Whispers in the Village (11 page)

‘Well, now, you might well have come at a most opportune moment.’ Michelle nodded her head at the hot house she’d just left. ‘If it’s hot all day today, these peaches will be ready for gathering. It’s delicate work, not like picking blackberries, and they have to be stored very carefully.’

‘I’ll do it.’

‘Are you living in the village?’

‘At the rectory.’

Michelle raised an eyebrow. ‘Would Anna give you a reference?’

‘I know she would. Can’t have much better than living at the rectory, can I?’

‘Indeed not.’

‘You won’t regret taking me on.’

‘If I do, believe me, you’ll be out on your ear, immediately. I won’t tolerate idleness.’

‘My sentiments exactly.’

‘I only pay for full days. We start at seven-thirty and that doesn’t mean seven-fifty nor even seven thirty-five. Five pounds an hour. OK?’

Paddy had to swallow a bit hard when he heard that but outwardly he accepted cheerfully. ‘Thanks, that’ll be great. And if the peaches are not ready?’

‘I’ll find other work for you. Right!’

As Paddy Cleary went off, Michelle took her mobile from the pocket in her dungarees and rang the rectory.

‘Hello, Anna speaking. How may I help?’

‘Michelle Jones from the Big House. I’ve just had someone called Paddy Cleary come for a temporary job; he said he was staying with you.’

‘He is, Michelle. You’re Rhett’s sister?’

‘No. Dean’s sister.’

‘Sorry, yes, of course. What can I say? He is staying with me and if you can offer him a worthwhile job, I for one shall be delighted. He’s had a rough time for years and I’m trying to get him back on his feet. A job will be excellent for his self-esteem.’

‘I’m not Social Services and if he doesn’t work hard he’ll be back down the drive a lot faster than he came up it. Can’t afford timewasters. Mr Fitch hasn’t got where he is today without hard work and long hours, as he so frequently tells me. Same goes for his workforce. So if Paddy can hack it, fine. Thanks for talking. See you soon. Bye.’

Anna put down the receiver and went to look out of the study window. Poor Paddy. Poor, poor Paddy. What a life he’d had. His father had been a merchant sailor, thankfully away from home a great deal because when he was home he beat his boys mercilessly for the smallest misdemeanour. Then one time he went off to sea again and never came back. At first there was relief and then money began to run out, and in order to keep the family – his mother, himself, two brothers and his two sisters – in the bare necessities, Paddy began stealing. Got more practised, then got under the skin of some of the bigger criminals for his audacity and before he knew it he was being thrashed by them for getting too good at it. As Paddy said, what else could he do but steal to supplement the family income, him being still at school? Wasn’t his fault, now was it? It was the cards he’d been dealt. The beatings only made him beat others, then it became a spiral of drugs, drug-dealing and coming close to death.

Anna had met him when she was helping with the doughnut and tea van the Abbey took round every afternoon for the down and outs. One day he’d been alone and they’d talked and the whole sorry tale came out. Admittedly the story he told her could have been found in any magazine or newspaper any day of the week, but Anna had to believe him. She’d taken him to a drug centre where they got him off drugs. She’d cared for him, supported him, and now she’d moved to Turnham Malpas she had the opportunity to give him a home.

But taking a job! That was a definite move forward. She was so pleased. Anna settled down to work at her desk but before she could even check her emails the phone rang again. It was Gilbert.

‘Hello, Anna. How are you? Well, I hope? I’m taking the day off, is it possible I could come round for ten minutes to talk about the church music?’

‘Of course, be delighted. Coming straight away?’

‘I am indeed, if it’s not interfering with anything?’

‘No, that’s fine.’

‘Take me ten minutes, OK?’

‘Absolutely. Be seeing you.’

Anna took a quick glance in the mirror and decided make-up was called for. So she flung a brush through her hair, applied mascara and lipstick, appraised herself in the mirror and decided her old jeans and the shirt she was wearing were quite satisfactory, and raced back downstairs. As she reached the bottom step the doorbell rang and then the knocker was applied heartily several times.

