A Village Feud (31 page)

Arthur recognized her longing and he almost said yes, if only for the sake of her husband, whom he regarded highly. He did want to please her, she’d been through such a lot lately. ‘I’ll think about it. That’s all I can say at the moment.’ He struggled to his feet again and Caroline took the hint.

‘It’s an eyesore, you know. Spoils things. Please think about it.’

Somewhat sharply Arthur said, ‘I’ve already said that’s what I’ll do; I’ll think about it. Thank you for calling and my very best wishes to the Rector. I hold him in great esteem.’

Caroline glowed with pleasure. ‘So do I.’

They shook hands and parted friends, though Caroline wasn’t too sure about the successful outcome of her plea. She’d felt positively inspired by her plans for the cottage, and considered they made such absolute sense, he couldn’t possibly do anything other than agree. But she decided not to mention the conversation to Dottie in case nothing came of it. She’d even let Dottie have their attic bedroom while the house was put right and then help her out with some bits of furniture.

Her high spirits were destroyed by Peter saying to her when she got back home that he was going to see Andy Moorhouse in prison that afternoon.

‘Going to see Andy Moorhouse? Whatever for? Have you gone mad?’

She’d never queried his decisions concerning his calling, just as she hadn’t when he’d decided to go to Africa, and he felt alarmed by her response.

‘I’ve rung the prison and I can go this very afternoon.’

‘But what for? He murdered his wife, we understand, almost destroyed our daughter, and would have done given half a chance, and you want to
visit
him?’

‘Yes. I must. If anyone needs help it’s Andy Moor-house.’

‘What about me? Don’t I need help? Do I get any? No, I don’t. Everyone else but me. It’s so unfair.’ Caroline turned away and refused to look at him.

‘Caroline. Caroline, please look at me.’

‘I don’t want to. Arthur Prior told me he holds you in esteem and I said I did too, but I do wonder now if I do.’

‘Don’t you know why I can’t tell you what the children told me?’

‘You claim I’m their mother, but I’m shut out so cruelly.’ Caroline banged her fist on the table to emphasize how grieved she felt.

Peter turned her around and held up his hands. ‘Guilty as charged.’

‘Then?’

‘What they told me shocked me to the core, and I dread telling you what happened. The whole matter is so ghastly. The children don’t want you to know, but obviously you must be told and I don’t know how I shall find the words to tell you. Give me a little more time and perhaps the words will come. What I can say is this: I’ve told them I am to blame, not them, and one day when I can no longer keep it to myself I shall have to tell you. Then perhaps we shall all be healed. Until then I am going to the prison this afternoon. I
know
I must.’

Caroline shrugged and turned away from him again, unintentionally breaking his heart.

The father in him wanted to punch Andy Moorhouse till there was nothing left of him. Just punch and punch and punch. But the priest in him knew the man needed help.

The prison officer was undecided about leaving Peter alone with Andy. ‘He’s very truculent sometimes, padre, I wouldn’t want him to turn awkward.’

‘I’m big enough to cope. I’ve not come here to upset him, only to talk, and he won’t if someone else is listening.’

‘Sometimes they talk more, you know, liking the audience, wanting to impress. I wouldn’t say a word, I promise.’

‘No. Thank you.’

‘I’ll have to tell the governor’s office, give them a call. Clear it, you know.’

Peter nodded. ‘Very well, then.’

They brought Andy in to the visiting room. He sat down in the chair and looked belligerently at Peter, who shuddered inside at Andy’s dead eyes. When Peter had finally made up his mind that he’d have to be the first to speak, Andy said, ‘If you think coming here and talking to me is going to do any good, you’re wrong. The Church has nothing to say to me, and I’ve no intention of even giving you the chance to say what you’ve come to say. It’ll only be pious tommyrot, anyway.’ Andy folded his arms and glared at Peter.

‘So why did you agree to see me?’

‘The chance to get out for a few minutes and the possibility of a cup of tea.’

