In his rearview mirror he spotted Alex trying to undo the fastening on his safety seat. ‘Alex, no! Leave that, please. We shan’t be long, the station’s only five minutes away.’
Peter found a place in the station car park, and with a twin firmly gripped in either hand, he marched to the station entrance. Beth took fright at the size of the station concourse and had to be picked up. She clung to him, her soft cheek against his own, her eyes closed, her breath fluttering rapidly on his neck. He checked the arrival screen and mercifully he’d got there on time. ‘Platform seven it says, children. We’ve got to go over the bridge. Come along, Alex. Hurry. Big steps. Up! One, two, three.’ Beth struggled to get down. ‘Me, me.’ She climbed the steps too, her sturdy little legs trying to keep pace with Peter’s.
As they reached the platform on the other side, Caroline’s train drew in. Passengers came pouring off. For a moment Peter couldn’t see Caroline and then he did. His heart bounded with joy. ‘Look! There she is, children! There she is! There’s Mummy!’
As she walked towards them, Peter rejoiced in her strong determined walk, her dark hair blowing in the wind which swirled so cruelly along the platform, her sparkling eyes, the sheer joy the sight of her gave him. Caroline put down her cases. The children clung to her legs with cries of delight, Peter kissed her, she kissed him, she kissed the children and then Peter again, then hugged the children close. ‘Darlings! I’m so glad to be home. I’m sure you’ve grown. Alex, you’ve had your hair cut!’
‘Yes, he has. It kept falling into his eyes and annoying him and I knew you wouldn’t like that. And, yes, I think they have grown. Are we glad to see you. You take the children, I’ll carry your cases. How’s things at the hospital?’
‘Well, both Mother and Dad are improving every day. Mother’s got this mad idea she’s going to discharge herself. Which of course is ridiculous as she has both legs in plaster and a fractured skull and three broken ribs and terrible bruising. She’s making their lives hell in there. Dad keeps trying to calm her down and constantly reminds her that she’s the patient and not the doctor at the moment, but it’s no good, she won’t behave herself. In some ways I’m quite glad I’ve come away, she’s so embarrassing!’
‘Sounds as though she’s on the mend.’
‘She is. Oh yes, she is. I may go back up there when they both come out, just for a few days. But that won’t be for some time yet. Hurry up, I’m longing to get back home and catch up on all the news.’
When Peter unlocked the front door of the rectory, he called out; ‘Sylvia, we’re back!’ Alex and Beth ran straight to the kitchen, shouting ‘Sylvie, Sylvie, Mummy come. Mummy come on train.’ But there was no reply.
On the kitchen table was a note.
Welcome home. Glad you’re back. Thought it would be nice for you to have the place to yourselves for a while. Casserole and jacket potatoes in oven. Fruit pie in fridge. Kettle just boiled. Cake in cake box. Messages in study. See you 8 a.m. tomorrow.
Yours, Sylvia
‘Isn’t that lovely of her? She’s so thoughtful. I don’t know what we’d do without her.’
It wasn’t until they were in bed that night that Peter confessed how close they’d come to losing her.
‘Her notice? I don’t believe this. How could you let it happen?’
‘I didn’t let it happen. It just nearly did.’
‘If she goes, then I’ve had it. I won’t cope.’
‘We’d get someone else.’
‘There’s no one like Sylvia. She and I understand one another. She can’t be replaced.’
‘Don’t worry, darling. She’s still here. You mustn’t fret.’
‘It was Louise interfering, wasn’t it?’
‘Well, yes.’
‘I knew it. The woman’s a menace.’
‘She’s a tremendous help to me. She’s so efficient and full of bright ideas. I don’t know how I managed before she came.’
‘I see. Has she got a proper job yet?’
‘No.’
‘I see. Has she been for any interviews?’
‘No.’
‘I see.’
‘You keep saying “I see”. You must have a very clear picture in your mind by now.’
‘Oh, I have. I always have had about her. The way she feels about you is there in her face whenever she looks at you.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Peter, you are an absolute darling! You never notice, do you, that Louise actually glows when she looks at you. She tries hard to disguise it, but she can’t – not from me anyhow. However, there’s one thing I’m sure of – it isn’t she who’s in bed with the handsomest man there ever was, but me, so we’re going to enjoy ourselves. It’s been such a long time …’
*
Over breakfast, Caroline told Peter he should tell Louise she was not needed any more. ‘After all, losing Sylvia would be a greater loss than Louise going, believe you me.’
‘In my own time, Caroline, in my own time. I have absolutely no justification for asking her to stop working for me. She’s in the middle of the quarterly magazine and saving me hours of typing time. I’m sorry, I can’t dismiss her out of hand. Just allow me to do it gradually. Please. This is my area, after all.’
