Near And Dear

by Pamela Evans

  ‘Why can’t we go by ourselves?’ Melanie wanted to know.

  ‘Because the playground is too far away for us to keep an eye on you,’ said Marie.

  ‘I’ll go with them,’ offered Trudy, turning to Jane and Marie. ‘So long as that’s all right with you?’

  ‘Perfectly all right,’ said Jane, smiling. ‘In fact, we’d be very grateful.’

  Trudy clutched the girls by the hand.

  ‘Come on then, dears. The swings it is. Let’s just go across and say hello to Pip’s grandfather on our way, though, shall we?’

  As she sallied forth with her charges, Jane said, ‘She’ll be about as welcome with Dad as the drugs squad at a rock festival.’

  ‘It’s a shame,’ smiled Marie, who knew all about Jane’s father’s feelings towards the ebullient Trudy. ‘ ’Cause she’s a smashing woman. It’s a wonder she bothers with any of us. I mean, it isn’t as though we’re in the same class.’

  ‘She’s quite down to earth, though,’ said Jane. ‘The same as Giles. I suppose they must have got used to mixing with the hoi-polloi, with him turning his back on the family money and teaching in an ordinary state school.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘I mean, I doubt if soccer was the game he played at his own school. They all play rugby at these posh boarding schools, don’t they? But it hasn’t stopped him throwing himself into the game of the masses for the local kids.’

  ‘It certainly hasn’t.’

  Glancing around, Jane was suddenly filled with warmth towards the people she cared about. A frown creased her brow as she thought of two of them who were missing from this gathering.

  ‘It doesn’t look as though your parents are going to make it, does it, Marie?’

  ‘No. Dad does his midweek late round on a Wednesday,’ she explained. ‘I told Mum to come without him, said we’d bring her in the car with us. But he likes her to be at home with his dinner on the table when he gets in from work. And you know my mother. She won’t do anything to put him out.’

  ‘It would have been nice for her to come along, especially as both her grandsons are playing,’ said Jane.

  ‘That’s what I said to her but it’s like talking to a brick wall, trying to get her to stand up to my father,’ said Marie.

  ‘I can imagine.’

  Their conversation came to an abrupt end when Davey scored a goal and both women jumped about, shouting and cheering.

  ‘Hello, Joe dear,’ said Trudy.

  ‘ ’Lo.’

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘Mustn’t grumble. You?’

  ‘Fine. Enjoying the game?’

  He nodded.

  ‘I’m taking the two girls over to the swings for ten minutes or so. They’re bored stiff with the football.’

  ‘Mmm.’ He kept his eyes fixed firmly on the game in the hope that the dratted woman would clear off and leave him alone.

  ‘It’s nice to see the boys enjoying themselves, isn’t it?’ she remarked casually.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘It certainly helps to work off some of the excess energy they have at that age.’

  ‘That son o’ yours has done well by the lads,’ he felt forced to admit, unable to avoid looking at her and hoping she didn’t see his comment as an invitation to involve him in a lengthy conversation. He was heartened by the fact that the little girls were eager to go to the swings and were agitating to that effect.

  ‘Yes, Giles is never happy unless he’s organising something. ’

  No prizes for guessing who he gets it from, thought Joe.

  ‘Anyway, we’ll wander off to the swings now,’ said Trudy.

  Thank God for that, he thought, but said, ‘Okay . . . enjoy yourselves then.’

  ‘I’ll give you a go on the see-saw, if you want to come with us?’ laughed Trudy.

  ‘Oh . . . no!’ His face was a picture as he stared at her in horror. ‘I think I’m a bit past that sort of nonsense.’

  Trudy let out a deep throaty laugh that seemed to start at her toes and erupt through her body. What a fool he was not to have realised that she’d just been joshing with him!

  ‘You know what your trouble is, don’t you, Joe Harris?’ she said, still chuckling.

  ‘No . . . but I’ve a horrible suspicion you’re going to tell me,’ he said with a straight face.

  ‘You take yourself far too seriously,’ she told him cheerfully. ‘You ought to lighten up a little.’

