Village Fortunes (Turnham Malpas 17) (22 page)

‘Then I heard some heavy breathing like someone had been running and were getting their breath back so they could speak, and then suddenly there were two men standing beside Barry and me with a finger to their lips to warn us not to speak. By this time Barry and me was shaking, believe me, caught red-handed I thought, caught red-handed, I should have listened to Marie. We seemed to wait a long while but then Baz whispered from up on top “Right!” and we could see their shadows and they were holding something that I guessed, obviously, was a big length of lead roofing. It was then I realised that the two chaps who’d sneaked up on us were each holding a pair of handcuffs, and I still couldn’t work out what was happening.’

‘So what did happen?’ Peter asked, just as puzzled as Zack had been at the time.

‘The three of them started coming down the ladder slowly, ’cos it’s very heavy; they handed it to us and the two chaps who’d put their fingers to their lips to warn us to keep quiet, clapped the handcuffs on them as soon as their feet hit the ground. “Got yer!” Baz shouted, and followed on with that bit where they say, “I am arresting you . . .”

‘Sweat was pouring out of me, I was so het up. Barry, in the light of the torches the policemen had switched on, was white and shaking like a leaf, and so was I. The two men in handcuffs were put in a police car that was parked behind a derelict barn bottom end of the village, and on the way to the police station Baz explained.’

Peter waited for the explanation but Zack didn’t continue. ‘Yes? What then?’

‘Ah, well, it was Baz was the undercover policeman, yer see. Barry’s van was just right for him, no advertising slogans on it, just a plain dark-red van that nobody would take no notice of. All this because of my Marie seeing the advert about the wardrobe. We’re going to be called as witnesses at the trial.’

Peter was delighted. ‘So they have confessed to stealing our lead?’

‘Yes, and so would you have done if you’d been held in an arm lock like they were, by that Baz. He’s tough and not half; he must work out every day, muscles like steel he must have. They were in agony when they confessed. One of ’em tried to escape when we got to the police station, but he’d only gone about five steps when Baz, quick as lightning, grabbed him and held him in an arm lock, and the chap was sweating with the pain and he confessed all. I began to feel sorry for the chap, honestly I did, till I thought about our lead being stolen, and then I decided it was all he deserved.’

‘Well, at least that’s been sorted out. You were very brave, Zack, to do what you did, very brave indeed, especially when you thought Baz was the real thief.’

Zack began to laugh. ‘He, Baz that is, put Barry’s van registration number on the police scanning thing to check ownership before he conscripted us and found Barry’d forgotten to renew his road fund licence on his van, three months out of date it was. “See to it Barry,” he said. “I don’t want attention being drawn to your van when I’ve used it for police surveillance.” So, rector, what do you think?’

Peter stood up. ‘I am so proud of you, Zack. So proud. And such a string of coincidences. You see, Marie was right, wasn’t she? Sometimes we men need to take notice of a woman’s intuition.’

‘Except she thought he was the thief, not the police. I did too. Never thought about these undercover police needing to be so real, if you get me, unkempt, mucky clothes. You’d never have thought he was police if you’d seen him; he looked as if he hadn’t two ha’penny to rub together, just like the men he arrested. Still he did the trick, didn’t he?’

‘You’ll have a good tale to tell in the pub!’

‘I will indeed.’ Zack paused for a moment as he made to leave. ‘Should I say anything though, me being an unofficial policeman like?’

‘Don’t mention where he lives, then they can’t identify Baz.’

‘Of course, yes, that’s important. I’ll remember that. I’ll be off then. Bye, rector.’

It wasn’t often that Merc and Ford joined those who felt they owned the table with the ancient settle down one side, but that night they did. And by the time Zack arrived, with his mind primed for the telling of his adventures, accompanied by Marie for their usual Monday night indulgence, the others were already ensconced with a drink in front of them, listening to some story about a race meeting Merc and Ford had been to on Saturday and what an uproarious time they’d had, and Ford had won £157.50 betting on a horse that hadn’t a cat in hell’s chance of winning.

‘How did you know to put a bet on it when it was so hopeless?’ asked Dottie, who’d always done well out of taking Ford’s advice and was forever mystified by his good luck.

‘Something about the way she flirted herself all the way round the ring; as far as she was concerned no other filly in the race had a look in, and so I took a chance on her and won.’

