by Simon Brett
‘Well …’
They were sitting in the cluttered front room of Woodside Cottage, a nest of soft furnishing, of rugs and throws. For her clients, Jude’s healing process started the moment they entered the nurturing ambience of her home.
‘What you’re saying,’ Carole went on, ‘is that Bill Shefford’s got a “Mail Order Bride”?’
‘You may be saying that. I’m not. Bill did actually meet Malee when he was on a trip to Thailand.’
‘So, what difference does that make?’
‘I think a “Mail Order Bride” is generally considered to be someone who registers themselves with an international marriage agency, hoping to attract a husband from a wealthier country. That’s not what happened with Bill and Malee. They met socially while he was on holiday in Thailand.’
‘When you say “socially”, you don’t mean they met at a cocktail party, do you?’ asked Carole beadily.
‘No, probably not. Bill went out to Thailand on a group tour. He met Malee. A few weeks later she came to England and they got married at the registry office in Fedborough.’
‘So, what was Malee doing in Thailand at the time they met?’
‘I think she was a waitress in the hotel where he was staying.’
‘Then it’s the same difference really, isn’t it, Jude? She might as well have been a “Mail Order Bride”. She was on the lookout for a wealthy Englishman to get her out of poverty, and he was looking for a continual supply of subservient sex.’
For an intelligent woman who did The Times crossword, Carole often came across as surprisingly Daily Mail. ‘From all I can gather,’ Jude said, ‘it’s turned out to be a very happy marriage.’
‘Huh,’ said Carole, as only she could say ‘Huh.’ She went on, ‘Well, I didn’t get the impression Bill’s new bride was spreading much sweetness and light into the next generation.’
‘Billy?’
‘Yes.’
‘Hm.’ Jude nodded. ‘Billy’s a man with problems.’
‘Oh? And, incidentally, how is it that you know so much about the Shefford set-up?’
‘I’ve been doing some work with Billy’s mother-in-law.’
‘By “work”, I assume you mean “healing”?’ Carole could never keep a shade of contempt out of her pronunciation of that word. But then again, she didn’t really want to keep it out. To her, any form of medical procedure that didn’t involve an NHS GP was deeply suspicious. The very word ‘healer’ carried with it an ineradicable whiff of charlatanism.
‘Shannon Shefford’s mother, Rhona, is dying.’
‘Oh, and you can heal her of that, can you?’
It was a cheap shot, but Jude didn’t rise to it. She just said, ‘I can perhaps make her last months less stressful.’
‘Huh,’ said Carole. But she did feel slightly guilty for the cynical line she had taken. She often made pronouncements that came out sounding more callous than she’d intended. She envied her neighbour’s skill for saying the right thing at the right time.
A sudden twinge of pain in her right knee distracted her. She adjusted her position in the armchair as subtly as she could, but Jude still noticed.
‘Something wrong with your leg?’ she asked.
‘No, no,’ Carole responded hastily. ‘Just a touch of cramp.’ The last thing she wanted was her neighbour offering to heal her.
Jude didn’t believe the answer. She’d noticed Carole limping slightly the last few weeks. But she moved the subject on. ‘Oh, incidentally …’ said Jude, ‘sorry about your car.’
Carole was incensed. ‘How did you know about that? Did you see it down at the parade this morning?’ That seemed unlikely. She knew Jude did not share her strict regime of early rising.
‘No, no,’ Jude replied. ‘I heard about it from a friend in the village.’
Carole curbed the instinctive urge to ask which friend. Though she did very much want to know, she didn’t wish to sound needy. In all areas of her life, she expended a lot of energy in trying not to sound needy. Also, there was an element of jealousy in her reaction. Jude found meeting new people so much easier than she did. Carole didn’t want to hear further proof that her neighbour was friends with more Fethering residents than she was (even though Jude hadn’t lived in the village nearly so long).
‘Yes, it was unfortunate,’ said Carole. ‘There’s far too much random vandalism around these days.’
‘Surely better to have random vandalism than targeted vandalism.’
