Guilt at the Garage

by Simon Brett

  Carole did not say anything. ‘I’m sorry’ was always a risky response. In the past, Carole had been as bored by the rationalizations of couples telling her why they had chosen not to have children as she had by the desolation of those who’d been unable to have them.

  She decided to move on to the offensive. ‘And you, Gwyneth? Did you use to work?’ Fortunately, she stopped herself from adding something on the lines of ‘before you got ill’. She didn’t want to prompt a litany of ailments.

  ‘I worked in a secretarial capacity for a car dealership in Leeds.’

  ‘Oh? And is that how you came to meet Adrian?’

  ‘Yes.’

  A commendably short answer. Maybe Gwyneth was as unwilling to divulge anything personal as she was. That would be very satisfactory, thought Carole, though she still felt a minor pang of unfulfilled nosiness.

  Her hostess then went off in another direction, maybe demonstrating some nosiness of her own. ‘Your neighbour,’ she said, ‘the one in the house two away from us …’

  ‘Woodside Cottage?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Her name’s Jude.’

  ‘I think I’d heard that. Is it true that she works as a healer?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Carole, immediately envisioning Gwyneth’s demand to be put in contact, followed by Jude’s successful treatment of her new client, and a triumphant, but rather embarrassingly sentimental ‘Take up thy bed and walk’ scenario.

  But Gwyneth’s next words instantly deleted such images. ‘I don’t believe in healers,’ she said, warming the very cockles of her visitor’s heart.

  ‘I agree,’ said Carole sleekly. ‘There are a lot of charlatans out there.’

  ‘Very true. There were a couple operating where we used to live. I think a lot of them do more harm than good. Raising people’s hopes about miracle cures. There ought to be a law against it.’

  ‘You’re right. Do you speak from experience, though? I mean, have you tried to get alternative therapy for your’ – Carole felt awkward for having strayed on to the subject – ‘condition?’

  ‘I certainly have not. It’s my view that, if you’ve got something that the NHS can’t deal with, then you should just accept the hand that life has dealt you and get on with it.’

  This so exactly reflected Carole’s own views that she produced a ringing, ‘I do so agree.’

  She then realized that she hadn’t yet gone through the mandatory local routine for new residents. ‘So, Gwyneth,’ she asked, ‘how’re you liking Fethering?’

  This was met by a shrug. ‘I haven’t seen a lot of it. I don’t go out much.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean …’

  ‘Don’t worry. I can go out. Adrian has pushed me along to the parade and the edge of the dunes. It all looks as an English village should. But I prefer to stay indoors.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘There’s something rather pathetic in being confined to a wheelchair at my age. I don’t want to advertise my disability. The last thing I want is people’s pity.’

  ‘I can see that.’ And Carole could. Though she hoped she never ended up in a comparable situation, she could imagine herself reacting in a similar way. The worst emotion to inspire in others was pity.

  ‘But you like it here?’ asked Gwyneth, quite sharply.

  ‘Yes. Well … I mean it does have the disadvantages that go with village life …’

  ‘Gossip?’

  ‘That kind of thing, yes.’

  ‘Tell me about it. Just the same in Ilkley. Villages, small towns … I don’t think there’s anywhere you can escape gossip. That was one of the reasons we moved.’

  ‘Oh?’ asked Carole, instantly alert.

  Gwyneth quickly covered up the lapse (if lapse it was). ‘Not the main reason, obviously. Adrian was retiring and we both felt like a change of scene. Then we didn’t really need all the space we had in the Ilkley house, so downsizing made sense. And moving would be a kind of adventure.’

  A strange word to use, Carole thought. Moving from one home you had to negotiate in a wheelchair to another where you would face exactly the same problem. Or maybe the Yorkshire house held memories of a fully functional Gwyneth, who had led a normal life until the illness or accident that had crippled her. Carole was intrigued to know the details, but she didn’t think this was the right moment to press for them. She had a feeling she would be seeing a lot more of Gwyneth; time enough to hear the full story of how she had been crippled.

