(10/13) Friends at Thrush Green

by Read, Miss

  Dorothy departed the next afternoon after an affectionate farewell to Agnes and her hosts, and many promises to keep in touch by telephone.

  Luckily, Agnes made steady progress and the dreaded mumps did not appear, but John Lovell noted that the cold had left a painful cough, so forbade his patient to venture out whilst the north wind held sway.

  It was during this time that Harold heard someone in the school house garden which ran alongside his own. It was almost six o'clock and he knew that the children and staff of the school should have gone long ago. Who could be trespassing?

  He moved along on his side of the hedge until he came to a gap. Peering over he could see a figure, and was surprised to find that it was the headmaster, Alan Lester.

  Hello!' he called. 'Are you doing overtime?'

  Alan laughed, and came to the gap.

  'To tell the truth, I'm just having a recce. I'm wondering if I shall buy this place after all.'

  'We'd be delighted to have you as neighbours,' said Harold. 'Are you getting fed up with the car journey every day?'

  'Well, no,' said Alan. He seemed slightly embarrassed. 'That's one point, of course, but the fact is I've been offered a very good price by a friend of ours for my present house, and I'm wondering if we should be better off here.'

  'Awful lot of hassle selling a place though,' observed Harold.

  'That's one of the attractions with this transaction if it comes off. It could be done with the minimum of fuss and delay. Our friends are handing over to his son who has just got married, and they would be free to take over from us whenever we wanted to move.'

  'Would your wife like to move here?' asked Harold, and thought he saw an expression of pain pass over Alan's face.

  'I'm sure she would,' he replied.

  'By the way, we have Agnes Fogerty with us at the moment. Would you like to come in and see her?'

  Alan excused himself, saying that he was overdue at home, but that he hoped she would call at the school if she felt up to it.

  'Actually, Betty Bell told us that she had been taken ill,' he went on. 'I do hope she will soon be better.'

  'And I hope you will decide to take the school house,' replied Harold.

  He returned to his own, ruminating on the rapidity with which all news circulated in Thrush Green, and with a valuable nugget of his own to share with his wife and Agnes.

  ***

  As it happened, the two ladies were in Agnes's bedroom and so engrossed in conversation that Harold did not have a chance to impart his news; he returned to the sitting-room and settled down with a drink and the racing pages of the Daily Telegraph.

  Dorothy had rung to enquire after Agnes's progress, and to give an account of her own. It was this which the patient and Isobel were discussing so earnestly. Phyllis, Dorothy's college friend, had arrived safely and Teddy was delighted to have his neighbour home again.

  'Tell me,' said Isobel. 'Who is this Teddy?'

  Agnes turned rather pink, and plucked agitatedly at the counterpane.

  'Oh, a very nice person,' she replied hastily. 'Very nice indeed.' There was a pause. 'A man,' she added.

  'So I gathered,' said Isobel patiently. 'Does he live nearby?'

  'Just along the road from us,' said Agnes. 'His wife died a year or so ago.'

  'Has he got some help in the house?'

  'Oh yes! He has to have help as he is practically blind. It's quite amazing how much he can do, but he misses his reading. That's why Dorothy goes regularly to read to him. He appreciates it so much.'

  'I'm sure Dorothy enjoys it too,' said Isobel, with some cunning.

  'She does indeed,' Agnes agreed enthusiastically. 'They have become great friends.'

  Isobel detected a wistful note in this last comment. Could Agnes resent Dorothy's new interest? It seemed unlike her.

  'I just hope,' went on Agnes, 'that Dorothy doesn't take on too much with Teddy. She used to go once a week, but lately it has been twice, and she is already on the WI committee, and helping with church affairs. She is so good-hearted,' cried her loyal friend, 'that I don't think she gets the rest she needs.'

  'Hasn't Teddy got other friends to help him?'

  'Yes, indeed. He has a wonderful woman who comes every morning to clear up and get his lunch, and then there is Eileen.'

  'And who is Eileen?'

  'A friend of his who lives across the road. She and her husband used to go on holiday regularly with Teddy and his wife. She visits Teddy quite a bit—pops in with a jam sandwich, and that sort of thing.'

