Chapter 50
‘You going to be in for supper?’ Amy asked Ashley later that day.
‘Yeah. Why?’
‘Cos there’s someone I’d like you to meet.’
‘Oh yeah.’ Ashley sounded wary. ‘This your new bloke?’
‘Might be. Anyway, he’s not “my bloke”, he’s a friend.’
Ashley shrugged. ‘If you say so. So what’s this one do?’
‘He’s a fireman.’ Amy said it with pride and she stared at Ashley, wanting him to be impressed.
Ashley considered this. ‘I suppose that’s better than being a thief.’
‘Too right it is.’
Ashley still looked unimpressed.
‘OK, so I made a mistake with Billy. This guy’s different.’
‘Really.’
‘You’ll see, when you meet him. So, you’ll be here for supper. You ain’t got a rehearsal or nothing.’
Ashley shook his head. ‘I’ll be here.’
‘And you’ll be nice.’
Ashley sighed. ‘I suppose.’
*
Sharp at six the doorbell rang and Amy yelled to Ashley, ‘Get that, would you, I’m busy in the kitchen.’
Ashley, revising in his bedroom, threw down his pen and crashed down the stairs, two at a time. He knew who it was going to be and, although he’d promised his mum he’d be ‘nice’, all he was prepared to be was polite. He certainly wasn’t going to be any more accommodating than that. His mother had had some crap boyfriends in the past and he wasn’t expecting this new guy to be any better than that git Billy. So he was quite surprised, when he opened the door, to see a bloke carrying a massive bunch of flowers and a bottle of wine standing on the doorstep looking rather nervous.
‘Hello,’ said Ashley. ‘You must be Ryan.’
‘And you must be Ashley.’
‘You’d better come in.’ Ashley opened the door as Amy came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a tea towel.
‘Hello, Ames,’ said Ryan. He proffered his gifts.
‘Oooh, lovely. You shouldn’t have,’ she said, taking them. ‘I don’t know if I’ve got a vase big enough. No one’s never given me flowers before.’
‘Really?’ Ryan was genuinely surprised. ‘Never?’
Amy shook her head. She led the way back into the kitchen and handed Ashley the bottle. ‘You pour us all a drink while I sort out the flowers.’
‘Actually,’ said Ryan, ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got a beer?’
Amy nodded as she began to open cupboards, searching for something suitable for her bouquet. ‘Ash, there’s some cans on the floor in the cupboard under the stairs. You can have one too if you like. And when you’ve done that, pour me a glass of vino, there’s a love.’
Five minutes later they were in the sitting room with the flowers in a plastic jug – the only suitable thing that Amy could find – and sipping their drinks.
Amy looked at her guest with a big grin on her face. ‘Well, ain’t this nice.’
‘It’s grand,’ said Ryan.
‘And I hope you like shepherd’s pie.’
‘Love it, my favourite.’
‘Really? It’s yours too, isn’t it, Ash?’
‘It’s OK.’
‘I’ll dish up when we’ve had our drinks.’ Silence fell. ‘Tell Ash about being a fireman, Ryan.’
‘There’s nothing much to tell – we get a shout, we go to the emergency, deal with it, we come back to the station.’
Ashley sipped his beer but caught his mother glaring at him. Her expression plainly said, show an interest.
‘Have you been to any big fires, then?’ said Ashley.
‘A few. I was at that warehouse fire on the other side of Cattebury a few weeks ago. You know, the one that made the local news.’
Ashley nodded. It had been massive. ‘Cool.’
‘And then we had to deal with that pile-up on the motorway last winter. That was nasty – several dead who we had to cut out of their cars but we got half a dozen badly injured out first.’
‘Yuck,’ said Amy.
Ryan nodded. ‘It’s horrible but someone has to do it.’
‘I bet you’ve seen some well-gross things,’ said Ashley.
Ryan nodded again. ‘But maybe it’s not something to talk about before dinner, eh?’
Ashley took a gulp of his beer. ‘I think I’d be sick.’
‘You get used to it. So, you don’t fancy being a firefighter?’
Ashley shook his head.
‘Nah,’ said Amy. ‘He still wants to act.’