‘In that case I’d better ask for one right now because if you’re not staying long you might miss out. Excuse me.’ Peter opened the door to the visiting room and asked the warder sitting outside for two teas, if possible.

‘For you, yes, sir, the kettle’s just boiled. Milk and sugar?’

Peter asked Andy if he wanted milk and sugar.

‘Both, please,’ Andy answered without looking up.

‘One with milk, one with milk and sugar.’

The warder jerked his thumb towards Andy. ‘Makes a change him saying please.’

While they waited for the tea they were both silent, Peter on purpose, Andy because he was willing himself not to speak and more so willing himself not to look into Peter’s eyes, because he had the feeling that Peter would see into his very soul … if he still possessed one, which Andy very much doubted.

The tea was hot and bitter-tasting and not at all palatable, and Peter said, ‘My word, if this is prison tea then I’m glad I’m not in here permanently.’

‘I am, or will be after my trial comes up.’

‘I think water would be preferable.’

Andy remembered he wasn’t supposed to be talking, but the temptation to speak to this man, his one and only visitor, whose daughter he’d seriously intended to defile, was too much. ‘Have you come as a padre or a father?’

‘To be honest, I’m not quite sure which. As a father my instinct would be to knock you senseless for the grievous upset you’ve caused my Beth. She was beginning to come to terms with what happened to her when we were in Africa, and your actions brought it all back. As a priest I’ve come to see if I can help, in any way at all. Have I come to see Andy Moorhouse who allegedly killed his wife, or some other person? I don’t know. I just knew I had to come. After all, you’re under my care when I’m your Rector.’

‘No, I am
not
. I simply bought a house in the village where you happen to be Rector. Other than that you’ve no need to care for me. It’s so long since I used my real name I’ve almost forgotten what it was.’

‘Then I’ll call you Andy Moorhouse. Someone has to care about you.’

Andy stayed silent for a while, sipping his tea. ‘She did. Jenny.’

‘She did what?’

‘Cared for me. To begin with. Then I tricked myself into a job with the Social Services with forged references and qualifications, thinking they were a soft touch. Then I panicked about it and things went terribly wrong. I admit I just wasn’t quite clever enough to pull it off. Overstretched myself, you could say. Then I grew to loathe Jenny, she reminded me so much of my mother – that is, on the rare occasion my mother paid me any attention. I expect you had a wonderful childhood; nurtured, loved, cared for, well fed.’ Andy sneered at Peter, an angry sneer that no amount of consideration on Peter’s part would allay, so he decided to be absolutely frank.

‘I did.’

‘Only child?’

‘Yes, my mother almost died having me so there couldn’t be any more children, and she longed for a big family.’

‘Lucky you. No one wanted me.’

‘Surely you’re not going to blame everything that has happened on a ghastly childhood, like so many people do? There comes a time when one has to stand tall and take responsibility for one’s actions despite what has happened in one’s past.’

Andy carefully placed his paper cup on the table and snarled, ‘Is that so? Very easy to say, damned hard to do.’

‘Yes. You didn’t murder Jenny because of a difficult childhood. You murdered her because you wanted to. You hankered after my daughter because you wanted to. A
child
. Only thirteen.’

Andy’s hands tensed, and he glared at the table. Sarcastically he answered, ‘She’s a woman or hadn’t you noticed? Then I don’t suppose you do, her being yours, but I did. Such thoughts wouldn’t enter your head, I expect.’ He paused to think about Beth and what a splendid life she had in front of her. Full of promise and plenty of choices, and was glad for her. ‘All my life I have never had the chance to decide for myself about anything. No choices, you know. Never got a qualification because I never stayed at any school long enough, therefore no chance of a good career, which meant pathetic lowlife jobs. Never got enough money, never got the right girl, now my life is on hold while I’m in prison with even fewer choices …’

‘Just a minute. Who did all the things you did? Only you. No one
made
you do what you did.’