  'It sounds as though he gets lots of kind attention,' commented Isobel.

  'Dorothy thinks he finds Eileen a little too attentive,' said Agnes. 'She is very effusive, talks a lot, and is always laughing. "Guffawing", Dorothy says. I must confess she is rather noisy. But then, Dorothy and I enjoy being quiet, just sitting with our books and knitting, and looking at nature programmes on the telly.'

  'Perhaps Teddy finds her cheering,' suggested Isobel.

  'Oh, I'm sure he does,' agreed Agnes earnestly, 'and she really is most generous with her time there. I think she may be lonely. She nursed her husband for months before he succumbed.'

  'Succumbed?'

  'To cancer, poor man. They were a devoted couple, Teddy told Dorothy. He says he has a great regard for Eileen.'

  'It's good to know he has such good neighbours,' said Isobel, rising to go. 'I'm sure Dorothy will not have to do too much. It's not as though she were the only one to lend a hand.'

  'No indeed,' agreed Agnes.

  She sounded rather husky, and began to blow her nose energetically.

  'But you see, she so enjoys lending a hand with Teddy,' she continued, still busy with her handkerchief. 'And, Isobel dear, I know you will understand, I can't help looking ahead and wondering if she is getting too fond of him. I mean, people do get married again, and he is a very attractive man, and dear Dorothy might feel...'

  She faltered to a halt and the handkerchief went to work again.

  'Now, now,' said Isobel soothingly, 'you mustn't upset yourself with needless worries. Dorothy has plenty of sense, and I'm sure she knows exactly what she is doing. Try and have a little doze.'

  Agnes nodded. She looked wretched, Isobel thought. Surely these fears were groundless?

  But then, she thought, as she went downstairs, love can be the very devil, and can strike one at any age. What a muddle!

  Later that night in the privacy of their bedroom, she told Harold about Agnes's worries.

  'It sounds to me,' said Harold, with rare male perspicacity, 'that Agnes may be a little in love with this Teddy herself.'

  'Good heavens!' cried his wife, deeply shocked. 'Of course she isn't! She has the cat, after all!'

  Harold pondered on this as he lay awaiting sleep.

  Should men really have to compete with cats?

  4. Bertha Lovelock Causes Concern

  IT was some days later that Harold remembered his news about the headmaster's interest in the school house. Agnes had returned to Barton and seemed to have recovered her composure, much to Isobel's relief. She said as much to Harold, on her return from delivering her friend.

  'I think she was just a little feverish, you know,' she told Harold. 'Naturally, it upset her to think of Dorothy perhaps making a fool of herself at her age. And in any case, they have planned their retirement together, and where on earth would Agnes go if Dorothy and this Teddy-man made a match of it?'

  'Don't you start,' begged Harold. 'Nothing will happen, you'll see. Agnes and Dorothy will be happily together for years. I can't see any man coming between them.'

  He was too chivalrous to add that he thought neither lady could really inspire passion, worthy though they both were, but privately that was what he felt.

  'By the way,' he said, glad to change the subject, 'I forgot to tell you that Alan Lester is considering taking on the school house.'

  'Yes, I did hear that,' replied Isobel. 'Betty said something about it, and Ella seemed
to think he's worried about his wife's health. Charles said he thought it might be the journey over here in the winter that was making him think again.'

  Not for the first time, Harold realized that he was well behind with the local news.

  'I'll never get used to the speed with which gossip flies around here,' he commented. 'In Africa the natives' drums were reckoned pretty efficient, but Thrush Green's tongues can beat them hollow.'

  Down at The Fuchsia Bush in Lulling High Street, Nelly Piggott had other things to worry about.

  Bertha Lovelock had appeared less than an hour before to purchase a currant loaf. Rosa had served her.

  On the counter stood a tray of rolls filled with ham and lettuce. Each was wrapped in hygienic clingfilm. Nelly herself had prepared these snacks which had become increasingly popular with drivers and delivery men in the early part of the morning. A second batch was prepared later for the local office workers and shop assistants who hurried in to fetch a quick lunch to take back to their place of work.

