Talk of the Village (9 page)

'Yes.'

He heard more footsteps and then Gwen burst in through the kitchen door.

'What do you think you are doing entering our house without asking?'

Tm sorry but I usually knock and then walk in when I

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go visiting. In future I'll knock and wait for you to answer. I've come about you having to get Willie to turn the water off.'

'Well, he's done it.'

'How are you going to manage without running water?'

'Quite well thank you.'

'We could let you have some water from the Rectory if that would help until the plumber gets here.'

'We don't want any favours.'

'If you like I'll phone the plumber on your behalf and in the meantime Willie and I will bring you some water across.'

'We do not require help from someone who professes to be a goody goody and then fornicates with his neighbour. I don't think Jesus had that in mind when he said love thy neighbour.'

Peter had no answer to that.

'Don't think that because we don't socialise we don't know what goes on. We have a complete view of the comings and goings of this place from our windows. Nothing goes on that we don't know about. I saw you go round to see that slut and saw how long it took you to leave. Then when we saw her getting bigger, we knew. Oh, yes we knew. Then your wife tries to cover your tracks by wanting to adopt them. What a joke. Standing by her man. Ha. No man living deserves loyalty like that. Not one of you. You're all scum. Scum, do you hear?'

'I think it would be better if I take my leave. No person is totally perfect and I above all am aware of the fragility of both man and woman, but we can ask for forgiveness. Perhaps you need forgiveness for thinking the way you do. May God bless you both.' Peter forced open the door and left.

'Get out, get out and don't ever come back. Fornic-ator.'

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When he got home he went straight upstairs, undressed, showered, put fresh clothes on and went into his study and got out what Caroline called the 'parish whisky'. He poured some into a glass and sat at his desk trying to erase from his mind the evil he had just encountered. Caroline came in carrying Beth who was in her permanently happy mood. Nothing ruffled her calm.

'They actually live in this village day in day out and their lives are so foul, Caroline, I can't believe it. How on earth can it have happened, that they turn out like that?'

'Here, nurse your daughter for a while, she'll restore your faith in human nature. I would have thought that by now you could no longer be surprised by the infinite variety of the human condition.' Peter took Beth in his arms propped her carefully against his shoulder and rubbed his cheek on hers to remind himself that there was still something beautiful left in the world.

'This is something much, much worse. You can feel the evil in the air. To say nothing of the smell. Don't ever call on them Caroline please. Nor let the children near them either. There's something very wrong there, believe me. Beryl came into the kitchen brandishing a carving knife.'

'You mean holding a carving knife?'

'No
brandishing
it. They must be unhinged. Completely unhinged. Apparently they watch all the comings and goings from their window and claim nothing goes on that they don't know about.'

'Heavens above, I shall hardly dare go out.'

'Exactly.'

Had Peter been able to see them at that moment he would have seen them struggling to get the top off their old well. Running water had been put in when their parents bought the house on their marriage, and the old well had

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been covered up. More than sixty years of rain and earth and neglect had wedged the lid tight. Beryl found a spade and dug away some of the earth and grass. Gwen got a steel rod from the shed and used that to prise it loose. Eventually they got the lid off and both peered in. Beryl picked up a stone and threw it down. They listened for the sound of it hitting the water.

'I didn't hear it, did you?'

'No. Throw another one in.'

She did and they both heard it hit the water. In the shed they found a long piece of rope. Beryl emptied the metal rubbish bucket from under the sink and they tied the rope to the handle and dangled it down the well.

After several attempts it came up filled with water.

Gwen grimaced.

'I knew we didn't need a plumber. Interfering sods those men are. Go fill the kitchen sink with it and we'll let it down again.'

Beryl put the plug in the sink and emptied the water from the bucket into it. Things were swimming around. Funny little things with lots of legs and some that wiggled along with no legs at all. And it was green.

'Gwen, I don't think it's fit to drink.'

'We'll boil it.'

'There's funny things in it swimming about.'

'We'll sieve it first.'

'What if it makes us ill?'

'We'll get used to it. Take this bucket full. That'll do us for today, better than tap water with all the chemicals they put in it nowadays.'

'Well we shan't need the plumber shall we?'

'No. We don't use much water anyway.'

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No one realised that Gwen and Beryl had been taken ill through drinking the well water. The first day they drank it without concern, but then after that they developed serious intestinal infections which laid them low.

It was only when Willie noticed their curtains had not been drawn back for two days that anyone decided to do something about it. Willie, Jimmy and Pat went across together. They tried the front door but couldn't get in so they went through the side gate and pushed open the back door as far as they could. Pat got her handkerchief out and covered her mouth and nose. Even Jimmy, used to a very haphazard regime in his own home, was appalled at what he saw. They called out downstairs and looked in the sitting room but there was no sign of the two sisters. Willie suggested they made their way upstairs together. They tried to push open the main bedroom door and found it almost impossible because of the newspapers piled up from floor to ceiling. They tried the next bedroom and found the two of them prostrate in bed. They had used various containers to be sick in as well as having been sick in the bed, and they lay there, two gaunt, exhausted and unconscious women in dire need of help.