Suddenly Ashley felt a bit self-conscious about doing a job that was basically trivial and unimportant when he was talking to someone who actually saved lives. ‘But I know I’ve got to get a proper job as well. Everyone says actors get crap pay – well, unless you’re Patrick Stewart or Christian Bale.’
‘Yeah, I don’t imagine they’re short of a bob or two. But being an actor sounds like a great job even if the pay is shit… for most people. And let’s face it, I didn’t become a firefighter for the money. You’ve got to do something you like – you spend a lot of your life working.’
‘Exactly!’
Amy drained her glass. ‘It’s all very well for you to say that but some of us don’t get much choice. Being a cleaner ain’t much cop but the rent’s got to be paid and food put on the table. Talking of which…’ She got up and went into the kitchen where the two men could hear her banging around, getting the pie out of the oven and draining the vegetables.
‘What have you got in mind?’ asked Ryan.
Ashley warmed to him. His mum was right, he did seem nice. And he was taking an interest. Billy had never done that and his dad certainly hadn’t; in fact, he’d never met his dad which just showed how little interest he had in his son. ‘I don’t know. I thought I might do an apprenticeship.’
‘In what?’
‘Mum says everyone always needs plumbers. Not sure I could deal with other people’s toilets though.’ Ashley wrinkled his face.
‘Gross,’ agreed Ryan. ‘But what about being an electrician? And it’s a skill that theatres and film sets need too. I mean, I’m sure you’ll make a fine actor but if you didn’t you might still be able to work in the industry – just not in the limelight.’
Ashley stared at Ryan. ‘That’s a wicked idea. Genius. Thank you.’
Ryan gave Ashley a big smile then drained the last of his drink. ‘Glad to have been of service.’
*
As Ashley and Ryan were bonding over shepherd’s pie and beer, Miranda was in her state-of-the-art kitchen, listening to Radio Three while she made a sweet potato and bean chilli. Suddenly, over the music, she heard the church bells clanging away. For crying out loud! She left the pot simmering on the hob as she strode to the huge bi-fold doors and flung them open. No, the noise wasn’t deafening but it shattered the tranquillity of the evening. How on earth could she be expected to entertain friends, out here on the patio, with that going on? She stormed back into the house and picked up her phone. She scrolled down her contacts list – the vicarage – and hit the call button. It was answered on the second ring.
‘Hello, the vicarage.’
‘Good evening. This is Miranda here.’
‘Miranda, how lovely to hear from you.’
‘I haven’t rung you to exchange pleasantries.’
‘Oh?’
‘No – the bells.’
‘Yes, isn’t it a joy to hear them ringing again?’
‘A joy?’ Miranda’s voice was almost a squeak. ‘No, it isn’t. It’s an abomination.’
‘Oh, dear,’ said Heather. ‘Then I’m afraid we have to agree to disagree.’
‘We’ll do no such thing. I am going to monitor the noise level and as soon as this ridiculous bank holiday is over I am going to report it to the district council. So, if you don’t want a noise abatement order I suggest you tell the ringers to cease and desist forthwith.’
‘Cease and desist? No, I don’t thin
k I’m going to do that. And it isn’t, as you put it, a “ridiculous bank holiday” but Easter – the main festival of my faith. So, if that’s everything…?’ Miranda wasn’t used to people not being intimidated by her and was stunned into momentary silence. ‘Good. Goodbye,’ finished Heather.
The connection was severed and Miranda was left fuming. Her temper wasn’t improved when she returned to her saucepan of chilli to find it had stuck to the bottom and had burnt. Ruined! If she hadn’t been so angry she would have cried.
If the bell practice had enraged Miranda on the Friday evening, it was nothing to the incandescent wrath she felt on the Sunday morning when the bells rang out joyously to celebrate Easter. The weather seemed to be celebrating along with the church as the sun shone, the temperature rose and the sky was a flawless blue.
‘This is intolerable,’ she grumbled at Roderick, over breakfast. ‘I want to go into the garden and work out in the fresh air but goodness knows what that racket will do to my hearing.’
Roderick looked at her over the top of the Observer. ‘Is it that bad?’
‘Is it that bad?’ Miranda stared at her husband incredulously. She pushed her chair back and pulled open the patio doors. ‘Listen!’ She turned to him. ‘It might not be quite so intolerable if they were any good.’
