Trouble in the Village (Tales from Turnham Malpas) (22 page)
Read Trouble in the Village (Tales from Turnham Malpas) Online
Authors: Rebecca Shaw
Don stood behind her, put his arms around her waist, and
locked his fingers so there was no escape. ‘I’d like that very much.’ He gave her a squeeze as he said it.
Vera chuckled. ‘Then go get your stuff.’
‘Yer mean it then? Yer serious? It’s what I would like more than anything.’ He looked round the room. ‘I like this place, there’s a feel about it, we could be happy here.’
‘I mean it.’
Tentatively, not wanting to push his luck, Don asked, ‘I’ll go get me bits and pieces then, shall I?’
Vera squeezed around in his arms and, clutched stomach to stomach to the new slimline Don, she said, ‘Fresh start. Eh?’
‘Fresh start. Car. Money in our pockets, a nest-egg building up. A weekend in London. A brand new wife. What more can a man ask for?’
‘Brand new wife?’
‘Well, you are. You’re different from the old Vera.’ He whispered in her ear, ‘And them gold slippers is real sexy.’
Vera pushed him away. ‘Get off! I’ll sort out some drawer space and that till you get back.’ But she was laughing and he laughed too.
Vera, left to herself, didn’t sort out anything at all. She stood quite quietly by the window looking out over the garden, wondering if she’d done the right thing. This might well be something she’d regret, but having learned out of desperation how to be strong, then maybe from now on she’d be an equal partner. Come to think about it, that was how it should be. She twiddled her engagement ring with its minuscule diamond, round and round, and thought about being sixteen and having to marry him willy-nilly. No, she’d done the right thing. Rhett would be leaving home soon and she’d be on her own and that was no joke. Now
she’d have Don and she’d have to keep reminding herself how hard won her triumph had been.
Into her mind came a picture of him laughing with her in the boat when neither of them could think of a single fault of hers. Vera moved across to the mirror and winked at Don’s brand new wife. ‘Go for it, girl,’ she said out loud. ‘Go for it.’
Don drove home elated, a new man in every way. The birds sang louder, the sky was bluer, the country lanes more beautiful than he had ever seen them. He had the sun roof open and he put his clenched fist through it and punched the sky. What a day! Briefly, just for a moment, he did wonder whether he would not have had such an expensive day if he’d played his cards more circumspectly; perhaps there’d been no need for the lunch and then the tea because it seemed to him that while he was rowing her on the lake she’d had her change of heart … No, he was being mean and miserly again. Scrooge! He mentally cursed himself for so quickly returning to his old ways and shut the door on them with a bang.
When he went into the cottage he found a note from Mrs Charter-Plackett on the mat asking him to an evening meal. So he knocked and told her, and to his embarrassment she embraced him on the doorstep. ‘I’m so pleased, Don, so very pleased. I shall miss you. We’ve had a good time, haven’t we, doing up your cottage?’
‘We have and many thanks, Missus, for helping, and the meals and that.’
‘You’re most welcome, it was a pleasure. Now, go on, hurry or Vera might change her mind!’
‘Willie Biggs, will you ever grow up? You’re the same every Bonfire Night.’
Willie grinned at Sylvia and rubbed his hands together. ‘Why not? It’s a bit of harmless fun and a chance for once to get something for free from old Fitch.’
They were slipping through the little gate at the back of the churchyard, which had been made many years ago to accommodate the family at the Big House when they came to church. No one was supposed to use it now but Willie had never bothered about such dictums. Bother old Fitch and his rules. Why walk all that way round when … Behind him he heard footsteps. Someone else taking a rise out of Mr Fitch? It was Sheila and Ron.
Willie whispered, ‘What you doing ’ere?’
‘Same as you, taking a short-cut.’ Sheila had a torch, which she shone in Willie’s face. His red wool hat and matching fingerless mittens combined with the excited grin on his face gave a distinct impression of a little boy up to no good.
Together they ambled across the field towards the crowds. There was no mistaking the direction they had to take for the whole area in front of Turnham House was floodlit. Smack in the middle of the field waiting to be lit was the highest, widest, biggest bonfire they’d ever seen. To one side was the refreshment marquee, close by the smaller beer tent, and on a platform made of pallets was the Scout band, playing as though their lives depended on it. Everywhere fairy-lights were strung, providing a magical touch to the whole scene.
‘Well, I never! Half that stuff on the bonfire is Don and Vera’s. Look at the size of the marquee, by Jove, he’s really gone to town this year.’ Willie rubbed his hands again in joyful expectation.
In the shadows in front of the huge kitchen-garden wall was all the paraphernalia of a massive fireworks display.
‘This is his big apology to us.’ said Sheila. ‘That’s what this is.’
Sylvia, nonplussed, enquired, ‘Apology? What about?’
