by Ann Purser
It would be nice to have a pleasant garden where she could sit in the summer. She could bring her mobile phone out here so that Alastair could get hold of her if he needed to. Perhaps Bill would help? Or maybe old Clem over the road? But no, he would be too nosy. Not that there was anything much to see. All the information she needed was held in her head. She had always been good at that. No sign of Alzheimer's, the doctor had said. Still, there wouldn't be, would there?
LOIS ARRIVED HOME IN FARNDEN JUST BEFORE FIVE, AND TOLD Gran about Bill calling in at the office. She didn't tell her any more than that, wanting to be spared for as long as possible the accusations that were bound to follow. She hadn't valued Bill enough, hadn't paid him enough, had pestered him to help her with Cowgill's stupid cases. Of course the chap would feel he had to go, especially with another mouth to feed. So Gran would say.
Still, reflected Lois as she made herself a cup of tea, her mother had always made it plain she considered cleaning was a woman's job, so with luck she might think Bill had come to his senses at last. No fault of Lois's, then.
Unexpectedly, Lois felt her eyes prick with tears. She was tough, she knew, and reckoned she could cope with anything that might have to be faced. Not so much with New Brooms, of course, but when carrying out Cowgill's assignments she had been in danger more than once. Although she was careful not to involve Bill too closely, he had always been there in the background, a strong, fearless young man. She realised he had been like a safety net for her. Always at the end of a mobile, sometimes sympathetic and at others critical, but always honest and straightforward, and prepared to help. Not easy to replace these days. She sighed, and went through to her office to prepare an advertisement for the local paper. She couldn't specify gender, of course, not these days, but intended to look for another man. Some of her clients couldn't be trusted with the girls.
She looked at what she had typed, and frowned. "Damn it all!" She erased it, and typed, Wanted—Bill Stockbridge clone. Terms: anything he wants. To start immediately. Then she erased that, and began again. When she had composed a reasonable, politically correct advertisement, she sent it off to local papers. She felt as if Bill had gone already, and had left a big gaping hole behind.
Her door opened and Gran appeared, looking tentative. This was unusual, but what she said and how she said it was even more so. "Sorry to interrupt," she said, "but it's nearly teatime. Derek phoned earlier when you were out, and said he'd be back around now. Much more to do, ducky?"
Lois was alarmed. This was so unlike her mother that something serious must be afoot. "You all right, Mum?" she said.
Gran nodded. "Fine," she said. "Cottage pie and carrots for tea. Your favourite."
"Oh, blimey!" said Lois. "What on earth is up? You're being much too nice to me. Got me worried, Mum."
Gran came further into the office and shut the door behind her. "Sit down, dear," she said. "I just need to give you a bit of support. I am your mum, after all."
"Get to the point, Mum," Lois said.
Gran took a deep breath. "I know about Bill," she said.
"About the baby, of course. But I know about the other thing. About him leaving."
"How do you know?" Lois asked, and her mother brushed the question aside with a wave of her hand.
"Never mind how I know. I do know, and I also know how much Bill means to you and New Brooms in general, an' how much you'll miss him and think there'll never be anybody like him. I'm sorry for you. That's why I'm being nice, and why I've made cottage pie for tea. And there's Derek just coming in the back door, so tidy up, Lois, and come and eat."
She disappeared fast out of the office, and left Lois feeling stunned. What a day! Gran's loving reaction to the news was almost more difficult to cope with than Bill's resignation. But she switched off her computer, straightened a pile of papers, and went through to the kitchen feeling somehow restored.
Derek was much more pragmatic. "That's life, innit, gel," he said. "Workers come and go. Bill's stuck it out longer 'n I thought he would. He's a great bloke, I reckon. But he was sure to be off sooner or later. Nobody's irreplaceable. You'll find another, me duck, just as good. Different, o' course, but just as good. Got your ads in the local? Sooner you get some applications, the better."