‘They sound fairly competent to me.’
Miranda snorted and narrowed her eyes. ‘You are going to back me, aren’t you – when I make a formal complaint?’
‘Of course, dear.’
‘Good. And you’ll come with me tomorrow to talk to the vicar at their wretched party they’re throwing to thank people who were misguided enough to support the wretched bells? I want him left in no doubt that bells are an anachronism and are a serious cause of noise pollution.’
‘Of course, dear.’
Miranda stared at her husband. She couldn’t fault him as a breadwinner but sometimes, sometimes, she did wonder if he was quite on-message.
*
‘Listen,’ said Miles as he served up scrambled eggs for everyone’s breakfast at The Beeches.
‘To what?’ said Lewis as he buttered some toast.
‘The bells.’
Lewis cocked an ear. ‘And?’
‘I just think they’re rather lovely,’ said Miles.
‘I do too,’ said Megan taking the plate Miles offered her. ‘What about you, Bex?’ Bex seemed miles away. ‘Bex?’
‘Oh… yes, I suppose.’
‘Do you want eggs?’ asked Miles.
Bex shook her head. ‘Not for me. I don’t feel very hungry.’
‘Then what about some toast?’
‘Maybe.’ She took a slice and broke off a corner to nibble.
‘Dry toast?’ Miles gave her a questioning look.
‘Don’t fuss,’ she warned. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Why don’t you go back to bed if you’re not feeling great? I can look after the kids till I have to go to the pub, Megan can help me prep the lamb for tonight’s supper and I can rustle up something cold to leave everyone for lunch.’
‘Miles! I said I’m fine.’
Miles piled the last of the eggs on his own plate and sat at the table. The family ate in slightly uneasy silence, broken only by the sound of the bells, and the scraping of cutlery on china.
When everyone had finished and Miles had loaded the dishwasher, the boys ran out into the garden to play and Megan muttered something about revision and went off to her room.
‘Anything else?’ offered Miles. ‘Tea, maybe?’
‘No, I’m good.’
Miles opened his mouth to say Bex didn’t look it but changed his mind. Instead he said, ‘So, what are your plans for this morning?’
‘I’m going to make a couple of quiches – one for lunch and one for Heather’s party tomorrow.’
‘Would you like me to do it?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Miles, just stop fussing.’
‘Fine. In which case I’ve got some things to sort out at the pub before the lunch service. I’ll be back about two thirty.’
‘I’ll see you then.’ Bex still sounded hacked off.
Miles dropped a kiss on her forehead and left. As soon as he’d gone Bex slumped forward and rested her head on her arms. Shit, she felt crap.
Somehow she managed to find the energy to make the flans and later give the children their lunch. After they’d eaten the weather began to cloud over so, while Megan went out to see Sophie, Bex put a DVD on for the boys, toed off her slippers and put her feet up on the sofa.
‘Good,’ said Miles, startling her into instant wakefulness, ‘you’re taking it easy.’
‘Hi, sweetheart,’ said Bex. She glanced at the clock and saw it was coming up for two thirty. ‘You’re early.’
‘I left Jamie to clear down.’ He leaned over the back of the sofa and gave her a kiss. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Very relaxed,’ she lied. Her back ached. She must have slept uncomfortably – which was hardly surprising given she was on the sofa and not in bed. ‘Be a love, put the kettle on.’
Bex didn’t actually fancy tea much but she wanted Miles out of the way while she got herself upright. He’d only fret if he saw how stiff and achy she was. Miles tramped off to the kitchen while Bex managed to swing her feet to the floor. Very slowly and trying not to groan she levered herself into a sitting position. When Miles came back with her drink she had moved to an armchair and had propped a couple of cushions behind her to make herself as comfortable as possible. She’d be better in the morning, she told herself. All she needed was a half-decent night’s sleep.
Chapter 51
Easter Monday was another bobby-dazzler of a day for which Heather offered up a short prayer of thanks. Hosting a party was going to be so much easier if the sun shone. Sure, they had the community centre and all the guests had promised to bring food so she didn’t have that much to do but it would be so much nicer for everyone to be able to spill out onto the outfield of the cricket pitch rather than being confined in the ancient prefab. The kids would be able to run about, people could stretch out on the grass… there was no doubt about it, in Heather’s mind, the fine weather was going to be the icing on the cake of a very jolly day.