'Right Jimmy, out to the Store, dial 999 and get an ambulance. Tell them what you like but they've got to

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get here quick.'

'What about asking
dt
Harris to come while we wait? Maybe she could give 'em something to 'elp,' Pat suggested.

'Certainly not, we can't ask her to come into this mess. It's enough to make me ill just looking at it. In any case she might get something and give it to them babies. No, that won't do. Have you gone yet Jimmy?'

'I'mjust off.'

Pat reached out and tentatively shook Gwen's hand as it lay over the edge of the bed.

'Is this Gwen, Willie, I can't tell the difference? Gwen are you all right? Gwen? Gwen?'

'She's breathing I can see. Go round the other side and try the other one.'

Pat did. She could see that Beryl or Gwen, whichever one it was, was breathing, but she got no response.

'I reckon we've caught 'em only just in time Willie.'

'So do I.'

It must have been all of twenty minutes after Jimmy got back before the ambulance came. Even they, who must have seen some dreadful sights in the past, were appalled at what they saw. They wrapped the sisters up, put them on stretchers and with Willie and Jimmy's help manouevred them down the narrow staircase.

When they'd gone Willie locked up and went to tell Peter what had happened.

'I reckon they're touch and go, sir. Don't know what's caused it, but by Jove they aren't half poorly.'

Til ring the hospital and then go in to see them tomorrow. Though if my last encouter is anything to go by it will be far from pleasant.'

'They's too ill to be nasty sir, far too ill.'

'Right Willie. My word, they are two very peculiar women, aren't they?'

'Peculiar is putting it mildly. They weren't that bad as

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kids. They've gone funnier and funnier since they got into women. You should see the house.' Sylvia came down the stairs and Willie smiled and nodded to her.

'Hello, Sylvia.'

'Hello, Willie.'

Peter tactfully retired to his study.

'There's a good film on in Culworth this week. Funny title,
Fried Green Tomatoes in a Whistle Stop Cafe,
or something. I'm told it's good. Wondered if you'd like to go see it.'

'I would indeed. And when we've been perhaps you'd like to come back here for a coffee.'

'Right you're on. I'll look up the times.'

'I'm buying myself a little car, if it's arrived by then, we could go in that.'

'Didn't know you could drive.'

'Well, I had a car for years for getting into work and then it packed up. But I've decided to get another one. Only an old banger mind.'

'Never mind so long as it goes. I'll be in touch.'

Peter couldn't get to the hospital for two days but he reassured himself by phone that they were recovering. When he did manage to visit them they were unrecognisable, not only because they had lost weight but because they were so scrupulously clean.

'Sister Murphy, how are you?'

'Why, hello, Mr Harris, long time no see. These two parishioners of yours are going to be all right, though heaven knows why. They were in a terrible state when they came in. Dreadfully dehydrated, absolutely filthy and in need of a lot of loving care. Could you come into the office and give me a few details.'

Peter told all he knew and then went to speak to them. He hardly knew which was which.

'Hello, Gwen? Is it Gwen? It's Peter here from the

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Rectory. How are you today?'

Her eyes opened slowly and focused on his face.

'Go away.'

'I've come to see you because you've been very ill.'

'I don't need you.'

'Very well, my dear. You're in good hands. All you have to do is get yourself better, then you can go home.'

He went to the next bed took hold of Beryl's hand and spoke her name.

'Beryl, are you awake?' She opened her eyes, looked him full in the face and whispered, 'I told her we shouldn't drink it. I told her.'

'What did you drink Beryl?'

'It was the well.'

He could learn no more from her. She'd fallen asleep again.

The sisters were due home at the end of the next week. Apart from Peter no one had visited them. He organised a plumber to attend to the burst pipe but other than that he did nothing to the house, outfaced by the enormity of the task and afraid of intruding.

The social services were there when he called at the hospital a couple of days before they were to go home.

'We really cannot understand how two people have been allowed to live like they do. Does no one in your village have a conscience about them at all?'

'I know things look very bad and that the house is in a terrible state, but these two women will allow no one in. They shun all friendship, all overtures and totally refuse to accept that they need help. The reason why they drank the water from the well was because they didn't wish to have a plumber in their house. You tell me how to help them in those circumstances?'

'It is difficult I know. But you must persist. In the

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i99°
^s
i
^ts
wicked for old women to be living like they do. The whole village should take responsibility for them. No wonder we find old people have been lying dead in their houses for days before anyone realises. Someone should check them regularly.'

'Well, how about if you talk to them. You've seen the house, you know how unhygienic it is, in fact downright filthy. You offer them help to clean up and decorate or whatever it is you have the ability to instigate and see what kind of a response you get. You can't force people to have help if they don't want it. And they don't. As far as they are concerned their home is all right. It's just how they .want it.'

'I'll have a word, I'll persuade them to let us help.'

'I've paid for a plumber myself and he's been in and mended the leak so the water is turned on again and they won't need to use the well. So at least they won't be back in here.'

