Trouble in the Village (Tales from Turnham Malpas) (10 page)
Read Trouble in the Village (Tales from Turnham Malpas) Online
Authors: Rebecca Shaw
‘For which we’ve only once managed to catch them. Very fly young gentlemen, Kenny and their Terry.’
‘Exactly, but … they live down Shepherds Hill, or they did, there is no way their house could be mistaken for Sheila and Ron’s. So whose house could be mistaken? Anyone around the Green. They’re all thatched and they’re all white with black timbers, most have roses around the door, except for Glebe Cottages and Glebe House. So I went round the Green in my head the other night and there isn’t a single person who could possibly be in need of a beating.’
Muriel picked up her polishing box from where she’d rested it on the flat bit of the tomb. ‘While I polish I’ll have another think.’ She turned back to say, ‘You see, our houses are not numbered. The Post Office wanted to number us all a few years back but we all said we wouldn’t use them if they did. I can tell you there was quite a row about it and an official came down, but we stuck to our guns. One must, you know, about such things. The same with the street lighting. They said it would help to cut crime. Crime? we said. What crime? Now I am beginning to wonder. If there’d been lights perhaps Sheila and Ron would …’
‘I’ll say good morning, Lady Templeton, pleasure talking to you.’
‘I’ve just thought, what did Sheila have to say?’
‘While you polish think of all the people around here who wear trainers. Black trainers.’
Muriel’s eyes opened wide. ‘She saw them then?’
‘Only the trainers.’
‘I see. Were you wanting time for prayer? I could come back later.’
Muriel patted his arm and smiled. ‘Maybe you would, maybe you would.’
Being such an ancient church it was much visited by enthusiasts for church architecture so she was accustomed to strangers wandering about while she worked. But this morning no one was around and she hummed and polished in solitude. Muriel was in the corner by the font, working on the brass decoration. It was the Victorian brass addition to the font she’d taken exception to. She heard the main door open. She couldn’t see who had come in and she was hidden by the wall anyway so she worked away ignoring them. Then, standing back to inspect her handiwork, Muriel missed her footing and slipped down the shallow step which separated the font area from the main aisle.
‘Oooh!’ She saved herself from falling by grabbing the staff of a saint in the niche by the font. ‘Oh dear!’ Muriel rubbed her ankle and hopped about for a moment till it felt better. She packed up her cleaning box and went to walk towards the main door.
Standing by the Templeton tomb was Kenny Jones. His tatty anorak had been replaced by a black leather jacket, his grubby T-shirt by a royal blue shirt and a tie with a dazzling design on it, his old jeans by black twill trousers and on his feet were smart leather brogues. And always before he’d worn … Oh! No! Black trainers!
Kenny was so surprised to see her you could have thought he’d imagined she’d simply materialised from behind the tomb.
‘Oh!’ He recovered himself and said, ‘Good morning, Lady Templeton. Nice morning. Been busy, I see.’
‘Yes, that’s right. I always take my turn to polish the brass, and now I’m doing Sheila Bissett’s turn too. How are you, Kenny?’
‘Very well, thank you. Nasty that. Beating ’em up.’
‘Sheila’s come round. That nice Mr Proctor told me. He’s been talking to her. I’m glad to see you coming to church. There’s nothing quite like a sit-down in here for sorting yourself out. Worries, you know. Problems and such.’
‘Not my cup of tea really, but yes, I thought I’d come in.’
‘Of course. There’s nothing like it for calming the soul. Such a solace.’
‘Indeed. Wouldn’t know much about that, but it’s worth a try. How’s Sir Ralph? Keeping well, I hope?’
‘Oh, yes, very well. Are you settled into your house? I hear tales of you making it very habitable.’ She looked at him with a teasing grin on her face, though that was the last thing she really wanted to do. Black trainers? Surely not.
‘Doing our best. We’re glad of the chance, all thanks to Sir Ralph ’aving faith in us. Our Terry and me, we know what everyone thinks of us, and it doesn’t help you to pull yourself up out of the mud, and that’s what I’m doing by hook or by crook. I’m sick of being at the bottom of the pile.’ He looked round the church. ‘All this history. Wonderful old place. We’re always so busy-busy, aren’t we? But here it’s so calm.’
