The Villagers

by Gwyn G B

  Fifteen minutes later her phone rang, but it wasn’t Charlie’s voice she heard, it was a woman who introduced herself as Mrs Clatt, Sophie’s teacher.

  ‘Has something happened?’ asked Alison, panic tingeing her voice.

  ’No, no don’t worry Mrs Swift, Sophie just doesn’t feel well. She’s been complaining of a stomach ache, I just think she might be better off at home in bed.’

  ‘Of course. I bet it was all those strawberries she ate yesterday. I’ll leave now, should be with you in about twenty minutes.’

  So Martha’s plan worked smoothly. Alison passed the Davidson’s cottage on the way to the school and saw what she thought looked like Charlie’s car parked outside. Presuming she must be mistaken and not wanting to face the possibility of something awful, she ignored it and drove on; but her heart beat a little faster.

  At the school she found Sophie lying whimpering on the Head Mistress’s sofa, clutching her stomach.

  ‘Tummy pains,’ she said to her mother feebly.

  ‘Have you had an upset stomach?’ Alison asked in return.

  Sophie nodded.

  ‘I thought you’d eaten too many strawberries yesterday. Never mind, let’s get you home to bed.’

  ‘I believe you’re coming in later this week for a chat Mrs Swift,’ said the Head Mistress, slightly aside so that Sophie wouldn’t hear.

  ‘Yes Friday.’

  ‘Good then I shall see you again then,’ and she patted Sophie on the head as they left.

  They drove home almost silently, Alison had tried to chat cheerfully, but quite honestly she just didn’t feel like it and Sophie hadn’t responded, so the chat dried up. As they approached the place Alison had thought she’d seen Charlie’s car she began to get nervous. What if it really was his car, why would it be there? Should she stop and check? One thing she didn’t get a chance to do was to ignore its presence this time, because as they came towards it Sophie almost shouted, ’That’s Charlie’s car.’

  Alison slowed down.

  ‘I’m sure it’s not. Just a similar one that’s all.’

  ‘No it is, it’s his number plate.’

  She was right, there was no doubt. What was it doing here? She almost turned down the dirt track to the little cottage, but she didn’t, she was scared of what she might discover, or worse still put Sophie in some sort of danger. Then she became aware of her daughter watching her and realised that she must have displayed her confused emotions on her face.

  ‘He popped down earlier just to check we were OK. He must have got held up for some reason.’

  Sophie smiled to herself, she could tell her mother was upset about it; she wasn’t quite sure why, but Martha had said she would be. Soon she’d realise they were better off without him.

  21

  Charlie awoke as the evening began to draw in, feeling cold and stiff and slightly hung over. He gently raised his head and saw that his trousers, though zipped up, were disturbed. There was no escaping what had happened, he remembered it all. He couldn’t understand what had come over him, he hadn’t even fancied her - she must have put something in his tea! But why? He could only presume she was either some kind of nymphomaniac or had some bizarre concept of how to thank him for helping her. Whatever the reason, he felt dirty and guilty. Maybe she had robbed him. He couldn’t see anyone around, the house was silent - his car keys and wallet were still in his pocket, she hadn’t taken those. The house was silent. Quickly he got up and left. He didn’t want to be around when the husband or even she returned.

  He drove as fast as he could until he reached a Little Chef and could stop to wash and have some coffee and something to eat.

  Sitting down at his little table, the whole incident just seemed beyond imagination. But he felt violated, this was the closest thing to a woman raping a man. He wanted to report it to the police, get some justice, some retribution for his body being used like that without his consent. But he could see them laughing at him now.

  ‘Complaining about the best blow job you’ve ever had are you Sir? By the way Sir, I presume you did resist?’ No, there was no way he could report it. Besides what would Alison say, this was bound to get out. The kind of story a tabloid newspaper would relish, he’d be ridiculed.

  He picked at his All Day Breakfast Special, but the sausage made him feel sick and instead he resorted to pouring coffee down his throat to clear his head. Oh Alison, he wanted to talk to her, to tell her what had happened and how he felt. But that was impossible. Then it dawned on him that she’d probably been trying to reach him all day after his dramatic exit, he should at least stop her from being stressed. He paid his bill and went to the public phone box.

