The Villagers

by Gwyn G B

  Alison was furious, the hurt was written all over her face. ‘Well I’m putting my foot down. That cat has to go.’

  ‘Why?’ demanded Sophie.

  ‘Because it’s not yours, it’s making you behave outrageously and…’ she foolishly added, ‘because Charlie is allergic to cats anyway.’

  Sophie went quiet.

  ‘I see,’ she said. She didn’t yell, she just looked at her mother in a different way; a cool, distant kind of look that Alison had never seen before and which cut her to the bone. Charlie seeing that Alison was now in the firing line tried to deflect the attack.

  ‘Sophie I bought the puppy because I thought you’d like him. I’m not trying to replace your daddy. I just want us all to stop arguing, please.’ Sophie looked at him stonily, no emotion in her eyes at all.’

  ‘Fine,’ was all she said and walked out the room. Charlie just looked after her, the wriggling puppy in his arms, while Alison groaned and collapsed into a chair.

  ‘Jesus, what’s come over her?’ he asked. Alison just shook her head in despair and the puppy emptied its bladder onto Charlie’s shirt.

  Charlie offered to return the puppy, but Alison wouldn’t hear of it. She hoped that it would soon grow big enough to chase the damned cat out of the house. Sophie’s hostility had both upset and angered her, but just shouting at her wasn’t going to do any good. Firstly she’d speak to Martha, who probably thought she was being kind and generous letting Sophie keep Beelzebub; explain the problem to her and ask her to take the cat back. She also hoped that the arrival of her parents would provide a new focus and ease the pressure.

  Elizabeth Wright knew something was up the moment she stepped in the house. The content family scene she’d been hoping for wasn’t there. In its place were tense glances, hostile body language and a look of strain on her daughter’s face which she could spot a mile away. She didn’t say anything at first, but as soon as Alison went off into the kitchen to make tea, she followed.

  ‘So what’s going on?’ Elizabeth watched Alison’s face closely for reaction, ‘I thought you said you were all happy and really beginning to recover from Phil’s death.’ Alison’s lip trembled and she let the kettle drop onto the work top, spilling a little of the boiling water. Her mother reached for a cloth.

  ‘We were. It’s Sophie, she’s turned into this child from hell and all of a sudden has decided she hates Charlie. He’s been so good to us mum, we’ve been getting on so well and I really do care about him. It’s unfair, but I don’t know what to do.’ She bowed her head and her mother went over to her, putting her arms around her.

  ‘We’d better take the tea in now, or your father will wonder what we’re up to. But why don’t we slip off later and I’ll help you get lunch, have a proper talk then.’ Alison nodded and collected together the tea things as she tried desperately to pull together the torn shreds of her emotions. Elizabeth saw a young girl again who’d come back from school crying because her two best friends had argued and were both trying to get her on their sides.

  Back in the sitting room, Charlie was talking to Jim about the house while Sophie sat at her grandfather’s knee, curled up on the floor with Beelzebub. Charlie sneezed intermittently, while Sophie lent against her grandfather staring at him as if to say, ‘I’m with my family - this is my grandfather and I don’t care if you sneeze all day.’

  Into this happy scene of domesticity Alison and Sophie returned with tea and home-made scones. Alison saw that Charlie was struggling and passed him the box of tissues.

  ‘Hay fever is it?’ asked Jim.

  ‘No. He’s allergic to cats,’ answered Sophie almost triumphantly.

  ‘Well then what’s this moggy doing in here?’ replied Jim, ‘Poor Charlie, you should keep this cat out of the room.’ Jim, oblivious to the domestic argument promptly picked up the unsuspecting Beelzebub who was hoisted into the air and unceremoniously plonked in the hallway. As he turned to go back to Sophie the door was shut in his face. Sophie was horrified, she felt totally betrayed and humiliated, even her own grandfather didn’t understand. They were all the same.

  ‘But Beelzebub is my friend,’ she whined at him.

  ‘Beelzebub!’, said Jim concentrating on buttering his scone and unaware of the expression on her face, ‘that’s not a very nice name for a cat.’