‘Exactly.’ Muriel was surprised by his thoughtfulness; there was more to him than she had realised. ‘I’ll leave you to it then. Bye-bye.’
Kenny opened the door for her and watched her going down the path. If she knew, he thought, if she just knew. Gracious old bat, though, but so, what’s the word? That’s it, naïve.
Muriel, having seen such a nice side to him, decided not to mention about the black trainers, for he couldn’t really be the kind of person who would attack Sheila and Ron, not when he was so thoughtful. What’s more, it wouldn’t do to throw suspicion on him because there must be dozens of men wearing black trainers besides Kenny. She wouldn’t even tell Ralph.
In the bar it was mainly the local people who filled the chairs. There was a full house at the table which had the settle down one side of it. Jimmy was there with, under the table, his dog Sykes, who knew he wasn’t supposed to be in there and who kept quiet because past experience had taught him that if he did keep quiet he would be rewarded with a long drink from Jimmy’s beer before the end of the
evening. Sitting with Jimmy were Sylvia and Willie and also Vera, making one of her rare appearances.
Vera, feeling flush with the bonus she’d received, said, ‘Next round’s on me. Busy tonight, ain’t it? Any more news about the hedge? ‘As that dratted old Fitch decided to climb down?’
Sylvia shook her head. ‘The Rector’s has been up to see him as well as Lady Templeton, and neither of them have budged him an inch. So they’re planning a petition and I shall be the first to sign it.’
Vera placed her glass neatly in the middle of the beer mat and said knowingly, ‘I reckon this hedge business is only the first step in a bigger scheme.’
Scornfully Willie asked, ‘What bigger scheme?’
‘I reckon he’s wanting to build houses on Rector’s Meadow and thinks if he gets the hedge question out of the way there’ll be nothing to stop him. I have heard that he’s widening the lane when he does it, so the council can’t put a stop to it because of access.’
‘Vera! Sometimes …’
Sylvia stepped in with her support. ‘She could have a point. He’s a devious one you know, and he’s never done anything with that field, has he? Never planted it, never had the cows in it from Home Farm, never nothing. I think Vera could be right.’
Willie and Jimmy laughed. ‘You two, you get worse.’
Vera tapped the table with her finger. ‘Mark my words. He’s coming round to it step by step. You can laugh, I shall remind you about this when it all comes to pass. Any news about poor Sheila and Ron? Have they got anybody yet?’
‘No. The police are baffled, as they say.’
Jimmy laughed. ‘Aw! Come on, Vera! What on earth have Ron and Sheila to do with gangs?’
‘He reckons someone’s after silencing Ron. He did make that speech, didn’t he, about workers’ rights and the right to strike not being taken from them? He got a lot of publicity in the papers an’ that.’
‘Yes, but –’
‘Yes, but nothing. You never know. Them in high places don’t want unions getting up on their hind legs and making a fuss. They’re all earning big, big money nowadays and they’re committed to big mortgages and that and high living and they don’t like the idea of doing without, so they sink to beatin’ people up.’
Willie looked sceptically at Vera. ‘I reckon those old dears you look after are addling your brains.’
Sylvia, shocked by his remark, nudged him. ‘Willie!’
Vera looked hurt. ‘I may not have much up top, Willie Biggs, but I’m not daft. Those people who’ve come up from the bottom rung are enjoying a lifestyle they never thought possible in their wildest dreams and they’ve no intention of losing it all. They’ll stick at nothing. Lying in their teeth, cheating, fraud, anything.’
Jimmy tried pouring oil on troubled waters. ‘I’m ready for a refill.’ He pushed his glass towards Vera.
She stood up saying, ‘Rightio. Same again, everybody?’ They all nodded.
Sylvia watched her walk towards the bar. ‘You shouldn’t
pour scorn on her, it’s not right. She’s doing her best to improve things for her … self … Well, I never!’