  It so happened that Nelly pushed open the door from the kitchen at the precise moment when Bertha was surreptitiously sliding one of the shiny packets into her shopping bag. Rosa had her back to Miss Lovelock as she was dealing with the till.

  Nelly's first impulse was to rush towards the old lady and demand back the goods, but prudence won. In the first place, there were several customers taking morning coffee, and she did not want a scene in public. Secondly, she-wished to check with Rosa that none of the rolls had been sold: there should be ten in the tray, as she knew, having brought them through herself only ten minutes or so earlier. Thirdly, she wanted to consult Mrs Peters, the owner, about the best way of dealing with this awkward situation. Lurid headlines in the local paper would not do The Fuchsia Bush any good, and the Lovelocks were an old respected family.

  As soon as Bertha had gone, Nelly counted the packets; there were nine left.

  'Haven't sold any yet?' she asked the girl.

  'Give us a chance,' replied Rosa grumpily. 'You only brought them through ten minutes ago.'

  'Just check them,' commanded Nelly.

  Rosa obeyed.

  'Nine,' she said, stopped, and stared at Nelly.

  'Surely, she never...' she began, awe-struck.

  'Never you mind,' said Nelly. 'It's me and Mrs Peters' problem. You just hold your tongue.'

  The girl nodded, looking shocked, and Nelly bustled back into the kitchen.

  Mrs Peters was in the storeroom alone, and Nelly told her the news.

  'And it's not the first time,' continued Nelly. 'That's to my knowledge, so Lord knows how long it's been going on.'

  Mrs Peters sat down heavily on the step-stool.

  'Gosh! What a pickle! I'm not getting the police in for this one. I think one of us had better have a word with Miss Violet. She's the only one with a ha'porth of sense.'

  She looked at Nelly, who shook her head.

  'Don't ask me, love. I know we're partners now, but you're better able to do it than I am. I've got the courage to face them old dears, but you'd do it more tactful, and that's the truth.'

  'I don't mind doing it, if you think that's the right step.'

  'Dead right. But how are you going to get Miss Violet on her own?'

  'I'll ask her to call here about a private matter, and see her in the office. Meanwhile, not a word to anyone.'

  'Our Rosa knows.'

  'I'll deal with Rosa,' said Mrs Peters grimly. 'One squeak out of her, and she goes.'

  She got up from the step-stool and patted Nelly's fat arm.

  'Don't worry, Nelly. We've faced worse than this before.'

  And, somewhat comforted, Nelly went back to making her gingerbread.

  While his wife was coping with the affair of Bertha Lovelock, Albert was plying a broom in the churchyard.

  There had been a wedding at the weekend. There had also been a high wind, which had not only played havoc with the bride's veil and the ornate coiffures of the bridesmaids, not to mention the wedding guests' hats, but had sent confetti in every direction.

  Albert pottered about morosely, jabbing under shrubs, along the edges of the paths, and attempting to free the grass of its scattered finery.

  It was while he was thus engaged, and counting the minutes to opening time at The Two Pheasants, that Percy Hodge appeared.

  He rested his arms upon the gate top and watched the lab-ourer.

  'You busy then?'

  'Whatjer think?' replied Albert, nastily. 'It's time the rector stopped all this confetti lark. Look at the mess.'

  He paused and leant upon his broom.

  'Ah well!' replied Percy indulgently. 'You can't blame young folks wantin' a pretty weddin'.'

  'These wasn't young folks,' said Albert. 'That old fool Digby this was. Got spliced to that gel as works at Boots. A case of have to, they say.'

  'Not so much of "that old fool Digby",' said Percy. 'We was at school together. Besides...'

  He halted and began to look sheepish.

  'What's up?' asked Albert, coming nearer.

  'Well, the fact is, I'm thinkin' of gettin' married again myself.'

  'You ain't!' cried Albert, dropping his broom. 'You silly juggins! What on earth do you want to clutter yourself up with a woman for?'

  'There's reasons,' said Percy primly.

  'Not the same as old Digby's?'

  'Not the same at all, Albert. And I don't like your nasty way of thinkin'. I just want a bit of company, and the house cleaned up, and a decent dinner to come home to, same as any other man.'