‘Mr Fitch, feeling guilty about Jeremy Mayer. Could have killed him, you know. Very close brush with death Jeremy had, when they had that row. And guilty about the hedge. We got him there though, didn’t we? Eh? Nipped his little scheme in the bud good and proper. His language! It was disgusting! Like Lady Templeton said, he’ll never be a gentleman, but if this is him not being a gentleman then I’m all for it! Perhaps this time he’ll have learned his lesson.’
‘What lesson’s that?’
‘They weren’t the only ones to have a close brush with death, were they?’ Sylvia took Sheila’s arm and patted it sympathetically.
Sheila sobered and after a moment agreed with her. ‘Still, we’re all right now. Fit as fleas we are, Ron and me. Aren’t we?’
Ron gripped her arm to lead her round a puddle and then said, ‘We are indeed. I only hope Tom gets his job back, Evie’s sore in need of assurance.’
Willie answered, ‘Well, I think it’s wonderful how you two have rallied round Tom and Evie. Real Christian forgiveness.’
Sheila was embarrassed at being awarded such lofty motives when all the time she was glad to have Evie as her friend, for truth to tell she hadn’t got any real friends at all; acquaintances and associates but not real
friends
. For some reason she was the only person Evie felt free to speak to, well, not exactly free, but at least she did speak from time to time which made friendship easier.
They’d reached the edge of the crowd by now and all four of them gave themselves up to greeting everyone and waiting for Mr Fitch and Sir Ralph and Muriel and his guests to come out from the Big House to make speeches and light the bonfire.
There was always a big ceremony at this moment, Mr Fitch taking the opportunity to garner every ounce of publicity for himself and his good deeds. But the villagers
took care not to let him see their mirth because it wasn’t courteous and, besides, they all knew which side their bread was buttered, regarding Mr Fitch. Sir Ralph’s family had put the light to the bonfire for generations and now, with the sole survivor having returned to his roots, tradition had been revived, despite Mr Fitch’s attempt some years ago to get a celebrity to do it. And yes! Here they came! A cheer went up as Mr Fitch mounted the platform with his specially invited guests.
Mr Fitch held up his hand for silence. ‘Sir Ralph, Lady Templeton, ladies and gentlemen, children, it gives me great pleasure to be here this evening to participate in the celebrations. Before he goes up in smoke look closely at the guy on top of the bonfire. As you can see he bears a very strong resemblance to the real Guy Fawkes. In fact, he is the most splendid guy we’ve had in years.’ A small cheer of agreement went up. ‘Watch out when the flames reach his head, because it’s been filled with dozens of jumping crackers! He was made by Evie Nicholls, the wife of our esteemed verger. Three cheers for Evie.’
A buzz of consternation flew round the crowd. ‘Our esteemed verger’? But he wasn’t, they hadn’t agreed, or had they? Well, they hadn’t up to yesterday.
Willie said under his breath to Sylvia, ‘Not that I know of.’
‘Me neither.’
They saw Ralph whisper in Mr Fitch’s ear. After a moment of throat-clearing Mr Fitch said, ‘Well, I thought it had all been decided but apparently it hasn’t, so someone get their finger out and get it decided, for we can’t do without them, can we?’
‘Step forward, old chap, with that dear wife of yours.’ Now there really was a buzz of consternation, Dear wife? What was this? Something they’d missed and no mistake. ‘Yes, I knew you’d be surprised! Jeremy and Venetia were married this morning, here in our church. One of the best-kept secrets this village has ever known. They didn’t want any fuss, just a very quiet wedding. Well, then, step forward so we can congratulate you! Come on, up on to the platform!’
So Jeremy and Venetia climbed up and stood side by side waving. The cheer wasn’t ragged now it was full-throated and they called for a speech. Venetia nudged Jeremy and he took a step forward. Though he couldn’t yet be called slim, Jeremy had lost so much weight since his heart-attack that he was barely recognisable. While he spoke Venetia looked at him with pride and admiration, giving a very good imitation of an American political wife. More than a few sly remarks were made amongst the onlookers, on the lines of not before time, and what a change in him and in her, for she no longer advertised herself so blatantly, being dressed tastefully and with only half the makeup she normally wore, and her hair was not its usual outrageously dense black.
Jeremy got a cheer, but by now the crowd was wanting to see the bonfire lit because until then the refreshment marquee wouldn’t be opened, nor the free beer tent. So Mr
Fitch, sensing the growing impatience of the crowd, signalled for silence.
‘Now, ladies and gentlemen, the moment we’ve all been waiting for. Sir Ralph! May I ask you to do us the honour of lighting our bonfire?’
Ralph stepped forward, took the flaming torch from Barry Jones and went, as generations of his family had done, to light the Guy Fawkes bonfire. He walked round it lighting it at the various places pointed out to him by Barry and as the flames took hold a final roaring cheer went up.
Don and Vera, in the middle of the crowd, watched as their old life crackled and sparked its way to extinction. ‘You know, Don, I have to admit I’m blinking glad all that old stuff has gone. Somehow it was never my home. It was always your mother’s with all her old stuff in it.’
