Little Woodford

by Catherine Jones

  Bex pressed the cancel button. ‘One pound forty – that’s better.’ The till drawer pinged open, Bex put in the fiver and took out the change.

  ‘There, that wasn’t so difficult, was it?’ said Belinda.

  Bex knew she was supposed to agree cheerfully that it had been a doddle but actually she felt more like reaching for the gin bottle that was on the shelf right beside her. Instead she handed Harry his money.

  ‘Want to know what I just saw?’ said Harry.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Leanne Knowles going into old Doc Connolly’s place. Seems they got burgled last night.’

  ‘No!’ said Belinda. ‘Not another break-in. I’ve heard there have been a few round and about.’

  ‘’Tis terrible. A proper crime-wave,’ agreed Harry.

  ‘And I thought this town was as safe as houses after London,’ said Bex.

  Belinda shook her head. ‘Sadly, I don’t think anywhere is truly safe any more. Just make sure you keep everything nice and secure, is all I can say. Especially given that you live in the big house.’

  Bex stared at Belinda, horrified. It was a very unsettling thought that she might be a target because of where she lived. She’d have to start double locking the doors at night.

  By the time the pub had a dozen regulars enjoying a lunchtime drink, Bex was starting to get the hang of the till, and where all the various drinks, mixers and snacks were kept. She was still painfully slow but the customers were a patient, pleasant lot and cut her the slack she needed. Belinda cleared the tables and dealt with the food and, when things were quiet, she got on with a stock-check ready for an order she wanted to place with their suppliers later that day.

  ‘There, you see,’ said Belinda. ‘I couldn’t be doing that if I were running this place single-handed. You’ve already saved me a big job I’d have had to have done this afternoon after we’ve closed.’

  That comment chuffed Bex quite a lot as, until then, she’d felt she’d been more of a hindrance than a help.

  In the occasional lulls between customers Bex listened to the conversations going on. With no music it was easy to eavesdrop – not that she had done so deliberately to start with, but it was difficult not to take an interest in what was being said.

  She leaned on the bar and focused her hearing on a group of four men in the corner.

  ‘It’s them druggie layabouts from Cattebury doing all the thieving,’ said one.

  ‘How do you know that, George?’ said the one Bex remembered as being Harry.

  ‘Stands to reason, don’t it. There ain’t no drugs here in Little Woodford.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that. I heard that Mrs Laithwaite told the town clerk there was a whole bunch of druggie goings-on up at the nature reserve.’

  ‘Get away.’

  ‘’Tis true.’

  There was a pause while the foursome assimilated the information.

  Bex felt sad. She’d hoped that this outwardly perfect little market town was just that – perfect. But apparently not. It seemed like everywhere, the surface veneer of flawlessness was an illusion. Chip it away and it was like everywhere else. All she had to hope was that it wasn’t quite as bad as some bits of the rest of the country – like London, for example.

  *

  Amy was feeling a bit tired after spending the morning cleaning for Olivia, and wasn’t looking forward to her afternoon stint at Jacqui Connolly’s, but she perked up no end when, as she turned into the Connolly’s drive, she saw a police car there.

  ‘What the...?’ she said out loud. Whatever it was, the presence of a cop car never meant good news. Gawd, she hoped they hadn’t had another tragedy because that might send Jacqui completely over the top. Not, thought Amy, that Jacqui could put away much more than she already did to judge by what she saw when she emptied the bins – and looked in the cupboards to see where Jacqui hid it. She was quite inventive; behind the cleaning products in the kitchen, in the loo cistern, in her knitting bag... And she hid her drinking pretty well too. Amy reckoned that if she had to do anything – go out, go to the book club or the WI – she had to be very careful about how much she had to drink during the day because no one else had ever mentioned to her that Jacqui liked the sauce. But Amy was sure that on the days when she stayed at home, she knocked back the vodka like there was no tomorrow. There’d been a couple of occasions when Amy’d come round to clean and she’d been poorly. Huh, hungover more like. The first couple of times it had happened Amy hadn’t twigged but then she’d started to notice the number of bottles in the recycling and so it was only human nature to dig a bit deeper... Anyone would, wouldn’t they? And then there was the business that she and her husband, David, had separate bedrooms. That always meant a marriage was in trouble, didn’t it? Amy reckoned he couldn’t approve of the amount she drank; not with him being a doctor and everything.

