The Bells of Little Woodford

by Catherine Jones

  ‘Sorry to disturb you, darling, but I was wondering if you’d heard anything from Belinda about the pudding evening she promised to run.’

  Brian looked up from what he was working on at his desk and ran his hands through his hair. ‘Er, no,’ he answered.

  ‘Do you think I ought to give her a nudge?’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll wander up to the pub later on this morning and have a word. I suspect that Miles might have forgotten about it in the excitement of discovering he’s going to be a father.’

  ‘Possibly. How’s it all going?’

  ‘Pretty well, I imagine. I haven’t seen Bex to ask, to be honest. I know she was very worried that Megan might have issues coming to terms with such a momentous change to their little family but she seems to be coping reasonably well – or, at least, I’ve not seen anything to the contrary at school.’

  ‘That’s good.’ Brian bit a chunk off his biscuit.

  ‘Anyway, now we’ve got Jade’s rent money I think we could afford to go to the pudding evening – that is, if Belinda puts it on.’

  ‘Ah… so that’s the reason you’re keen for it not to be forgotten.’ Brian smiled at his wife. ‘It’s nothing to do with the fundraising and everything to do with having an evening stuffing yourself with treats.’

  ‘Busted,’ said Heather. ‘And I need some sort of reward for putting up with the tenant from hell. Only don’t you dare tell Olivia I said that.’

  Later that morning she walked briskly up the road wishing that her winter coat wasn’t quite so threadbare while wondering about using some of their spare cash to nip into the Oxfam shop to buy one that would provide more protection against the bitter wind that whipped down the road. She got to the pub a few minutes after opening time and revelled in the warmth that greeted her when she stepped through the door.

  ‘Hi, Heather,’ said Bex who was busy putting new, clean beer mats on all the tables. ‘We don’t often see you in here.’

  ‘No, well… actually, I’ve not come here to drink.’

  ‘You sure? My treat,’ said Bex.

  ‘Well…’

  ‘Oh, go on. Have something like a whisky mac – something nice and warming, it’s perishing out there.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ said Heather rubbing her hands together to restore the circulation. She smiled at Bex. ‘And a whisky mac would be lovely. I haven’t had one of those in years. I think the last time was when I was at uni.’

  Bex poured her the drink and popped the money in the till. ‘So, now I have tempted you down the path of degradation and depravity, what else can I do for you?’

  Heather sniffed her drink. ‘If this is degradation and depravity, bring it on.’ She took an appreciative sip of her drink. ‘Oooh, that’s lovely. Takes me right back to my mis-spent youth. Actually, I didn’t come here to scrounge a drink but to ask about the pudding evening.’

  Bex shook her head. ‘Pudding evening?’

  ‘Yes, Belinda’s and Miles’s contribution to the bell fund.’

  ‘Best you talk to Miles. Belinda’s popped out to do the banking from last night.’ Bex reached behind her and pushed open the kitchen door. ‘Miles,’ she called through it, ‘if you’ve got a min, could you have a word with Heather? Something about a pudding evening.’

  A muffled answer reached across the bar to Heather and a few seconds later Miles emerged.

  ‘Ah, yes – the pudding evening,’ he said. ‘Maybe we should fix a date now.’

  ‘That’d be good.’

  ‘I’ll have to check it’s OK with Belinda when she gets back. And you’ll want it sooner rather than later.’

  ‘Please. The bells have already been silent for almost two months and the bell-ringers are finding other places to ring. We’re in danger of them being poached permanently by other towers.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound very Christian.’

  ‘I don’t think that being Christian comes into bell-ringing that much. Half the time they don’t even stay for the service because they’ve got to dash off to ring the bells somewhere else. It can be very disconcerting for poor Brian to have the whole team troop out of the back of the church just as he’s getting into his stride.’

  ‘How’s the fundraising going?’

  ‘As well as can be expected. The awful thing is that it might all be in vain.’

  Miles looked perplexed so Heather told him about Miranda Osborne and her antipathy towards the bells.

  ‘Can she really do that?’ Miles was appalled.

