Little Woodford

by Catherine Jones

  ‘Ummm.’

  ‘You’ll only be next door.’

  ‘Oh, OK.’

  ‘I’ll be here for you at seven fifteen. We start at seven thirty but that’ll give you a chance to meet everyone first.’

  ‘Great.’

  Mission accomplished, Olivia walked on through town towards the station and the new houses. Knowledge was power, she’d told herself, and the more she knew about the new houses the more ammunition she would have to hand to argue against any idea of downsizing to one of them. Besides, assuming that Nigel’s stated objective about ‘releasing equity’ wasn’t a cover for some other plan, the new estate was the last place she’d want to downsize to. Olivia pushed the thoughts out of her head. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, worry about that till she’d carried out her – or rather, Heather’s – plan.

  22

  Zac was still angry with his mother about his allowance being stopped but at least he’d managed to nick enough off her to square away his dealer so, although he was still broke, he wasn’t broke and scared. In fact, given what he’d pinched he was in a nice bit of credit with Dan. And stealing off her served her right for being so arsey. He imagined that one day she’d spot that a ring had gone from her jewellery collection but she rarely, if ever, wore any of it. He was curious as to why she’d moved it to his dad’s filing cabinet but he could hardly ask – not without revealing that he knew where the keys were hidden and, more importantly, had used them. He supposed it might be because of the burglaries happening in and around Little Woodford so, if she did notice its loss, she might think she’d been another victim. Maybe he ought to steal more and make it look like a proper job. Of course, that plan was flawed because getting rid of it wasn’t quite the doddle he’d imagined it to be. He’d taken it to the pawnbroker in Cattebury thinking that all he had to do was hand it over and pocket the cash. Easy. Only it hadn’t played out like that.

  ‘Where did you get this, then?’ the old guy who ran the shop had asked, as he examined the rubies set in the ring.

  ‘My nan left it to me,’ said Zac, glibly. ‘She said I should give it to my fiancée when I decide to get married. But I’d rather have the dosh.’

  ‘Really.’ The guy had sounded sceptical. ‘And you’re over eighteen, are you?’

  ‘Of course,’ Zac had lied again.

  ‘So, before we do business I’m going to need proof of your ID, address and age. And it’s got to be proper documents; passport, utility bill, driving licence – that sort of thing.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘That going to be a problem?’

  ‘No, just I didn’t know so I haven’t got anything on me.’

  ‘Best you come back when you have.’

  ‘Yeah, OK.’ He held out his hand for the ring. ‘Can you tell me what you’d give me for it, though?’

  ‘It might be worth about a grand. I’d give you five hundred.’

  ‘Five hundred!’ Blimey, much better than he’d hoped

  ‘Ballpark figure. I’d have to give it a proper look when you bring it back – see how good the stones are, that sort of thing. I’m not promising five hundred, though. It might be worth less.’

  Zac tucked the ring back in his pocket feeling pretty happy. Of course, having cash would be much better but if he gave the ring to Dan, Dan could flog it. Dan was over eighteen and would have those documents. He could take it to the pawnbroker.

  And Dan had been cool with the plan. Dan had told him he’d only got a couple of hundred for it but Zac didn’t care. He had credit with his pusher which would last until his allowance started again – and he was sure his mum would relent next month – so he was feeling pretty good as he headed for the play park shortly after his mother had gone out to her book club. As always he had arranged to meet Dan over by the stand of trees at the edge of the recreation area.

  Dan was waiting for him.

  ‘What do you want today?’ said Dan.

  ‘Got any Special K?’

  ‘Might have. How much do you want?’

  ‘Five grams.’

  ‘Hand over the cash.’

  Zac felt his world rock. ‘But I gave you that ring. You said you’d got a couple of hundred.’

  ‘What ring?’

  Zac stared at him as dizziness swept over him. ‘You’re joking me.’

  ‘What ring, Zac?’

  Zac flew at him, his fists flailing, but Dan sidestepped him and pulled out his knife. ‘I wouldn’t want to hurt you, Zac, but I suggest you calm down.’ His voice was full of menace. He waved the craft knife around. The little blade caught the sun and flashed. ‘So, if you want your Kit Kat you’d better find the money.’