‘I told him. I said, she won’t win, how can she, she’s come nowhere near winning all season.’

Ford laughed. ‘But she did. The bookies were laughing all the way to the bank, believe me.’

‘And so were you, Ford. Brilliant.’ Dottie was completely absorbed by his story, and never noticed that Marie and Zack were adding chairs to the group so they could join in the fun. ‘Oh, sorry. Here, look, I’ll move up this way. OK now?’ Dottie shuffled her chair closer to Merc, so Marie and Zack managed to squeeze in.

‘I don’t understand why you always win, Ford,’ Dottie said.

Ford laughed. ‘I don’t. Ask Merc, she knows.’

‘No, he doesn’t,’ said Merc tapping the table with a well-manicured fingernail. ‘He only tells you about winning, never about when he loses three race meetings on the trot.’

‘Tonight,’ said Ford, ‘I shall buy one round for all of us out of my winnings, OK? A celebratory drink on me for all of us round this table. Right!’

‘You’re more than generous, Ford, thanks,’ said Zack bursting to tell his adventures but not knowing how to make it sound like a casual episode and not the peak excitement of the year, which it was to him. Words of thanks for Ford’s generosity said by everyone at the table were followed by a silence, and so Zack chose to speak up. ‘I’ve solved the problem of who stole the lead from our church roof.’

He took a long drink of his home brew to give time for his news to sink in.

‘You have? How?’ asked Merc.

‘You? How’ve you done that when the police are baffled as they say?’ added Sylvia, incredulous.

‘Go on then, tell us,’ Willie said eagerly, feeling he had a vested interest in Zack’s statement, seeing as he’d been the verger before him for more years than he cared to count. ‘Get on with it.’

And so Zack related the events of Saturday night to a rapt audience. Within moments of beginning his story, other people in the bar had come to stand around the old table to listen in, and a burst of applause greeted the conclusion of Zack’s adventures.

‘The strange thing is while we were waiting a cat the spitting image of our Kitty stalked across the road from the direction of the church. Gave me a bit of a funny turn.’

Marie startled, said, ‘No, I don’t believe you. You never told me.’

‘I forgot. But it did. Snow white except for that one black ear and a slightly longer tail than most cats have, just like our Kitty. I swear.’

Someone with their feet firmly planted in real life said, ‘Get on. How can your cat have got from here to Compton Tester? It’s miles.’

A woman from Penny Fawcett protested, ‘Not across the fields it isn’t. Over the by-pass and then across the fields it wouldn’t take a determined cat all that long. There’s not many cats all white with one black ear.’

Someone else who was sceptical of all mysteries involving animals asked, ‘Which ear has your Kitty got that’s black?’

Marie and Zack both spoke at once.

Marie said, ‘Her right ear.’

Zack said, ‘Left ear.’

Spontaneous applause broke out.

Zack, disgruntled by their mockery, said, ‘Just depends where you’re standing when you say it.’

‘In any case what’s the cat got to do with stealing lead?’

Zack wasn’t too sure about that. But then he remembered Marie saying that their Kitty would do a better job finding the thieves than the police were doing. So he explained that, and then he added, ‘And I agree with Marie she could; she’s bright, is our cat.’

Unfortunately that night Kitty was killed crossing over the by-pass, presumably on her way home to Turnham Malpas, which, sad though it was, appeared to prove she really was involved seeking out lead thieves. And this was how Kitty joined Jimmy’s legendary Sykes the Jack Russell in the mystical animal stories of Turnham Malpas.

Fran had begun receiving regular texts from Chris. At first she read them minutely, savouring every single word. But after a week of receiving texts at least once a day, she began to bin them the moment she knew they were from Chris. He began by asking how she was, then he moved on to telling her she was always in the forefront of his mind, and the seventh one asked her to visit him in Brazil.

Fran was tempted, very tempted. But he still hadn’t mentioned the distress of her miscarriage. There was no mention at all of what she had gone through; no sympathy, no regret, no sadness at his loss either. She stopped reading his messages. Damn him. Damn him.

She worked in the store, harder than ever if that were possible. And gradually she began to rediscover her enthusiasm, so that some days she loved what she did, while on others she simply tolerated the work but had to struggle to be interested. But the texts still kept coming, and occasionally she read them. Finally he was begging her to reply. So she did: NOT COMING. STOP TEXTING.