‘Agreed. It is. Sorry, I forgot. But I won’t brook any interference in my domain. What’s sauce for the …’
‘Right.’ He looked at her, enjoying her early-morning look, and the dampness of her hair fresh from the shower. ‘Love you. Last night …’
Caroline put her hand on his as he reached out to her across the kitchen table. ‘I know. Love you.’ Their brief moment together was split apart by Beth, who had crammed her mouth with toast and was quietly choking. ‘Oh, heavens above!’
They were in his study going over the notices for the following Sunday so Caroline would be up to date, when Peter couldn’t resist holding her tight and kissing her. Neither of them noticed that Sylvia had been to the front door to let Louise in. The first they knew was the study door opening and Louise saying, ‘Good morning, Peter … Oh, sorry!’
Caroline was furious with herself for allowing Louise to catch them embracing, but on the other hand perhaps it would serve to emphasise that there were no grounds for thinking she might make progress with Peter.
‘Good morning, Louise. How’s things?’ Caroline said.
‘Very well, thanks. Nice to have you back. We’ve managed to keep things going, haven’t we, Peter?’
He nodded in reply. Louise asked after her parents and then Caroline excused herself and went to attend to the children.
‘Now let’s get down to work.’ Peter smiled his devastating smile and Louise’s insides flipped. Oh God, he was gorgeous. She felt a powerful jealousy of Caroline and her intimacy with him.
‘The magazine is nearly ready for putting together. Just needs my letter for the inside page and then you can finish laying it out. After that there’ll be the photocopying and the collating and stapling. From then on I can’t take advantage of you any longer. You must have time to concentrate on getting a new position.’
‘Are you saying you don’t want me to come any more?’
‘Not that, no. I’m merely being considerate to you. No one can manage nowadays without a regular income, and I’m trying to give you the time to attend to that.’
‘But I want to help. I can go for interviews any time. Who’ll do the weekly Parish News? Who’ll collect the material for the magazine? Who’ll type all the parish correspondence? You can’t, you’ve enough to do.’
‘Somehow or other I’ll manage. There must be lots of people who would be glad to assist. Your help has been invaluable, but my conscience won’t allow me to let you do it any longer.’
‘Don’t let your conscience worry you.’ Louise turned swiftly in her chair and staring straight at him with an angry face said, ‘Is this because of Sylvia? Has she said something?’
‘No. Certainly not. I make my own decisions.’ Louise was tempt
ed to ask if it was Caroline who had queered her pitch, but quickly changed her mind. That would alienate him and she couldn’t face that. The sun was coming in through the study window, catching the red-gold glints in his hair, making, as she saw it, a halo around his head. He looked so handsome, so … charismatic. She could feel his strong vibes reaching her from across the room. Perhaps one day she would be stroking that wonderful head of hair and … Then she remembered someone saying that Peter had looked so penetratingly at them, they genuinely believed he’d read their thoughts. What if he was reading hers right now?
Swamped by her emotions and quite unable to control her feelings for Peter, Louise burst into tears and fled from the study. Startled by her reaction Peter called for Caroline.
She appeared at the study door, her arms full of clean laundry. ‘Yes?’
‘It’s Louise, have you seen her just now?’
‘No.’
‘She’s burst into tears and run out.’
‘Run where?’
‘I don’t know. Somewhere. You go and find her – please. I mustn’t.’
‘Right. What have you been doing to her, I ask myself.’
‘Absolutely nothing. As you well know.’
Caroline grinned, put down the laundry on the hall table and went in search of her. She noticed the front door slightly ajar. Panicking, she shouted, ‘Sylvia! Have you got the children?’
‘They’re both here with me, cleaning your bathroom.’
‘OK, thanks. Peter, she must have gone home. She’s left the front door open. Has she taken her bag and things?’
‘Her bag’s here.’
‘Give it to me.’ Her coat had gone from the hall cupboard, so Caroline put her own coat on and taking Louise’s bag set off for the Bissetts’ cottage.
The snow had gone completely now and the sun had broken through the clouds. The sight of the cottages ranged round the village green, the pond and Jimmy’s geese, brought joy to Caroline’s heart. How she loved living here. Timeless, beautiful, welcoming, enriching … she couldn’t find enough words to describe how much it all meant to her. You could keep all your big impersonal cities, with their high-rise flats and their smoke and their traffic. There might not be much happening hereabouts, but it nourished her soul.
She tapped briskly on the door of the Bissetts’ cottage. No one came. She tapped again and then after a moment the door opened. It was Sheila, looking upset.
‘Good morning, Sheila.’
‘Good morning, Caroline. Come in.’ She opened the door wider and Caroline stepped in. It was the first time she’d been in Sheila’s cottage, and somehow the décor didn’t take her by surprise. It was just how she had imagined Sheila would have decorated it. Sweetly pretty, overdone with frills and furbelows, pretty, non-controversial water-colour prints lined up on the walls and artificial flower arrangements placed in every conceivable spot.
