‘How about enjoy yourself for a change?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘We never used to see you on Bonfire Night, this time we will and that will be lovely. I wish the other three were coming though, we never see enough of them, do we?’
‘They’ll have to know about, you know, the baby . . . Your mum’s not told them yet.’
Fran gripped hard on his elbow. ‘Don’t tell them, I don’t want them to know. I feel such a fool. Flick will be sad for me, but Felix and Finlay will laugh.’
‘They most certainly won’t, Fran, they’re not that hardboiled; they’ll be sorry just like Flick, I know they will. But we won’t tell them, we’ll leave it to you.’
‘Thanks, Dad. I’m sorry to have caused you trouble like I did, you don’t deserve it.’
Jimbo placed a kiss on her forehead. ‘Must press on, work to do.’
They were busy all day in the store, people came into shop whom they didn’t see very often, and Fran made sure they all got an enthusiastic greeting to encourage them to come again. Of Chris they saw nothing and for that Fran was grateful. Johnny came in for bananas as young Charles had decided that bananas were the food of the day. Merc and Ford came in full of the holiday they’d just booked to the States in the New Year, and Craddock Fitch came in, not on his own, but with his newly acquired family. Immediately the store felt too small to accommodate them all. ‘Can I introduce everyone?’ asked Craddock, beaming with gratification at having his whole family with him.
Jimbo and Fran said together, ‘Of course. Please do!’
During the hubbub of sorting out who was who and shaking their hands, in came four more customers, and as Craddock was armed with a shopping list as long as his arm, and the four who’d just come in equally charged with lists, Harriet was called from home to help, and eventually the backlog went away well satisfied with their shopping.
The Fitch family, however, lingered, enjoying the atmosphere of a village store, comparing it favourably with the huge impersonal supermarkets they had at home. Jimbo and Graham were sitting in the coffee corner engrossed in conversation, the children were admiring the gateaux in the dessert freezer, and Michael, ever the loner, was studying the selection of computer magazines on the newspaper stands and choosing which of them might have something in them that was new to him.
When the Fitch family had eventually decided to leave with their purchases, Harriet said, ‘Aren’t they a lovely family? Who’d have thought that Mr Fitch would have relatives as nice as them? The grandchildren are a delight, and his sons. Except maybe the computer wizard. He’s a bit odd.’
‘They’re coming to the bonfire tonight, Mum,’ said Fran.
‘Really?’ said Harriet. ‘The children will enjoy that. Just a pity they live so far away.’
Jimbo suggested that the family were making a much nicer man of old Fitch than he used to be. ‘It’s done him good, being able to count them as his own. Graham thinks he’s lovely, and the children are glad to have a granddad because Anita’s parents are long gone.’
‘I wonder if he knows they think he’s lovely? Still, why shouldn’t he have a family; there’s nothing better for rounding off the corners and warming the heart,’ Harriet declared. ‘Five o’clock! It’s Saturday. Bonfire Night. Let’s pack up. Six-thirty is lift-off time. Apparently the Guy Fawkes that Evie’s made is perfectly wonderful, I can’t wait to see it. Greta Jones says it’s a crying shame to burn it.’
Soon the entire population of Turnham Malpas were streaming up the drive, full of eager anticipation as this was what made living in a village worthwhile. There was Pat, and Barry the master-builder of the bonfire, which was truly the largest they had ever seen, along with Grandad Stubbs, who only needed to walk from the head gardener’s cottage and down the well-worn path past the glass houses, which were still Greenwood Stubbs’ pride and joy, and over the field and he’d be right by the refreshment marquee in minutes. Others, such as Craddock Fitch and his family, had further to walk, but Craddock took them the secret way through the churchyard to the wall at the back where he made use of the little gate that had featured in Muriel and Ralph’s romance all those years ago, past the Plague Pit, which was now not so threatening since the bodies had been removed and buried in the graveyard. The eager chatter of the children soon joined with the chatter of other children making their way up the drive.