  ‘Oh, grow up, woman, for goodness’ sake,’ he said gruffly.

  ‘If growing up means never having fun, and sitting at home letting the world go by when there are so many things to do out there, then I hope I never do grow up,’ she told him. ‘I’m certainly not planning to.’

  ‘Humph.’

  ‘Come on then, girls,’ she said. ‘Let’s go and have fun in the playground.’ She threw Joe a parting smile, her complete lack of umbrage making him ashamed of his own boorishness, ‘Who’s going to be first up the slide?’

  ‘Me,’ they chorused.

  Watching her stride purposefully across the field towards the playground area, swinging hands with the little girls and turning every so often to talk and laugh with them, he felt a stab of envy for her appetite for life and ability to be carefree. How good it must be to laugh so easily and have the confidence to do new things. Joe had never let his hair down in his life. Neither had his dear wife. Hardworking people like them had quite enough to do making ends meet to waste time on pointless merrymaking. Trudy Hamilton might have the time and money to make a fool of herself, but Joe Harris hadn’t.

  Seeing her enjoying herself, though, it seemed as if she reached out for the sunshine of life while he stayed put in the shade. He found himself wanting to be in the sunlight too, warm and happy and having fun. This line of thought shocked him. It wasn’t like him to be envious, especially of some batty old woman who dressed like a cross between an ageing Eastern Queen and a hippy.

  He must be going dotty in his old age or something because he felt an overwhelming urge to run across the grass and join Trudy and the girls in the playground. He wanted some of that sunshine that Trudy Hamilton found in such abundance. Admonishing himself, he turned his attention back to the game. But the restless feeling lingered.

  Lena and Giles were having a bit of a lie-in as it was Saturday. They were both awake, though, and having a good-humoured battle about who was going to go downstairs and make some tea.

  ‘I suppose I’d better do it,’ he said with mock sorrow. ‘If I wait for you to get out of bed, I’ll wait forever.’

  ‘Thank you, Giles,’ said Lena, burrowing under the covers. ‘You’re so good to me.’

  ‘Flannel, nothing but flannel,’ he said, getting out of bed and dragging on his dressing gown. ‘But what’s a chap to do . . .’

  ‘I’ll do the early-morning tea lots of weekends running to make up for you doing it now,’ she bargained with him. ‘When the weather gets a bit warmer.’

  ‘I’m in for a long wait then,’ he said. ‘Seeing as it’s only December.’ Grinning, he pulled the covers back to reveal her face. ‘Anyway, it isn’t cold in the cottage . . . we had central heating put in so it wouldn’t be.’

  ‘During a bitter cold spell like this, it’s cold despite that.’

  ‘Rubbish!’

  ‘I’ll make the tea tomorrow . . . I promise.’

  ‘Oh, look, there’s a fleet of pigs coming in to land,’ he said, waving his hand towards the window.

  She threw a pillow at him and disappeared under the covers.

  ‘If I wasn’t certain that Kevin would walk in here at any minute, I’d be back in that bed to make you pay for that.’

  ‘Promises, promises,’ came her muffled retort from under the covers.

  Giles went over to the window and opened the curtains with a flourish and an exaggerated deep breath for his wife’s benefit. But he was silenced by what he saw outside. The landscape was white with frost. It was as though it had been carefu
lly sprayed on to the bare winter trees and rooftops and dusted over the garden lawns and privets, just enough so that some of the green showed through. Everywhere was still and silent. Giles had seen a million frosty scenes before, but for some reason this one seemed ineffably beautiful to him this morning.

  ‘You’ve gone very quiet,’ said his wife, peering at him over the top of the sheet. ‘What’s out there that’s shut you up?’

  ‘Just nature,’ he said softly.

  ‘What particular aspect of it?’

  ‘Get your body out of bed and come over here and have a look.’

  She sat up slowly.

  ‘You’ll try anything to get me out of bed,’ she said warily.

  ‘You can go straight back afterwards,’ he said. ‘I won’t renege on the tea-making, I promise.’

  ‘Is it snowing or something?’

  ‘Come to the window and see for yourself.’