  ‘It’s happened in other places. And she doesn’t seem to be the sort who cares if she is making herself deeply unpopular. You’ve seen her protests at the market. The trouble is we’ve looked into it and, because the bells haven’t been rung since she moved here, she can’t apply for the environmental health people to come out and assess the problem till we’ve started ringing again. Can you imagine what people will say if we raise all that money only to have her ruin everything?’

  ‘Is she barking mad?’

  Heather suppressed a smile. ‘You might say that – I couldn’t possibly comment.’

  ‘Very diplomatic,’ said Miles. ‘But she has to be; she moves into a community, which she’s presumably chosen because she likes the look of it, and then proceeds to change the things at the very heart of it – like the market and the bells. I mean, where’s the sense in that?’

  ‘We have to hope that she doesn’t succeed. Now then, let’s get some dates fixed before this place gets busy.’

  *

  During the lunch break, Ashley made his way to the textiles department and opened the door. The instant he stepped through it he was assailed by memories of having to do sewing as part of Design and Technology when he’d been in year seven. They’d had to make a cushion, he recalled. His had been disastrous – mostly because he’d mucked about with the other boys instead of knuckling down. He still wouldn’t be able to thread a sewing machine if his life depended on it.

  ‘Come in, Ashley,’ said Mrs Edwards. She smiled at him, which surprised Ashley slightly as, when they’d last encountered each other in this room, she’d mostly threatened him with detentions. ‘I need you to slip your blazer and shirt off so we can try your costume on.’

  ‘OK.’ He began to unbutton them, feeling a bit self-conscious. He wasn’t ashamed of his body, he knew he was pretty fit and toned, but having a teacher see him semi-naked… that was just plain weird.

  She pulled aside a curtain and revealed a rail of clothes. He instantly spotted the ones that he and Dan were destined to wear – creations in orange, lime, purple and chrome yellow. Subtle they weren’t. Next to them was Cinders’ ball dress. She was going to look stunning in the creation in ashes-of-rose pink, spangled with silver stars and with a fishtail train at the back.

  ‘Wow!’

  ‘Do you like it? It is rather gorgeous, isn’t it? Megan is going to steal the show, but then so are you,’ said Mrs Edwards as she pulled a purple dress trimmed with orange and magenta fake fur off the clothes rail. She unzipped it and gathered the skirts up to the waistline. ‘Step into this,’ she ordered as she bent down so Ashley could do as he told.

  She pulled the dress up over his hips and Ashley shoved his arms into the sleeves before she zipped it up again. ‘There!’

  Ashley turned to face the full-length mirror in the corner of the room. Jeez. ‘Blimey, miss.’ Well, it was bright. And big. And completely hideous.

  ‘It’ll look better with the wig and make-up.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. And it’ll raise a laugh.’ And no one would forget him and his role, that was for sure.

  ‘Job done then.’ Mrs Edwards began to check the fit. ‘Put your arms up,’ she said.

  Ashley raised them.

  ‘Not too tight?’

  ‘No, miss.’

  Mrs Edwards took a pin from the pincushion that was strapped to her wrist and tugged at the fabric at his waist. ‘Hmm…’ she muttered as she pinned the fabric.
‘Right – now the length. I’d like you to stand on this table.’ Mrs Edwards pulled a chair out so Ashley could use it as a step to get onto the big cutting table. ‘Now, you’re going to be wearing heels but we want the audience to be able to see your shoes in all their glory so I’ll make the dress shorter than I would normally.’ She got busy with her pins again as Ashley slowly rotated on the spot.

  ‘There, all done.’

  She held her hand out to steady Ashley as he stepped down then unzipped him.

  ‘Carefully does it,’ she advised.

  Ashley wriggled and the dress fell down, pooling around his ankles.

  ‘Oh… sorry.’ Megan stood in the door, blushing and staring at him.

  Ashley bent down and grabbed the dress – hauling it back up to cover his chest, disregarding the fact that he was scattering pins over the floor.

  ‘Ashley! Careful!’ admonished Mrs Edwards.

  ‘I’ll come back later,’ said Megan.

  ‘You’ll do nothing of the sort. Ashley, put your shirt on.’ She picked it up from where it was dumped on a chair and handed it to him. ‘Megan, you can get changed in my storeroom.’ Mrs Edwards went to the rail and removed the sparkling gown. Megan’s eyes widened.