  ‘Alison it’s me, Charlie.’

  ‘Charlie!’

  ‘Are you OK? I’m sorry about earlier, I over-reacted, but…’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I’m in a roadside cafe. I decided to go to my parents after I left, you know to see how mum is getting on.’

  ‘So you’ve been there all day?’

  ‘Yes, sorry. Have you been trying to call?’

  ‘If you have been at your mum’s all day - why was your car parked outside Sally Davidson’s cottage all day?’

  ‘Sally Davidson? Who’s? I… she broke down. I helped her home and she made…’

  ‘Charles Simpson you are a cheat and a liar. I just can’t believe that you..’

  ‘Alison it’s true. She had broken down, I went back to her house to wash my hands and have a cup of tea, what would you have me do, leave a woman stranded by a road?’

  ‘Charlie,’ Alison’s voice was quiet now, the anger had left her, just pure disappointment remained. ‘You are trying to tell me it takes all afternoon to have a cup of tea? At what point exactly did you go to your mothers?’

  ‘She drugged me. I fell asleep.’

  ‘She drugged you! This just gets better, and don’t tell me she seduced you while you were asleep too?’

  ‘Well…’

  ‘Goodbye Charlie. I know what her reputation is, I can’t believe that we have one argument and you turn to another woman.’ She slammed the phone down.

  Charlie was left standing holding the receiver stunned and incredulous; oblivious to the people staring as they walked past him on their way to the toilets. How could something that had been so perfect, suddenly go so wrong?

  Martha had been pottering around her garden when Alison returned from the school with Sophie and so she’d been ready with the concerned neighbour act.

  ‘Sophie’s home early, is everything OK?’ Martha asked.

  ‘She’s just got a sore tummy. I think we overdid the strawberries yesterday,’ replied Alison, trying as hard as she could to muster a smile.

  ‘You are a silly girl,’ said Martha to Sophie, ‘Are you alright my dear?’ she asked Alison.

  ‘Yes, I’m OK thanks,’ she replied, but she didn’t really mean it. She was worried about Charlie - why was his car outside that cottage? What if something had happened to him and he needed help?

  ‘Do you know who owns the small cottage along the road as you go out of the village towards Nenwich?’

  ‘Yes, Sally Davidson, she’s got a bit of a reputation. Used to work as a prostitute in one of the big towns, kind of came here to retire, but I’m told she still services the odd client. Why?’

  ‘No reason,’ she felt weak and sick with disgust and shock. ‘I’d better get Sophie put to bed,’ was all she could muster and left Martha to contemplate her well planned triumph.

  Her whole view of Charlie was shattered and as the cracks appeared so she began to think again that maybe Sophie had been trying to tell her something. She’d trusted him, let him into her heart, believed in him and now it turns out he’s been visiting a prostitute. For a moment she even contemplated an abortion, but it was just a moment, this was her child too. She’d just make absolute sure she brought it up away from any bad influences. It was all just so awful she almost couldn’t believe it, her pe
rfect boyfriend, so loving, caring and trustworthy, was secretly paying for sordid sex elsewhere. Why? What did he want from her?

  Sophie had gone straight to bed and Alison, managing only to nibble at a piece of toast, had collapsed into an armchair in front of the TV, staring at the moving images blankly. Only when the news came on did the lead story pull her out of her distraught world.

  ‘The nine year old boy who went missing last week from his home in Lancashire is feared to have been taken by a gang of paedophiles. An eye witness has come forward with crucial new evidence saying she saw the boy, Todd Warner walking hand in hand with two men.’

  Alison’s heart went out to the boy’s parents. How awful they must be feeling, how evil some people were. Had she exposed Sophie to an evil man? The report continued, the missing child looked a bit like the boy she’d seen with Jim Harding. Alison’s mind wandered back to Sophie, the half term holidays were coming up she would ask Martha if she knew how long Harding’s nephew or whoever he was, was staying around. He might be a good playmate for her daughter, make a change from Michaela.

