‘Even so.’
‘I’ve promised myself to go and see Dr Connolly next week.’
‘Good.’
‘He can refer me to a clinic and I can talk to a counsellor. The trouble is, I can talk it through till the cows come home – I still have to make a decision at the end of it. One way or the other.’
*
Over the weekend, at Beeching Rise, tensions in the Laithwaite household finally came to a head. On Saturday, Nigel lost his temper with Jade, who slammed a door so hard a lump of plaster fell off the ceiling on the landing.
Jade was unapologetic and blamed everyone else for not understanding her before she ran, sobbing, out of the house. There was silence after her departure.
‘This can’t go on,’ said Olivia. ‘If that child doesn’t move down to the vicarage, I think I will.’
‘If that child,’ snarled Nigel, still almost apoplectic, ‘doesn’t move out, I will personally pack her bags and put them on the road. I will not be spoken to like that.’
Olivia conceded that Nigel had a point. She would never have dared tell her parents that they were emotionally retarded fuckwits.
She left Nigel in their tiny sitting room with the Saturday paper, while she got out the hoover and swept up the evidence of Jade’s tantrum. The damage to the ceiling was probably simple to repair, the builders were still on site and she had every intention of telling them that she’d awoken one morning to find the plaster had somehow and inexplicably become detached. Given how shoddy some of the work was in the house, she didn’t think they’d be the least bit surprised. But the fact that she could probably get the evidence of Jade’s temper repaired for free didn’t excuse her daughter’s behaviour and nor would it mean there mightn’t be a repeat performance. And frankly, Olivia didn’t think she could take much more of the tensions within the house.
She moved around the house doing a few tasks while Nigel calmed down, trying to make as little noise as possible so as not to disturb Zac in his bedroom who seemed to be doing his homework. Actually, she thought, she was being unfair to Zac. He probably was doing his homework; his reports from his teachers for this term had all waxed almost lyrical at the change in his behaviour and his projected grades. It seemed there was every chance he was going to salvage his education and get some decent GCSEs – and that wasn’t something that had been on the cards when he’d been in the Lower Fifth.
After a couple of hours Olivia texted Jade and asked her where she was and if she planned to come home for lunch.
None of your business and no, was the terse reply.
Your row wasn’t with me, texted back Olivia. I could bring you a sandwich when I head off to work.
Not hungry.
You will be later.
I’m in the coffee shop.
Olivia quickly made up a couple of rounds of ham and pickle sandwiches.
‘Just popping out for a few minutes,’ she told Nigel. The reply was a grunt from behind the paper.
Olivia banged the door behind her and walked the few hundred yards to the town centre. Jade was sitting at a table in the corner of the little café with her phone in one hand and a tissue in the other.
Olivia slid into a seat beside her and handed over the packet of food. ‘Not that you can eat it here.’ She spotted that her daughter’s cup was empty. ‘Can I get you another one?’
‘Yeah, a cappu would be nice.’
Olivia went to the counter and ordered two coffees and returned with them a few minutes later. She also brought with her two blueberry muffins.
She was rewarded with a faint smile before Jade scooped up some cocoa-powdered froth with her teaspoon and ate it.
‘I’m not going to say sorry,’ said Jade belligerently.
‘That is between you and your father.’
‘He started it,’ said Jade.
‘I’m not going to take sides.’
‘Then why are you here?’
Olivia looked at her daughter and decided that while she loved Jade – of course she did – she didn’t actually like her daughter very much. ‘I just want you to be aware that your father is getting to the end of his tether.’
‘Him and me both.’
‘But I think you are forgetting it is his house.’
Jade raised her eyes and stared at her mum. ‘Are you threatening to throw me out?’
‘I’m not, but your father might, and I want to remind you there is a solution.’
Jade shook her head. ‘I am not living with the fucking vicar.’
‘Language,’ said Olivia mildly. ‘And, if I were you, I would give it serious consideration. Heather is lovely – actually Heather and Brian are lovely. They’d let you come and go as you please, you’d have far more space and you wouldn’t have your father on your case.’