  Zac felt his eyes pricking. ‘You can’t.’

  ‘I can do what I like. I’m the one with the gear, remember. And what are you going to do? Go to the police? Tell them you stole from your mummy?’ he sneered. ‘I don’t think so.’

  Zac wished he was bigger, tougher... less scared. Dan was right, there was nothing he could do and he was desperate for a hit. ‘Give me some credit, Dan. Please. I’ll pay you back, you know that.’

  Dan got out his knife and examined the blade. ‘Just as long as you do. But, I’m telling you, Zaccy-boy, this is the last time. From here on in I want cash upfront. Understand?’

  Shit – and with his allowance stopped this was going to be a problem.

  *

  The ladies of Little Woodford book club drained the last of their wine, and prepared to disperse. They stood around chatting, exchanging pleasantries and enjoying each other’s company with no one wanting to be the party-pooper and break up the event.

  ‘Did you enjoy that?’ said Olivia. She picked her capacious handbag off the floor and put it on the table.

  ‘It was fun,’ said Bex.

  Beside her Jacqui Connolly picked up a near empty bottle of Merlot and poured the dregs into her glass. ‘Waste not, want not,’ she said as she swigged it down. Then, ‘Right, I’m off.’ She turned, stumbled and cannoned into the table sending Olivia’s handbag flying. It was undone and the contents flew out, scattering everywhere.

  ‘Silly me,’ said Jacqui, staring at the mess rather blearily.

  ‘No harm done,’ said Olivia, her lips tight with disapproval and irritation.

  Across the other side of the table, where most of Olivia’s possessions had landed, the lady whom Bex now knew was called Sylvia, and Heather, scrambled to pick her stuff up.

  ‘Beeching Rise?’ queried Sylvia, holding up the glossy sales brochure.

  ‘So?’

  ‘Why would you want this?’

  ‘I don’t think it’s any of—’

  ‘So why do you want a brochure? Are you planning on buying there?’ Sylvia’s eyes widened. ‘You’re going to buy to let, aren’t you?’

  ‘Frankly, Sylvia, just because I have picked up a brochure doesn’t mean that I’m planning on buying there.’

  The two women eyeballed each other across the table like a pair of cats squaring up for a fight. Then Olivia dropped her gaze, picked up her handbag and held out her hand for the possessions that Sylvia and Heather had gathered.

  After that spat the atmosphere in the function room shifted slightly and the members of the book club started making excuses, saying their goodbyes and drifting down the stairs. Finally it was only Heather, Olivia and Bex left in the room.

  ‘Would you like a coffee at mine?’ offered Bex.

  ‘If you can bear to be seen in my company, considering that Sylvia thinks I am some sort of Judas.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, of course I don’t think that. And personally,’ added Bex, cheerfully, ‘I love a good nose around a show house. Who doesn’t?’

  The three women headed down the stairs and made their way through the bar. Bex said goodbye to Belinda who was busy working. ‘See you tomorrow.’

  ‘You’ll have to tell me how you got on with the book club,’ was the response.

  They left the pub and were at Bex’s front door
a few moments later.

  ‘I’m back,’ called Bex, up the stairs.

  Bex took her friends’ coats and led the way into the kitchen. As she put the kettle on she heard footsteps thundering down the wooden staircase.

  ‘Did you have a nice time?’ said Megan, as she skidded into the kitchen. ‘Oh, hello,’ she added, seeing the visitors. ‘Hello, Mrs Simmonds.’

  ‘You know Heather?’ asked Bex.

  Megan nodded.

  ‘I work at the school – teaching assistant. Part-time,’ explained Heather.

  ‘And we’ve met too, haven’t we,’ said Olivia.

  ‘Have we?’ asked Megan.

  ‘The day you moved in. I told you about my son, Zac.’

  ‘Oh yeah, I think I’ve met him – he’s a friend of Ashley’s.’

  ‘Yes, that’s him. How lovely. I sure you two have so much in common. You ought to get to know him better. Maybe you’d like to come to have tea at ours.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Bex suppressed a smile. Megan sounded utterly indifferent. ‘Were the boys okay?’

