Little Woodford

by Catherine Jones

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Nigel.’

  Heather wanted to tell Olivia that she was worried about her own husband and she really didn’t need someone else’s problems on top. But that wouldn’t have been Christian so she said, ‘Why, what’s he done?’

  Olivia looked at Heather. ‘That’s it, I don’t know.’

  Heather sat down opposite Olivia. ‘So...?’

  ‘He wants us to downsize.’

  Heather shrugged. ‘Well, it is an awfully big house for just the three of you.’

  ‘I know, but he was talking about releasing the equity. Why?’

  Heather felt that Olivia was talking to the wrong person if she wanted financial advice. She shrugged. ‘Is that so bad?’

  ‘But why? It isn’t as if we need the cash.’

  ‘He must have a reason.’

  ‘That’s the thing.’ Olivia’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. ‘If Nigel needs such a huge amount of money, I can only come to one conclusion.’

  The kettle clicked off but Heather ignored it. ‘And?’

  ‘That he wants to buy another house.’

  ‘I’m not with you.’

  ‘For himself... if we sold The Grange we could afford two smaller houses.’

  ‘Oh. You mean...? You think...?’

  Olivia nodded. ‘There’s something else.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He says he plays badminton on a Tuesday night.’

  ‘You’ve lost me,’ murmured Heather. She turned round and made the tea and coffee.

  ‘Only I don’t think he does. He takes sports kit to work with him but it comes home pretty much as clean as it went.’ Olivia raised her eyes to meet Heather’s as Heather put the steaming mugs on the table. ‘So just what is he doing after work?’

  ‘You’ve got to talk to him.’

  ‘I’m so frightened of what the answer might be. Heather, we’ve been married for over thirty years and I know he’s not the easiest bloke on the planet, but he’s my bloke. I can’t bear the thought of being abandoned by him.’

  Heather reached across the table and took Olivia’s hands in hers.

  ‘And supposing,’ continued Olivia, ‘he’s not having an affair. If I confront him about what he’s getting up to, it shows I’ve lost faith in him, that I don’t trust him, and what would that do to our relationship?’

  ‘I can see that.’ Heather thought for a moment. ‘You need to find out about the badminton for certain – one way or the other.’

  ‘But how?’

  ‘Ring his office?’

  ‘And say what? What possible excuse might I have to ask, without making it obvious that I think he’s lying to me?’

  ‘Good point.’ Silence fell as both women considered the problem.

  ‘I suppose,’ said Heather, ‘you could do something like take his trainers out of his sports bag, or take one out. If he really is playing and his kit got sabotaged then he’d be pretty mad and be sure to mention it.’

  Olivia nodded. ‘And if he doesn’t, it means he isn’t. Bloody hell, Heather, you really are quite Machiavellian, aren’t you?’

  Heather preened. ‘Thank you.’

  21

  On Sunday, Olivia was in two minds as to whether to go to church or not. She liked church, she liked the calm that it brought to her busy life – the enforced rest that sitting in a pew, not being able to organise, or do, or achieve, gave her. She liked the peace, the predictability of the order of service, the space it gave her to think... And that was the trouble. She wasn’t entirely sure she did want to think right now because if she did she knew what would dominate her thoughts. Nigel! And worse... if he was doing what she reckoned he was doing where did that leave her? She really didn’t want to think about what her future might be because, while he might be impossible to live with right now, she couldn’t imagine not living with him.

  Olivia sat on her dressing table stool in her undies and stared at her reflection. She wasn’t bad-looking for her age but supposing Nigel had found someone a lot younger? Someone who didn’t have small folds of slightly crepey skin at her neck, a couple of crow’s feet by her eyes, a wrinkle between her brows, and tits which were, frankly, heading south. How could she compete with youth? And middle-aged men did this sort of thing; trade in the old girl for a newer model. She read about it in the glossy gossip mags all the time; seen pictures of ageing film stars and their new, young, beautiful trophy wives. She sighed and came to a decision; she couldn’t watch Nigel every second so she might as well go to church – pray for Nigel to see sense, pray she would find a way to deal with it, pray for the composure to stop her from killing him if she was proved right. She’d definitely be better off in the company of God.