Jimmy and Willie, their backs to the door, turned round to see what or who had caught Sylvia’s attention.
Together they both said, ‘Blimey!’
‘It’s Don, isn’t it?’
He’d used too much hair dye and the result was an over-exaggerated head of jet black hair, but the barber had given him a very good cut, well tapered into his neck, parted and thinned, and it had taken years off his age. He’d been shaved immaculately: even the tufts of hair he always kept missing around the cleft in his chin had been banished. His skin, instead of being muddy and looking suspiciously as though it hadn’t been washed properly in weeks, was positively glowing. He was wearing a smart checked sports jacket with dark trousers, a sober tie and matching shirt. Conversation came to a standstill as the entire bar gazed in amazement at this unbelievable spectacle.
Vera hadn’t seen him, with her back being to the door, and he hadn’t seen Vera and he went straight across to their usual table.
‘Can I get anyone a drink?’
Sylvia was the first to answer. ‘Well, my word. I have to say it. You do look so smart, I am impressed.’
He tried to pass off her remark by shrugging his shoulders and showing them a ten-pound note. ‘Well?’
Willie found his tongue. ‘You’ve lost weight too. By Jove, Don! I could nearly think you were courting.’
Sylvia nudged Willie again. ‘Take no notice, Don. We’re all right for drinks, thanks, Vera’s just getting us a refill.’
Don glanced across to the bar. ‘Didn’t realise she was
’ere.’ They watched him pinch the knot of his tie to make sure it was just right and as he marched across to Vera their eyes followed him.
Jimmy whispered, ‘I swear I can smell aftershave.’
Willie agreed. ‘So can I. This could be interesting.’
‘I’ve never seen him in that outfit before, have you?’ Sylvia asked, with her hand over her mouth so he couldn’t possibly hear her. ‘Let’s hope he isn’t meeting someone in here tonight.’
Jimmy finished the last drops of his beer and said, ‘No, I reckon it’s Vera he’s courting. We could have some fun.’
Sylvia tapped Willie’s arm. ‘And just you watch your tongue. We don’t want to upset things, not when he’s making an effort.’
At the bar Don took hold of the tray. ‘I’ll pay for these, Vera. Add an orange juice, would you, Alan, please?’
‘Certainly, Mr Wright.’
Vera hadn’t seen him yet, but she’d smelt the pungent aftershave. She wondered how it could be Don’s voice she heard, but not the old musty smell of the Don she remembered. At the sound of his voice she hesitated and then very slowly turned to face him. Conversation fell away. Everyone in the bar knew the state of affairs between Vera and Don and most agreed Vera had been justified in leaving him in that pit he called home. They watched quite openly to see her reaction.
But there was none. She looked at him in complete silence, her face composed and giving nothing away. No surprise. No amazement. No pleasure. No consternation. Without a word she walked back to the table and sat down. Jimmy got up and pulled a chair across for Don. There was a
quiet hum of conversation while everyone waited to see what would happen next. Vera sat mute. Don handed round the drinks, returned the tray to the bar and came back to sit at the end of the table, his knees almost touching Vera’s where she sat at his right hand on the settle.
Don asked her, ‘Gin and tonic now, is it?’
‘Any objections?’
‘No, no, none at all. Bit different from your usual port and lemon, that’s all.’
‘It is. But then I’ve moved on, you see.’
‘Of course. Job working out all right?’
‘Yes, thanks.’
‘Rhett liking the flat, is he?’
‘He couldn’t but. Nice room overlooking the gardens. He’s well set up.’
‘He hasn’t called to see me.’
‘Not surprising, is it? You’ve not been to see him.’
‘I am still his grandad.’
‘Are you now?’
‘What do you mean by that remark?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Have you stopped him coming?’
‘No. He does as he likes, like I do.’
‘I can see that.’ Don looked her up and down, noting the flattering dress she wore and her smart hairstyle. ‘You look nice. How do you manage to get your hair done in that dead-alive hole?’
‘The hairdresser who comes to do the patients’ hair does mine in exchange for a nice meal and a sit-down in my flat before she leaves.’
‘Got it all organised, haven’t you?’