‘My sins go a long way back. I married Jenny when I already had a wife. I killed Jenny and hid her body. I fancied your daughter so much I ached with the feelings I had for her. But I couldn’t help any of that. I’d no power over it and you can’t say I had. If only I’d had—’

‘Be honest with yourself, face what’s there, not what might have been
if only I
—’

‘It’s hard when the cards are all stacked against you and you get tempted.’

‘I’m sure it is. I know all about temptation and how hard it can be to resist.’

Andy scornfully dismissed the idea of Peter knowing anything about temptation. ‘You? Temptation? You in your ivory tower? Huh!’

‘Yes. Me in my ivory tower. However, it’s not me we’re meant to be talking about. It’s you. I’ve come to ask if there’s anything you need.’

Andy pondered for a minute. ‘There’s absolutely
nothing
that you in your dog collar and your cassock, and that thumping great cross you wear, can do for me or for anyone for that matter. Perhaps one day you’ll wake up to the fact that it’s all a fairy story. Then where will you be?’ Andy’s face and tone of voice were venomous.

‘Coming here to visit you if you ask me to.’

Peter’s reply silenced Andy for a moment, and when he broke the silence Peter was surprised.

‘Is it all too late to change things?’

‘It’s
never
too late to change. You can be full of remorse on your
deathbed
and your plea will be heard.’

‘You honestly believe that?’

Andy couldn’t doubt Peter’s confidence when he answered, ‘Absolutely.’

‘So there’s a chance even for
me
, then?’

Peter nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘I’m not really a bad man, you know. I spiralled down into madness, frighteningly crazy madness for a while.’ He glanced round the interview room and at his paper cup still half-full of that revolting tea. ‘Look where having no choices got me.’

Andy gave Peter a sad smile, got to his feet, opened the door and requested to be taken back to his cell.

Peter asked to shake his hand before he left. ‘I’ll come again if you wish. Believe me, I would certainly find the time.’

‘Will you? Well, only if I ask for you. Don’t go much for this religion lark, and I can’t understand why you’re so interested in me after what happened with your daughter.’

‘Compassion, that’s what. It’s a deal. I’ll come if you invite me.’

They shook hands. Peter smiled down at him and thought for a moment he could see a very small flicker of life in those dead eyes.

As he put the key in the ignition he noticed there was one of Caroline’s scarves, the one she thought she’d lost, peeping out from below his seat. He reached down and picked it up, intending to put it on the front passenger seat. Instead he held it close to his cheek, enjoying her perfume lingering in the folds of the scarf, and he sat thinking about her for a while. What was it he’d once said to her? That she was ‘the beat of his heart’. Yes, that was it. She was. He couldn’t bear her rejection when she’d turned away from him earlier. Of course she felt ignored. Here he was keeping from her the deepest, darkest confessions of their children, and imagining it was for the best. Caroline was no fool. It would break her heart but she needed to know. A rift between them when the children needed them both so much would only spell serious trouble, and he needed her right now. Peter felt his longing for her consume him; he couldn’t leave it another moment to heal the breach between them.

He put the car in gear and drove home, absolutely intent on settling things between them.

‘Caroline? Caroline! Where are you?’

A voice floated down from the attic. ‘I’m up here.’

He put her scarf on the hall table, raced up the stairs, ducked his head as he went through the low door leading to the small attic and blurted out, ‘Darling! Forgive me. Can I tell you about the children? Right now. This minute. Where are they?’

Caroline was looking through Alex’s and Beth’s precious baby clothes, hugging them to herself, treasuring the memories. She put a baby shawl she’d been hugging down on her knee, and looked up at him, her heart full of apprehension but also of joy that he felt able to tell her. ‘In Culworth at the cinema. Pull that box closer – look, there – and sit on it. Tell me right away, up here, where my memories are kept.’

She took hold of his hand in a firm grip and waited for him to begin.