Some, of course, like Sheila and Ron Bissett – sorry, Sir Ronald and Lady Sheila Bissett – went by car and parked in the car park at the Old Barn. Jimbo and Harriet, along with Fran, walked up from their house due to Jimbo’s newly pledged decision to get more exercise. Dottie Foskett, who had stayed behind to help clear up from the wedding they’d had earlier in the day, had only to comb her hair, dig out her anorak, thick gloves and a warm scarf, and she was ready for the fray, walking only yards to reach the refreshment marquee and a much longed-for tea and bun. Sylvia and Willie got a lift from Tom and Evie, and so it went on. Villagers making their way up to the Big House as they had been doing for centuries. This time for the bonfire in celebration of that reprobate Guy Fawkes who had wanted to put an end to democracy.
Baby Ralph Templeton, cocooned in his pram and little Charles in his one-piece winter suit, warm socks and Wellingtons, trudging across the well-cut grass with their parents towards the site of the bonfire, were too young to know why they were doing it; but Charles was old enough to catch the atmosphere of excitement of the people who greeted him. With them was Uncle Chris, who was well wrapped-up against an English winter evening. He had resolved to speak to Fran if she was there, perhaps even buy her a drink in the marquee with the pub sign, the Royal Oak, flapping in the breeze above the entrance. Inside for the first time ever were Georgie and Dicky Tutt, who were loving the whole idea of closing the pub for the evening and instead serving here, at Johnny’s special invitation, in the marquee. They intended to make a real go of it and as six-thirty struck on the church clock the crowds began to file in. Georgie grinned at Dicky, and he grinned back, and Alan Crimble and Mary-Lee squeezed hands and grinned at each other too, delighted to be in each other’s company for the whole evening, each glancing over their shoulders to confirm Linda Crimble hadn’t seen them. Poor Linda, thought Mary-Lee, but it was her own fault for not making a go of her marriage. If Alan was finding contentment with someone else it was all her own fault. She squeezed Alan’s hand more tightly and enjoyed the feeling of passion she saw in his eyes as he glanced at her. Yes. She was glad, in fact, very glad, that he fancied her.
The punters flooded to the bar counter they’d set up earlier in the day and the evening began. Mary-Lee checked she had a bit of cleavage showing and then served her first pint of the evening.
The scout band played rousing tunes, Barry Jones prepared the torches for lighting the fire, Pat Jones settled Grandad in a chair with a rug over his knees, and everyone, excepting those too infirm to make it, braced themselves for the lighting of the enormous pile of furniture that included the old wardrobe and bedside table that had belonged in the B&B, the old floorboards that had been lingering in Dottie’s garden ever since her house had been renovated all those years ago, the tree branches that had come down in the storm last January, and even two big dangerously rotten branches that had been sawn off the oak tree on the village green.
Johnny had provided a loudspeaker system, and he stood with the microphone in his hand, and having tapped it to reassure himself it was working properly, he began his opening speech.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. Welcome on this, the first Bonfire Night with which I have been involved. Tonight is the night for enjoying yourselves, grown-ups, children and even our own baby Ralph. Chris, my brother, and I are about to light the bonfire that has been so wonderfully built by Barry Jones; let’s have a cheer for Barry and all his hard work. Hip hip hurrah! Wonderful. There will be baked potatoes for everyone, delivered to you by the scouts as a thank you for all the support the village provides the scout troop thro
ughout the year. There’s a refreshment tent, a beer tent, or there is wine or soft drinks if that’s your preference. And when the bonfire is beginning to burn down there will be fireworks. This year Jimbo has had to decline organising those due to the pressure of business, but we couldn’t have a bonfire without fireworks and so a professional company is doing the display, and I know you will love it just as much as I shall. Which I will, because I love fireworks. Enjoy, everyone! Enjoy!’
There was a breath-taking moment when everyone feared that perhaps the fire would not take hold. But Johnny and Chris persisted, and gradually the fire began to burn assisted, unknown to everyone except Barry, by petrol he’d sprayed on the lower layers of wood earlier that morning, and within minutes the flames were beginning to flare right up to the topmost point of the pile. It made a glorious sight, and everyone clapped. Barry, whose heart felt to have stopped altogether while he waited for that moment, sighed with relief. The petrol and the dozens of firelighters he’d placed near the bottom had done the trick, and he stood back thrilled at the success of his efforts. The heat was so fierce that the people standing nearest the fire had to retreat.
