05 Please Sir!

by Jack Sheffield

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Laura.’

  ‘Don’t be, Jack,’ she said flippantly and tossed her hair back from her shoulders. ‘He’s history now.’ There was a hard edge to her voice but her green eyes were soft and vulnerable. ‘He didn’t come up to expectations.’

  John Henderson glanced across the kitchen at his younger daughter but wisely kept his thoughts to himself, while Diane gave me a searching look and then returned to her cooking. I took a deep breath. The silence that followed felt like a raging storm.

  Beth and I went upstairs to unpack. Significantly, we were in separate rooms and I found myself in the familiar small single bedroom that I had occupied the last time I visited. It was quiet and cosy with rough-plastered, whitewashed walls, ancient beams and framed pictures of steam engines and pretty watercolour views of Hampshire villages. I wondered where Beth and I might sleep in this house after we were married.

  Soon we all gathered in the kitchen round a table covered with a snowy-white cloth and tucked into Diane’s delicious watercress soup. This was followed by a wonderful supper of cold turkey, large slices of roast pork with apple sauce, new potatoes, pickled beetroot, ripe tomatoes, fresh bread and local butter, all washed down with a bottle of John’s sharp, dry, home-made cherry wine. Diane’s sherry trifle completed the feast and, finally, as we relaxed over coffee and mince pies dusted with icing sugar, Beth broke the growing silence. ‘Come on, everybody, I’ll tell you our wedding plans.’

  Laura stared into her coffee, Diane gave her a searching look, while John smiled. ‘We want to help as much as we can,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks, Dad,’ said Beth.

  ‘Beth … we thought we could pay for your dress,’ said Diane, ‘and the flowers.’

  Beth stretched across the table and squeezed her mother’s hand. ‘That’s very kind, Mother,’ she said. She stood up and gave her parents a hug. ‘And are you still happy about the wedding taking place in Yorkshire?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes. It makes sense,’ said John.

  ‘Most of your friends are up there,’ said Diane, ‘and, of course, the church is beautiful – and much bigger than our little church.’

  ‘So roll on the twenty-ninth of May,’ said John. He stood up and poured five glasses of his home-made wine. ‘To the happy couple,’ he said, raising his glass.

  ‘To Beth and Jack,’ said Diane.

  ‘Beth … and Jack,’ added Laura softly.

  After the meal Beth and Diane did the washing-up and John went out to the woodshed to collect some logs for the fire. I walked out to the porch to get some fresh air. Around me the world was quiet under its mantle of snow. Now 1981 was almost over and I wondered what 1982 had in store. My life was about to change and I guessed the fields and forests of Hampshire and this thatched cottage would become a second home for me. I stepped outside and shivered in the cold night air.

  ‘So, are you ready for married life, Jack?’ It was Laura, a warm scarf thrown casually round her neck.

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘And do you think you can live up to her expectations?’ Laura’s gaze was steady and hard but her words were soft.

  ‘I’ll try,’ I said, wondering where this was going.

  ‘Jack, are you really happy?’

  ‘Yes … Why?’

  ‘I was just thinking that we had some good times together.’

  ‘We did.’

  ‘But not good enough.’

  I thought it best to say nothing.

  ‘She’ll want to change you, Jack.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  There was silence between us until John appeared with an armful of logs. ‘Open the door, please, Laura,’ he said and hurried inside.

  I looked back at Laura. ‘I don’t understand,’ I said.

  She turned to walk back into the house. ‘You will,’ she said.

  After she had gone her perfume lingered and I stood there until the cold began to seep into my bones. Above my head skeletal branches swayed in the breeze and whispered their ancient secrets beneath the eternal sky. Suddenly a falling star rent the heavens. It flickered briefly, a bright flame in the black velvet darkness, and burnt out, its life spent. It occurred to me that perhaps life really is an apocalypse: there is an end to everything.

  Back in the low-beamed lounge, John was kneeling by the stone fireplace and putting logs on the fire. Beth and Laura were chatting in the kitchen and Diane had gone upstairs to find a set of old but serviceable curtains that Beth thought would be perfect for our bedroom at Bilbo Cottage. John picked up the poker and levered some of the logs so that they crackled into life. ‘Beth tells me she’s given six months’ notice on her cottage in Morton, Jack,’ he said.

