Little Woodford

by Catherine Jones

  ‘Billy? Ash?’

  ‘It’s me,’ called Billy’s voice.

  Amy gathered up the dirty sheets from where she’d dumped them on the landing and hefted them down the stairs.

  ‘Hiya. Where’ve you been?’

  ‘What’s it to you?’

  Amy felt slightly snubbed. ‘Well... nothing. I just wondered, that’s all.’

  ‘Then don’t.’

  Amy walked past him into the kitchen and began to stuff the linen into the washing machine. She dosed it with laundry liquid before she slammed the door shut.

  Billy was standing over her as she stood up again. ‘I said on Friday, I don’t want people to ask no questions. My mum doesn’t but you do. Now... do you want me to stay here or not? Because if you do, no more questions.’

  ‘I only asked where you’d been, Billy.’

  ‘I’ve been out.’

  ‘But...’ Amy shut up. If Billy wanted to be so mysterious, let him. It was no skin off her nose.

  ‘Now, then, you ready to come down the pub?’

  ‘Yeah. Ash is going to meet us on the way; he’s popped down to the skatepark to see his mates.’

  ‘Get your coat then.’

  *

  Heather left Brian chatting to his flock at the end of the service and made her way back to the vicarage. She’d done her duty and now she wanted to get lunch on. It was only a chicken but if she didn’t get it in the oven soon they’d be having it for afternoon tea, not lunch.

  She walked into the kitchen and put her bag on the side, switched on the radio, filled the kettle and got the meat and some vegetables out of the fridge. It was only when she’d got the roast into the oven, had a cup of tea beside her and she was starting to peel the spuds that she realised her laptop wasn’t on the counter.

  Heather put the knife down. Maybe Brian had moved it. But he’d gone over to the church first. She distinctly remembered switching it off before she’d left. She stared at the space where the laptop had been, then she walked into the sitting room. The DVD player was missing, and her mother’s little silver clock that sat on the mantelpiece. Heather sank down onto the sofa.

  Bastards.

  34

  Bex was in the kitchen cooking a Sunday roast for the family.

  ‘Mum, Mum,’ wailed Alfie, plaintively as he stamped into the kitchen, dragging his Tonka digger along on a piece of string. Since it had eventually been found, Alfie had barely been parted from it.

  ‘What, is it darling?’ Bex took a pan of parboiled spuds off the hob and drained them into a colander.

  ‘Megan won’t take me to see the diggers.’

  ‘Darling, you can’t expect her to do it every time you want to go.’

  ‘But it’s not fair.’

  ‘I expect she’s busy.’

  ‘But I want to go. You take me.’

  ‘Alfie, I’m cooking lunch. Maybe later.’

  Alfie’s face crumpled. ‘But I want to go now.’

  ‘Don’t you want yummy roast chicken?’

  ‘No. No, I don’t. Roast chicken is pooey.’

  Bex turned away from him to hide her smile. ‘We’ll go after lunch – promise.’

  ‘Want to go now.’ Alfie stamped his feet and then kicked his digger but the toy was made of metal and he yelped with pain then burst into tears.

  Bex crouched down and gave him a hug. ‘We’ll go after lunch, promise. OK?’

  Alfie clung to her and sobbed onto her shoulder. ‘I s’pose,’ he said.

  ‘Now, as it’s not raining, why don’t you go and play in the garden? Take Dougie the Digger out with you and see if you can make a big pile of earth.’

  Alfie’s sobs subsided and he wiped his nose on the back of his hand. Bex got to her feet, reached for the kitchen towel and tore off a square.

  ‘Blow,’ she instructed Alfie. He did and then she dried his tears with a clean corner and chucked the paper in the bin. ‘Lunch will be in a while. I’ll call you in when it’s ready.’

  Alfie trailed out of the back door and Bex turned her attention back to her cooking.

  A short while later, as she was basting the chicken, Lewis walked in.

  ‘I’m bored,’ he complained.

  Bex sighed. ‘Go and play with Alfie.’ She put the foil over the chicken and shoved it back into the oven. ‘He’s in the garden with his digger, but he might want to play football. Why don’t you ask him? I told him I’ll take him to see the diggers after lunch but he won’t want to stay long because they won’t be working on a Sunday. And if it doesn’t rain, I thought maybe we can go to the park too. Would you like that?’