She opened the door and found Gilbert standing there, looking like something out of a nature film. One of those men of the woods, rough-hewn and splendidly earthy. She caught the sandalwood and lime smell of him and thought: Gorgeous. Does he know the effect he has? No, he doesn’t.

‘Shall we talk on the doorstep?’

‘Oh! Sorry. No, of course, come right in.’

‘In here?’ Gilbert indicated the study door.

‘No, the sitting room.’ She led the way. ‘You sit on the sofa then you can put all that sheet music on the coffee table.’

Ah, thought Gilbert, none of the cosy camaraderie of the study like he was used to with Peter. He’d shared many a glass of something holed up in there talking music. Gone were the days.

He placed his music on the table and the slenderness of his hands as he did so didn’t escape Anna. Into her mind came that picture of him in shorts and sandals in the wood that first Sunday. Today it was a light blue shirt, open almost to the waistband of his trousers, which were corduroy and baggy, but there were the same Jesus sandals. He was very striking. She realized he was talking and she hadn’t heard a word.

‘… in view of this I thought we’d better get singing from the same hymn sheet, so to speak, so that’s why I’ve come.’

‘I see.’

Gilbert waited for her to expand, but instead she said, ‘I wish we did sing from the same hymn sheet regarding the choir. All
boys
? Please!’ She rolled her eyes heavenwards and awaited his reply.

‘The choir has been all boys since it began and I have no intention of changing it, ever. I know lots of the parishioners will be quoting Peter at you, morning noon and night, so I’m not going to apologize for saying that Peter was entirely satisfied with the way I ran the choir. He agreed for it to be entirely male. We have a waiting list for boys wanting to join, we have at least two boys every year who get scholarships to Cathedral choirs and we win county choir competitions very, very frequently. What more can one ask? You know what it would be like if we took in girls?’

‘Just as good?’

‘It would be “there’s more girls than boys”, “there’s more boys than girls”, “it’s not fair, it should be fifty-fifty”. There’d be no end to the quarrelling about it.’

‘It should be fifty-fifty. Are you saying you could tell the difference if you listened to a choir of girls and then a choir of boys on a tape? That you’d know which was which?’

‘Very possibly.’

‘I bet!’ Anna looked her most derisive.

‘What matters is the quality of the singing, actually. However, they are all boys and they are staying all boys.’

Anna watched him stroke his pile of sheet music with tender care. Listened to him say, ‘I know I’m a traditionalist, I do care deeply for the sanctity and dignity of the contribution music makes to a service and I will not be moved. The odd modern hymn but as for the rest—’

‘That’s fuddy-duddy, and you know it. If I want modern music, modern music I shall have.’

Gilbert stayed silent.

Anna tried to catch his eye but he didn’t look up. ‘Hello, there? Anyone at home?’

Gilbert eventually looked up. ‘Then we shall have modern hymns but traditional music otherwise. Mrs Peel loved your “Yellow Submarine” that first Sunday. Thought it added something to the service. Quite what, I’ve no idea, but she did. But if you bypass me and talk to her about the matter, it could be a resignation job.’ He picked up the music from the coffee table, tucked it under his arm and said sadly, ‘Such beautiful, exquisite music, so uplifting for the soul. It must have its place and I shall fight for it. I brought this for you to see. There’s some handwritten stuff, possibly by a past eighteenth-century organist or choirmaster at St Thomas a` Becket, which Louise found when she was cataloguing the music cupboard for me years ago. I’d hoped to play some of it for you … however, I’ll see myself out. Thank heaven’s Peter’s back in a year; it can’t come too soon for me.’

Anna followed him to the door and stood on the step, watching him get into his car. ‘Can we still be friends?’ she called. In reply she got a weary smile and she could have cried at his sadness. But on the other hand she was also determined to have her own way. Damn and blast the man upsetting her like this.