  Swiftly she applied a lick of make-up and then put on her skirt and blouse. She grabbed her coat from the wardrobe and went downstairs. Nigel was still at the kitchen table, in his pyjamas and dressing gown and reading the Sunday paper.

  ‘Off to church?’ he said, barely looking up.

  She nodded. How can you be so calm when you are destroying my life? she wanted to yell. Instead, she said, ‘Back in a couple of hours. If you could make the time to cut the grass...?’

  Nigel glanced up. ‘God, must I? I’ve had a tough week, I’m knackered.’

  And if you spent less time screwing your mistress you might have more energy. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can’t Zac do it?’

  Olivia looked at him for a beat. ‘I don’t ask you to do much to look after the house and garden so I don’t think I’m being unreasonable.’

  ‘And I don’t think I am either – not in saying Zac could pull his finger out once in a while.’

  ‘I don’t have time for a row now. I’ll be late.’ She turned and swept out of the house. She unlocked the garage and got her bike out, now feeling angry on top being unsettled and scared. A few weeks ago she’d felt quite smug about her future – lovely house, husband with a good job and a decent pension, four kids doing all right... How things could turn on a sixpence. She certainly didn’t feel smug now.

  *

  Heather hauled herself off her knees and slid her bottom back onto the pew. She looked over her shoulder and saw that the church was almost empty – thirty, maybe forty in the congregation, out of a town of almost six thousand. The slight surge that Easter had produced had fallen away again.

  ‘Can I sit next to you?’ came a low voice beside her. Heather turned back towards the aisle and looked up to see Olivia.

  ‘Of course.’ Heather budged up to give her space to sit down.

  Olivia put her handbag down at her feet, opened her prayer book at the page for matins and then found the first hymn they were due to sing in her hymn book. Having got herself organised she leaned forwards and prayed for a couple of minutes then straightened up.

  ‘How’s Nigel? Has he said any more about downsizing?’ asked Heather.

  ‘No,’ admitted Olivia. ‘And I haven’t mentioned it either. I’m hoping that I’m imagining it. Except I’ll know, one way or the other, after Tuesday and badminton.’

  Heather gave her a long stare then said, ‘I truly hope you’re completely wrong.’

  Olivia nodded.

  The organ struck up, everyone stood as Brian and the choir processed down the aisle and took their seats near the altar and Heather squeezed Olivia’s arm and whispered, ‘I’ll pray for you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ whispered back Olivia. ‘I need as much help as I can get.’

  And I would like to ask Olivia to pray for me, thought Heather, because maybe God knew what was causing Brian so much angst; she certainly didn’t, and she felt she ought to. Otherwise, how on earth could she help him?

  The service progressed and Heather participated on autopilot, making the responses, singing the hymns while her mind tussled with other issues, like what was the matter with Brian and what the hell was Nigel up to? Not that Olivia and Nigel’s affairs were anyone’s business but their own but Olivia was Heather’
s friend and she couldn’t help but be concerned.

  She watched her husband leave his seat and climb the few stairs into the pulpit.

  ‘May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, our rock and redeemer,’ she heard her husband say.

  The congregation chorused ‘amen’ and sat down.

  ‘I was thinking about spring this week, and the change in the seasons,’ began Brian, but Heather let her mind wander as she looked at the flowers on the altar and wondered if they’d last till the following Sunday.

  The foliage might, she thought, if she changed the water. Maybe, after the service and while everyone was hanging around having tea and coffee at the back of the church, she’d get that done. And she ought to get round to checking the kneelers. Brian said that someone had told him that a number of them needed their seams repairing. Heather looked at the one she’d been using. It looked all right. She pushed it through a hundred and eighty degrees with her toes to check the other side. No, it was fine.

  She suddenly realised that silence reigned in the church.

  She glanced up at Brian. He was standing there, his mouth open, but he was saying nothing. How odd. He seemed to be staring at the back of the church so Heather swivelled in her pew to see what the distraction was but there was nothing. The silence continued. The congregation began to shuffle. Something was obviously going horribly wrong. Olivia looked at Heather.