  ‘Park? Yeah.’

  ‘Now, I’m busy so you go and play outside till lunch.’

  Lewis trotted off but was back in under a minute. ‘I thought you said Alfie was outside.’

  ‘Isn’t he?’ Bex took the saucepan lid off the carrots and turned the gas down a fraction to stop them boiling over.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, maybe he’s in his room. Go and see.’

  Off went Lewis again, shouting his brother’s name. Bex went to the back door. She was sure Alfie hadn’t come back in. It wasn’t completely outside the bounds of possibility that he had snuck in while she’d been busy but... a little twinge of anxiety went through her. She yelled Alfie’s name. She called and called.

  Nothing.

  ‘He’s not in the house, Mum.’

  Bex’s niggle of anxiety became a bit stronger. She walked round to the front of the house. There was his digger in a flower bed and... Dear Lord, the gate was open.

  Bex ran out of the garden on to the pavement and looked left and right. There was no sign of him. Would he have gone out of the garden? And if so how long had he been gone? She glanced at her watch. Not more than a few minutes, surely? Lewis ran up beside her.

  ‘Darling, go and get Megan. Ask her to really check the house.’ Bex patted her jeans’ pocket. Good, she had her phone on her. ‘If you find him, call me. I’m going to see if he’s gone to the building site or the park on his own. Understand?’

  ‘You will find him, won’t you, Mummy?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Bex with a certainty she didn’t feel.

  She ran along the pavement, heading towards the station and the new houses. A couple of times she stopped passers-by and asked if they’d seen a small boy but all she got were shakes of heads. She was on the brink of ringing the police when she saw, ahead, a woman crouching down – obviously talking to someone. A child. Then the woman stood up and looked about her as if she was looking for someone as she held the child tightly by the hand.

  Alfie, and he was with Jacqui – thank goodness.

  Bex sprinted towards her.

  ‘Alfie! Thank goodness. Thank you, thank you, Jacqui,’ she said. She bent down to scoop up her son.

  ‘How could you let your little boy wander off like this, all on his own? You’re not fit to be a mother. I don’t know. He could have been killed or kidnapped or anything.’

  ‘But... but I didn’t...’ Bex’s gratitude was swamped by a feeling of shame and embarrassment as the tirade continued. Other pedestrians stared, curious as to what this row was about. ‘I didn’t,’ she protested. ‘He ran off.’

  ‘Not properly supervised. Huh. I’ve a good mind to report you.’

  Bex picked up Alfie and swung him onto her hip.

  ‘No, you don’t understand... Alfie, what have I said about not going out of the gate?’

  Jacqui carried on with her rant. ‘Mothers like you don’t deserve kids.’

  ‘Yes, you’re probably right,’ she said. ‘And it’s a good job there’s people like you around. And thank you. I’m very grateful. Truly. And I’ll give my son a good talking-to when we get home.’ She turned and walked back towards her house as Jacqui continued to question her parenting skills, raising her voice to be sure Bex could hear her despite the increasing distance between them.

  ‘You are very, very naughty,’ she told Alf
ie. ‘You know you’re not to leave the garden.’

  ‘But I wanted to see the diggers.’

  ‘And I said I’d take you after lunch. I’m not sure we’ll go now, not now you’ve been so disobedient. And look at the trouble you got me into. That lady was really cross with me.’

  ‘Sorry, Mummy,’ said Alfie, clinging onto her neck.

  Bex hugged him tighter to her, still shaken by the shock of his disappearance and the public dressing-down she’d just received.

  As they approached their house she could see Megan standing at the gate, peering down the road. Bex waved and Megan came hurtling towards them.

  ‘You found him!’

  ‘Yes, safe and well and almost at the town hall.’

  ‘Alfie!’

  Alfie began to cry. ‘But I wanted to see the diggers.’

  ‘Naughty, naughty, boy,’ said Megan as she ruffled his hair.

  Alfie sobbed louder.