  Amy got to the front door and rang the bell. Normally she’d have opened the door with her key and bowled in but, today, some instinct told her that it might be better if she didn’t. It was opened after a few seconds by the local police community support officer, Leanne Knowles.

  ‘It’s Amy, isn’t it?’ said Leanne.

  Amy nodded. ‘Hi, Leanne.’ Everyone in the town knew Leanne’s name. She’d been helping police the town for over a decade and was often on patrol on the streets. ‘I’ve come to clean for Mrs Connolly.’

  ‘Not sure it’s convenient right now.’

  Amy wasn’t going to be done out of her earnings if she could help it. Besides, she was gagging to know what was going on. ‘I can keep out of your way – do the upstairs if you’re downstairs.’

  ‘Who is it?’ called Jacqui’s voice from somewhere inside.

  Leanne called back over her shoulder, ‘It’s Amy.’

  ‘Let her in.’

  Amy gave Leanne a triumphant look as she shouldered past.

  ‘Hey, Jacqui,’ she said as she got into the sitting room. ‘What’s with the cops?’

  ‘We got burgled last night.’

  ‘No!’ Amy was genuinely shocked. She’d heard there’d been some burglaries in the town but she wasn’t expecting anyone she knew to get done over.

  Jacqui nodded sadly.

  ‘Did they take much?’

  ‘Some cash, my laptop, David’s camera, some other bits and pieces. Some jewellery,’ she added.

  ‘Not too bad then.’

  Jacqui rounded on Amy. ‘What do you mean, “not too bad”? We had strangers in our house, while we were asleep. We might have been murdered in our beds, they might have ransacked Lisa’s room...’ A tear trickled down her face.

  ‘But that’s what I meant,’ said Amy. ‘That other stuff might have happened and the things that’s been nicked... well, it’s just things. You can replace them. Anyway, the insurance will cover the cost.’

  ‘I suppose,’ said Jacqui. She didn’t sound convinced. ‘But I still feel scared and violated and... Oh, it’s just horrible to think that some scumbag was creeping around my house at the dead of night.’ She shuddered. ‘I feel like I want to have the whole place deep cleaned.’

  ‘Good job I’m here then, ain’t it,’ said Amy, cheerfully. ‘Where do you want me to start?’

  ‘Nowhere,’ said Leanne. ‘Not till the fingerprint people have been round.’

  Amy rolled her eyes. ‘Aw, come on, Leanne, I’ve got a living to make.’

  ‘And I’ve got a string of crimes on my patch.’

  The two women glared at each other.

  ‘Amy,’ said Jacqui, ‘if you want to come another time, I’ll happily pay you for those hours. I will seriously want some help when the police have finished.’

  Amy sniffed. ‘I suppose. Not sure when I can manage it but I’ll do what I can. Rushed off my feet, I am, so I’ll have to squeeze you in. Maybe after I’ve finished some of my other jobs.’

  ‘Thank you, Amy. Thank you. Just let me know.’

  ‘I’m sure you can see yourself ou
t,’ said Leanne.

  Gawd, thought Amy as she headed for the front door. Give a woman a uniform and she turns into a mini dictator. Then she cheered herself up with the thought that she had time off and a really juicy story to tell her mum.

  17

  Later that afternoon Amy was sitting in the coffee shop in the centre of town, enjoying a latte and a slice of cake, when her mobile buzzed. She checked out the caller ID.

  ‘Hiya, Billy,’ she said cheerfully as she answered it.

  ‘You all right to talk?’

  ‘Yeah, course. I’ve got the afternoon off.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘Jacqui Connolly’s house got done over last night and the cops are there. They told me to bugger off. Proper CSI scene it was and all.’

  ‘Get away! Mrs Connolly’s gaff? That’s awful.’

  ‘They didn’t get much, she says.’