  ‘Wow – that’s so lush.’

  Mrs Edwards preened. ‘Isn’t it? My A-level group are very proud of it.’ She opened the door to the storeroom and ushered Megan through. ‘Let me know if you need a hand with the zip,’ she said as she shut the door.

  Ashley stepped out of his dress again and handed it to the teacher.

  ‘I’ve just got to hope that my alterations are still in place,’ she said as she took it.

  ‘Sorry, miss.’

  Ashley slipped his shirt on and began to button it up. He took his time – he wanted to see what Megan’s dress looked like on.

  ‘Come along, Ashley, chop-chop.’

  But as he put on his blazer Megan appeared in the doorway. The dress was breathtaking. Megan was breathtaking. And Ashley felt downhearted. No one would remember him and his performance when they saw her in that dress.

  Chapter 31

  ‘Miss, miss,’ said Ashley, chasing after Miss Watkins.

  His teacher heard him and stopped. ‘Ashley, what can I do for you?’

  ‘It’s about acting, miss.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s… well… I really like it.’

  ‘Yes, I know. You’re by far and away the keenest in the drama group.’

  Ashley was momentarily wrong-footed. He’d wanted to hear he was the best not the keenest. He took a breath and decided to ignore the remark. ‘I think I want to do more of it.’

  ‘Really? I’ll be doing another production in due course.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘If you stay in the drama group I’ll definitely consider you for a part.’

  ‘That’s not what I really meant.’

  Miss Watkins raised an eyebrow. ‘So?’

  ‘Is there a theatre group I could join? And do you think I’d be good enough?’

  ‘The answer to your second question is yes although you’d probably have to audition. As to the first – I only moved here in the summer and I don’t know. I’ll ask around in the staffroom. Someone is bound to know.’

  ‘Thanks, miss.’

  ‘Are you sure you want to take this on? It’s a big commitment – especially when it’s getting close to the actual performances. So…’ she smiled, ‘do you think you will find the time to do that and the work for your GCSEs?’

  ‘I think so. Anyway, they probably wouldn’t give me a part straight off, would they, miss? And that’s if they’ll even have me.’

  ‘I wouldn’t bank on them not wanting you. Local am-dram companies often have loads of grown-ups in them but precious few kids. It’s relatively easy to make someone look old but it’s a bit of a stretch for the poor old make-up artist to turn a pensioner into a teenager. Anyway, as I said, I’ll ask around. Now, you’d better get going or you’ll be late for your next lesson.’

  Miss Watkins walked off along the corridor, her heels tip-tapping on the tiles as Ashley thought about what she’d said about auditions. Could he use a speech from the panto? No, he didn’t think that would be suitable. Anyway, most of his dialogue consisted of swift repartee between him and his ‘ugly sister’. Perhaps there were recommended pieces for actors to use? He glanced up and down the corridor to make sure there wasn’t a member of staff around and pulled his phone out of his pocket. Pupils were permitted to bring phones into school but their use was strictly prohibited except in proper breaks. He quickly switched it on and tapped into Google. Top ten choices for audition pieces, he typed. Hamlet… Macbeth… Love’s Labour’s Lost… The Seagull by Chekhov… Who the hell was Chekhov?

  ‘Pullen!’

  Ashley jumped and almost dropped his phone. Shit. Old man Johnson had caught him.

  ‘Hand it over,’ said Mr Johnson.

  ‘But, sir…’

  ‘You know the rules perfectly well.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ sulked Ashley. He passed his phone to his maths teacher.

  ‘Detention. Lunchtime,’ barked his nemesis. ‘See me at the staffroom, twelve thirty.’

  ‘Sir.’

  Ashley turned and walked quickly away from Mr Johnson and into the classroom for his next lesson – maths with Mr Johnson. He took his seat, throwing his backpack onto the floor beside his desk before having to almost immediately stand up again as his teacher entered the room.

  ‘Morning, class,’ he said as he took his place behind the desk at the front.

  ‘Morning, Mr Johnson,’ chanted thirty-one pupils in unison.

  ‘Sit.’