Chris, having done his job with credit and with a kind of rising appreciation of what all this meant to these well-intentioned people, decided it wasn’t for him. Certainly not. So the main feature of the evening accomplished, now he went in search of Fran. He’d searched every inch of the field around the bonfire, and eventually he found her in the queue in the food tent. When he appeared right there in front of her without any prior warning she wanted to make a run for it. A run to escape this man who’d come close to ruining her life. She looked up at him, and he took hold of her elbow as though intending to guide her away from the queue, but she stubbornly refused to move.
He looked down at her, and a slow smile began at the corner of his lips, the lips she’d loved and adored but did no longer, or so she thought. Her hands began trembling first, then it spread to her body and then she was trembling all over. Chris reached out a hand to steady her, but she wouldn’t allow it. ‘No, please leave me alone. I’m needing a hot drink and something to eat.’
‘So am I. I’ll pay for it.’
‘You think money solves every problem, don’t you?’
‘Usually it does.’
‘Not this time, it doesn’t. Just leave me alone. Please. It’s not much to ask.’
When he didn’t leave, she turned to go. But Chris stopped her by gripping her elbows. ‘You pay for the two of us then if it makes you feel any better.’ He handed her a five pound note. ‘Ham sandwich and tea, seeing as we’re in England.’
She looked at the note and knew it wouldn’t be enough for two of her Dad’s super ham sandwiches and a pot of glorious tea.
Chris twigged, and asked, ‘Not enough?’
‘No.’
So he got a twenty pound note from his wallet and swapped it for the fiver. ‘You should get it free.’
‘Not allowed.’
Chris went to sit well away from the queue though he knew wherever he sat, him sharing a table with Fran would not go unnoticed.
As Fran approached carrying the loaded tray he was almost overwhelmed by disappointment in himself that he’d treated her so badly. Pull yourself together, man, Chris said to himself. Just pull yourself together; you’re getting soft.
He stood up and took the tray from her, and clumsily played at being mother.
Fran shook her head when he asked if she wanted sugar in her tea. ‘No sugar for me, thanks. I brought it for you, as I didn’t know if you took it in tea or not. We don’t know much about each other, do we? Still, it doesn’t matter, does it, not any more?’
His ego forced him to win her back. Very softly and with a slight pleading tone to his voice, he asked, ‘Doesn’t it?’ He reached out to clasp her hand. But she snatched it away.
‘No. It doesn’t. It occurred to me the other day that I never want to see you ever again. You’ve hurt me more than you will ever acknowledge, and our relationship can’t be stitched back together again, because I won’t allow it.’
There was a wheedling note in his voice when he replied, ‘You don’t sound completely certain.’
‘Oh, believe me I am. More tea?’
‘Yes, please. This sandwich, considering we’re in a marquee and not a restaurant, is very tasty.’
‘Well, of course it is. It’s one of ours.’
She said it with such conviction that the two of them laughed. When Fran sobered up she said very forthrightly, ‘I was determined to say goodbye to you properly tonight, face up to all that’s happened, and say what I have to say.’
Chris asked her what she had to say to him, anticipating her approval, and lo and behold she began in just the way he wanted.
‘You are a very handsome man, Chris, and very attractive. I’m glad we . . . had a relationship . . . because I’ve learned a lot from you in all sorts of ways, but most of all I’ve learned to recognise . . .’ While she paused to put her thoughts into order, Chris imagined she would be choosing more flattering things to say of him which would make him feel better about being rejected by a woman for the first time in his life. ‘What a pig ignorant, self-centred, thoughtless, egotistical, vain, inconsiderate, self-congratulatory man you truly are. God’s gift to women you may be in Rio, but as far as English women are concerned, you are the lowest of the low. Rio is welcome to you. There. I’ve said what needed to be said. That’s it. Goodnight, Chris. Safe journey home tomorrow.’