‘No.’
‘Fine.’ Olivia bit a big chunk out of her cake.
‘It’s all bluff, isn’t it? Dad wouldn’t really throw me out?’
‘If you want to think that, go ahead and be my guest, but I think there is a considerable chance that he might.’
Jade stared at her mother wide-eyed. ‘But he couldn’t. Where would I go?’
‘The vicarage.’
Jade sagged and rolled her eyes. ‘You’ve got it all planned, haven’t you? One way or another you’re going to make me go there.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. No one at home has made you row with your father. You could have done as you’ve been asked. You could have kept your music down, you could have tidied up after yourself, you could have helped more—’
‘OK!’ yelled Jade. ‘I get it. I’ll go. Happy?’ She glared at her mother.
‘Not especially,’ lied Olivia. ‘I’ll tell Heather. When can she expect you?’
Chapter 25
Bex’s home remedies didn’t solve her problem but they did help. She still felt washed out and nauseous but, by Monday, she wasn’t being sick except first thing in the morning and she was able to keep food down as long as it was bland and tasteless. She got back from dropping the boys up at their school and didn’t want to crawl back into bed. I can cope, she thought. Just about.
Bex was wary about overdoing things and didn’t bother with what she usually did on a Monday, which was shop for the week and then tidy the house ready for Amy’s visit after lunch. She had enough in the way of leftovers to make supper for everyone that evening and, if Amy didn’t manage to finish in her allotted three hours because she had to pick up the boys’ toys before she hoovered, well, so be it. Instead she rang Belinda.
‘I think I feel better. Do you want me or have you got cover?’
‘Sweetie, I am so pleased for you! Hurrah. And yes, I’d love you to come in but only if you feel OK. My part-timer was a kid who was home from uni on her reading week – whatever that is—’
‘I think it’s like half-term.’
‘Anyway, she’s gone back so I’d love you to if you’re sure you’re up to it.’
‘Let’s give it a go, shall we?’
‘See you later.’
Bex put the phone down to Belinda, took a deep breath, and rang the surgery.
Later that morning she walked next door and rapped on the pub door.
‘Come in, come in,’ said Belinda. She examined her employee’s face. ‘I’d like to say you’re looking a lot better but…’
‘I’m feeling better, that’s the main thing. And,’ Bex lowered her voice, ‘I’ve phoned the doc. I’ve got an appointment for Thursday.’
‘Good.’
Bex stepped into the pub. ‘I’ve missed this place. I’ve missed the grumbling of Harry and Bert and the other regulars, I’ve missed the buzz when it’s busy, the peacefulness when it’s not.’
‘Steady on, you were only off a week.’
‘I know but I was so bored. Or I was bored when I didn’t have my head down the lav. Right.’ Bex took off her jacket, and grabbed a cloth. ‘Tables, then bottling up?’
‘Sounds fine to me. I’l
l leave you to it. I’ve a mountain of ordering to do.’ Belinda went through the door that led to her upstairs flat.
Within a few seconds, Bex was back into her old routine, humming happily as she polished the tables and piled up the beer mats in the centre.
‘Hey, stranger.’
She looked up. ‘Miles.’ He was standing in the open door to the kitchen.
‘You feeling better?’
‘A lot better, thank you.’ She walked over to the bar.
‘You still look a bit peaky.’
‘I’m fine,’ said Bex firmly. A whiff of the day’s special – chicken korma – wafted out of the kitchen. Bex’s gorge rose. She grabbed the water jug off the bar, poured herself a glass of water and sipped it. The nausea passed.
*
As Bex was getting back into her routine, Joan Makepiece, Bert the churchwarden’s wife, walked through the town to the Co-op.
‘Hello, Joan,’ called out a voice from behind her.
She turned. ‘Mags! Good to see you. How’s retirement? How’s the new house?’
‘I miss working, truth be told. And have you seen what she’s done to my salon? I mean, I know it’s nothing to do with me now but really.’
‘I don’t like it much either. All too bright. I mean, yellow walls. And the lights. My eyes ache after I’ve been there five minutes. I think next time I go in I’ll have to take sunglasses.’