It felt chilly after Gilbert had gone so Anna ran upstairs for her cardigan. As she passed the main bedroom she saw the door was open and some of Paddy’s things on the bed. She went in and opened the wardrobe door. He’d moved down from the attic. For a second she couldn’t believe it, but he had. In the bathroom on the glass shelf were his meagre bits and pieces; toothbrush, comb, deodorant, soap. Wild at his presumption, Anna picked up his holdall, which he’d neatly tucked away in the bottom of the wardrobe, pushed his clothes and his bathroom things in it, and took the whole lot up to the attic where it belonged. She’d made the decision most particularly not to sleep in the main bedroom because she felt it was too much of an invasion of Peter and Caroline’s space. In any case, that vast bed was wonderful for two but for one … Anna didn’t see Paddy for the rest of the day but when he came in at supper-time and went straight to the main bedroom, she heard his explosion from downstairs in the kitchen.

He arrived abruptly at the kitchen door, but she didn’t even turn round to face him. Paddy shouted, ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

‘That bedroom is Caroline’s and Peter’s. I don’t sleep in there, and neither do you. No one does.’

‘I want to. It’s cold in that attic.’

‘When I switch the heating on it won’t be. Another couple of weeks and then.’

‘You’ve one hell of a cheek.’

‘No, Paddy. You’ve one hell of a cheek. This is not your house, it’s not my house, but it is entrusted to my care so I have an absolute right to say what does and does not go on in this house. You sleep in the attic.’

‘Who’s going to stop me from sleeping where I want to sleep? Huh?’

Anna turned to face him. ‘Either you sleep in the attic or you move out.’

‘Move out? What’s happened to the saintly person I thought you were? What about the dog collar and the cassock, eh?’

‘Still there, Paddy.’

‘Not as you’d notice.’

‘Well, they are, Paddy. I am not obliged by some sort of holy script carved in stone to give you a home. I do it out of the kindness of my heart. But there are limits and this is one of them.’

‘Well, too late. I’ve moved back in.’

Anna realized she had to take a stand. Once he got the master of her there’d be no end to trouble and for his own sake he had to realize she would be the person in charge if they were going to live under the same roof.

‘Watch my lips. I shall say this very slowly. So take note. You … must … move … back … into … the attic. The alternative is moving out. Understand?’

Paddy eyed her up and down. Took in the smell of some sort of delicious thing she was cooking, weighed that up against being top dog at the rectory and decided to disobey. ‘I’ll move my stuff straight after we’ve eaten.’ He had no intention of ever doing so. She’d never make him leave, Christian conscience and all that. No, she wouldn’t see him homeless. Not Anna.

After they’d eaten Paddy went to stretch out on the sofa with the remote control. Anna cleared up the kitchen and then crept quietly upstairs. His bag, still packed, was on the bed in the main bedroom. She picked it up, went downstairs, noiselessly opened the front door and put the bag on the step, but it wasn’t balanced and it rolled over on to its side, spilling the contents onto the road. Anna left it just as it was.

With it being one of her rare nights off Anna decided to watch TV herself, and spent the whole evening watching programmes entirely of Paddy’s choice. He flicked the remote time after time, finding things he enjoyed without a moment’s consideration of how she might feel about watching extreme violence and, on occasion, quite unnecessary sex scenes.

‘No porn on this damn thing. I’m off to bed. I’m tired.’

‘Goodnight.’ Anna sat quite still, waiting for Paddy’s outrage when he didn’t find his belongings where he’d left them. She heard the thud of his feet as he raced up to the attic, then the long run back down to find her.

‘What the hell have you done with my things? This isn’t funny.’

‘No, it isn’t. You were told to move them or you’d be out.’

‘So where are my things?’

‘Outside.’

‘Outside? You’ve a hell of a cheek. Typical hypocritical Christian. Speaks one thing, does another. Where is it, then? My bag?’

‘Outside on the front step.’

Paddy advanced towards her and for a split second she thought he was going to hit her, his fury evidently at boiling point.

‘You obey house rules, Paddy. I insist. It’s a small thing to ask when you think of the advantages you have of living here.’