The Bells of Little Woodford

by Catherine Jones

  ‘Morning,’ she said to Megan, feigning a brightness she certainly didn’t feel, when her stepdaughter made an appearance some ten minutes later. Megan grabbed the toast that Bex had ignored as the boys finished scraping out their bowls.

  ‘Can we watch telly now? asked Lewis.

  ‘Lewis, how often do I have to say this – not till you’ve cleaned your teeth, got your book bags and tidied your rooms.’

  ‘Aww,’ whined Lewis.

  ‘Just do as you’re told,’ snapped Bex. Her tone was much harsher than she’d meant it to be and there was a shocked silence.

  ‘All right, Bex, they were only trying it on,’ said Megan, giving her stepmother a worried look.

  Bex shut her eyes and sat on a chair. ‘I’m sorry. I had a rough night.’ She smiled at the boys. ‘Go and clean your teeth and get ready for school and we’ll see, eh?’

  Silently the two boys slid out of the kitchen.

  ‘You all right, Bex?’ asked Megan. ‘You look as white as a sheet.’

  ‘As I said, I had a bad night. I’ll be fine.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘I do.’

  Megan slathered her cold toast thickly with butter and marmalade before she took a big bite. Bex saw the topping smear Megan’s teeth and lips with sugar and grease. She felt her gorge rising again and knew she wasn’t going to have time to reach the downstairs loo. She darted for the sink and hung over it as her stomach heaved.

  ‘Eugh, Bex. I’m eating,’ said Megan.

  Bex ran the tap, swirled water around the sink and then scooped a couple of handfuls up to rinse her mouth. ‘Sorry,’ she said turning but hanging onto the porcelain as she still felt shaky.

  ‘I hope you’re not going to give that to me and the boys,’ said Megan, chomping another big mouthful.

  ‘I’ll try not to,’ said Bex, through gritted teeth. She wanted to snap at Megan for being more concerned about her own health than her stepmother’s, for eating buttery toast, for witnessing her hurling… but none of that was Megan’s fault.

  Megan finished her toast and went to get herself ready for school, leaving her plate on the table. Bex wanted to call her back and tell her to put it in the dishwasher but didn’t have the energy. Five minutes later she’d left, banging the front door behind her, and Bex was able to collapse onto a kitchen chair and stop pretending she felt anything other than dreadful. As she sat there she heard the boys creep downstairs and into the sitting room where she heard the TV go on. Five minutes, she thought, glancing at the clock. I still have five minutes. She folded her arms on the table and rested her head on them.

  ‘Mum, Mum, aren’t we going to school today?’

  Bex was awake in a trice and looked at the clock. Five past nine?! Fuck!

  ‘Boys, I’m so sorry. Grab your things. We’ll go in the car.’ She flew into the hall, picked up her keys, then raced into the garden, plipped open the car and threw open the big five-bar gate. The boys were piling into the back seat as she shut the front door behind them. A few minutes later she’d parked outside the school – no problem finding a space at this time! – and she escorted them to their respective classes, apologising profusely to their teachers.

  ‘I overslept,’ she told Lewis’s teacher.

  ‘No, you didn’t, Mummy. You fell asleep after breakfast.’

  Bex forced a grin. ‘Miss Dickson doesn’t need to know the details.’ But the look on Miss Dickson’s face suggested otherwise. ‘I had a shocking night,’ lied Bex, trying not to look at her in case her fib was obvious. ‘I’m not feeling one hundred per cent.’

  ‘You don’t look well,’ conceded the teacher. ‘Let’s hope it isn’t something catching. We don’t want everyone to go down with it, do we?’

  ‘Yes, well…’

  ‘So, if Lewis or Alfie show similar symptoms we’d all appreciate it if they didn’t come to school.’

  Bex was tempted to laugh. If only Miss Dickson knew…

  She dragged herself back to her car and drove home. She swung her car into her drive and killed the engine then shut her eyes and leaned her head on the steering wheel. This had to stop; people would notice, people would talk, and then what? Maybe she ought to go and see Dr Connolly, make arrangements.

  A tap on the driver’s window made her leap out of her skin. She turned.

  ‘Miles.’ She pressed the button to lower the window.