"I'm getting another bloke, whatever you say. Can't say so in the ad, but it's worked so well up to now. Keep your ears open, Mum. It seems nothing's secret from you. Spread the word. And you, too, Derek. Always better to get somebody who's recommended than a perfect stranger."
"Second helps, Gran?" said Derek, holding out his plate.
"Lois first," said Gran, who up to now had always believed the working man took priority.
"Ye Gods," said Lois. "Keep it up, Mum. I might grow to like it."
THIRTEEN
BILL'S WIFE, REBECCA, HAD BEEN THINKING. SHE KNEW THAT Bill planned to tell Mrs. M about leaving, and she felt bad about it. It had been her decision. They had talked about it endlessly, with Bill saying he knew the vets would give him more work and he could be there for evening surgeries, when cleaning was finished. Mrs. M was always flexible, and anxious to make it possible for him to do both jobs. He could increase their income whilst Rebecca was having maternity leave from school, and then later on they could arrange for childcare, as they had done with Louise. They could easily manage, he said.
But Rebecca was not so sure. She could not help noticing that other mothers at her daughter's nursery looked at each other with a smile when Lou said proudly that her dad was a cleaner. It would be nice to bring all that to an end, and have Bill working full-time with animals that he loved, instead of ratty old ladies who would find fault with the angel Gabriel if he came down with his duster and polish.
In the end, Bill had said she should decide. He would do whatever she wanted. After all, it was her life that would be changing most, and she would probably need more help from him. Much as she wanted the new baby, she also loved teaching, and would miss it. She had made Bill promise he wouldn't hold it against her if she opted for him leaving New Brooms, and then she made the decision.
Now she looked at her watch. She just had time to whiz over to Farnden shop for milk before Bill came home for tea. Lou was pottering about in the garden, and she scooped her up and put her in the car. "Off we go," she said. "See Josie in the shop?" It was a favourite outing, and in spite of Rebecca's protests, they always came home with a free packet of chocolate buttons clutched in Lou's little hand.
Josie greeted them cheerfully. "Hi, Rebecca! And how's little miss?" As Rebecca rushed round the display unit to deal with a shoplifting Louise, the doorbell jangled and a man walked in. He was a stranger to Rebecca, and she called to Josie to carry on serving, as she was not in too much of a hurry. This was not strictly true, but she was curious. For some reason she didn't like the look of this new customer, and remembered tales of shopkeepers being held up for the contents of the till.
"Can I help you?" Josie said sweetly.
"Doubt it," said the man. He was tall and heavily built, his dark hair slicked back, and his eyes hidden behind thicklensed, horn-rimmed glasses. "I'm just passing through, and need toothpaste. Forgot to get it in Tresham. It's a special brand. DenFresh, it's called."
Josie looked smug. "Come with me," she said, and led him to a shelf stacked neatly with toothbrushes and pastes of several kinds. She held out a tube to him. "DenFresh," she said. "I use it myself."
"Well done," the man said grudgingly. "How much? Bound to be a damn sight more than Boots, I bet."
"How much in Boots?" Josie asked.
"Two fifty."
"Two forty- five, please," Josie said, and walked to the till. "Now you know we have it, I hope you'll call again when you're passing," she said, and beamed at him. She was looking her best today, nut-brown hair washed and shining, face pink and healthy, and her own teeth white and gleaming.
"I'll do just that," said the man, persuaded at last to smile broadly as he turned to leave. "Make sure you're on
duty that day," he added at the door. From behind the biscuits Rebecca muttered, "Yuk!" and made a face at Josie.
"Who was that, then?" she asked, but Josie said she had no idea. She agreed with Rebecca that he was a slimy toad, and then they talked of babies and other things. At last Louise had made her selection of suitable sweets, and they went out to the car. "There's Mrs. M," Rebecca said. "Shall we say hello?" They waited until Lois caught up with them, and Lou greeted her with enthusiasm.