  ‘That’s right, John. She’ll move in to Bilbo Cottage in early June after the honeymoon,’ I said.

  ‘I can give you a hand if you like, Jack. We’ll be staying in her cottage for the wedding but I could stay on if you need me.’

  ‘Thanks, John,’ I said. ‘I’ll probably borrow a van to shift her belongings, so any help would be appreciated.’

  ‘That reminds me,’ he said, jumping up: ‘there are some bits and pieces I promised Diane I would sort out for you,’ and he walked out. I felt reassured that my future father-in-law was such a supportive man and, during the past year, we had become good friends. I guessed that Diane would take more time.

  I wandered out into the hallway. The kitchen door was slightly ajar and Beth and Laura were whispering conspiratorially and sharing the secrets of sisters. Curious, I paused by the door.

  Laura sounded insistent. ‘Beth, are you sure about this wedding?’

  ‘Why?’ said Beth, sounding a little surprised.

  ‘Well, it occurred to me that maybe Jack isn’t the best person for you,’ said Laura.

  ‘Whatever do you mean?’ asked Beth.

  ‘Well, he’s not exactly ambitious, is he?’

  ‘Perhaps he’s ambitious in a different way,’ said Beth quietly; ‘he has other goals in his life.’

  ‘Beth, he’ll never be more than a village schoolteacher,’ said Laura. ‘Is that what you really want?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘So … you’re not sure,’ said Laura.

  ‘Yes, of course I’m sure. I didn’t mean it that way,’ insisted Beth.

  There was a creak on the stairs above me and Diane appeared.

  ‘Hello, Jack,’ she said. ‘Are you looking for John? I think he’s in the garage.’

  ‘Oh, thanks,’ I said, feeling a little guilty. ‘I’ll go and find him.’ Relieved to escape I put on my duffel coat and walked out to the garage, where John was searching through some old boxes in the rafters.

  ‘Hi, Jack,’ he said. ‘Good timing. Can I pass this down to you?’

  It was an old oak chest with a hinged lid. I put it down on the concrete floor and he descended the ladder and opened it. ‘Diane’s mother left all this stuff for her granddaughters. Doesn’t look much but there’s a lot of sentimental value here.’ He lifted out a heavy brass candlestick and a few decorative plates. ‘Diane wants the girls to have a look and share it out.’ He smiled apologetically. ‘Sorry if it looks as though we’re trying to fill your cottage with junk.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said, ‘we can take some back with us if you like.’

  ‘Come on, then,’ he said, ‘let’s get it in the hallway and then we’ll have earned a pint.’

  * * *

  Back in the lounge, I sat down in an armchair next to an oak writing bureau and picked up a copy of The Times. The New Year’s honours list included some familiar names, among them Sebastian Coe and Steve Ovett, gold-medal winners at the 1980 Moscow Olympics, who had been awarded, somewhat belatedly, the MBE. John returned with two bottles of local beer and two pint tankards. We settled down to share this unusual brew with its toothsome malty aftertaste and a strange scent of lavender.

  Beth and Laura arrived, each carrying a glass of win
e, and sat on the sofa. Laura looked a little distracted and switched on the television set. Diane came in with a notebook and pencil, frowned at the television set and turned down the sound. Then she joined her daughters on the sofa and began chatting with them while Elvis – the Movie, with Kurt Russell, on BBC1 provided background entertainment.

  ‘But, Laura, you must be chief bridesmaid,’ said Diane, while scribbling in her notebook.

  Laura was staring at the television set but her mind appeared to be on something else. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said.

  ‘I was thinking of just two bridesmaids, Laura – you and Jo Hunter,’ insisted Beth. ‘So what do you think?’

  Laura nodded and smiled but there was a hint of sadness in her eyes that had not gone unnoticed by Diane.

  ‘Good, that’s settled, then,’ said Beth, but Diane was looking curiously at her younger daughter.

  It was a relaxing evening and, as midnight approached, Diane turned up the volume on the television set. Barry Took was looking back at 1981 with Judi Dench, Penelope Keith and Felicity Kendall. John retrieved a bottle of champagne from the fridge and poured five drinks. Then, as Big Ben chimed out twelve o’clock, we held hands in an awkward little circle and sang Auld Lang Syne. Beth was on my left and Laura on my right. ‘Happy New Year, Beth,’ I said and bent forward to kiss her. Then I turned to Laura. ‘Happy New Year, Laura,’ I said. ‘I hope 1982 is all you wish for.’ I leant forward to kiss her cheek.