  Back at High Tor, Gulliver greeted her with the wild enthusiasm of a dog about to get another walk, and then slunk back to his station by the Aga when it was clear that hope wasn’t going to be realized.

  Carole stood by the work surface, assembling a cottage-cheese salad for her lunch. She was glad Jude wasn’t there watching. Jude’s views on the subject of cottage cheese were unprintable.

  Then, looking out of the kitchen window, Carole saw something white on the back lawn. A piece of paper. She went out to investigate. Though she left the back door open, Gulliver didn’t follow. He knew the limitations of the back garden. Going out that way was never the preface to what he considered a proper walk.

  It was a piece of paper. Slid into a transparent envelope to keep the rain off.

  It read: ‘DON’T THINK YOU’RE OFF THE HOOK YET.’

  TEN

  Jeremiah was a tall man, probably in his late forties, well muscled with a bulk that could have been intimidating. But it wasn’t, because he also carried with him an air of calm. Jude could imagine him being a compelling charismatic preacher. That did not lessen her suspicion of him.

  But, as they talked, she found herself warming to Jeremiah. He seemed to anticipate all possible objections. Like her, he had, throughout his career, needed to be ready for accusations of charlatanism and, like her, he had his arguments well marshalled.

  Also, Jude could not be unaware, he found her attractive. Over the years, she had got used to this response from men. She never took it too seriously. In most cases, it caused her no more than mild irritation, but with a few her reaction was different. With some, knowing they found her attractive gave her a warm glow. Jeremiah quickly enlisted himself into that small category.

  ‘I know a lot of us in the profession,’ he was saying, ‘are altruistic about the way we use our gifts. But the fact remains that we all have to make a living, and I’ve kept thinking of ways to simplify the way our income is generated. We can do a certain amount through the local press, social media can be very effective, but the best way to find new clients is always going to be word of mouth, personal recommendation.’

  His views perfectly reflected her own. ‘I couldn’t agree more,’ she said.

  ‘But I was thinking this is still a fairly hit-and-miss approach, particularly for someone like me, just moving to a new area.’

  ‘Remind me – where is it you’ve come from?’

  ‘Australia most recently. And some years in the States before that.’

  ‘Useful experience?’

  ‘Very definitely. Particularly in the States. California, they’re way ahead of this country in their appreciation of alternative therapies. I went to some very good alternative therapy conferences there, learned a lot.’

  ‘Yes, I find conferences very useful. Going to one in a couple of weeks, actually. In Leeds.’

  ‘Oh, what’s it called?’

  ‘“Healing Is in the Head”.’ Jude was glad Carole wasn’t there. She could imagine the derision that title would prompt.

  ‘Oh, thanks, I’ll check it out online. Anyway, as I’m sure you know, wherever you practise as a healer, it’s still a hand-to-mouth existence … or is that expression the exclusive property of dentists?’

  Jude grinned at the half-joke. ‘So …’ he went on, ‘I was wondering whether the situation might be improved by setting up a centre for alternative therapies … you know, a permanent venue where people know they can come for a variety of treatments.’

  Forewa
rned by Ted Crisp that this might be the reason Jeremiah wanted to contact her, Jude had had time to form her reactions to the idea. And the main one was scepticism. But she didn’t express that straight away. First, find out how much Jeremiah had thought the idea through. ‘What, you mean like one of those spas in expensive hotels where they’ll cover you with hot stones, drip candle wax on you and walk up and down your back?’

  She was proud of the sarcasm in her question – Carole couldn’t have done it better – but Jeremiah grinned, as if he’d anticipated her approach. ‘You know I don’t mean that, Jude. Not somewhere expensive, just somewhere accessible and welcoming. I’m talking about a centre staffed by serious practitioners.’

  ‘Ah, but how do you find them? And how do you check the authenticity of their “seriousness”? As you know, we’re talking about a professional area that is not very well policed. Anyone can wake up one morning, decide they’re going to be a healer or some other kind of therapist, put a brass plate on their door and wait for the gullible public to stream in.’