Carole looked sharply at her neighbour. Jude couldn’t be implying …? But the brown eyes looked so innocent, she knew the remark had had no hidden agenda.
For a moment, she felt strongly tempted to tell Jude about the note that had been shoved under her kitchen door. Its appearance had affected her more than she cared to admit to herself. And Jude always offered a sympathetic ear – indeed, much of her job description required offering a sympathetic ear. But no, Carole didn’t want to involve her. Some illogical voice within her said that if she told no one about what had happened, the threat would go away.
‘Anyway, I’ve had it repaired,’ she announced briskly. ‘The Renault is safely back in the High Tor garage.’
‘Good. And presumably, everything was covered on your insurance?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Carole airily.
‘Of course, Shannon should have gone to university,’ announced Rhona Hampton.
‘Uhuh,’ said Jude, only half concentrating on her client’s words. Her main focus was on healing, channelling its power into the frail body lying on the bed. The covers had been pulled back but Rhona had kept her nightdress on, accentuating the pathetic thinness of her mottled arms and legs. Jude just ran her hands slowly along the body’s contours, not touching, translating the energy into comfort.
Both women knew there was no hope of a cure for Rhona’s liver cancer. Jude’s mission was palliative care. That was accepted between them. The old woman never talked of death, so Jude didn’t either. Some people in the last stages of her life, she knew, were terrified, some remained endlessly curious, others ignored their situation. Her job was to adjust to the needs of the individual client.
The request for her services had come from Shannon who, it turned out, was a great believer in alternative therapies. And Jude reckoned it must have taken quite a bit of persuasion for Rhona to agree to the treatment. Shannon’s mother seemed very old-school and traditional, probably of Carole’s view that all medical needs could – and should – be supplied by the NHS. And Shannon said she’d tried to get another alternative therapist to work with her mother, but after ten minutes he’d been denounced by the old woman as a ‘snake-oil salesman’.
Shannon had, however, done the groundwork somehow, because Rhona did agree to let Jude come and see her. Maybe it was a gender thing. The old woman didn’t like being treated by a man. Shannon said she thought that was probably it. In future, she’d always recommend a male therapist for a man, and a female for a woman. Jude, whose experience did not support that approach – she had had an equal success rate with clients of both genders – had not taken issue about it.
At their first encounter, Rhona was very suspicious, but Jude’s easy manner had worked its customary magic. Since then, the old woman had expressed strong views on many subjects but she hadn’t said a word of disparagement about alternative medicine.
That day she and Jude were in the downstairs front room of the younger Sheffords’ house, an unimaginatively designed seventies four-bedroomed number called, for no very good reason, Waggoners. Ideal for a young couple with two infant sons, which is what Billy and Shannon had been when they bought it. Whether the house was quite so suited to accommodating a dying mother-in-law, as well, was a subject on which Billy had been heard to express views after a couple of pints in the Crown and Anchor.
Certainly, in the eight months since Shannon had decided her mother could no longer manage in her own flat, Rhona’s presence at Waggoners had caused visible disruption. For a few
weeks, she had been allocated the spare room, between the two boys’ bedrooms on the first floor. But the stairs soon became too much for her to cope with, and Shannon had declared that her mother must have the front room, formerly the family sitting room. The change required a certain amount of DIY input from Billy. New shelves were needed to fit around the pieces of furniture Rhona had brought with her from the flat. A handrail had to be erected by the step up to the front door (though it became increasingly rare for the old lady to go outside the house). More rails had to be fixed in the hall on the route to the downstairs lavatory, and some inside the lavatory itself, which was now designated for Rhona’s exclusive use.
All of this work Billy Shefford undertook without complaint, though occasionally Jude got the impression he was asking himself if it was really necessary. It was, after all, only a matter of time before all of these geriatric aids would need to be removed. But, from her observations of Billy and Shannon’s marriage, Jude got the impression that such reservations would never be voiced.