  Sophie looked to her mother and grandmother for support. They were both looking at her as though she was the one who was wrong, not the injured party. Unable to bear being in this room full of traitors anymore, she threw her best ‘hate you’ look at Charlie and flounced out the door, slamming it behind her. Jim looked up from his scone.

  ‘Did I say something wrong?’ he asked surprised.

  ‘No dad you didn’t. That cat is a pain in the backside and Sophie is being a moody little madam.’ Alison looked over at Charlie who had gathered a little pile of crumpled, multicoloured tissues on the arm of his chair. His head was bowed, too embarrassed to look anyone in the eye because he knew eventually they’d find out that it was him who was the source of the problem. Alison’s heart went out to him, she knew he’d been hoping to create a good impression and she desperately wanted her parents to like him too. Elizabeth detected his discomfort and changed the subject.

  ‘So what are you going to call the new puppy then?’

  ‘Oh we haven’t really thought of anything yet,’ replied Alison, ‘all suggestions gratefully considered.’ So the four adults sat there for a while throwing names at the sleeping baby in his box, while Sophie and Beelzebub sulked upstairs.

  Eventually the women escaped to the kitchen to talk, leaving Charlie to take Jim off for a guided tour of the garden. Elizabeth had been very perturbed by Sophie’s earlier outburst.

  ‘Is she not settling in here?’ she asked her daughter, passing over the potatoes for her to peel.

  ‘That’s the thing. She seems to love it here and all the symptoms of her grief started to go like the bed wetting and stuff, but things changed as soon as she realised that Charlie and I were more than just friends. She says he is trying to take the place of Phil.’

  Elizabeth watched a potato slowly lose its skin and thought.

  ‘You can’t stop living your life, but I suppose it has only been eight months. Losing somebody can take a long time to come to terms with, especially for a child. How are you coping?’

  Alison stopped the skinning for a few moments.

  ‘Of course I still think about him mum and I still miss him, every time I look at Sophie I’m reminded, but at the same time I don’t want to lose Charlie. He’s been so good to us, He’s certainly helped me through it all. I never thought I’d be able to fall in love with somebody after Phil’s death, but it has just happened and I feel so lucky to have a second chance.’

  ‘I think you need some professional advice,’ replied her mother, watching Alison’s spirits deflating at the conversation and desperately hoping to rally her. ‘You need to talk to someone at the school. It’s probably a common problem.’

  ‘Yeah, I think it’s just a phase, just her grief for Phil making her very defensive over his position in our lives.’

  ‘You’re probably right, but there’s no use just worrying about it because I know you, all you’ll do is make yourself ill and it can only put a strain on your relationship with Charlie - you must speak to somebody.’

  ‘Yep, I will next week,’ replied Alison, a glimmer of her usual spark flickering back ‘and will you come with me this afternoon to meet Martha and I’ll talk to her about the Beelzebub situation.’

  ‘No problem,’ Elizabeth Wright waved at Charlie and her husband whose garden tour had brought them to the kitchen window. Alison got on with peeling the potatoes but she felt sick again, a symptom of all the stress she presumed. She was tired, tired of all the agro.

  ‘That dinner ready yet?’ asked Jim cheerfully bursting through the back door.

  Over lunch Elizabeth asked Sophie if she’d introduce her to her new friend.

&
nbsp; ‘Which one?’ the little girl had replied.

  ‘Oh do you have lots? I was meaning Martha.’

  ‘Well there’s also Michaela,’ Sophie put down her fork full of food, ‘She knows lots of things. She might be there this afternoon anyway, so you can meet them both.’

  ‘Does Michaela live with her mummy and daddy?’ asked Elizabeth, wondering if maybe she was the source of the problem; maybe jealousy because Michaela also has no father and doesn’t want her new friend to suddenly acquire one.

  ‘No, just her daddy, her mummy doesn’t live with them anymore. Her dad isn’t very nice though, he makes her do horrible things.’ None of the adults around the table picked up on the real implications of the little girl’s words. Elizabeth presumed she meant household chores.

  ’Well I suppose without a mummy it must be a lot harder for her and she must have to help her daddy a lot.’