Don stood up. ‘Can I give you a lift?’
His suggestion put the torch to her temper. ‘Lift? You? Give me a lift? I wouldn’t accept a lift from you if I had a hundred miles to walk. A lift? In that stinking uncomfortable sidecar I’ve put up with all our married life? Why I’ve stuck with you I’ll never know. But at last, thank Gawd, I’ve come to my senses.’ She gestured at his new clothes. ‘Another thing whilst we’re on the subject, you’ve no need to think you’re making an impression on me with this lot, because you’re not. Underneath you’re still the same old Don. Selfish! Inconsiderate! Dull! Boring! Hidebound! Yes, hidebound. You’d no more think of going to Torquay than – than …’
Vera picked up her bag and pushed him full in the chest so she had room to get out from the settle. His chair fell over but he managed to remain upright. ‘See! Stolid from head to toe. Immovable! That’s you! Immovable. You haven’t that much spark in you, not that much!’ She held her finger and thumb a centimetre apart close up to his face. ‘Good night to you!’
Don bent to pick up his chair and he sat down in it, his head lowered, giving the remains of his orange juice close scrutiny. Jimmy, to cover his embarrassment, put his glass under the table for his dog Sykes to finish.
After a few moments Sylvia shuffled along the settle and sympathetically laid a hand on his arm. ‘She’s just a bit upset, you see.’
In a very subdued voice Don replied, ‘What about?’
‘That’s just it, Don. It’s like she says. You don’t
think
.’
‘About what?’
‘About
her
.’
‘But this is for her.’ He gestured towards his jacket. ‘I thought she’d be pleased.’
‘She is. But she won’t let on because it’s like she says, nothing’s changed. You’ve made a good start, but it’s only skin deep, you see.’
‘Tell me then, Sylvia, what can I do?’
Needing to get the position absolutely clear Sylvia asked him, ‘About what?’
‘About getting her back.’
Willie intervened: ‘It all depends on how much you want her back.’
Don looked up at him. ‘Well, I do. It was all right at first, the novelty yer know, but now, well, I miss ’er and it’s not just the cooking an’ that. I miss ’
er
. I want things like they used to be.’
‘Nay, Don.’ Jimmy sighed. ‘Nay, Don. Yer haven’t listened to a word what Sylvia said. Vera doesn’t want things like they used to be, that’s what she’s rebelling against.’
‘But look at me, I’ve tried. What more can a fella do?’
Sylvia took hold of his hand. ‘How could you expect her in all conscience to want to have a lift in that rackety old sidecar, dressed like she is and with her hair newly done? Answer me that.’
‘But it’s a classic! Worth a lot.’
Scornfully Jimmy muttered, ‘Then sell the damn thing.’
Don reacted violently to Jimmy’s suggestion. ‘Sell it? It’s my pride and joy.’
Sylvia gave him an ultimatum. ‘It’s Vera or the bike, Don.’
‘It’s make-yer-mind-up time.’ Jimmy stood up. ‘I’ve to be off. They’ll all be wanting taxis soon and outside Culworth Station is where I’ve to be pronto, pronto.’ He popped a mint in his mouth from a packet he kept in his pocket, called a cheerful goodnight to everyone and left with Sykes slinking along beside him, licking froth from his lips and trying to look as if he didn’t exist.
‘Night, Jimmy.’ Don turned to look at Sylvia. ‘I’m going to have to do better, aren’t I?’
‘Yes, you are. After all, she’s only wanting you to live at the nursing home while ever she has a job there. She’ll go back to the cottage when she retires. It’s not for ever, is it?’
‘That’s it though, she won’t. That’s the problem, my cottage.’
‘Well, that’s for you to decide, because you’re the one who’ll have to change things.’
Don looked up at Sylvia and gave her one of his very rare smiles. ‘She did look nice tonight, didn’t she?’
‘Yes, she did, very nice. Come on, Willie, that programme’ll be starting in a minute and if we don’t see the beginning you’ll be asking me who’s who and what’s what all night. Good night, Don. Think on what we’ve talked about.’