‘She did give us a roof over our heads when we couldn’t afford one of our own.’
‘Oh! I know she did and we were grateful, but it was always her home not never ours. I once lost some money down the side of the sofa and when I dug about for it I came up with a pair of her old glasses, and that was years after she’d died. Turned my stomach it did.’
‘You never said.’
‘There’s a lot I never said.’
‘Such as?’
‘Doesn’t seem to matter now.’ Vera tucked her hand in his and followed the flames up into the dark night sky. The floodlighting had been turned off as soon as the fire took hold, and the flames were leaping so high you had to tilt your head back to see their topmost points, and it made it
seem as though the flames were lighting up the very stars. ‘I wish we’d had more children.’ Of a sudden the flames reached Guy Fawkes’s head and, as Mr Fitch had said, it really was filled with jumping crackers. They darted and cracked all over the place and more than one landed amongst the crowd and they had to leap about to avoid them. ‘I wish we’d made more of ourselves.’ Slowly, very, very slowly, the fire began to collapse. Nearest to them was that old wooden chair from their bedroom, its four legs pointing uselessly now towards the sky. She’d had her alarm clock stood on it for more years than she cared to remember. ‘We’ve lost a lot of years, you and me.’ The wooden chair, its rush seat already gone, the varnish on it now severely blistered, became enveloped by the scorching flames and crumbled. ‘Shan’t have to lose any more. Got to make up for lost time.’
‘Well, now,’ said Don slyly, ‘I thought that was just what we were doing.’
Next to go was that cheap wardrobe that had been their Rhett’s and before that their Brenda’s. What a hopeless failure she’d been. Married to a useless man, well, no more than a boy when they married, and he’d disappeared within three months, leaving her with Rhett. Where was she now? Lucky if they got a card at Christmas, and no address on it. So what did she care? Well, now it was up to Don and her to make the best of it. She turned to look at him and was surprised to see he looked almost handsome in the warm glowing light of the fire. Vera recalled his last comment, and kicked his ankle. ‘You cheeky devil, you, I heard that.’ But she had to laugh.
‘I dare say.’ Excitement bubbled, yes, bubbled up inside her.
‘You choose the place.’
‘I’ve a fancy for Tenerife.’
‘Good idea. Tenerife it shall be. But a hotel, not self-catering, eh? It’s the auction next Friday, we’ll see how much we get for the bedroom suite. ’Spect it’ll be only a few hundred pounds if that, but it’ll go towards paying for the holiday.’
Vera turned to face him, feelings surging up inside her that she hadn’t felt in years and so could scarcely recognise. ‘I have to say it. Right at this moment, I love yer, Don. The feeling might not last for long so you’d do right to enjoy it while you can.’
If she didn’t know better she might have thought she saw tears sparkling on the edges of Don’s eyes.
Round the other side of the fire stood Evie and Tom. ‘Never mind, love, never mind.’ Tom pulled his old school scarf more closely round Evie’s neck. ‘It’ll all sort itself out. I knew it couldn’t be true, because no one had told me. I’m sure the Rector will sort it for us. He has a wonderful way of getting people to do as he sees fit, you wait and see. I’ve every confidence in him.’
Evie didn’t answer. She just stood there, twitching, her eyes lit from the outside by the fire, but dead within.
Tom pointed out that the guy was finally burnt. ‘You did
a good job there, Evie. Excellent. I don’t know where you get all your ideas from, I really don’t. Shall we go in the refreshment tent?’
She shook her head.
‘Go on, love. A hot drink would fit the bill just right. How about it?’
‘No, Tom. I just want to enjoy the fire. You go.’
‘I tell you what, I’ll go get something and bring it out to you.’
‘If you want.’
‘Don’t move from here. Right?’
Evie nodded, watched him stride away and then turned back to watch the flames. All she had to do now was step forward, what, thirty paces? How quickly did you die in a fire? Would that be the best way? The quickest, cleanest way? Like cremation, except you were alive, like wives had to do in India years ago when their husbands died. Tom. Tom. He tried so hard to understand, but he couldn’t. No one could, not this desolation so deep inside herself; this arid, shrivelled desert she carried around all the time. Perhaps that was the price she had to pay for having been given a talent. Maybe if she threw all her pictures, all her threads, all her fabrics, all her needles, on this fire, cleansed herself of all her skills, the desert within would flower instead and she’d find peace again.
She felt a touch on her arm. It was Sheila. Sheila, with her gutsy acceptance of what life threw at her. Sheila, who lacked charisma but was so warm-hearted. Sheila, who frequently made unforgivable gaffes but had an unexpected blundering insight. Sheila, who was the first friend she’d had
in years and thus accepted her for what she was. Uncomplicated Sheila, who talked and filled her silences and made it so she didn’t have to speak.
