonderful powers of absorption for this sort of job.'

He spread the papers busily, patting them down happily, and humming to himself. It was quite obvious to Phil that he would be better alone with his passion.

'I'll get out of your way,' she said diplomatically, 'but shout if you want anything.'

She heard nothing for the next twenty minutes but the sound of running water and Richard's footsteps up and down the stairs as he hurried outside to make sure that the water was flowing without interruption. When he finally appeared in the sitting-room, he looked triumphant.

'As I thought, simply the U-bend. No difficulty at all. Someone has been using a disintegrating face-flannel, I suspect.'

'Not guilty,' smiled Phil. 'Perhaps the admiral's sister? I believe she used that room.'

She indicated a tray of drinks on a low table by the fire.

'What will you have? My goodness, you've earned a drink! I'm so very grateful.'

Richard looked at the pale chair covers, and with rare thoughtfulness began to step out of his filthy overalls. It seemed to Phil, watching him, that this young man wasn't the ogre that Winnie, despite her tact, had portrayed.

'My aunt tells me that you write,' said Richard. He sipped his dry sherry appreciatively. Otto allowed one small sherry a day if it were a dry one, Richard remembered happily.

'Not as successfully as I should like,' admitted Phil, 'but it all helps. I'm hoping for some more work next Wednesday.'

She told him about Frank.

'Wednesday,' repeated Richard. 'I'm going to town myself that day. Let me run you up. What time do you have to meet him?'

Phil told him that she was lunching with Frank and that she had planned to catch the 10.10 train from Lulling, changing at Oxford, as her car was needing attention.

'It will give me time to see Jeremy safely to school and to tidy up here,' she said. 'Joan Young is having him to lunch, and tea, and I shall collect him about 6.'

'I was proposing to leave about 10.30,' said Richard. 'I am spending the night with the Carslakes, so I'm afraid I can't bring you back, but do please give me the pleasure of your company on the journey up.'

'I should love to,' said the girl, and thought how pleasant it was to be talking to a man of her own age again. A jaunt to London would be something to look forward to after the recent drab weeks at Thrush Green, and Richard she found surprisingly interesting.

He stayed for over an hour and was at his most charming. As he returned to the Baileys' house, carrying his impedimenta, he sniffed the frosty air with relish.

He put his head round the sitting room door. His uncle and aunt surveyed him mildly over their spectacles.

'It's a wonderfully bright night,' said Richard. 'Do you mind if I take a brisk walk?'

'Not at all, dear boy,' said Winnie. 'But don't get overtired.'

'Tired?' echoed Richard in amazement. 'My dear aunt, I could walk ten miles without stopping tonight!'

He vanished, and they heard the front door slam.

The doctor lowered his newspaper and looked across at his wife.

'Would you think,' he asked pensively, 'that our Richard is putting some of Otto's theories into practice?'

International crises always seem to occur at week-ends. Domestic crises appear to follow the same pattern.

Certainly, there was a crisis at Albert Piggott's home on the Sunday. Nelly had dished up a boiled hand of pork, broad beans, onions and plenty of parsley sauce. She had also excelled herself by providing a Christmas pudding for the second course with a generous helping of brandy butter.

'I made six full-size ones,' said Nelly, surveying the pudding fondly, 'but this little 'un was for a try-out before Christmas. What d'you think of it?'

'All right, if your stummick's up to it,' replied Albert dourly, turning his spoon about in the rich fruitiness.

'Lord love old Ireland!' cried Nelly, in exasperation. 'Ain't you a misery? Small thanks I gets for slaving away over the stove day in and day out. Wouldn't do you no harm to have bread and water for a week.'

'You're right there,' agreed Albert sarcastically. 'You knows full well the doctor said I was to go easy on rich food. I believes you does it apurpose to upset me.'

Nelly rose from the table with surprising swiftness for one of her bulk. She whisked round the table behind her husband, and before he knew what was afoot, she had thrust his head sharply into his plate of pudding.

'
You besom
!' spluttered Albert emerging with a face smothered in the brown mess, and with a badly-bumped nose. He picked up the plate and threw it at his wife. It clattered to the floor, puddingside down, but miraculously did not break.

Nelly, who had dodged successfully, now broke into peals of hysterical laughter as she watched her husband grope his way to the sink to wash off his dessert.

'You wait till I gets my hands on you,' threatened Albert. 'I'll beat the living daylights out of you, my gal! Pity I never done it before. You and that oil man!'

Nelly's shrieks of laughter stopped suddenly.

'You can leave him out of this, Albert Piggott. He knows how to treat a lady.'

'Humph!' grunted Albert, from the depths of the roller-towel on the door. 'I'll bet he knows! I could have the law on him, if I'd a mind, carrying on with another man's wife.'

Nelly adopted a superior aloofness.

'I'm not stopping here to listen to your filthy insinuations,' she said loftily. 'I shall go and have a lay-down, and you can clear up this mess you've made with your tantrums.'

'That I won't!' shouted Albert to her departing back. 'I'm due at church at 2.15 for christenings, and you can dam' well clear up your own kitchen!'

The door, slamming behind Nelly, shook the house, and a minute later Albert heard the springs of the bed above squeak under his wife's considerable weight.

Growling, he flung himself into the chair by the fire, picked up the
News of The World,
and prepared to have a quarter of an hour's peace before going across to St Andrew's for his duties.

Hostilities were not resumed until the early evening. Nelly remained upstairs, but ominous thumps and door-bangings proclaimed that she was active. When she re-appeared, she was dressed in her best hat and coat, and was carrying a large suitcase which she set upon the table, taking care to miss the dirty dinner plates and cutlery with which it was still littered.

'Well, Albert, I've had enough,' said Nelly flatly. 'I'm off!'

If she expected any pleading, or even surprise, from her husband she was disappointed. Albert's morose expression remained unchanged.

'Good riddance!' said Albert. 'You asked yourself here and you can go for all I care. But don't come here whining to be took back when that fancy-man of yours has got fed up with you.'

Nelly drew in an outraged breath.

'Come back here? Not if you went down on your bended knees, Albert Piggott, and begged of me! No, not if it was with your dying breath! You've seen the last of me, I can tell you. I'm going where I shall be appreciated!'

She hoisted the case from the table and struggled to the door. Albert remained seated by the fire, the newspaper across his knees, his face surly and implacable.

He remained so for several long minutes, listening to his wife's footsteps dying away as she walked out of his life for ever. He had no doubt that Nelly spoke the truth. Their ways had parted.

He looked at the kitchen clock. Time he went to ring the bell for Evensong.

But when he came to stir himself, the pain across his chest seared him like a red-hot knife. He fell to his knees, his head pillowed on the
News of The World
on the hearth-rug, and was unable to move. The last thing he saw, before the blackness engulfed him, was the remains of the Christmas pudding spattered, dark and glutinous, across the kitchen wall.