  ‘They were fine, they haven’t stirred.’

  ‘Great.’

  Megan said a shy goodbye and slid out of the kitchen.

  Bex turned to Heather. ‘How’s she settling into school? Naturally, I’ve asked her how she is getting on, but you know what kids are like; their parents are the last to be told anything.’

  ‘To be honest I don’t have much to do with her. I generally have to deal with the kids who are more challenging – the ones with special needs, either mental or physical.’

  ‘Yes of course. It’s just...’

  ‘Yes?’ prompted Heather.

  ‘She wasn’t happy at her last school. It was another reason why I decided to move.’

  ‘Was she bullied?’ asked Olivia. ‘Of course, St Anselm’s has a very strict policy regarding bullies.’ The implication that the comp didn’t came across loud and clear.

  ‘I am sure the local school is equally strict; every school is these days. It doesn’t stop it, though, does it? Kids will be kids,’ countered Bex.

  Heather intervened. ‘If you’d like, I can make a few discreet enquiries in the staffroom. I’m sure Mrs Blake would tell me if Megan was failing to settle in. I find that, because I am a vicar’s wife, people will tell me things they mightn’t tell others.’ She smiled. ‘It can be a bit of a double-edged sword.’

  ‘I bet it is. It’s bad enough coping with one’s own problems, let alone coping with other people’s,’ said Bex.

  ‘But you’d listen to a friend with troubles, surely?’ said Olivia to Bex.

  ‘Probably. But I bet poor old Heather gets all sorts crying on her shoulders.’

  Heather shrugged. ‘I can’t complain. It isn’t as if I didn’t know what Brian did for a living when I married him.’

  The kettle boiled. ‘Tea, coffee?’ asked Bex.

  ‘Coffee,’ said her guests in unison.

  ‘Decaff?’ added Olivia, hopefully.

  While Bex was making their drinks, Olivia said, ‘I ought to confess, now it’s just us.’

  ‘What about?’ said Heather.

  ‘About Beeching Rise. Nigel thinks we should move there. Heather already knows but I think it’s only fair to put you in the picture, too, Bex.’

  ‘Move there? But why?’

  Olivia shrugged and shook her head. ‘I wish I knew. But I suspect I will in a day or so.’ She looked at Heather.

  Bex longed to ask questions, to find out more, but it all seemed rather too nosy. She had to content herself with the thought that, if Olivia wanted her to know at some point in the future, she’d be told.

  *

  The next morning, at break time, Heather Simmonds walked to the table at the back of the staffroom, collected a mug, spooned in some coffee granules and then joined the queue for the urn of boiling water, the milk and the biscuits. As she waited for her turn she checked out who else was in. As usual most of the staff were grouped by their departments, the exception being the IT teachers, who never seemed to want to associate with each other or the other staff but, instead, were glued to their smart phones or their iPads. Heather spotted the humanities staff gathered in one of the corners. Once she’d got her coffee, she wandered over.

  ‘Hello, Irene,’ she said to Mrs Blake.

  ‘Heather? What can I do for you?’

  ‘I was just wondering how things are?’

  ‘Longing for half-term, if I’m honest. I really need to recharge my batteries. I can’t imagine how knackered I’ll be when we get to the summer holidays.’

  ‘I know what you mean. Of course, with Brian being a vicar, the summer break is the only one we get when both of us can kick back.’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course. I’d never thought of it like that.’ Irene Blake looked suitably abashed.

  ‘I ran into the people who moved into The Beeches the other day.’ Heather hoped God would forgive the barefaced lie, considering she’d actively sought the first meeting by ringing the doorbell. ‘Well, I ran into her – the poor woman being a widow and everything. I think her daughter is in your tutor group.’

  ‘Megan, yes.’

  ‘Can’t be easy for a kid to move house and move schools all on top of losing one’s dad.’

  ‘She’s a funny kid. A bit stand-offish if you ask me. She doesn’t seem to want to be friends with Lily Breckenridge and you know how popular she is. In fact, I asked Lily to take her under her wing especially and it seems to me that Megan goes out of her way to rebuff all Lily’s efforts. I did my best; I think it’s up to Megan now to sort herself out.’