  Chairs scraped as they all did as they were told.

  ‘It seems I have to remind you that the use of mobile phones is not allowed between lessons. I will not tolerate blatant flouting of the school rules. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ The pupils looked around the class to determine who the culprit was, although it wasn’t difficult to work it out as Ashley’s sullen face flared red with guilt and embarrassment.

  ‘That was harsh,’ said Sophie to Ashley as they left the classroom an hour later. ‘He didn’t have to single you out like that.’

  ‘I hate him,’ said Ashley vehemently. ‘The bastard gave me a lunchtime detention.’

  Sophie gave him a sympathetic smile.

  ‘He’s such a twat-faced git,’ said Ashley.

  ‘Am I?’ said a voice behind him.

  Ashley froze as he realised who it was.

  ‘I think,’ said Mr Johnson, ‘you’ve just earned yourself an after-school detention, as well. Insubordination, bad language, disrespect… I’ll give you the slip for your mother to sign when I see you at lunchtime. Don’t make any plans for tomorrow.’ He gave Ashley a cold stare before he swept off.

  ‘But there’s a rehearsal tomorrow,’ whispered Ashley, horrified. ‘I’ll miss it.’

  ‘That won’t cut any ice with him. Best you apologise to Miss Watkins.’

  Ashley punched the wall next to him and then regretted it as he bruised his knuckles. ‘Everything is so unfair.’ He looked close to tears.

  ‘It’s only a rehearsal.’

  ‘You don’t get it. You don’t understand anything.’ He strode off.

  At lunchtime, Ashley reported, as directed, to the staffroom door. He rang the bell, asked to see Mr Johnson and then waited.

  ‘Ah – Ashley,’ said Miss Watkins as she headed towards the room and her sandwiches.

  ‘Miss.’

  ‘I’ve got some good news; I’ve found there’s a member of staff who is in the theatre group. It’s Mr Johnson, he’s their treasurer. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to hear you want to join the company.’ Mr Johnson exited the staffroom, answering Ashley’s request to see him. ‘Oh… Malcolm. We were just talking about you.’

  Mr Johnson looked from Miss Watkins to Ashley and back. ‘If this is because I have given Pullen
an after-school detention for tomorrow and he’ll miss a rehearsal, let me inform you now that I am not prepared for an after-school activity to take precedence over a disciplinary matter.’

  ‘I… no… that wasn’t it,’ said Miss Watkins, confused.

  ‘Good.’

  ‘No, Ashley wants to join the theatre company. I was telling him he should talk to you.’

  Mr Johnson sneered at Ashley. ‘Given his extreme disrespect towards his elders and betters I am not sure he is the sort of material the theatre company would want.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ said Miss Watkins – even more confused.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ mumbled Ashley.

  ‘Thank you for your interest in doing our recruiting for us,’ said Mr Johnson, ‘but maybe it would be better if you stuck with your own drama group.’

  Miss Watkins stared at him, hardly believing her ears before she sniffed in anger and stomped into the staffroom.

  ‘And if you think,’ said Mr Johnson, ‘you can curry favour with me by pretending to be interested in real acting as opposed to larking about on the school stage, you can forget it. Right…’ he handed a slip of paper to Ashley, ‘your mother must sign this and return it by tomorrow or the punishment will be doubled. And for your lunchtime detention you are to clear all the litter from the main playing field.’ He handed Ashley a black plastic sack and a litter-picker. ‘No slacking; I’ll come and check on your progress shortly.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Johnson.’ Ashley stuffed the paper in his pocket and took the other objects before slouching away to the playing field. As he went his head was filled with dark and uncharitable thoughts – mostly involving painful and lingering ways in which he hoped Mr Johnson would meet his end.

  *

  As December fast approached, the panto progressed, the coolness between Ashley and Megan continued, the Co-op began to stock chocolate advent calendars, a massive Christmas tree was delivered and erected outside the front of the town hall, the local radio station dusted off its collection of Christmas records and added them to the playlist, progress on the new wind turbine seemed to stall – much to Olivia’s delight – Alfie was becoming completely hyper about his impending birthday and the fact that Christmas was on its way and Bex’s pregnancy began to show.