She hummed as she finished making sausage rolls and a fruit salad, put them in suitable containers and then shoved cling film over them.
‘Brian,’ she called. A faint response came back from the study. She walked down the hall and put her head round the door. ‘I’m just nipping over to the community centre for a few minutes.’
‘OK, dear. I’ll see you when you get back.’
Heather picked up the food and the key to the hall and made her way down the path and across the road to the cricket pitch. She picked her way over the grass and listened to the cawing of the rooks as they fussed and flapped over their nests in the big trees around the cricket ground and the church. Smaller birds twittered in the understorey and above her a few fluffy clouds that resembled picture-book sheep drifted aimlessly across a delphinium blue sky. Such a perfect day. As she let herself into the community centre she found she was humming the old Lou Reed classic. And why not? she thought. Why not?
Heather dumped her plates down on a shelf and began to pull trestle tables out of the stack at the side of the room and click the legs into position before she deftly turned them the right way up and arranged them round the edge of the room. Once she’d put up a dozen or so tables she found the banqueting roll from the store cupboard in the little kitchen at the back of the building and began to cover them with clean white paper. After about half an hour she had most of the room sorted and as she finished other townsfolk began arriving with their contributions – cakes, vol-au-vents, salads of various descriptions, sandwiches, savoury snacks… it was going to be quite a spread.
As Heather moved the dishes into a vaguely logical arrangement – sweet things on one table, savoury on another and cakes on the third, Bex came in with a couple of the things she was contrib
uting.
‘Goodness me,’ said Heather. ‘How you’ve suddenly bloomed.’
‘You mean the bump is huge.’
Heather grinned. ‘I wouldn’t have put it quite like that.’
‘No, you’re far too diplomatic but I bet it’s what you’re thinking. And I’ve still got almost a couple of months to go – well, seven weeks and a few days, to be precise. I tell you, Heather, I can’t wait to have my body back. I know everyone says babies are easier to look after on the inside than the outside but I swear, even with feeds, I’m going to get more sleep than I am at the moment.’
‘You do look tired,’ said Heather.
‘Don’t you start. Miles – bless him – is being a total old mother hen; always clucking and fussing around me. I know he cares but I have done this before.’
‘He’s just so thrilled he’s going to be a dad.’
Bex nodded. ‘I get that and it’s lovely that he is so completely excited…’
‘But it’s a bit wearing?’
‘Exactly. Anyway…’ Bex dumped her plates on a table. ‘I’ll go and get the other stuff.’
‘Do you want a hand?’
‘I brought the car down.’ She was back in a couple of minutes with two more cakes, and then did a third trip to fetch the quiche and a fruit flan.
‘Bex! That’s far too generous of you.’
‘It’s nothing. You know me, any excuse to bake.’ She looked about her. ‘What else needs doing?’
‘Nothing, or nothing you need to worry about. I’m going to faff about putting out plates and glasses and then we’ll be ready for the kick-off at one.’
‘I hope it stays nice.’
Heather was befuddled. ‘But it’s a glorious day.’
‘The weatherman said there might be thunderstorms later. You know what they say about the British summer – three fine days and a thunderstorm.’
‘Oh well. We’ll just have to keep our fingers crossed it misses us.’
*
An hour later Bex returned on foot with her brood. As she crossed the cricket club she wished she was wearing something smarter than her old Crocs but her ankles didn’t allow her to slip into some of her more stylish and prettier sandals. She was going to be so glad when this baby was born and she got her figure back again. As she trudged over the grass she could see someone hovering in the trees at the edge of the outfield. She stopped and stared. Amy? But this wasn’t her sort of thing. Besides, Bex knew for a fact that Amy hadn’t been invited because Heather had told her so. Heather had said that her milk-of-human-kindness had curdled somewhat when Amy hadn’t offered to deliver leaflets around the council estate. Heather said that she knew Amy was a busy person, ‘but we’re all busy people and it wouldn’t hurt Amy to spare half an hour to drop off a few flyers through a few letter boxes.’
The Bells of Little Woodford Page 37