Inevitably the subject of Bill leaving arose, and Lois tried to sound upbeat and cheery. "We've been lucky he's stayed so long," she said. "When's the baby due? I must get Gran to start knitting."
INSIDE THE SHOP, LOIS CAME STRAIGHT TO THE POINT. "WHO WAS that man who came in?" she said. "I saw him from up the street. He passed me in his car."
"Never seen him before," said Josie, surprised at her mother's vehemence. "Why?"
"He looked just like somebody Bill described to me. The son of that new client, the blind lady in Gordon Street. He was visiting when Bill was there. Nasty customer, he reckoned. Unkind to his mother—shouted at her—that kind of thing. What was he like?"
"Slimy, sniffy, patronising, and finally disgustingly flirty. We can do without the likes of him. Though of course," she added hastily, knowing that her mother was keen on the customer always being right, "I was very nice to him. Sold him some toothpaste. Me and Rebecca decided he was a creep, but unlikely to murder us in our beds."
"Why did you say that?" Lois said sharply.
"What?"
"That about murdering us in our beds."
"No reason, Mum! It's just a thing people say! Nothing for you to get your teeth into."
Lois said that was quite enough about teeth, as she had just made an appointment with the dentist and was dreading it.
The slimy toad, whose name was Alastair, cruised back home in his big car, thinking about his encounter with Josie in the village shop. Nice bit of bum in her jeans. It had looked like a really good village all round. Solid old stone houses, pretty church, plenty of light and space. He had been thinking for some time of moving out of the dreary suburb where he had been born, into the countryside. He would have to stay within reach of all his contacts, of course. Long Farnden might fit the bill. He made a mental note to call in at the estate agents in Waltonby next time he was in the area.
He stopped at traffic lights, and a blonde girl, walking
quickly on stilty heels, crossed in front of him. The second fanciable blonde who had come his way today! He licked his lips, and then the lights changed and he moved on. He thought about the first girl. She had been hurrying down Gordon Street. He had got out of his car outside Braeside and whistled. She had glared at him and then gone into the house lived in by the old codger opposite. Him that was always staring out of his window. The girl was obviously his niece or granddaughter or something, and Alastair smiled. Maybe he would see her again and apologise for whistling. He chuckled and accelerated. Soon be home.
FOURTEEN
A FEW DAYS LATER, DOT NIMMO WAS TOILING UP SEBASTOPOL Street, on her way home. She had waved to Hazel in the office as she passed. Whew! It was very warm for the time of the year, and Dot reflected that maybe global warming really was on the horizon, if not here already. She was reluctant to believe that anything as legendary as the English weather could change. Not in her time, surely.
It had been a busy day. The best part had been the job for a lonely old lady living in the poshest suburb of Tresham. Alice was very disabled by arthritis, but had an iron determination to stay in her own home, and with the help of Dot, she managed very well. The most important thing that Dot did was to keep her company for a couple of hours twice a week. They had lunch together—an unpaid hour, Dot insisted—and had become firm friends.
Dot sat down at her smart new kitchen table with a cup of hot tea. She looked around with satisfaction. All new and shining. It had not always been so. Before she worked for New Brooms, she had been a widow for a while, and had let things slide. Her husband, Handel Nimmo—Handy for short—had been drowned under mysterious circumstances. Did he fall or was he pushed? He had been good to her and she missed the old man. Then her precious only son, Haydn, had been killed in a road accident, and her standards had slipped to nil. Her house had become dirty, smelly, and neglected, and she had not cared.
Then Mrs. M had given her a chance to work for her, and gradually Dot had realised how much nicer it was to live in a clean, fresh-smelling house. Typically, she had taken immediate action, turning out the house from top to bottom, new paint everywhere, inside and out, and a complete makeover for the rest. Loads of old furniture and curtains had been taken away by members of the Nimmo family and dealt with. The Nimmos were a close-knit, dodgy-dealing lot, and could always find a way of turning misfortune to a small profit.
Dot's telephone rang. It was Lois, and Dot said, "How're yer doin', Mrs. M?"