'Well, that's something. I have a fund which I can use to help them, so I'll see about it straight away.'

Peter nearly said, 'And the best of luck' but didn't, being mindful that he might need their help at some future date for other parishioners.

Despite Gwen and Beryl stoutly refusing all offers of help the social services came to the village, borrowed the key from Peter and cleaned the twin's bedroom and the downstairs rooms and took away all the out of date packets and tins which had accumulated over the years. So when the twins went home from the hospital at least the worst of what had taken place while they were ill had been cleared up.

Gwen and Beryl were horrified when they found out and sent the social worker away with stern reminders that she was not to call to see them under any circumstances and that now they were well again she could cross them off her list.

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The day before they were due home Sheila couldn't resist going round and taking a peep through their windows. A golden opportunity she called it. Ron, unwilling to allow her to go alone, found himself sneaking through the side gate. They had a peep through the windows.

'Ron, just look at this kitchen. It's absolutely antiquated. They haven't even a washing machine. No wonder they always look dirty.' Sheila reached up on tip toe and by holding on to the rotting window sill could see into the pantry.

'There's scarcely any food in the pantry, but the shelves have all been wiped. How can they live in there? Someone should do something about it.'

'You offer to go round and clean then.'

'Who'd want to clean up in there I ask you?' She turned round to hear his answer but he'd gone.

'Where are you Ron?'

'I'm down the garden looking at this well.'

Sheila struggled through the undergrowth. She knew she shouldn't have put her high heeled sandals on, but she pressed on. Ron was on his knees throwing stones into the well.

'It's mighty deep is this well. Fancy drinking water straight from this.'

Sheila peered down and sniffed the damp mossy odour. 'It's like those caves we went to see, near Bath was it? Why do they have their house like it is. Anyway no one can help them. The social services have helped a bit but they've not done enough. What do we pay all these taxes for?'

'Let's be off.'

'Shouldn't we put the lid on the well, Ron?'

'Yes, OK.' He pushed the heavy rotting old lid over the top as best he could. 'Surprises me they could move it in the first place. They must be stronger than they look,

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those two.' He stood up, dusted the earth from his trouser knees, and they walked towards the side gate. As they approached, Gwen and Beryl appeared from the front path.

Gwen became immediately enraged. 'How dare you, what do you think you're doing? Thought we weren't home until tomorrow did you? Well, we discharged ourselves early. Couldn't cope with their interfering ways. What do you think you're doing creeping about our garden like this? Get out, go on get out.' Gwen was angry, but Beryl was frightened. 'Go away, please go away,' she called.

Ron tried some of the assertiveness training he'd learnt on a course for union leaders. Assuming his most authoritative voice he marched towards them saying, 'Now Miss Baxter we've been in to make sure the lid was on the well securely. Couldn't take the risk of one of you falling down it could we? All's well, now I've attended to it, you've no need to fear. Glad you're well enough to come home. Take care of. .

Ron got no further. Gwen picked up an almost bristleless broom and raised it above her head, obviously intent on hitting him with it. The head of the broom caught Ron on the side of his head with an enormous thwack. The words he'd just used about her being stronger than he'd thought came back to him as she struck him again and again. Sheila intervened in an attempt to help Ron, but Beryl came behind her and gripped her arms. Suddenly Gwen stopped. She went quite pale and very short of breath.

Beryl let go of Sheila and went to Gwen's aid. The two of them unlocked the back door and Gwen and then Beryl squeezed inside and shut the door.

'Ron, Ron, let's get home before anyone finds out.'

'Quick, through the gate. I feel such a fool.'

Inside their own home, Ron turned on Sheila.

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'Can you tell me why I listen to you? It's you who got me into this predicament. I've that interview to do tomorrow for the ITV programme. All kinds of a fool I'm going to look with a bruise and a swelling the size of an egg on the side of my head.' He tenderly examined his head with the tips of his thick fingers. 'You're nothing but a confounded nuisance Sheila and after all these years it's time I stopped listening to you. In future / say what we do.'

'Well really, when I think of how I wait on you hand and foot, you don't do a hand's turn in the house and now you say I'm a confounded nuisance.'

'Well, you are. Don't ever suggest that we have anything to do with those two damned women ever again.' He stamped off upstairs to Sheila's navy and lavender bathroom, angry about the impression he would give on the TV programme. Maybe if he sat on the left hand side of the discussion group the lump would not be too obvious to the audience. The media certainly made one conscious of one's image. Talking of images, he wished Sheila looked more like Harriet Charter-Plackett or Caroline Harris. No not them, more like Sadie Beauchamp. Now she always looked stylish. Sheila never quite got her clothes right. And that dyed hair, he'd have to have a word about that.

His afternoon tea was ready when he got downstairs. Neat little brown bread sandwiches and a plate of scones with jam. No cream because of his cholesterol. The china teapot, the tea strainer and a neat little pink serviette for his knee. He'd much rather have had a big cup of strong tea, at the table in the kitchen and some well fried bacon between two slices of fresh white bread.