Mags stared at her old customer. ‘And, if you don’t mind me saying so, Joan, what’s she done to your hair?’
Self-consciously, Joan lifted her hand to her curls. She shook her head. ‘It’s not right, is it? I don’t think Bert likes it either – not that he’d say anything but I see him staring at it.’
Joan’s traditional ‘set’ had been replaced by something much more modern – all spiky and tousled. ‘Mimi – I mean what sort of name is that? – says it’s taken years off me. If you ask me it makes me look like I don’t know how to brush my own hair.’
‘I suppose it’s on-trend,’ said Mags.
‘But I don’t want to be “on trend”,’ sniffed Joan. ‘Mutton dressed as lamb and that’s not me.’
‘Do want me to have a go at it for you?’
Joan’s eyes widened in gratitude. ‘Would you?’
‘Course – that’s what friends do.’
‘When?’
Mags shrugged. ‘Anytime. Come round to mine on your way home, if you like – I mean, if that suits.’
‘Suits? Of course it does.’
Twenty minutes later, Joan was banging on the door of Mags’s little home in Beeching Rise.
‘Come in, come in,’ exhorted Mags as she opened the door.
‘Ain’t this nice,’ said Joan as she stepped inside.
‘And it still smells of new carpets. I love that smell,’ said Mags.
Joan sniffed and nodded. She moved along the hall and peered around a door. ‘Ooh, lovely kitchen, too.’
‘Come on, I’ll show you round. Well, this is the kitchen-diner…’
They finally made it upstairs, after Joan had exclaimed over the fitted kitchen and the bi-fold doors that led out into the tiny garden, the little sitting room with the faux-coal gas fire and the recessed ceiling lights and, even, the understairs cupboard.
‘And that’s Olivia’s place,’ said Mags pointing out of her bedroom window.
‘Lovely,’ said Joan.
‘She doesn’t think so, I can tell.’
‘It’s a bit smaller than her old house.’
Mags turned and leaned against the window sill. ‘Do you believe that story about them wanting to downsize?’
Joan thought about it. ‘Well, their place was big…’
‘Huge. Amy said half of it was never used.’
‘And this must be cosier – cheaper to run.’
‘Yeah, but she never struck me as someone who’d care about cosy when she could lord it over the rest of us from that blooming great place on the hill. And she certainly never cared what she spent.’
‘No.’
Both women considered the assessment.
‘Still, this ain’t getting your hair done.’ Mags led Joan through to the bathroom where she settled her client on the stool by the bath and got out a couple of clean towels. ‘No backwash unit, so hold a bit of the towel over your eyes to stop any soap getting in.’ She tucked a towel round Joan’s shoulders. ‘Right, lean over the bath. This isn’t great but it’s the best I can do. I’ll try not to get you too wet.’ She ran the taps and checked the temperature of the water coming out of the shower head as Joan leaned over the bath.
‘This reminds me of when I was a nipper,’ said Joan. ‘Only we didn’t have no shower so my mum washed our hair with hot water in a jug. Most of it always ended up going down our necks.’ She chuckled at the memory.
‘Oooh, talking of nippers…’
‘Yes.’
‘Amy says that Bex-woman—’
‘The one at the pub?’
That’s the one – well, Amy says she’s up the duff.’
‘Really? But she ain’t got a husband.’
Mags started lathering Joan’s hair. ‘We both know that doesn’t matter – not these days. It didn’t bother my Amy.’
‘True. But that was fast work. She hasn’t been here five minutes.’
‘Easter she arrived.’
‘Even so.’
There was silence as they both considered Bex’s situation.
‘Who’s the father?’ asked Joan.
‘Amy reckons it’s Miles.’
‘Get away.’
‘Straight up. Stands to reason,’ added Mags. ‘They see a lot of each other when she’s working and they’re both single.’
‘I suppose. Well, if that’s the case, Miles must be as pleased as a dog with two tails. He’ll make a good dad, he will – and not before time. He’s not getting any younger, is he?’