  ‘Kids, eh?’

  Irene Blake nodded.

  Heather wandered off. Lily Breckenridge? Popular? Well, that was one view of the child. Personally, she had little time for her. As far as she had observed the way Lily behaved at school, either the other pupils kowtowed to her or she made life as miserable as possible for them. Frankly, she didn’t blame Megan for shrugging off that particular hand of friendship. Heather thought that it was probably a wise move. But, did she tell Bex that Mrs Blake might have made a bit of an error with Megan’s pastoral care?

  23

  ‘Got the cow,’ crowed Lily to Summer as they ate their lunch together in the school canteen.

  ‘I’m not with you, Lil.’

  Lily rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, do try and keep up. You know I friended Windy on Facebook?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Well, I’ve been getting to know some of her old pals – not that she had many.’

  ‘What’s the point in that? They live in London.’

  Lily sighed. ‘Yes, but they went to Windy’s old school.’

  ‘OK?’

  ‘And now I know why Windy had to change schools.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ Summer shovelled a forkful of macaroni cheese into her mouth. ‘So?’

  ‘So, it’s dynamite.’

  Summer stopped chewing. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘No. I want it to be a surprise.’

  Summer lost interest and ate some more of her lunch.

  ‘Aren’t you going to ask me when I’m going to spring this surprise?’ said Lily, annoyed that Summer wasn’t more curious, wasn’t more desperate to try and prise the information out of her.

  ‘No, because the chances are you won’t tell me that either and, even if you did, it wouldn’t be a surprise then, would it.’ She chewed some more.

  Lily shook her head and wondered why she bothered with Summer except she was the only other kid from her class who lived in her village, her dad was pretty loaded and she had a pony which she allowed Lily to ride. She had her uses.

  ‘This surprise,’ said Summer. ‘Are you going to spring it soon?’

  ‘Dunno. Got to make sure I can do it without getting caught.’

  Summer lowered her fork onto her plate. ‘Doesn’t sound like it’s something Mr Smithson’s going to like.’

  ‘Of course he won’t. But once the cat is
out of the bag there’s no way anyone – even Smithy – will be able to stuff it back in again.’

  ‘Why would Smithy want to stuff a cat in a bag?’

  Lily stared at Summer in slack-jawed disbelief. How thick could you get? Well, if Summer was anything to go by, the answer was – unbelievably.

  *

  All through Tuesday, Olivia tried to keep herself busy, trying to do anything that would stop her thinking about Nigel and his badminton club and the fact that, when he’d had his shower before he left for work, she’d crept out of bed and taken one of his trainers out of his sports bag. She’d thought about taking both out but had decided it would have left the bag feeling too light and he might have noticed. And now she was trying to act as normally as possible while waiting for her husband to get back in. Finally, while she was watching the late evening news, she saw the lights of his car sweep up the drive and the click of his key in the lock. He came in, dropped his sports bag by the front door and headed for the kitchen.

  ‘Evening, darling,’ Olivia forced herself to say despite her hammering heart. ‘There’s supper for you in the fridge if you’d like it.’

  ‘I need a drink first,’ said Nigel picking up the wine bottle on the counter and pouring himself a glass.

  ‘Sure,’ said Olivia. ‘And how was badminton?’

  ‘Oh, just fine. Won my match.’

  Did you now, she thought, as she willed her heart not to break.

  *

  Olivia was trying to carry on as normal the next morning, and failing miserably, when the doorbell rang. It was Heather.

  ‘Come in,’ said Olivia.

  ‘And dare I ask? asked Heather as she stepped over the threshold.

  Olivia led the way into the kitchen and picked up the sports bag which she put on the work surface and began to unpack. She held up the pair to the single trainer she’d removed.

  ‘I asked Nigel how his badminton was last night. He said he won his match.’ Then she held his T-shirt against her nose and sniffed. ‘And this still smells of fabric conditioner, not sweat.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘So, what’s he up to? What is he doing on a Tuesday night that gives him a reason to stay up in town for a few extra hours and which doesn’t involve badminton?’