  ‘It had better be good,’ she muttered, swinging out of bed and pulling on her dressing gown.

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Oh, yes, you’re right,’ said Lena, looking out over the rime-covered garden, glistening in the early sun. ‘All we need is a robin redbreast and we’d have the pukka Christmas card scene.’

  Giles slipped his arm around her.

  ‘Our first heavy frost in the cottage,’ he said softly.

  ‘Yes, I know,’ she said, her tone becoming more serious.

  ‘I’m so glad we decided to buy it.’

  ‘Me too. I really love it here.’

  ‘Even though it’s been such a lot of hard work and we’re still not at the end of it?’

  ‘Even more so because of that,’ she said. ‘I’m enjoying getting it how we want it. I’ve never felt so much at home anywhere.’ She paused. ‘Jane feels like that about hers, too. There’s something about Vine Cottages that makes you never want to leave. It’s funny.’

  ‘And talking of Jane . . .’

  Their eyes focused on the garden next-door as Jane marched down the path carrying a bucket of steaming water. She went to her car in the alley and began melting the ice on the windows with a cloth dipped in the hot water. She was wearing a black winter coat over trousers with a bright red woolly hat and matching muffler around her neck.

  ‘That’s the downside of a morning like this,’ Giles remarked.

  ‘Yes. The frost will probably have melted by the time we need to go to the supermarket in the car, though.’

  ‘We’re lucky. It’s Jane’s day for market so she has to go out early,’ said Giles.

  ‘She takes the children to her sister-in-law’s first, too.’

  ‘I certainly don’t envy her working in a market on a day like this.’

  ‘It’s enough to give her double pneumonia standing about in the cold for hours on end,’ remarked Lena as they watched Jane rubbing at the windscreen.

  ‘I suppose market people get used to it,’ said Giles.

  ‘I think they must do.’

  ‘Jane is very courageous in her way, don’t you think?’ he said.

  ‘I’ll say she is,’ Lena agreed wholeheartedly.

  ‘She seems to tackle life head on, almost daring it to do its worst.’

  ‘Yes. I get the impression that whatever obstacle fate puts in her way, she’ll never allow herself to be beaten. She doesn’t make a fuss, just gets on with what must be done.’

  ‘I get that impression too,’ he said. ‘She has a quiet kind of courage.’

  ‘That’s the perfect way to describe it,’ declared Lena.

  They watched Jane in silence for a while as she worked her way around the car, her breath turning to steam, cheeks glowing.

  ‘She’s very attractive,’ said Lena.

  ‘Yes. Never any sign of a boyfriend, though, is there?’

  ‘No, there doesn’t seem to be. I think she’s probably a bit wary . . . I mean, after her husband going off and leaving her.’

  ‘Something like that is bound to have an effect.’

  ‘She was pregnant when he left, did you know?’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘It came out in conversation the other day,’ said Lena. ‘She lost the baby quite late in the pregnancy, apparently. ’

  ‘Poor Jane.’

  ‘Oh, no, she’ll never be that, Giles,’ said Lena with strong emphasis. ‘Brave Jane, gutsy Jane, but never poor Jane.’

  ‘I only meant in that it was a rotten thing to happen to her,’ he said. ‘But I know what you mean about her. She definitely isn’t poor, not in any sense of the word.’

  Jane was trudging back up the path, her face almost as red as her hat. She saw them up at the window, their heads close together, and smiled and waved. They waved back.

  ‘I’m really glad she lives next-door to us,’ said Lena.

  ‘Me too,’ said Giles. ‘I think in Jane we have a true friend.’

  Going back into the house, Jane was thinking much the same thing about the Hamiltons; how much she enjoyed having them next-door and how she valued their friendship. But she was thinking these thoughts with an aching heart. She was going to miss them dreadfully. It was a bitter disappointment to her that she couldn’t continue to be their neighbour. She would give a lot to be able to stay on here at Vine Cottages!

  But something had come in the post the other day that had shattered her life yet again. She’d had a letter from her landlord, politely informing her that he was planning to put her cottage up for sale in the New Year so she would have to look for alternative accommodation!