  ‘I’m well aware of that. I met my fair share of cowboy therapists in California, believe me. So, I think it’s essential that, as well as the unregulated ones, we get some people involved who have recognized qualifications. Quite a lot of GPs working in conventional medicine are open to the idea of alternative therapies, you know. The two are not so far apart. Doctor friend of mine, Bob Rawley, is very keen on the idea of co-operation between them. If the centre I’m trying to get going existed, he’d definitely be doing acupuncture there. And of course, he’d refer patients who he thought might benefit. Complementary medicine, I’m sure that’s the future.’

  ‘I don’t disagree. But I think you would have to be very careful about who you let in. It only takes one charlatan to unleash a storm of bad publicity and put the image of our profession back a couple of decades.’

  ‘I’m well aware of that. But I think we find the right practitioners by the same method as we currently do clients. Word of mouth, personal recommendation.’

  ‘It could take a long time.’

  ‘Yes, it could. But I’m thinking of the benefits of having a talented group of therapists all in touch with each other, exchanging new ideas, referring clients to each other …’

  ‘Hm,’ said Jude, hoping it didn’t sound too much like one of Carole’s ‘Hm’s. It was rarely that she was as sceptical as her neighbour, but this was fast becoming one of those occasions.

  ‘Look …’ Jeremiah almost sounded as though he were pleading ‘… I’m suggesting that we start in a small way and slowly build up the reputation of the place, until it becomes a recognized centre of excellence for alternative therapies.’

  This plan sounded naïve to Jude, which rather surprised her, because Jeremiah hadn’t given her the impression of being a naïve person. ‘OK. That’s all very fine, but let’s face the biggest question: how do you fund such an enterprise?’

  ‘From the therapists who use the facility. When they join, they sign a contract agreeing to pay a percentage of their fees – I don’t know, say ten per cent – into a communal pot which pays for the premises.’

  Jude grimaced wryly. ‘But how do you start? All right, you find your premises … and I assume you’re talking about renting, not buying … and at that point you have no therapists signed up … or maybe one or two … So, where do you find the first month’s rent? Or, come to that, the second month’s rent? Or—’

  ‘Yes, all right. I take your point. I’d be prepared to fund the start-up. For a few months.’

  ‘Oh? Do you have a secret supply of money?’

  ‘Why does it have to be a secret supply?’

  ‘Come on, Jeremiah. You’re a healer. Very few healers make enough to trouble HM Revenue and Customs.’

  ‘All right.’ He coloured. ‘I don’t have a lot of money, no, but I would be prepared to invest what I do have into a project I believe in.’ He looked at her expectantly.

  ‘I don’t have much money either, Jeremiah,’ she said, and paused before continuing, ‘but I’m afraid, if I did, I wouldn’t be investing it in your therapy centre … if that’s what you were asking me to do?’

  ‘Well, not exactly … I mean, obviously, I would have been delighted if you had wanted to contribute, but I wanted to see you more to use you as a sounding board, to see if you think the project is a good idea.’

  Jude twisted her lips. ‘It may be a good idea, Jeremiah. That I don’t know. But it’s not a good idea for me.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘For me, healing is a very private interaction between me and the client. I need privacy to build up the required concentration. Though I am sure that working in a place where there were lots of other therapists with whom to exchange ideas would be very pleasant socially, I don’t think it would help me to do my job. I think it might actually make it more difficult.’

  ‘Oh well.’ Jeremiah grinned, a reassuring grin. ‘Fair enough. I thought it was worth asking.’

  ‘Always worth asking anything.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So how long have you been in the area, since you came back from Australia?’

  ‘Getting on for six months now.’

  ‘In Fethering?’ If so, Jude was surprised she hadn’t seen him around.

  ‘No Fedborough.’ He referred to the larger town, some six miles upstream on the River Fether.

  ‘And are you liking it here?’

  ‘Yes, very pleasant area. I should think it’s nicer in the summer.’

  ‘Certainly is.’

  ‘We just caught the end of the last one, then a rather wet autumn.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’ Jude had registered the ‘we’. Suggested he had a partner, a wife maybe. She felt the smallest of pangs.