  ‘Is Brian all right?’ she murmured.

  ‘No, no I don’t think so,’ said Heather. Feeling desperately self-conscious and worried that she might be doing completely the wrong thing, she stood up and pushed past Olivia to reach the aisle then walked to the pulpit. She stood at the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘Brian? Brian, are you OK?’ she hissed.

  Nothing, no response, no acknowledgement...

  The congregation was getting quite restless and the hubbub of speculation increased in volume.

  ‘Brian?’ Heather put her hand on the rail and her foot on the bottom step. ‘Brian!’

  He didn’t even turn his head. Heather made a decision and mounted the stairs. She grasped his arm firmly. ‘Brian, come with me.’ She tugged on his elbow.

  Sightlessly and wordlessly he turned.

  ‘Come on, darling. Careful on the stairs.’ She backed down the steps, pulling him with her and he followed, but like someone sleepwalking. She led him into the vestry while behind her the muted whispers erupted into full-on talking.

  She shut the door to block out the noise and led Brian to a chair.

  ‘Sit down, honey,’ she said, kneeling in front of him. ‘Brian, Brian, what’s the matter? What happened?’ She shook him. ‘Brian!’

  He turned his face to her. ‘Heather?’

  ‘Brian, what happened?’

  He passed his hand over his face. ‘Happened?’

  ‘You were delivering your sermon and you just... you just stopped.’

  Worry clouded Brian’s face as he looked about him, at the sink and the clutter in the vestry. ‘I stopped?’

  Heather nodded. ‘What’s the matter?’

  Brian’s face cleared slightly. ‘I felt ill. Yes, I felt ill. Dizzy.’

  ‘Do you want me to get Dr Connolly?’

  ‘No. No, I’m fine now.’

  ‘Are you?’

  Brian sagged. ‘Well... not really. I don’t think I can finish the service.’

  From the other side of the door came the sound of the organ striking up the final hymn.

  ‘I think Bert Makepiece has got things in hand,’ said Heather. She tried to sound cheerful. ‘This is probably the most excitement he’s ever had since he’s been a churchwarden.’

  Brian shook his head. He looked close to tears.

  ‘Come on, I’m going to take you home.’ Heather got to her feet. Her knees cracked as she straightened.

  Brian gazed up at her. ‘I can go out there. I can’t face them.’

  ‘We can go out through this door.’ She nodded at the vestry entrance. Heather pulled her husband to his feet and then opened the door. ‘Let’s get you home and then you can tell me what’s really going on.’

  ‘I told you,’ said Brian, stubbornly, ‘I felt ill.’

  *

  Amy had almost finished cleaning Bex’s house the following afternoon when her employer came back from the pub.

  ‘Hi, Amy,’ called Bex as she let herself in. ‘I’m going to put the kettle on, would you like one?’

  ‘Love one,’ Amy shouted back down over the banisters.

  Bex was hoiking the teabags out of a couple of mugs when Amy clattered down the stairs a minute or so later.

  ‘Good weekend?’ she asked Amy.

  ‘Great, thank you. My Billy took me to the Old Mill on Saturday.’

  ‘The Old Mill?’

  ‘It’s a right posh resto. All the toffs from round here go there.’

  ‘That was some treat.’

  ‘It certainly was. Must have cost him a mint but it was so lush.’ Amy looked dreamy at the memory.

  ‘Lucky you.’

  ‘So...’ said Amy as she got the milk out and sloshed it into the mugs, ‘how are you getting on at the pub?’

  ‘I thought I was doing fine. Then I had to cope on my own for a bit. God, Amy, it was so tricky.’

  Amy laughed. ‘You’ll get the hang of it.’

  ‘I hope so. I don’t want Belinda to have to sack me. Actually, I think Belinda is OK about my lack of experience – I’m not so sure about Miles. But hey...’

  ‘You’ll get there. Everyone has to start at the bottom.’ Amy sipped her tea. ‘Anyway, this ain’t getting your house finished off, is it?’ She turned to go back upstairs. ‘Ooh, want to know something else I heard?’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘The vicar had a meltdown in church yesterday. Lost it completely while he was giving the sermon.’