  ‘Anyway, all’s well that ends well,’ said Bex, ‘although I might have to think about putting a bolt on the gate.’

  ‘Surely he won’t do it again?’

  ‘I thought he wouldn’t do it a first time.’

  ‘True.’

  They walked back through the gate and Megan shut it carefully. ‘And you’re not to go out on your own again, Alfie, understand? You were naughty. Mummy’s very cross. And I am too,’ she added. ‘You gave us a fright.’

  Alfie buried his face in Bex’s shoulder.

  ‘Let’s go in,’ said Bex.

  As she opened the door a bitter smell assailed her and there was a haze of smoke drifting out of the kitchen.

  ‘The carrots!’

  She dropped Alfie onto the floor and ran into the kitchen to switch off the gas. The she lifted the lid of the pan. Through the smoke she could see the carrots now resembled black sticks of charcoal. Bex carried it over to the sink and filled the pan with cold water. The smoke turned to steam as the water hit the hot metal and a resounding hiss filled the air.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said to Megan. ‘I think carrots are off the menu.’

  She looked at the ruined pan and felt tears well up. She knew it wasn’t that making her cry but the awfulness of what might have been. Dear God, she thought, hadn’t the family had enough to cope with? But it hadn’t happened. Everything was OK. But still the tears fell.

  *

  ‘It could have been worse,’ said Brian. On the counter behind him were the leftovers from their lunch. Neither of them had had much of an appetite and then, before they’d finished eating, the police had arrived to have a look at the crime scene, take statements and get a list of the missing items.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Heather. ‘It’s just stuff. Things.’ She took a deep breath and sighed. ‘And whoever did this knew we’d be out. Perfect timing, I suppose.’ She stared at the dirty dishes and knew she ought to make a start on clearing up but she couldn’t be bothered.

  ‘And it can all be replaced.’

  ‘Mum’s silver clock can’t.’

  Brian put his arms around his wife. ‘No. No it can’t. On the bright side we’ll save on silver polish.’

  Heather cracked a smile although she’d never felt less cheery in her life. They were sitting in the kitchen as the police worked in the sitting room, dusting for fingerprints.

  ‘I was thinking of going over to see the Millars this afternoon. I’m not sure I feel up to it now,’ said Heather. She rubbed the handle of the mug in front of her with her finger.

  Brian reached across the table and put his hand over hers. ‘Don’t you think it might be an idea to go anyway? There’s not much you can do here. The police have got your statement and if they need to speak to you again, you’ll not have gone far.’

  ‘I suppose,’ said Heather.

  ‘What do you need to see them for?’

  ‘There was an incident at the school. I need to persuade Megan to go along with my idea. The trouble is, I’m not sure I’m in the right frame of mind to want to help other people.’

  ‘Don’t you think that if you do this it’ll make you feel better? It’ll be doing something positive and it might take your mind off what’s happened?’

  ‘Maybe.’ She was far from convinced.

  Leanne Knowles put her head around the kitchen door. ‘We’ve just about finished.’

  ‘Good,’ said Brian.

  ‘And you’re sure you locked up properly before you went out?’

  ‘I’m pretty sure,’ said Heather. ‘I mean, I’m almost certain I checked the doors were locked but...’ She got up and went to the back door. ‘We haven’t been out again since we discovered the break-in and this is still locked and I know I slammed the front door shut.’

  ‘You didn’t double lock it?’

  Heather shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘Yale locks aren’t that secure.’

  ‘Yes, we know that – now.’

  ‘Only, like with some of the other recent burglaries there hasn’t been a sign of a forced entry,’ said Leanne.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Does anyone else have a key?’

  ‘Only our kids... and Amy, of course.’

  ‘Amy Pullen?’

  ‘Yes, she cleans for me.’

  ‘She cleans for Jacqui Connolly too.’

  Heather stared at Leanne. ‘No, not Amy. She’s cleaned for me for years and I’d trust her through and through. She’s completely honest.’

  Leanne didn’t look convinced.

  ‘Besides,’ said Heather, ‘lots of houses where Amy doesn’t clean have had burglaries.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Another police officer came into the kitchen. ‘We’re all done now. You’ve got a crime number for your insurance?’