  ‘Are you all right? God, you’re not, are you? You look awful.’

  ‘Thanks, Miles.’

  ‘I saw you drive in and I thought I’d come and beg a cuppa but then, when you didn’t get out of the car…’ He smiled at her but worry lines creased his forehead. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she said automatically.

  Miles shook his head. ‘Really?’ He raised his eyebrows, his disbelief annoyingly obvious. ‘I may only be a chef with a vague knowledge of first aid but this isn’t nothing.’ He opened the car door. ‘Come on, let’s get you indoors.’

  Bex unclipped her safety belt and hauled herself out of the car. Miles put his hand under her arm and took the keys off her. A minute later she was back in the kitchen, sitting where she’d been when Lewis had awoken her and with Miles bustling about making tea.

  ‘Where do you keep the biscuits?’ he asked.

  ‘No… no… I couldn’t eat one.’

  ‘Have you had breakfast?’ He looked at the detritus on the table and saw only the remains of three meals and then began opening and shutting cupboards looking for the biscuits. ‘You haven’t, have you?’

  Bex shook her head.

  ‘No wonder you look wobbly. You can’t expect to function on an empty stomach.’

  ‘Please… no.’

  ‘Ah, here they are.’ He pulled out a packet and tipped the biscuits onto a plate. ‘No, sorry, Bex, but you need fuel.’

  He slapped down a mug of sweet tea in front of her followed by a plate of digestives. Bex swallowed bile.

  ‘I’m not taking no for an answer.’ He plonked down on a seat beside her and looked at her.

  Bex took a biscuit and nibbled a few crumbs off an edge. She forced them down as Miles nudged the tea closer to her. Bex looked at it. You can do this, she told herself. She took a tentative sip and swallowed that too.

  She sat there, willing herself to keep everything down, to hold it together, but then her ears rang and the dizziness started and her stomach heaved… For the second time that morning she was sick in the sink.

  She tottered back to her chair and collapsed with her eyes shut.

  ‘So what was that all about?’ said Miles.

  ‘I think I’ve got a bug.’

  Again he raised his eyebrows in his annoying way. ‘A bug?’

  Bex couldn’t look at him.

  ‘Look,’ he said gently, ‘I’ve worked in hospitality a long time and I’ve seen most things… and this is none of my business—’

  ‘No, it isn’t.’ Fear and nausea made the sentence come out with a much harsher edge than she intended. Miles recoiled. ‘Please, Miles, it’s just a bug. I’ll be better in a day or two.’

  ‘Fine.’ It obviously wasn’t. ‘Shall I tell Belinda you’re taking a sick day?’

  Bex knew that if she was going to keep the ‘it’s just a bug’ lie going she couldn’t possibly go into work, even if she felt better by lunchtime. ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘And I think you ought to go back to bed.’

  ‘I’ll be fine.’

  Again those raised eyebrows. ‘Then go and lie down on the sofa at the very least. Come on.’ Miles stood up and picked up her tea. He glanced at Bex sitting on the kitchen chair before he marched through to the sitting room where Bex heard him plonk the mug on the table. A few seconds later he was back in the kitchen. ‘Can you walk or shall I carry you?’

  ‘I’ll walk. Honest, I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Really.’ His eyebrows rose yet again.

  *

  Olivia was behind the desk at the hotel whe
n her mobile vibrated in her pocket. The reception was like a morgue but even so she moved right away from the duty manager’s office. Taking private phone calls at work wasn’t encouraged. She glanced at the caller ID before she accepted the call.

  ‘Heather. What can I do for you? I have to say it’s not totally convenient – I’m at work.’

  ‘Sorry, only I thought you ought to know what that woman—’

  ‘The Osborne woman?’

  ‘The very person. Anyway, I thought you ought to know what she’s done.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And she’s set up an online petition to stop the bells being rung after they’ve been repaired.’

  ‘She’s what?’ screeched Olivia. She glanced around the hotel lobby to see if her outburst had been noticed but was relieved to hear the murmur of voices and clatter of office machinery coming from the back office remained steady.

  ‘Exactly. That was pretty much my reaction.’

  ‘She’s got to be stopped.’