"Fine, thanks," Lois said, and apologised for ringing at teatime.
"No problem," Dot replied. "Ring any time. What can I do for you?"
"It's really about Bill," Lois began. "You know a new baby's on the way. Well, he won't mind my telling you that Rebecca and him have decided that he'll have to leave New Brooms and concentrate on his job at the vets', where he can work towards more money. He's sad about leaving, but for the sake of the family he has to do it."
"Blimey, that's bad news!" said Dot, who always came out with the first thing that entered her head.
Lois was grateful that she didn't have to pretend, and said, "Yeah, it is. But life goes on, Dot, and we'll manage. He's going in two weeks' time, and I'd like you to take on the blind lady in Gordon Street. She likes Bill a lot, and he's found useful ways of handling the job. Helps her a lot, according to her."
Dot sniffed. "You can rely on me, Mrs. M. I think I can be just as helpful as Bill."
"Of course you can," Lois assured her. "No need to get huffy! Now, I want you to go along with Bill for these two weeks and see how he does the job. It's quite difficult now and then, and he'll introduce you and show you the ropes. So no more taking offence, please, Dot. I'll be in touch. 'Bye."
Dot grinned. Not many people were a match for Dot, but in Lois Meade she had met her equal. She took her tea into the sitting room and turned on the telly.
LOIS HAD WARNED BILL TO EXPECT DOT TO TURN UP, AND SURE enough she was there on time, standing outside the gate talking to old Clem from across the way.
"Known him from way back," she said as she followed Bill up the little path to Braeside front door. "Clem's daughter lived next to my sister Evelyn until they moved away. Nice to know his granddaughter pops in to see 'im now an' then, ain't it?"
Bill reflected that there was very little Dot didn't know about Tresham folk. He reckoned she would get to know all Mrs. Blairgowrie's secrets in a couple of hours, as soon as he was out of the way. Mrs. M was no fool.
"Good morning, Mrs. Blairgowrie," he said cheerily. "This is my colleague, Dot Nimmo. I know Mrs. Meade has been in touch and explained."
"I am very upset," the old lady said, sniffing. "Just as you and I had got used to each other, you are taken away from me. Of course," she added, standing aside to allow them to enter, "I quite understand that with an addition to the family you will have to look for a better paid job. But nevertheless, I am upset." With another sniff, she walked behind them towards the sitting room at the back of the house.
The first thing Dot noticed was that the old thing's stick was hanging on the back of a chair. So she had made her way to answer the door without it.
"Here you are, Mrs. B," she said in her best friendly voice. "Here's your stick. I've been told you're blind, so we don't want you falling about all over the place, do we?"
Bill held his breath, and watched Mrs. Blairgowrie's face. Surely Dot had been told not to go crashing in like an old rhinoceros? And nobody said "blind" these days. "Visually impaired," wasn't it? Oh, Lord, the old girl had gone quite puce in the face. Then,
to his amazement, she began to chuckle in a deep voice that seemed to come up from her shoes. She coughed, and held out her hand.
"Thanks, Dot," she said, taking the stick. "And yes, you can call me Mrs. B. And I am blind, and grateful for no pussyfooting around the word. We shall get on fine, you and I. Not that I shan't miss my Bill, but I think Mrs. Meade has chosen well."
Bill raised his eyebrows. Mrs. Blairgowrie little knew what she was in for under Dot's management. Still, maybe that was just what she needed. Companionship, as well as efficiency. But he wasn't at all sure that Mrs. B's son would feel the same.
"Dot," he said softly, as soon as they had gone upstairs to start on the bathroom and bedrooms, "a word of warning." Dot nodded conspiratorially. She loved a secret. "Did Mrs. M tell you about her son, Alastair?" Dot shook her head. "Well," continued Bill, "he comes and goes, and he's not a pleasant character. Leastways, not as far as I've seen. Best to keep out of his way. Doesn't like anyone around when he calls to see his mum."