  Sadly for Todd Warner and his parents, Alison didn’t entertain the thought that the boy in Harding’s car could be Todd.

  By the time Charlie managed to phone Alison from the roadside cafe, she’d had the argument with him in her head a thousand times. As it was, when it came to the real event, she failed to say half the things she’d wanted to, but had slammed the phone down totally disbelieving that he didn’t even try to come up with a good excuse, or even hide the guilt in his voice. She’d been hoping he had his reasons and that her fears were unfounded, but by the end of their phone call she no longer had any faith in Charlie at all. Instead she sat on her sofa conjuring up images of the man she thought she’d loved with a prostitute. How could she have been so stupid? If somebody she’d believed as much as Charlie could do this to her then how could she ever trust another man?

  After the phone had slammed down in his ear, Charlie panicked. What if Alison decided to abort his baby. For a few moments he’d contemplated getting into his car and driving straight back to talk to her - but to tell her what? It was true, something had happened, he wouldn’t be able to face her when he felt this ashamed and besides he was worried about upsetting her too much. What if she had a miscarriage on top of all this. Instead he rang again, desperate just to try and calm her down, to try to explain.

  Sophie hadn’t been able to sleep, she was excited by the day’s development. It was all going to be OK. Martha was getting rid of Charlie, her mother would see him for what he was and he wouldn’t be able to replace her with the new baby. When the phone rang she sprang out of bed and ran on tiptoes to the landing. It wasn’t hard to hear her mother’s angry words and then she heard the phone slam down and she knew that at last it was over. For a minute she’d just sat there savouring her victory, but then the phone began to ring again and anxious that Charlie not be given a second chance to poison her mother’s mind, she went downstairs.

  Alison was sitting crying.

  ‘Sophie, are you OK? I’m sorry did I wake you?’ Alison tried to clear the tears from her face and regain her composure.

  ‘No, I just wanted a drink of water’, and the little girl went over to her mother and put her arms around her. ‘It’s alright Mummy, you’ve got me, we’ll be happy together.’ Alison just hugged her daughter tightly and cried.

  How she got through the next few days she didn’t know, she’d just switched on the automatic pilot and functioned. She left the answerphone to take all her calls and she refused to ring Charlie back no matter how he begged or pleaded. Every time she heard his voice her insides were wrenched out, a dull pain the only remains of what had once been a happy heart. His explanations were fruitless, he had betrayed her and she wanted nothing more to do with him. In the end he said he was going to put everything down on paper so that she could understand how he felt.

  She never received the letter, or any of the others he sent. She presumed he couldn’t be bothered to write, he presumed she’d thrown them away. Neither of them ever suspected that they never got further than the village post office where they are sent for delivery.

  Alison didn’t have the emotional energy to talk to anyone all week, not even Debs. She only went out for necessities and even then it was to the town miles away so she didn’t have to talk to anyone in the village; and most especially not see that Sally Davidson woman. No wonder she looks the way she does, perhaps her husband is pimping for her. Charlie must have met her in the village when he’d popped down for a paper or on one of his supply runs. Little surprise the woman had shuffled nervously when she’d seen her in the greengrocers. She probably had already set her sights on her prey. Perhaps they’d already done it by then. Alison couldn’t bear thinking about it all.

  The week dragged, but eventually Friday had come around and consequently her appointment at Sophie’s school. She felt a bit like she’d solved her problem already. Sophie hadn’t liked Charlie, that had been the difficulty, and it looked like a nine year old had better character judgement than an adult woman in her thirties. But Alison went. She still wasn’t sure where Sophie had got her idea of ‘men doing horrible things to girls.’ Perhaps it had been something as simple as one of those safety videos the kids get shown at school to teach them not to go off with strange men.

  Alison had to drive past Sally Davidson’s cottage once again to get to the school, the memories making her feel sick and the bitterness welling up inside of her. To take her mind off things she’d concentrated on what she was going to say to the teachers, but it wasn’t enough of a distraction.