  She moved her face and our lips brushed lightly. ‘So do I, Jack,’ she whispered.

  Half an hour later, we finished off the champagne and then settled down again to watch the Hi-De-Hi! team with Danny La Rue in their New Year programme from Pebble Mill. Laura still looked preoccupied and was the first to drift upstairs to bed. Finally, Beth and I kissed goodnight on the landing and it seemed strange sleeping alone on this special night. Outside, the wind sighed with the weight of memories while more snow pattered lightly against my bedroom window. I lay in my bed and reflected on the day. A new year stretched ahead and I prayed for happy times as sleep overtook me.

  The next morning I opened my curtains and stared at the silent white world. There was no traffic as the villagers of Little Chawton enjoyed their bank holiday. Below me, weak winter sunshine reflected on the knapped flint walls. Suddenly there was a tap on the door and Beth came in with a cup of tea. She was wearing a short nightie and a warm dressing gown.

  ‘Is this a vision I see before my eyes?’ I said.

  She sat down on the bed and put my hot drink on the bedside table. ‘Don’t get used to it, Jack. When we’re at Bilbo Cottage I’ll expect you to bring me tea each morning,’ she said with a smile.

  I pulled her towards me and kissed her. She responded and we lay in each other’s arms. There was a creak of footsteps on the wooden floorboards outside the door. ‘Now, why do I feel guilty about kissing my future husband?’ she said, standing up quickly.

  ‘Don’t worry, I understand,’ I said, ‘and thanks for the tea.’

  Beth squeezed my hand and hurried out again. Further down the corridor, Laura’s door was open and, on impulse, Beth tapped on the door and walked in.

  ‘’Morning, big sister,’ said Laura. She was sitting up in bed and yawning.

  Beth sat on the chair by the window and stared thoughtfully at the frozen fields beyond.

  ‘What’s on your mind?’ said Laura.

  ‘Just thoughts,’ said Beth.

  ‘I know that look,’ said Laura. ‘We’ve shared too many secrets in this room, ever since we were children.’

  Beth took a deep breath and gave her sister a level stare. ‘Laura, you need to know that Jack and I are very happy together,’ she said.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘So whatever happened in the past between you and Jack is in the past and that’s where it needs to stay.’

  ‘But—’ said Laura.

  ‘No, Laura, please don’t,’ said Beth quickly. ‘In fact, don’t say anything at all.’

  Laura leant back against the pillow and hugged her knees.

  ‘If Jack wants to remain as headteacher of his village school, then that’s fine by me,’ said Beth. ‘I’ve come to realize that ambition matters nothing – especially if you haven’t got the person you love to share it with.’

  Laura sighed and pushed a few strands of hair behind her ears.

  ‘Jack and I will be getting married on the twenty-ninth of May and we would both like you to be our bridesmaid. But if you can’t cope with that, then that’s fine.’

  ‘I understand, Beth,’ said Laura quietly. ‘It’s been difficult but I know I have to move on now … and I’ll be happy to be your bridesmaid.’

  Beth hugged her sister and, without another word, she walked back to her bedroom.

  It was a lazy morning with tea and toast and conversations. Beth and Laura looked through the old chest and selected a few pieces of antique crockery and some miscellaneous brassware for themselves. They seemed at ease with each other and chatted about old times as each artefact brought back a special memory. Diane packed their treasures into two boxes and John and I loaded Beth’s collection into the back of my car.

  The grandfather clock in the entrance hall chimed midday. ‘Come on, everybody,’ shouted John. ‘I’ve booked a table for half-twelve at the Cricketer.’

  We all went to our rooms to change and Diane slipped into Beth’s room.

  ‘Beth,’ she said, ‘I have an important question for you.’

  ‘Yes, Mother?’

  ‘Are you sure he’s the right man for you?’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ said Beth.

  ‘I feel I have to ask,’ said Diane: ‘how can you be so sure?’

  ‘Well, you see, Mother, I nearly lost him … and I never want to feel like that again.’

  Diane nodded and hugged her daughter. ‘That’s how I felt with your father.’ She smiled. ‘Still do, in fact … And Laura, I worry about her.’