  ‘Yes I suppose…’ nodded Sophie into her mashed potato and she threw an uneasy glance at Charlie.

  The parade of females and cat wound its way over to Martha’s at about two-thirty. She and Michaela had just consumed a bowlful of garden strawberries and were now lying on the sun loungers soaking up the sun and dozing. Sophie bounded up to the old woman and planted a big kiss on the wrinkled face.

  ‘Martha I’ve brought my granny over to meet you.’

  Both Alison and Elizabeth were slightly jealous of the affection Sophie poured on the relative stranger and Elizabeth couldn’t help but take an immediate dislike to her because of it. She’d smiled though. Martha sat up from her reclined position, blinking in the sunlight and stretched out a shrivelled hand in welcome.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ she said smiling and showing her cracked brown teeth.

  ‘And this is Michaela,’ continued Sophie waving her arms in her direction.

  Elizabeth looked at her granddaughter’s friend and was immediately struck with the thought of what a sorry example of humanity she represented. Didn’t look like she’d had a decent meal in months.

  They drew up a couple of the old wicker chairs and sat talking for a few minutes before Alison, seeking a private moment to discuss Beelzebub with Martha, suggested that Michaela and Sophie show Elizabeth round the Herb garden.

  Martha said she was horrified that the cat was causing so much trouble.

  ‘However,’ she added, ‘the only way to keep Beelzebub from visiting Sophie would be to lock him in the cottage and besides it wouldn’t really be all that fair to Sophie as she’s grown so attached to him.’ Alison got slightly annoyed that somebody was questioning what was right for her daughter.

  ‘I think I can determine what is or isn’t fair. I do know that it’s very unfair to Charlie who is allergic, besides, Sophie has a new puppy now. You know what kids are like, she’ll soon forget about Beelzebub.’

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t mean to…’

  Alison realising that she might have come over as a bit aggressive and defensive, interrupted Martha.

  ‘No, no, don’t worry. I didn’t mean that it was your fault or anything.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ the old woman promised, ‘you’re looking very tired dear, are you feeling alright?’

  ‘Yes, fine thanks, just a bit tired that’s all, probably a delayed reaction from moving and all that.’

  Elizabeth re-joined them at this point and the two women strolled off leaving the girls under Martha’s wing.

  Charlie agreed with Elizabeth, there was something about Martha that they didn’t like. Alison was adamant that the old woman was harmless and had been nothing but a God send to her since she’d moved in. After a brief, unproductive battle Alison had retreated upstairs, tired and weary of being piggy in the middle of everybody else. When Charlie came to find her, ten minutes later, she was curled up asleep, lost somewhere well away from all her worries.

  Elizabeth was concerned about both her daughter and her granddaughter, whose moody insolence was so unlike the little girl she knew. Before Charlie returned to London she secretly passed him her phone number and made him promise to call her if things got worse. Charlie was overjoyed to have found an ally and readily promised. Sophie didn’t bother to say goodbye when he left, she was off somewhere playing with Michaela. He kissed Alison goodbye, saddened that he had to leave her with all this upset, and patted the nameless, loveless little puppy on the head.

  Her parents stayed until Monday, waving Sophie off to school and then heading back to their worlds of literature and woodwork. Alison returned to an empty house filled only with an over excited puppy and a prowling, bad tempered cat. She decided to try and scare the cat away while Sophie was at school and so every day that week she chased it out the house, threw water over it and chucked things after it. But every day when Sophie returned from school, he’d be there waiting for her, and everyday he’d trot back in on her heels as if nothing had happened. He was clever. He knew to stay away from Alison when they were on their own, but when Sophie was about he also knew she wouldn’t touch him. For a while he really got to her, it was as though he’d sit there staring at her, taunting her by his presence, but she didn’t want to turn Sophie against her by attacking the cat further. As it was she’d banned him from the sitting room and her bedroom in the interests of Charlie’s allergy and Sophie had simply stopped going into those rooms at all. Alison felt like she was fighting a losing battle, her spirits and her emotions were still trying to recuperate from Phil’s death, this added offensive was too much. She was so glad she had Charlie, she didn’t think she’d be able to cope at all well without him, but Sophie’s opposition to him was tearing her apart. Why couldn’t she like him as much as she used to - why couldn’t they be happy together?