  She’d told Sophie she was going up to the school to have a chat because they’d requested it as standard procedure for a new pupil. Sophie had bought the story.

  Alison sat waiting in the small entrance hallway of the school which doubled as the reception. She was surrounded by photographs and display cabinets filled with little trophies. The photo of the year’s alumni given pride of place on the wall. She looked at the rows of innocent young faces, all beaming fresh and pink at the camera, it wasn’t hard to pick out Michaela’s sallow features. She looked into the grey eyes and wondered if they contained at least part of the secret for Sophie’s recent attitude. She didn’t have much time to ponder though, before the large red door in front of her opened and the tall figure of the headmistress filled its gap.

  ‘Mrs Swift,’ she said walking towards her, right arm extended, ’so lovely to see you again. Do come in. Can I get you a coffee?’

  ‘Hello Mrs Denton, yes thank you a coffee would be lovely.’

  ‘Agnes,’ she called out to the door which adjoined her room and another. ‘Agnes.’ It opened and an agitated woman with a grey haired bun and gold rimmed spectacles, like someone out of a Victorian drama, appeared before them.

  ‘Yes Mrs Denton, yes?’

  ‘Could you do us two coffees please?’

  ‘Certainly, right away,’ she’d said bustling off as though her life depended on it.

  ‘Take a seat Mrs Swift.’

  Alison sat down while the Head Mistress circumnavigated her large wooden desk to join her on the opposite side. ‘So, you’ve been a little worried about Sophie, you said…’

  ‘Yes, well you know her background of course, we lost her father just…’ Alison was interrupted mid-flight by the grey haired whirlwind which came tearing up to her.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt, do you take milk?’

  ‘Yes please, thank you,’ Alison had smiled back. ‘Her father,’ she continued, ‘died at the beginning of the year and she took it very hard, they were very close you see.’

  ‘Here we go, did you want sugar?’ Agnes was back. Alison stopped again and mustering up all the patience she could, thanked her for the coffee and refused any sugar She looked at Mrs Denton who had quite obviously become used to her intrusive, bustling secretary. ‘Oh dear,’ Agnes exclaimed as she spilt a little of her boss’s coffee on Sophie’s file which lay
open on the desk. They both watched as she mopped it up with a little pink tissue she produced from up her sleeve. ‘Is there anything else Mrs Denton?’ she’d nervously asked afterwards.

  ‘No thank you Agnes, we’re fine.’

  Once she had left the room, Alison continued. They chatted for about 15 minutes, Alison selectively explaining Sophie’s behaviour. Mrs Denton nodded and agreed, tutted and coo-ed and at the end of their talk just said, ‘I think you’re totally right Mrs Swift, it’s just a phase. Of course if things don’t get better we can see about a child psychiatrist, but to be honest I think she just needs to settle down. Don’t forget that besides having to cope with her father’s death, you’ve also moved and she has a new school to acclimatise to. She seems a well-balanced child overall. Don’t you worry, none of her teachers have raised any concerns.’

  Alison did worry and she also felt cheated. She wanted some good sound advice not somebody just agreeing with her.

  ‘Would it be OK to have a chat with Mrs Clatt just to put my mind at ease?’ she ventured, hopeful that just maybe she might have first-hand knowledge.

  ‘Certainly, I’ll get one of our other teachers to cover for a few minutes, it’s almost time to go home anyway.’

  Mrs Clatt turned out to be a nervous little sparrow of a woman with piercing bird-like brown eyes and a flapping mannerism.

  ‘Mrs Swift,’ she chirped, ‘can I help you?’

  Alison gave a potted version of her concerns.

  ‘Well I think Mrs Denton is absolutely right. She seems quite happy in class, interacts with the other children as well. There are odd days when she is very quiet, but you know she’s had a lot to recover from.’

  Alison nodded and was just about to thank her for her time when she changed her mind.

  ‘There was just one more thing,’ she added, ‘Sophie has got very friendly with Michaela Richardson… There isn’t anything to worry about there, is there?’