But he didn’t stop, except now they were longer messages sent less frequently. Inside Fran was desperately grieving for Chris, but mostly for the baby.

She still enjoyed the gossip just like her Dad did, and she overheard Marie one day, sitting in the corner by the coffee machine enjoying her free coffee, while talking to Jimbo. ‘It broke my heart when our Kitty got killed, you know, Jimbo. She was such an interesting cat. So Zack and I went to the animal rescue yesterday and we’ve chosen a four-month-old kitten someone abandoned in that old quarry where they found . . . what was her name? I’m blessed if I can remember. I know! Jenny Sweetapple, her that was murdered. Anyway, this kitten’s beautiful. She’s a tabby with streaks of ginger, and we’re calling her Tilly, don’t ask me why, and we’re collecting her tomorrow. I can’t wait.’

Jimbo said, ‘I’m not that keen on cats.’

Marie looked up at him in surprise. ‘Your Flick had two.’

‘I know she did but I never liked them.’

Suddenly out of the blue their conversation was interrupted by Fran. ‘I’d like a cat.’

There was such longing in her voice that Jimbo recognised it and tempered his reply accordingly. ‘Well, I’m not that keen, but their plus is you don’t have to exercise them like when you have a dog.’

Their conversation was interrupted by a rep arriving to see Jimbo and a customer wanting a frozen coffee gateau that required Fran going into the back to the main freezer and picking one out for her. In fact the conversation about cats never picked up again because Marie left, Jimbo went home to sort out some problem with the Inland Revenue that Jimbo described as the Inland Revenue getting far too greedy, while Fran took over in the post office because Tom had to dash home to rescue Evie from a flood in the kitchen.

But later that night, her head having been full of wanting a kitten all day, Fran tackled her dad about it when he’d finished his evening meal. ‘I still want a kitten.’

‘Kittens grow up into cats, Fran.’

‘Obviously.’

‘So I’m not too sure. Have you asked Mum?’

‘No. But she won’t mind.’

‘What if you decided to go to university? What then? We’d be left with it.’

‘Mum wouldn’t mind, and you never know, you might take to it straightaway.’

‘And I might not. Why did you throw your mobile on the floor in such a temper, just before we sat down? Are you getting unpleasant calls from someone?’

Fran finished the last mouthful of her marmalade sponge, placed her spoon tidily in her empty dish and finally said, ‘If you want to know, I’ve started getting a lot of texts from Chris. Mostly I don’t read them, but sometimes I do. This time he’s wanting me to go to Brazil for a holiday, and he’ll buy the plane ticket and pay for it. First-class, believe it or not; that’s because I once said I’d never be well enough off to fly first-class.’

‘Tempting.’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you going to accept his generous offer?’

‘No.’

‘Good.’

‘He thinks money can buy everything, but it can’t. Certainly not me anyway.’

They heard the front door open. It was Harriet back from a meeting she’d been speaking at, and Jimbo went to greet her. Harriet came to sit down at the table while Jimbo supervised the microwave.

‘The talk go all right?’ asked Fran.

‘As well as can be expected, in the circumstances, thank you. They were all teenagers wanting to know how to become chefs overnight. What sort of a day have you had?’

‘All right, thanks. I want a cat. Dad says he’s not keen, but please say you are. Please.’

‘What’s brought this on?’

Fran was silent for a moment and then said, ‘I just need something to love.’ Suddenly tears crept into her eyes.

‘Another bad day? I’m so sorry. I’ll see what I can do. Where from though?’

‘The cat rescue where Marie Hooper’s getting hers from tomorrow.’

‘Dry your tears before Dad . . .’

Jimbo came in, placed a fresh pot of coffee on the table and put Harriet’s warmed-up supper in front of her. He sat down to enjoy another coffee with Harriet.

‘I’d really like a ginger cat. Ginger all over, no white feet or tummy, just ginger every bit, and I’d call him Tiger. What do you think, Mum?’

‘They are quite rare, ginger all over; they normally have some white.’

‘I know, but that’s what I want, otherwise I can’t call it Tiger. Please.’

Jimbo kept his own counsel and waited to see the turn of events. He knew Fran was attempting to find something to fill the vast black hole left by Chris. He just wished the damned man would go away, preferably for ever. It might be a good thing for Fran to focus on a kitten instead of Chris and certainly a lot less painful; in fact he might just say yes.