  ‘Sadly, there’s no law against it.’

  ‘No. Look, if it’s convenient I’ll drop in to yours on my way home. We must have a council of war.’

  ‘What time?’

  ‘Three thirty-ish. Is that OK?’

  ‘Perfect.’

  When Olivia finished her shift she whizzed down the hill towards the town on her bike and peeled off the main road to Heather’s. At three twenty she parked her bike and rang the vicarage doorbell.

  ‘Come in, come in,’ said Heather as she opened the door and stepped back to let Olivia in.

  ‘That bloody woman,’ said Olivia. ‘I can’t believe it.’

  ‘Well, it’s true.’ Heather shut the door and led Olivia into the kitchen where she plugged in the kettle. ‘What can we do?’

  ‘Start a counter-petition to begin with,’ said Olivia. ‘That woman obviously doesn’t care who she upsets. I mean, why move to a town – which you must surely like when you elect to live there – and then try and change the very fabric of the place as soon as you arrive? I mean, if she doesn’t like church bells why the hell did she come and live somewhere that’s got them?’

  ‘Search me.’ Heather got out the mugs.

  ‘And I’ll tell you something else.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Zac told me about it so I checked for myself on my way to work. She’s going to put up a bloody great wind turbine in her garden. Zac said he saw it when he was out on a dog walk so I went into the field behind the house and had a snoop through the hedge.’ She saw Heather suppress a grin. ‘Anyway, there it was, lying on her lawn, presumably waiting for the contractors.’

  ‘But there are planning regulations, surely.’

  ‘There are, but this’ll probably come under the “permitted development” umbrella. I bet she’s the sort of woman who has checked that out. I’m not against renewable power – obviously not – but the trouble is, where the house is, on the hill, I should think it’ll be visible to almost everyone in the town. It’ll be a real eyesore.’

  ‘That’s awful.’ Heather poured the boiling water onto the teabags and added milk.

  ‘Like she’ll care. But I tell you something, I shall check out the spec and if she’s a millimetre over any of the allowable dimensions, I’ll make sure it has to be demolished.’

  Heather grinned. ‘Good on you. Right, now, about this counter-petition…’

  ‘We’re going to have to strong-arm everyone in the book club and the WI to sign it. We have to convince them that not signing isn’t an option. No one must be allowed to assume the status quo will prevail.’

  ‘Right… plan of action.’ Heather drew a notebook towards her ready to take notes.

  It was getting late when Olivia got home. The downstairs of her house was in darkness but she could tell both children were home by the clashing music blaring from both bedrooms.

  ‘Give me strength,’ she muttered as she shrugged off her coat and headed for the kitchen.

  Even though she was tired after her shift at work and her discussion with Heather she had to get supper on the go. It was Nigel’s day for his Gamblers Anonymous meeting and he was due home early and would expect supper to be ready so he could go straight out again. Olivia got the ingredients for the meal out of the fridge and began to chop onions.

  Jade slid into the kitchen. ‘Oh, you’re back. I was beginning to wonder when supper was going to be.’

  ‘You could have made something,’ said Olivia.

  ‘Mum! I’ve been at work all day. I’m tired.’

  Olivia continued to chop onions as she counted to ten, not trusting herself to answer.

  ‘Anyway,’ continued Jade, ‘I thought your shift finished at teatime.’

  ‘It did. I had to go and see Heather.’ Olivia got a pan out of a cupboard, drizzled some oil in and put it on the hob to heat. Then she swept the onions into it. ‘Look, Jade, you know how small this house it?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Her daughter sounded wary.

  ‘Well, supposing I found you somewhere to live that was bigger – much bigger.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Would you move out?’

  ‘Doubt it – the rent would be mahoosive.’

  ‘But what if it wasn’t?’

  ‘Then the place would probably be a dive. What’s this about, Mum?’

  ‘I’ve got a friend with a room available – a big room, I’ve seen it. And the rent would be not much more than I’m asking you to pay me. And, as it would be a proper business arrangement, you wouldn’t be expected to do anything except keep your own bit clean and tidy – or not, if you didn’t want to.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  Olivia took a breath. ‘The vicarage.’

  ‘The vicarage? You’re expecting me to live with the vicar?’