  ‘What? Had a go at someone?’

  ‘No, nothing like that. I heard he kind of dried up; just stood there – lights on but no one home. His missus had to take him back to the vicarage and old Bert Makepiece, seeing as how he’s a churchwarden, had to take over.’

  ‘That’s sad. Maybe he was poorly.’

  ‘That’s what Heather is saying.’

  ‘Then I expect he was,’ said Bex, briskly.

  ‘Maybe.’ Amy looked sceptical. ‘But you hear about people losing their marbles, forgetting where they are, what they’re doing...’

  ‘Even so, I don’t think it’s for us to speculate about what was going on. Especially as neither of us was there.’

  Amy shrugged. It seemed to Bex that her words had fallen on very deaf ears.

  *

  Olivia rang the bell of the vicarage and waited in the shelter of the porch, warmed by the May sunshine, until Heather opened it.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ said Heather. ‘How lovely to see you. Have you time for a coffee?’

  ‘Not really. I came round to see how Brian is and to ask if you’re going to the book club tonight.’

  ‘Oh... Brian says he’s fine. A dizzy spell apparently.’

  ‘Nothing serious then.’

  ‘No.’

  Olivia didn’t push the issue but she felt that Heather was lying, possibly to herself. ‘And the book club?’

  Yes, I’m looking forward to it; I loved that book.’

  ‘Hadn’t you read it before?’

  ‘No, it must have passed me by, although I adored Rebecca.’

  ‘And that didn’t spur you on to read her others?’

  ‘No, I suppose life got in the way. Anyway, isn’t that the whole reason for book clubs,’ said Heather, ‘to make you read things, like Frenchman’s Creek, that you would have otherwise missed?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so. I thought I’d ask Bex if she’d like to come along.’

  ‘That’s a nice idea. Apart from an initial visit I’ve hardly seen her since. And maybe now she’s had a chance to settle in she might like the
idea.’

  ‘Yes. I really feel she ought to integrate more. I know she works lunchtimes at the pub, but... well...’

  ‘She’ll meet a better class of person at something like the book club?’

  Olivia completely failed to catch the joking tone of Heather’s voice. ‘Precisely,’ she said. ‘Right, well, I’ll see you this evening. I’ll drop in on Bex and see if I can persuade her to come along.’

  ‘You do that.’

  Olivia said goodbye and walked up the road, past the cricket pitch where a groundsman was driving the heavy roller over the wicket, and continued up to the high street. She hoped Bex was in as she rang the bell. The car was on the drive but, living where she did, Bex was unlikely to take her car to go shopping, not unless she was doing a big weekly one at the supermarket in Cattebury.

  She heard footsteps on the other side of the front door. Good. ‘Hello, Bex. I’m here on a mission.’

  A flicker of anxiety flashed across Bex’s face.

  ‘Oh, it’s all right. I’m not nobbling you for anything.’

  ‘Good. I got spammed to run a stall at the school fête last week.’

  ‘Ah, Jo Singleton cornered you, did she?’

  ‘She did indeed. So...?’

  ‘Fancy coming to the book club tonight? It’s upstairs at the pub.’

  ‘Not much point, really.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I won’t have read the book.’

  Olivia couldn’t fault the logic. ‘It’s not all about the books though. It’s very social. If you want to get to know people it’s a good place to start. And now you’ve settled in... you said before that Megan might babysit for you once you had been here for a bit.’

  ‘I did.’ Bex paused for a couple of seconds. ‘So what book did the club read?’

  ‘Frenchman’s Creek.’

  ‘Oh, I loved that book. I’ve even got a copy somewhere, although Lord knows where it is.’

  ‘Well then, why don’t you come along? And it doesn’t matter if you can’t find your copy. I’m sure you can remember the story well enough not to have to refer to the book.’

  ‘I suppose. It’s been a while since I read it.’

  Olivia could see that Bex was wavering. She moved in for the proverbial kill. ‘Shall I call for you on the way past?’