Shannon had always adored her mother – ‘I love her to bits’ she kept saying – and that unalterable fact Billy had had to take on board right from the beginnings of their relationship. Those beginnings went a long way back. Billy and Shannon were childhood sweethearts. They had got together at the comprehensive in Clincham when they were both fourteen, and neither had had eyes for anyone else since. They had married four years later; ‘far too early’, in the opinion of Rhona, who was still going on about it that morning while Jude was treating her.
‘Shannon was definitely university material,’ she repeated. ‘Her teachers at the school said that. She could have gone on and got a proper qualification, rather than tying herself down with a garage mechanic.’
Jude had heard the contempt in the last two words many times before, but never made any comment. Rhona thought her beloved only daughter had married beneath her, and nothing would change that opinion. Jude felt considerable sympathy for Billy. He had accepted the mother as part of the package when he took up with the daughter. He had known Rhona would always be critical of him, but now the critic was firmly embedded inside his own house.
Jude decided to put up a minor defence of the poor man. ‘He’s a bit more than a garage mechanic now, Rhona. He and Shannon have a very enviable lifestyle.’
This was greeted by an entirely predictable, ‘Huh. Shannon could have done a lot better for herself on her own. If she’d gone to university, she could have become a lawyer or something like that. Moved in professional circles, ended up marrying someone who was more on her sort of … intellectual level. They make a lot of money, top lawyers, you know. Much more than garage owners.’
‘Well, from what I’ve seen of them together,’ said Jude, palliative in more ways than one, ‘Shannon and Billy seem to have a very happy marriage.’
‘Appearances can be deceptive,’ said Rhona darkly.
It struck Jude for the first time that maybe the old woman’s antipathy for her son-in-law arose from a dislike of men. All men. Jude had never heard any mention made of Shannon’s father. Had he abandoned Rhona with a young baby, leaving her to bring Shannon up on her own? And had that betrayal sparked in Rhona a distrust of the entire gender? It was a mildly interesting speculation but, Jude reminded herself, not really her business. Her sole function at that moment was to alleviate the discomforts of a dying woman.
And Rhona’s sole function at that moment – as at many other moments – seemed to be to continue criticizing her son-in-law. ‘Anyway, I’m not sure Billy’s future’s that secure at the moment.’
‘Oh?’
‘He’s worked for his dad all these years and everyone reckoned that, when Bill finally retired, the son’d take over. After Valerie died, Bill made a will leaving the business to Billy. But is that still going to happen now his dad’s taken up with this Chink?’
Jude, careful not to show any reaction, winced inwardly. Rhona’s generation were not great exponents of political correctness. All she said, mildly reproving, was, ‘Malee’s from Thailand.’
‘Thailand, China, they’re all the same. Can’t trust Asians. Gold-diggers, money-grubbers, the lot of them.’
‘I don’t think you’re being fair, Rhona. You can’t condemn a whole nation like that.’
‘Why not? I speak as I find. And I know that this Molly, or whatever she’s called, is only after Bill Shefford’s money.’
‘You can’t be sure of that.’
‘Oh no? So, tell me … what else is going to make a balding, overweight seventy-year-old man attractive to a girl in her twenties?’
‘I think Malee is actually older than—’
‘Poppycock! She’s got her claws into Bill all right. She only lets him out of her sight to go to the garage. She’s cut him off from all his old mates. Bill used to go fishing every Sunday with his chum, Red. He did that back when Valerie was alive. Him and Red had been at school together, with Valerie and all. I always liked Red – nice boy. Very fond of Valerie, he was. Shy man, could seem a bit standoffish, but always very polite to me. Not, of course, that I’ve seen him recently.
‘Because, you know why? Has Bill been fishing once since she’s been on the scene? No. She’s put a stop to that. Which means of course I don’t get to have a natter with Red. Which I always enjoyed. He and I think alike on most things.
‘But oh no, we don’t see Red now. She’s jealous of Bill seeing other people, afraid someone will put him right about who he’s actually got himself mixed up with. A gold-digger. She’s only ever been after Bill’s money and all she wants to do is diddle Billy out of his inheritance!’