  ‘Really? I’m surprised they didn’t wake up if there was someone creeping round their house.’

  Amy snorted. ‘Mrs Connolly? Wake up? With the amount she puts away every night?’

  ‘True,’ said Billy. ‘But the doctor’s not an alkie, is he?’

  ‘Don’t think so. Who knows?’

  ‘Anyway, I’m glad you’re free. I’ve got something to show you.’

  ‘And what might that be?’

  ‘A new set of wheels.’

  ‘Give over. How can you afford that?’

  ‘I can – never you mind how.’

  Probably because of those other jobs he’d done, on the sly, for cash, thought Amy. Jammy bugger – extra money, tax free on top of his proper wage. Amy wished she could earn money like that. She worked her arse off for about half what Billy earned – if that.

  ‘Where are you?’ asked Billy. ‘At home?’

  ‘At the coffee shop.’

  ‘I’ll come into town. Give me ten minutes. I’ll meet you in the market place.’

  Amy finished her drink and made her way there. Billy was already there with a little red roadster.

  ‘Nice,’ said Amy approvingly as she caressed the sleek bonnet.

  ‘Fancy a run out in it?’ offered Billy.

  ‘Can’t, got to get back to cook Ash his tea.’

  ‘Another time then.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Saturday. We could go out. I’ll buy you dinner.’

  ‘Really?’ Amy’s voice was shrill with excitement.

  ‘You deserve a treat,’ said Billy.

  ‘A new car and dinner out. What you been doing, Billy-boy? Robbing banks?’

  Billy laughed. ‘Yeah, of course. I’m a regular Clyde and you can be my Bonnie if you like.’

  ‘Not sure about that. Didn’t they wind up dead?’

  ‘But we won’t. I’m too clever.’

  Amy couldn’t dispute that – not if he had enough for a car and to treat her to a slap-up meal out.

  *

  Olivia looked at her emails, wanting something to take her mind off the fact that her son was over an hour late home from school. The first one to catch her eye was a notification from the town hall about the next full council meeting. It would, it said, include a meeting with the police about the spate of local burglaries. Olivia had heard the odd rumour about a break-in or two but a spate? This sounded serious. It would give Little Woodford a bad reputation. It would scare the likes of the Makepieces who didn’t need to feel vulnerable and threatened at their age. What was more, it might affect house prices and she wasn’t having that. She read the email in detail. Twenty break-ins in as many days. Twenty! The email was right, it was a crime wave. Maybe she ought to put her jewellery somewhere safer.

  Olivia shut her laptop, climbed the stairs and headed for her bedroom. She sat at her dressing table, pulled open the middle drawer and took out her jewellery box. She also had a few smaller boxes that contained her pearls, an emerald brooch, her mother’s eternity ring and some other bits and pieces. Some of her stuff was quite valuable and even if she wore jewellery only rarely she certainly didn’t want to lose any of it. She carried it all downstairs and found Nigel’s keys to his filing cabinet. She popped the boxes in one of the drawers under a file of bank statements and relocked it. Not ideal but it might hide them from a thief unless he or she was really determined.

  She’d just hidden the keys again when Zac banged into the house, slamming the front door behind him, dropping his school bag noisily on the wood floor and then kicking off his shoes and leaving them in the middle of the room.

  ‘Zac,’ Olivia remonstrated. Her relief fuelling her irritation at his behaviour.

  ‘What?’ he snarled.

  ‘Shoes, bag,’ she said, as mildly as she could.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Mum. I’ve only just got in.’

  Olivia took a deep breath and stopped herself from pointing out that it was just as easy to put things away tidily as it was to chuck them all over the place.

  She glanced pointedly at her watch. ‘You’re late. Was there a problem with the bus?’

  Zac stared at his mother. ‘No. I went to see a mate. I’m allowed to do that, aren’t I? Jeez, Mum, I’m fifteen.’

  ‘I know. But I’m your mother and I sometimes worry. It’s what mothers do.’

  Zac gave her a withering look and headed for the stairs. ‘Whatever. I’ve got homework to do.’

  ‘Then you can take your shoes up with you.’ It wasn’t an unreasonable request.