  Chapter Twelve

  Around midday on that same December Saturday, Mick Parker walked briskly along the Brighton seafront, well turned out in a dark overcoat, white silk scarf and leather gloves. He was on his way to a pub in the Lanes where he was a lunchtime regular. It was bitterly cold with a deceptive sun beaming down on the stucco-covered houses, the overnight frost lingering in shaded places that didn’t catch the sun.

  Mick would be the first to admit he was more likely to be inspired to pleasure by a lucrative business deal than anything nature had to offer. But since he’d been in Brighton he’d grown to enjoy living by the sea. He liked the feel of the ocean nearby, its salty winds and special tang, particularly in winter when it was wild and dark or glinting icily in the heatless sun, as it was today.

  Brighton had been good to him this last year and he seemed to have found a niche for himself here, albeit temporarily. There was a lot to be said for the history and architecture of the town, its fine squares and sweeping crescents. But Mick related more to its life, its colour, its criminal element - which was proving to be very useful to him.

  He was now back in business and doing well, in a smaller way than he’d been in London but at least he was able to rent a decent flat and run a car. He still had a lot of ground to cover before he could afford to go back to Jane but he’d get there in the end. Thanks to some contacts he’d made in the pubs in the area, he was heading for big money.

  When he’d first arrived here, he’d tried to go straight for a while, selling household goods and cheap clothes door-to-door; he’d even had a go at encyclopaedias. It had given him a living but not enough of one to supply the capital he needed to set up in business properly.

  Then one day he’d got talking to a man in a pub who’d introduced him to a much more profitable type of employment - handling stolen goods from regular sources. This soon earned him enough to rent a small warehouse. Finding buyers who didn’t ask questions had been no problem at all because the cheap prices he was paying for the stuff meant he could afford to sell low. Mick never took anything hot unless he was sure he could shift it in double quick time.

  His trade in dodgy goods was fronted by a legitimate wholesale operation and it worked like a dream. He would rather have done the whole thing straight, of course, but what choice did he have if he couldn’t make money fast enough that way? When he’d got enough dough behind him to feel secure, he’d leave the hot gear alone and concentrate on stra
ight stuff, maybe . . .

  Working outside the law hadn’t been nearly as frightening as he’d expected, considering that he’d been scared witless on the service-station job. His confidence was boosted by the fact that his set-up was more or less foolproof. So far as anyone except his criminal colleagues was concerned, he was running a squeaky clean wholesale business. He wasn’t known to the police so there was no reason for them to check him out.

  Walking through the narrow paved streets of the Lanes, in an area of ubiquitous jewellery shops, he slowed his step, attracted by the window displays. Christmas was drawing near. For the first time since he’d left home he could afford to buy Jane a decent present. There were some lovely dress rings on offer here, and beautiful gold watches. This was all classy gear - more unusual than the stuff that could be bought in the High Street jewellery chains. These were the trading outlets of small jewellers whose styles were more individual, many of them dealing in secondhand and antique jewellery.

  With enthusiasm for Christmas growing, he became quite excited and thought of getting presents for the children too. When he’d finished here, he’d have a look round the big shops in the town centre at the toys.

  ‘Can I help you?’ asked the man standing behind the counter as Mick strolled into a shop.

  ‘Yes, mate. I’m looking for something special for the wife . . . for her Christmas present,’ he explained, finding it strange to be referring to his wife again after all this time. Jane and the children were outside the shady world he now inhabited so he never mentioned them.

  ‘A necklace, perhaps . . . or a watch?’ The man looked through the glass-topped counter into the showcase beneath. ‘I’ve a lovely lady’s watch here.’ He pointed to a small gold cocktail watch. ‘Guaranteed to keep you out of the doghouse with the wife until Easter.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s lovely,’ muttered Mick, but his enthusiasm was already fading as he realised he would have to send the gifts by post. The parcel would be postmarked with this area and could lead to trouble. As things stood at the moment, Jane had no idea where he was. If she had an inkling of the district, she might try to trace him. And he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to see her until he was ready.