  ‘It’s a really lovely room.’

  ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, Mum, I don’t do God or religion or shit like that.’

  ‘Heather wouldn’t expect you to. She gets that.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’

  ‘And she’d cook for you – unless you’d rather cook for yourself, in which case she’d take something off the rent.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘I don’t know exactly, but she’s planning on asking three fifty a month all found.’

  ‘Three fifty? What’s the catch?’

  ‘There isn’t one. Which means you’d probably be able to save enough to put down a deposit on a place of your own in the not too distant future. ’

  ‘I suppose. And I’d get my own bathroom.’

  ‘No – but you have to share with Zac here.’

  ‘He’s my brother. It wouldn’t be like sharing – Jeez – sharing with the vicar.’ Her lip curled.

  ‘There’s a separate loo upstairs as well as the one in the bathroom. Heather said that loo would be yours, exclusively.’

  ‘It’s still gross.’

  ‘But you won’t find cheaper.’ Jade shrugged. Olivia felt she wasn’t completely dismissive. She pressed the point. ‘So can I tell her you’ll think about it?’

  ‘Whatever.’

  ‘Only I need to tell her soon because she’d like to put it on Airbnb if it’s a no.’

  ‘God, Mum, give me a break. OK, I’ll think about it.’

  ‘So… when?’

  Jade let out a yell of frustration. ‘Can you get off my back and stop hassling me? I’ll tell you when I’ve made a decision.’ She stormed out of the kitchen and thumped up the stairs to her bedroom where she slammed the door. The whole house shook.

  ‘God, I hate this place,’ said Olivia.

  Chapter 23

  The following evening, Amy walked into the pub and smelt the scent of wood smoke overlaid with beer.

  ‘Hi, Belinda,’ she said as she approached the bar. ‘It’s a bit quiet, isn’t it?’

  ‘It wasn’t twenty minutes ago. You’ve hit the lull between the people who want a drink before their supper and the people who have one afterwards. Wha
t can I get you?’

  ‘A glass of white wine, ta.’ Amy got out a fiver and put it on the bar.

  Belinda got the bottle out of the chiller and began to measure the wine out. ‘Do you know what’s up with Bex?’

  ‘Bex, no, why?’

  ‘She’s called in sick the last couple of mornings.’

  ‘Really? I’ve not seen her since Monday afternoon when I cleaned her place. She seemed OK then.’

  ‘Miles saw her early yesterday and he said she was as sick as a parrot.’

  ‘Sick – in the morning…?

  ‘Don’t be daft, Amy. It’s a bug.’ Belinda put Amy’s drink on the bar and picked up the note.

  ‘I wouldn’t be so sure. The other day a man’s sock fell out of her laundry. Of course she said it was a bed sock. Yeah, right. I can tell when someone is lying.’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ repeated Belinda. ‘It probably was a bed sock.’

  ‘If that’s what you want to believe. I mean, Miles is round there quite a lot, ain’t he?’

  ‘Miles? No, they’re just mates. Anyway,’ said Belinda moving away from the subject, ‘what are you doing here? You’re not normally in on a Wednesday. Another date?’

  ‘Might be.’ Amy took a slug of her wine. ‘Actually, can I ask you something?’

  ‘You can try,’ said Belinda. ‘What do you want to know?’

  Amy lowered her voice and checked no one was close enough to eavesdrop. ‘It’s about my Ash.’

  ‘Why – what’s he done? I thought he was all wrapped up in this school panto he’s in with Megan.’

  ‘That’s it – that’s the problem. It strikes me he’s getting a sight too interested in all that arty stuff. And the other day he was getting all excited about make-up.’

  ‘Stage make-up?’

  Amy shrugged. ‘Make-up is make-up if you ask me, and I’d have thought a normal teenage boy would run a mile from that sort of thing.’

  ‘So what are you saying?’

  Amy armed herself with more wine. ‘I’m worried he’s gay.’

  Belinda cocked her head on one side as she thought about it. ‘I don’t think it follows. Surely he’s just interested in all aspects of acting – the costumes, the make-up, the wigs… well, that’s a part of it, isn’t it? Besides, would it be so terrible if he was?’