  Brian nodded.

  ‘I doubt if we’ll manage to recover anything but, if we do, we’ll let you know.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘And I advise you to double lock your house in future,’ said Leanne.

  ‘Yes, you said. A bit like the proverbial stable door, though, now,’ said Heather.

  ‘We’ll be off then.’

  Brian stood up and accompanied the two police officers to the front door and shut it behind them. When he got back to the kitchen Heather was running hot water into the sink and putting the meat into the fridge while the washing-up bowl filled.

  ‘You don’t suppose Amy has got anything to do with this?’ asked Brian.

  Heather shook her head. ‘I’d bet my life on it. Not a chance.’

  35

  Amy was on her third glass of wine while Billy was enjoying a slice of sticky toffee pudding. Across the table Ashley sighed and played with his mobile.

  ‘Do you want to go home, love?’ said his mum. ‘You don’t mind, do you, Billy?’

  Billy, his mouth full, scowled but shook his head.

  ‘Say thank you to Billy, for your lunch,’ Amy reminded him.

  ‘Thanks, Billy,’ mumbled Ashley. He pushed his chair back and stood up.

  ‘It’s OK,’ said Billy after he’d swallowed.

  ‘Think I might go to the skatepark first.’

  ‘Whatever. See you later,’ said his mum.

  Billy scraped his plate and then licked his spoon. ‘That was well nice,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Amy. ‘I dunno, dinner at the Old Mill and now this. You’re spoiling me.’

  ‘What’s the point of earning a decent wedge and not treating yourself, eh?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ said Amy. ‘Ash and I are pushed to make ends meet some weeks.’

  ‘You ought to make him get a job.’

  ‘I don’t want to mess with his schoolwork.’

  ‘Pah,’ said Billy. ‘What good’s learning stuff? Never did me no good and I’m doing all right.’

  ‘The school said Ash is university material.’ The pride in her voice was palpable.

  Billy stared at her. ‘Well, you want to get that idea out of his head. Waste of money and three years, if you a
sk me. Nah, your Ash wants to get himself a proper job, a trade.’

  ‘But the school says—’

  ‘“The school says”,’ mimicked Billy. ‘What do they know?’

  ‘They say kids with degrees earn loads more than kids without.’

  ‘Doing what? Arty-farty jobs in poncy offices. Like I said, your Ash should get a proper trade with proper skills.’

  Amy felt deflated. And maybe Billy had a point. People were always talking about how difficult it was to find a decent plumber or electrician. He’d never be out of work if he did something like that.

  ‘And,’ said Billy, jabbing a finger in her direction, ‘uni costs shedloads, don’t it. Who’s going to foot that bill? Nah, mark my words he’ll come out with some stupid degree and a ton of debt when he could have been working and earning some dough instead.’ To prove his point Billy pulled a wad of notes out of his pocket.

  Amy boggled. ‘Bloody hell, Billy. How much is there?’

  ‘Five hundred, give or take.’

  Amy didn’t think she’d ever seen so much cash in one go. ‘You oughtn’t flash it about like that. Not with all those break-ins going on.’

  ‘Yeah, well, they’re not going to have a go at a house like yours, are they? Or my mum’s come to that.’ Billy stuffed the notes back in his pocket. ‘Stands to reason that neither you or my mum won’t have much worth nicking.’

  ‘You said they might want my telly.’

  ‘Yeah well, that’s about it, isn’t it?’

  ‘They might think different if word gets around how loaded you are.’

  ‘And who’s going to open their big mouth and talk? It better hadn’t be you, Amy.’ His voice was hard and once again he made Amy feel slightly uncomfortable.

  ‘Course it won’t be me.’

  ‘Good. Glad we understand each other.’ Billy stood up. ‘I’ll get the bill, shall I?’

  He walked over to the bar and Amy gathered up her coat and bag.

  ‘Thanks, Billy,’ she said when he returned. ‘Like I said, that was a real treat.’

  The pair left the pub and walked out into the warm May sunshine. ‘Right, I got to go and see a man about a dog,’ said Billy.

  ‘What? Now? But it’s Sunday.’

  ‘Business is business.’