  ‘I’ve spoken to her,’ said Beth, ‘and I don’t think this will present any more problems.’

  ‘Good,’ said Diane, ‘because if you hadn’t spoken to her, I intended to.’

  ‘I guessed you would, Mother,’ said Beth with a smile. ‘That’s why I got in first.’

  ‘Like mother, like daughter,’ said Diane and her eyes were moist.

  ‘I do love him, Mother.’

  ‘I know … and, I have to admit, he’s a good man.’

  Downstairs I was standing with John and he was shaking his head. ‘Why do women take so long to get ready, Jack?’

  ‘No idea,’ I said.

  ‘And what can they find to talk about?’

  I shrugged my shoulders. ‘Don’t know, John.’

  ‘Women!’ he muttered and went to find his car keys.

  We all climbed in John’s Land-Rover and drove out of the gateway of Austen Cottage. The three women were on the back seat, still in animated conversation about bouquets and bridesmaids, while I sat in the front with John and admired the scenery. Hampshire really was a beautiful county and I stared in awe at this land of water meadows and breath-taking forests. The snow-covered fields of rural England stretched out before us in the receding mist. Next to the ancient church the gnarled roots of a tall weeping willow gripped the edges of a frozen pond and the bell tower of the old schoolhouse, faced with undressed flint, reflected the low morning sun with refracted colours of broken light.

  The Cricketer pub was as I remembered it, with a roaring log fire, an array of hand-pulled local beers and farmers playing dominoes. A large noticeboard next to the bar displayed posters for a New Year quiz, a meeting of the parish council and Raiders of the Lost Ark with Harrison Ford now showing at the tiny local cinema.

  We found a table and John pointed towards the ‘Specials’ on the chalkboard. There were only two dishes: ‘Breast of Locally Shot Pigeon – pan-fried on a bed of braised lentils’ and ‘Steak and Honeydew Pie with mushrooms and shortcrust pastry’. It made a change from
a menu dominated by watercress and I selected the steak pie.

  It was a wonderful meal and, for the first time, I relaxed and felt part of Beth’s family. There were no more searching looks from Diane, while Laura was full of the new challenges in her professional life. I mentioned this to John when we returned to Austen Cottage. The women were in the lounge, looking through Beth’s bridal magazines, and we were sitting in the kitchen. He grinned and opened a bottle of his courgette wine. ‘This is liquid dynamite, Jack, with an alcohol content of ten per cent.’ He poured two generous glasses. ‘Now try that.’

  It was when we were on our third glass that life’s little problems seemed to disappear. John raised his glass. ‘Jack, a word of advice and make this your New Year’s resolution: don’t try to understand my daughters. I gave that up long ago.’

  As resolutions go, it seemed better than most. After all, understanding women is an elusive dream – always close but for ever out of reach.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Knock on the Door

  At the end of the first week of the Spring Term there were 91 children registered on roll.

  Extract from the Ragley School Logbook:

  Friday, 8 January 1982

  Winter, bound in iron, cloaked in frost, had tightened its grip on Kirkby Steepleton.

  Out of the bedroom window of Bilbo Cottage, I saw that fresh snow lay heavy on the silent land and freezing fog shrouded the back road to Ragley village. It was Friday, 8 January, the end of the first week of the spring term, and the outside temperature was minus ten degrees centigrade. We were experiencing the worst winter since 1963. I switched on my Bush radio and shivered as I walked into the bathroom.

  Three miles away in Ragley village, Ruby was making a bacon sandwich for Deadly Duggie, who had tuned in as usual to Radio 1. Mike Read had introduced Blondie singing ‘Atomic’ and Duggie, Natasha, Sharon and Hazel were all singing along. The walls were shaking.

  Further up Easington Road, in the Graingers’ tidy house on the Crescent, Anne was adding chopped banana to her bowl of Weetabix. Terry Wogan on Radio 2 had just introduced David Soul singing ‘Silver Lady’ and Anne was humming along and gyrating her hips in time to the music. Sadly, her husband John had long since forgotten the art of hip-gyration and he missed what could have been interpreted as an early-morning mating ritual. Instead, his head was buried in his Do-It-Yourself magazine. After all, the promise of a free grouting tool with the next monthly issue was compelling news.