  ‘Anyway, I seem to have built up quite a respectable list of clients. Some over in Worthing, and as far away as Portsmouth to the West.’

  Jude nodded. ‘That’s more or less my catchment area too.’

  ‘No lack of ailments on the Costa Geriatrica,’ said Jeremiah with a grin.

  It was the first thing he’d said wrong. Nothing overt, but just a slight hint of callousness, as though the clients existed for his benefit more than because they were people needing help.

  There was a silence, then Jeremiah said, ‘I heard in the Crown and Anchor that your neighbour was actually present at Shefford’s Garage when that awful accident happened.’

  ‘Yes. Carole Seddon. She was.’

  ‘Terrible business.’

  ‘Mm. Did you know Bill Shefford?’

  Jeremiah shrugged. ‘I’d met him. Been in there to get petrol, that’s all. Did you?’

  Jude shook her head. ‘Like you, I’d met him. You don’t have to be long in a place like Fethering before you know everyone. But I only knew Bill for a polite nod and a “Good morning”.’

  ‘Your friend Carole knew him better?’

  ‘A bit. She always went to Shefford’s when there was something wrong with her precious Renault. I don’t have a car.’

  ‘Ah.’ Another silence. ‘Needless to say, a lot of speculation about the death last time I was in the Crown and Anchor.’

  ‘You don’t surprise me. Everyone convinced it was murder – and the perpetrator identified as everyone from Cain the Killer of Abel to Russian undercover agents?’

  ‘That’s about right.’ He grinned. ‘Does your neighbour have a view?’

  ‘On whether Bill Shefford was murdered?’

  ‘Mm.’

  ‘What makes you think she might?’

  ‘The landlord at the Crown and Anchor …’

  ‘Ted Crisp.’

  ‘Ah. I didn’t get his name.’

  ‘He mentioned that you two had a bit of a reputation locally as amateur sleuths.’

  ‘Did he?’ said Jude drily. ‘Well, it is the view of my neighbourly Miss Marple that Bill Shefford’s death was an accident. Sorry to disappoint you.’

  ‘I’ll survive.’ Jeremiah’s
smile suggested he wasn’t that disappointed. ‘Oh, incidentally …’

  ‘Mm?’

  ‘I wondered if you had been contacted by a woman called Natalie Kendrick …?’

  ‘Why?’ Jude was instantly and instinctively alert. If Jeremiah was going to ask her about her healing work, he would find her surprisingly circumspect. She had high standards about protecting the confidentiality of her clients.

  ‘Just that she consulted me about helping her son. Boy – well, man – called Tom. I wondered whether she might have contacted you too.’

  ‘Why should she have done?’ asked Jude, still cagey.

  ‘Because I was no bloody use to her. Or to him.’

  Jude considered her moral position. Technically, Tom Kendrick was not one of her clients. She had talked to him, at his mother’s request, and didn’t reckon she could help with whatever was wrong with him … if indeed there was anything wrong with him. Jeremiah, who had gone further into the therapeutic process, didn’t seem to be constrained by any confidentiality worries. So, there was no reason why she should discuss Tom with him.

  ‘I was rather in the same boat,’ she said. ‘Whatever he did need, I don’t think it was my kind of healing.’

  ‘Or mine. I thought he needed – to use a technical psychotherapeutic term – a kick up the backside.’ Jude giggled. ‘He seemed to me to be just a layabout – and nothing was going to change that situation, until his mother cuts off the very generous allowance she was giving him.’

  ‘I came to the same conclusion.’ A pause. ‘But why did you suddenly bring him up, Jeremiah?’

  ‘Because of his connection to Shefford’s.’

  ‘I didn’t know Tom Kendrick had a connection with Shefford’s.’

  ‘Oh yes. Amongst the many courses and things that his mother set up for him, he did spend some time working at the garage.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Just on a casual basis. I think the idea was that, if it went well, it might be formalized into some kind of apprenticeship. But, needless to say, because it involved Tom Kendrick, it didn’t go well.’

  ‘Did he learn anything?’