  The puppy had several mishaps during the week with Alison trying hard not to let Sophie see her getting annoyed over the toilet training process. Her daughter continued to ignore the dog totally and Beelzebub maintained his hair raising and spitting stance. The bungling baby resorted to floundering around the big house in search of Alison and some love and affection. In the end she named him herself - Dumbo, in reference to his flapping ears and unloved status. Charlie’s return at the weekend was both welcome relief and a source of increased tension.

  While he’d been away in London, Charlie had done a lot of thinking. He’d even phoned up his brother who has two kids of his own, and asked his advice. In the end he’d come to the conclusion that he needed to be firm. Fatherly discipline was what Sophie needed now. Plus he had to show them both that he was serious about taking on his new role. He drove down to Dorset Friday evening with a fighting spirit. When he got there he found that Sophie was in bed, Alison had fallen asleep on the sofa and Dumbo had peed on the living room carpet.

  Lesser men would have surveyed the scene, weighed up the battles ahead and turned tail and gone back to London - but not Charlie. He remembered the good times when both girls had needed and cared for him and he decided that the only way forward was to face the foe head on, take charge and let them know who’s boss. His chance came the very next morning at breakfast.

  Sophie was being picky with her food again, whining about being forced to eat her breakfast. Charlie got cross.

  ‘Sophie just do as your mother asks,’ he said firmly. She looked at him a little surprised, wavered, but then the defiant glint returned to her eyes.

  ‘I’m going over to see Michaela and Martha,’ she replied, really testing them both now and beginning to get down from the table.

  ‘Sophie. I told you to eat that first.’ Alison was also getting cross. The little girl looked at her mother pleadingly.

  ‘But I’m really not hungry Mummy.’

  Charlie was afraid Alison might weaken at her pleading look.

  ‘Sophie sit down,’ he said.

  She turned to him.

  ‘You’re not my daddy, you can’t tell me what to do.’

  ‘No, but you are a disobedient child and your mother has told you to eat your breakfast.’

&
nbsp; Alison looked at them both, facing each other across the table, had they got guns in their hands they’d be smoking. She’d already been feeling sick again that morning and as the stress upset her she began to wretch and ran off in the direction of the downstairs toilet to throw up.

  ‘Now look what your insolence has caused,’ Charlie snapped at Sophie as he headed out of the kitchen to see if Alison was OK. Sophie almost smirked in triumph and then took the opportunity to escape from her breakfast.

  In Alison’s wake, Charlie was congratulating himself on what a fine job he’d made of his first attempt at being fatherly, a real success, he thought, created a great impression there, then he heard Alison retching in the toilet.

  ‘Are you OK sweetheart, is there anything I can do?’ he asked opening the door to check. She coughed and waved him away shaking her head. He took himself off to the sitting room to the sound of running taps and to contemplate his failure.

  Charlie stared at the grey flagstones around the fireplace for several minutes desperately hoping to find some inspiration to help him with his situation. But the flagstones were unforgiving and by the time Alison came to find him, he’d buried his head in his hands hoping that maybe if he closed his eyes and willed it hard enough, when he opened them again everything would be all right. But everything wasn’t and there was another bombshell to come.

  ‘I couldn’t decide whether or not I should tell you this yet…’ she said sitting herself on the sofa next to him and putting her hand on his knee ‘but I think you should know.’ She stopped for a moment and he turned round to look at her quizzically. ‘There’s no easy way to say this Charlie. I’m pregnant.’

  Charlie’s heart seemed to implode and for a few seconds he could have sworn it stopped beating.

  ‘Oh God… how? I mean are you sure?’

  ‘I haven’t been to the doctors yet, but I got a test from the chemist, plus I know my own body. I’m really sorry,’ she looked away from his shocked face. ‘It’s my fault, I couldn’t find my cap, don’t you remember? I thought it would be OK.’ She was in tears now.