  'If it's that flighty Emily Cooke you've got in mind,' said Albert, bending to retrieve his broom, 'you ain't likely to get any home comforts. She's nothin' but a slattern, and got that boy Nigel as a by-blow too. You'll be takin' on two of them. Not to mention her 'orrible old mother. You must be out of yer mind, Perce.'

  The farmer's face was scarlet. 'You mind your own business! I knows what I'm doin' and when I needs your advice—which is never—I'll ask for it. That poor girl has learnt her lesson, and she'll make a good wife, you'll see. Anyway I'm fond of young Nigel.'

  'More than anyone else is,' responded Albert. 'Well, they say there's no fool like an old one, and it looks as though that's right. You'll regret it, Perce. You'll regret it.'

  At that moment Mr Jones opened the doors of The Two Pheasants, and Albert propped his broom against the church porch.

  'Comin' over?' he queried.

  'Not with you I ain't,' replied Percy coldly, and made his way towards Lulling.

  Far away at Barton-on-Sea, thoughts of matrimony for the elderly were also tormenting poor little Agnes Fogerty.

  She was scraping new potatoes at the sink, and wondering whether it would not be better to throw in the sponge and take to the potato peeler, so refractory were the vegetables.

  Dorothy had gone to see Teddy, taking with her a cutting from the Daily Telegraph about pesticides which she thought might interest him.

  Any excuse is better than none, thought Agnes with unusual tartness, but remained silent.

  Really, she mused, as she struggled with the potatoes, there is far too much of this marrying, and giving in marriage, about. One could get on perfectly well without it, and she and Dorothy were good examples.

  Nothing had been said between the two friends, but Dorothy had seemed to make a point of visiting their nearly-blind neighbour every day since she had been back.

  It was not only the unsuitability of the relationship which worried Agnes; there were also serious and practical aspects to consider.

  In the first place, would Dorothy really be happy as Teddy's wife? Or anyone else's, for that matter? Dorothy was used to having her own way. She was also singularly undomesticated, able to ignore dust, spots on the carpet and windows which needed cleaning. She disliked cooking, although she was quite capable of roasting a joint and preparing a straightforward meal, but she got no pleasure from doing it. Those regular household chores such as spring-cleaning, orderi
ng the fuel, having the chimney swept and so on, had been arranged by Agnes.

  It was not that Dorothy was inefficient, Agnes told herself loyally. The household accounts, the business letters, the interminable forms for taxes, registration of this, that and the like, were all competently managed. But no doubt Teddy, or any other man, would already be coping with such things, and Dorothy's skills in this direction would not be needed. Would she find this frustrating? Would she be critical? Dorothy's patience was easily exhausted, and she would not hesitate to state her feelings. Men, so Agnes believed, very much disliked interference in their methods and habits, particularly as they grew older.

  And there was an even more pressing problem for Agnes. Where could she go? The thought of a ménage à trois was out of the question, and of course this meant that she would have to find other accommodation.

  Her savings were far too inadequate to contemplate buying a small house, no matter how modest. She would have to look about for a bed-sitter like the one she had had years ago at Thrush Green before she shared the school house with Dorothy. It was a bleak prospect.

  Or perhaps she ought to start collecting brochures from those excellent societies who care for indigent gentlewomen. She believed that there were several connected with the church, as well as those advertising themselves as 'Homes From Homes', with photographs of stately houses and with white-haired old ladies in the foreground, looking bemused in wheelchairs under an ancient cedar tree.

  But even more distressing than the thought of Dorothy regretting such a step and her own financial difficulties, was the overriding misery of having to leave Dorothy and their new little home to which she was now deeply attached. She had never been so content.

  How would it all end?

  She gazed out of the window over the sink, the view somewhat blurred by incipient tears. The cat came and rubbed round her legs, and she bent to fondle it with a wet hand.

  'Timmy, we are in a pickle! What is to become of us both?'

  Would cats be allowed in these homes for gentlefolk? Come to think of it, she hadn't seen hair nor hide of an animal in those photographs. Whatever happened, Tim should stay with her.