Fortunately, further pirouettes in this circular argument went prevented by the appearance of Rhona’s daughter. Shannon Shefford was a tall, well-muscled woman in her late forties. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she wore a no-nonsense T-shirt and jeans.
‘Hi, Jude. Hello, Mum, how’re you doing?’ Instinctively, she bent down to kiss the wrinkled cheek.
‘Mustn’t grumble,’ said Rhona. Then, after a well-judged pause, ‘Though, of course, I do. But I don’t need to tell you that.’
Her daughter’s presence had had an immediate effect on the old woman, mellowing, making her less spiky. Shannon’s love was clearly reciprocated.
She used to work as a legal secretary for a solicitor in Fedborough but had given up when Rhona had to move into Waggoners. She was now a full-time carer for her mother. Whether that put pressure on the family income, Jude didn’t know. Certainly, she never heard the subject mentioned.
Mother and daughter were so used to Jude’s presence in the house that, having acknowledged her, Shannon continued as though there was no third person present. Jude just got on with her palliative care and listened.
‘God,’ said Shannon, ‘there are some bloody stupid people out there.’
‘What, is this the meeting you’ve just come from, love?’
‘Too right, Mum. You know, I told you it was a fundraising committee for the Green Party and, like, we were throwing around some ideas for making money and this one elderly idiot – I don’t know what his name is but he’s clearly got more money than sense – anyway, he suggests raising sponsorship for some trip he’s taking. OK, what kind of trip, we ask. And he only tells us that it’s some big rally – hundreds of SUVs driving from London to Saudi Arabia or somewhere. And he says he’s got lots of wealthy chums who’d sponsor him to complete the course and raise lots of the old mazuma. That’s what he actually said – “lots of the old mazuma”. Where did he get that from? And I say, “You do know who we’re trying to raise money for, don’t you?” And he says, “Yes. The Green Party.” And I say, “Duh. Don’t you see something kind of wrong about raising money to protect the environment by driving highly polluting vehicles for thousands of unnecessary miles?” And he just doesn’t get it. He gets all shirty and says, “I was only trying to help. I do have some very well-heeled friends who could do your cause a lot of good”, an
d he looks at me like I’ve just strangled his favourite puppy. What an idiot! I just cannot bloody believe it.’
‘They don’t understand people with principles, do they? And you’ve always had principles, haven’t you, Shannon?’ Rhona condescended to include Jude in the conversation. ‘Right from when she was a little girl, Shannon had principles, you know. It was about animals then. Shannon couldn’t bear to see an animal hurt. Could you, Shannon?’
Shannon agreed that she couldn’t.
‘Used to save up your pocket money to give to the RSPCA, didn’t you, love?’
Shannon agreed to this too.
‘And then, as she got older, Shannon realized that doing harm to animals was part of something much bigger, which was doing harm to the environment. And now she devotes a lot of time and energy to the Green Party. You do, don’t you?’
Shannon could not deny it.
‘Which obviously makes her domestic situation very difficult.’
‘Sorry? Why?’ If Jude was going to be part of the conversation, she might as well ask when she didn’t understand something.
‘Well, you see, her marriage …’
‘There’s nothing wrong with my marriage,’ said Shannon, in the weary tone of someone who has rehearsed these arguments many times before.
‘You say that … and you’re always very loyal to Billy … more loyal, to my mind than you need to be … but the fact remains that you’re now in an impossible moral situation.’
‘Mum, it isn’t a case of—’
‘Like I always say, if you’d gone to university, you could be a lawyer now, not just a secretary. You could be a lawyer specializing in taking to task all those multinational petrochemical companies …’ The alternative life Rhona had built up for her daughter didn’t lack for detail. ‘Then you could feel that you’re doing some good. Which, of course, you can’t, having got married so early …’
‘Mu-um …’ said Shannon plaintively
‘… and marrying someone whose work involves supporting the petrochemical industries. Selling petrol, for a start, and then repairing cars and encouraging people to go out and spread pollution all over the place.’