‘Fran. Fran. Surely you don’t mean all that.’
‘Oh, I do. I can’t believe how naive I was. I honestly thought you meant what you said.’
‘I did mean what I said.’
‘At the time, maybe you did. But not really. You knew I was totally inexperienced, and you took advantage of that. You expected me to behave in exactly the way you wanted me to; and there was no room for me and my opinions in our relationship. Despicable, that’s what you were, absolutely without any moral code whatsoever. You should be ashamed.’
‘I’m ashamed of nothing at all. There’s nothing I said or did to be ashamed of.’ As though justifying his attitude, Chris added, ‘Anyway, you were very grateful for the experience; you know you were.’
So now he expected her to be grateful! Angered beyond belief, she could find no more words to say, and Fran wished she could stop herself from being childish, but she couldn’t. She picked up her now luke-warm cup of tea, stood up and tipped the whole lot over Chris’s head before he could stop her. She watched the tea soaking into his sweater, cashmere too by the looks of it, which made her rash move even more satisfying.
Fran picked up the other half of her sandwich and walked off, threading her way between the tables, nodding and greeting everyone she knew, which was almost all of them, as she progressed. All those who witnessed her performance longed to applaud, but they refrained in case they might trivialise her magnificent exit. Not liking to look directly at Chris, they squeezed sneaky looks at him between their eyelashes and saw a man sitting completely still, deep in thought, with rapidly cooling tea trickling through his sun-streaked blond hair and all the way down the front of him.
Fran recommenced eating her sandwich once she was outside in the dark where no one could see the effect her speech had on her. She’d never meant to say all those things and she certainly never intended to pour the tea over him, but his last remark made her finally realise the true worth of the man. She meant it, and she was glad she’d said and done what she did, because it had cleared the air for her. Now she could think more positively about her situation and realise that for whatever reason she had lost the baby, and really it was the best thing, despite her sadness, because she was too young for motherhood and Chris was far too immature to take any kind of parental responsibility at the moment. If ever.
Fran dumped the wrapping from the sandwich and the tissue she’d wiped her hands on in the nearest waste bin, and marched off to collect her jacket potato from one
of the scouts. She met Alex Harris, unusually for him he was by himself, and the two of them chose a potato each and wandered away, talking together enthusiastically. This was how life should be lived, thought Fran: on equal terms with good friends one could rely on.
In the light from the bonfire Harriet happened to see her from a distance chatting away to Alex as though Chris had never existed, and she felt uplifted. Maybe at last . . . Entering the refreshment tent, anticipating buying something as she hadn’t found time for an evening meal, Harriet was surprised by the amused greetings she got from many of the people, both in the queue and sitting at the tables. While she waited she spotted Chris far over the other side of the tent looking dejected. When she arrived at his table, she said, ‘Not much space, mind if I join you?’
‘Of course.’ Chris looked surprised, but pulled himself together, intending to disappear as soon as he could comfortably do so.
Harriet, between consuming her pizza and chatting to him about the bonfire, remarked, ‘It is the biggest I think we’ve ever had.’ And then she noticed his dishevelled appearance. ‘You look awfully damp. Are you all right?’
‘Your daughter is responsible for this. She poured her tea over me.’
So, thought Harriet, that’s why everyone’s smiling at me. Suppressing her own amusement, she said, ‘Is it well-deserved, do you think?’
‘She certainly thinks so.’
‘Well, if she does, so do I.’
‘No sympathy from you then.’
‘Definitely not. Fran survived the miscarriage because she was looked after by people who cared for her. You consider that none of it – the pain she suffered, the on-going distress, the unbelievable disappointment – was your fault. A few cells you described the baby as; it was very early on, I know, but the potential was there, and you contributed half.’ Harriet paused for a moment, and when she realised he had no feelings about the baby at all she exploded, ‘I can tell you don’t care at all. It has nothing to do with you, you appear to be saying.’
Village Fortunes (Turnham Malpas 17) Page 22