*
Olivia dropped Jade at the vicarage and helped her unload her suitcases.
Jade stared at the house from the end of the garden path. ‘If they make me say grace or go to church I’ll not stay,’ she muttered to her mum.
‘They won’t. Heather understands that this is a commercial transaction and has nothing to do with them trying to convert you.’
‘Good.’
Olivia stood one of the cases upright and pulled out the handle. ‘Come on then.’
Leaving Jade to bring the other two cases she led the way to the front door and rang the bell.
‘Hello!’ said Heather warmly. She looked past Olivia to Jade. ‘Your room is all ready. I hope you like it. Bring your bags in and then I’ll show you around.’ Jade and Olivia dragged the cases over the doorstep and the big coir mat and into the hall. Jade let go of her cases — one of which fell over. Olivia laid the case she was in charge of on the floor, then followed Heather and her daughter up the stairs.
‘Here.’ Heather threw open the door to a room at the end of the landing. The bedroom was big and square with a massive, old-fashioned, dark-wood wardrobe, a matching chest and a dressing table with a mirror. The walls were primrose yellow and the carpet was pale green and the soft furnishings, which seemed to feature spring flowers, toned beautifully. Heather had put a big vase of flowers on the dressing table and there was a pile of glossy magazines on the bedside table. A small portable TV stood on the chest, a Wi-Fi router blinked in the corner and there was a kettle next to it. Despite the furniture, it was bright, light, cheerful and spacious and seemed to have almost everything to make it as self-sufficient for Jade as possible.
Jade walked into the middle of the room and stood by the bed as she looked around it.
‘Yeah, it’s nice,’ she said.
‘I told you so,’ said Olivia.
‘Let me show you the bathroom,’ said Heather.
The bathroom was dated but clean and had the same hideous green tiles as Heather’s kitchen. The shower was the old-fashioned sort, attached to the wall above an
enormous bath with a curtain to stop the water splashing everywhere, but it would do. Olivia saw Jade sneer at it.
‘But so much bigger than the bathroom you share with Zac.’
Olivia’s statement was undeniably true. The family bathroom at Beeching Rise was more of a glorified shower room and the bath was minute – not like this monster.
‘I suppose,’ said Jade.
‘We have a basin in our bedroom,’ said Heather, ‘so we only use this for showering and Brian is an early riser. To all intents and purposes this is your bathroom and we’ll borrow it if we need to.’
‘OK,’ said Jade.
Olivia and Heather exchanged a look behind her back
‘Three fifty a month, you said.’
‘Bed, breakfast and evening meal,’ agreed Heather.
‘Fine.’
‘Let’s get your cases,’ said Olivia before her daughter could possibly change her mind.
Five minutes later, she and Heather sat in the kitchen drinking tea while, in the background, came the sounds of drawers opening and shutting as Jade unpacked.
‘I owe you for this. Honestly, I think if you hadn’t offered to rent your room to her either Nigel or I would have killed her.’
‘It’s my pleasure. And it’s nice to have a young person around here again.’
‘You may not say that when she starts playing her music.’
‘I doubt she’ll have it up too loud. It’s one thing to have it blaring when it’s your parents you are pissing off. It’s something else to do it to strangers.’
‘I wish I had your faith.’
Heather reached across the table and touched Olivia’s hand. ‘It’s all going to be fine. Trust me.’
Chapter 26
A couple of days later, Miles was walking to work at the pub from the little flat he rented behind the town hall. He was striding along the high street, avoiding shoppers heading for the market and vaguely thinking about the possibility of doing a Hallowe’en menu or whether he’d be better concentrating on Bonfire Night. The kids loved Hallowe’en, that was for sure, but their regular customers, who it would be tricky to describe as ‘kids’, were probably more the sort who thought Hallowe’en was a nasty American import which only encouraged the youths of the town to indulge in legalised begging. So, he thought, rather than pumpkin soup and pumpkin pie, would he be better with bonfire-type recipes – bangers, hot dogs, apple turnovers…?
The Bells of Little Woodford Page 19