  Zac spun round. ‘Why should I? They’re not doing any harm where they are. If you want them moved, you do it. What is your problem?’

  Olivia lost it. ‘My problem is having a nasty, stroppy little ingrate for a son who doesn’t appreciate anything and who thinks he can treat me like dirt. Well, you can’t.’

  ‘Really?’ Zac sneered.

  ‘Really. And I’d like an apology.’

  ‘Fuck off.’

  ‘Don’t you dare talk to me like that.’

  ‘Why? What are you going to do?’

  Olivia stared at him coldly. ‘I’m going to stop your allowance, that’s what I’m going to do.’ That worked, thought Olivia. Zac went pale.

  ‘You can’t.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘But... but... I need that money.’

  ‘Tough.’

  ‘You can’t do this to me, Mum. Please.’

  He sounded so worried, so distraught, that for a second Olivia was almost inclined to relent. Almost. ‘I’m sorry, Zac, but you need to learn a lesson. I will not be spoken to like that.’

  ‘Fuck you then, Mum,’ he screamed at her before he ran upstairs to his room and slammed the door with such force Olivia wouldn’t have been surprised if it had come off its hinges.

  She stared at it, feeling rather shaky. She’d never seen him that angry and he’d thrown quite a few strops in his time. But, enough was enough. And after that last display of outrageous temper she wasn’t going to back down. She’d never been so determined to carry out a threat in her life. Besides, going short for a month wasn’t going to do him any harm, was it?

  *

  Zac leaned against his bedroom door and felt sick with fear. What was he going to do now? He’d promised his dealer that he’d repay all the money he owed on the first of May. And now... Shit. Zac slid down the door till he was hunkered against it in a foetal position. He’d never been so scared in all his life. Even when Ash had dared him to grind down a rail and all he could think about was how much it would hurt if he came off – which he did and it had. But this was worse than that. Dan had a knife and he’d told Zac he’d cut his face wide open if he didn’t come across with the money when it was due.

  Zac crawled to his feet and went to look in the mirror. He traced a line down his cheek and imagined what it might feel like to be cut. He screwed his eyes up at the awfulness of the thought. He had to get the money. He had to.

  He needed space, he needed to think, he needed to be out of the house. He opened his door and sped back down the stairs.

 
‘Where are you going, Zac?’ called his mother as he ran across the living room to the front door, grabbing his shoes off the floor as he went.

  ‘Out.’

  ‘But your supper...’

  Zac dropped his shoes onto the floor by the front door and stuffed his feet into them, not caring if he was breaking down the backs. ‘Shove it.’

  He slammed the door behind him.

  He hopped down the drive as he put his shoes on properly before he loped down to the skatepark. He wanted to think about what he could do, who he could go to, but all his thoughts were dominated by visions of Dan brandishing his knife the last time he’d scored some drugs and hadn’t been able to pay.

  ‘You do know what’ll happen if you don’t pay me, Zaccy-boy, don’t you?’

  He’d waved the craft knife right by Zac’s eyes and Zac had instinctively shoved him away out of sheer fear.

  ‘Don’t you push me.’ Dan’s voice had been full of menace.

  Zac had put his hands up. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to.’

  ‘Good. We understand each other. So, I want my money on the first or your face mightn’t look so pretty, hey?’

  Zac had three days to come up with the cash. Ash was no good, and if he asked his mates at school he’d look poor and a loser; they might have loads of dosh but it would be humiliating to ask them for handouts, like a poor relation. He already sensed he was an object of pity because his family hadn’t been on an exotic long-haul holiday recently, like everyone else. But maybe it would be better to be pitied than to be disfigured. No, he decided, he had to get the money and his parents could provide it.

  He slunk home before it got dark and found the driveway still empty of his father’s car. That was something to be grateful for. At least he wouldn’t have his father on his back – well, not yet anyway.

  ‘Your supper is in the fridge,’ said his mother, coldly. She was sitting on the sofa, watching some nature programme on the TV. She didn’t even bother to look at him and she didn’t ask him where he’d been. It was like she didn’t care.