‘Terribly sorry, Sheila, but Louise seems to be upset. Has she come home?’
Sheila nodded.
‘She’s left her bag and things. Here they are. We don’t know …’
‘She won’t tell me.’
‘Should I see her?’
‘If you like.’ They’d conducted their conversation in stage whispers, but now Sheila said in a voice slightly louder than normal, ‘Do come in, Dr Harris. I’m sure Louise will be pleased to see you.’
She was sitting scrunched up in a corner of Sheila’s sofa, desperately trying to look as though nothing was the matter. But her eyes were red, her cheeks blotchy. When she saw Caroline she straightened herself up and attempted to give herself more presence.
‘Louise! I’m so sorry. Can you possibly tell me what has upset you? Peter’s distraught that it might be something he’s said.’
Louise swallowed hard. ‘Oh no, it’s nothing he’s said – no, not at all. He’s too kind to say anything to upset me. Well, not intentionally anyway.’
‘So what’s caused all this? It’s not like you. Is it the time of the month? If so, Peter will understand.’
Sheila froze with embarrassment; she was scandalised. Rectors shouldn’t know about private things like that.
Louise flushed and said, ‘Oh no, it’s nothing like that. It’s just that Peter said after the magazine was finished he wouldn’t be needing me any more. He only said it out of kindness, I know, because he’s anxious I have time to get a job. But I do so love coming across to the rectory and helping. It feels really worthwhile. Such a lovely atmosphere to work in. A real home. A truly welcoming place to be, and I would miss it.’
She looked up and gave Caroline a trembling smile. The compliment about her home won Caroline over despite all her wariness of Louise, and before she realised it she was saying, ‘Look, if you like working for Peter, well, that’s fine by me. After all, you only come three mornings. That gives you plenty of time for interviews and things, doesn’t it? Peter does appreciate your help. He’s so slow at typing and I’m worse than him, so it’s no good me trying to help. I’m just sorry the church can’t afford to pay you, but it can’t. Don’t let what’s happened upset you too much, Louise. Stay at home this morning and we’ll start with a clean slate on Wednesday. How about that?’
‘Thank you very much. I do appreciate you asking me. You’re really kind. I’ll be in on Wednesday then. A clean slate, like you said.’
‘Good. I’ll be off then.’
Sheila asked if she’d like to stay for coffee. ‘No, thanks, I’ve a lot to do this morning – just got back, you see. Another time, perhaps. I’ll let myself out.’
Caroline went home to the rectory unable to believe that she’d agreed to, no actually invited Louise to continue working there. She considered herself to be either the biggest fool this side of the Cul, or the very best kind of Christian ever.
In the Bissetts’ cottage Louise couldn’t believe her good luck. She kept dabbing her eyes so her mother wouldn’t realise how pleased she was at the turn of events. Underneath, her triumph made her want to burst out laughing. Out of the ashes of her disastrous, ridiculous exit she had got exactly what she wanted. Caroline, not Peter, but Caroline asking her to go back to the rectory. What she’d said to make it happen she didn’t know, but it had.
‘Well, there you are, dear. You see? I told you how lovely Dr Harris is. She must like you going there. I heard the rector saying what a great help you are to him. I did tell you how nice they both are.’
‘Indeed you did, Mother, indeed you did.’
Chapter 7
Pat went to get her bike out from under the shed where her father kept the mowers. If she didn’t watch out she’d be late for opening up the school. Thank Gawd the last of the snow was gone. A bright winter sun was striking through the trees, and Pat felt a certain lift to her spirits. Truth to tell, she’d felt full of good spirits ever since Saturday. What a brilliant day they’d had. Barry certainly knew how to have a good time. Him going with them had persuaded Dean to go too and they’d had a lovely family day out. Michelle went on everything Barry and Dean went on, and Pat had to admit it was all wonderful: Michelle hand in hand with Barry, Dean opening up and talking more than he’d done for years. He needed a man, did Dean.
Where the blazes was her bike? It was no great prize, but it was all she had. Blast it! Someone had pinched it. She’d have to walk. She turned away cursing the light fingers of someone who could find her old bike worth stealing. Then she noticed propped against one of the mowers a bike which didn’t belong to her. There was a luggage label tied to the handlebars. It said:
Dear Pat,
Have mended your bell. Here it is attached to your new bike.
With love, Barry.
P.S. Hope you like it.
It wasn’t absolutely brand new, but near enough. And there, neatly fastened to the handlebars, was her old bell, well-oiled and cleaned up. Shining as all bicycle bells should. Pat couldn’t believe it. It was no good, she’d have to give it back. She’d use it today and then … yes, and then giv
e him it back. Let’s hope he hadn’t thrown her old bike away.
The saddle needed a bit of adjustment; her feet wouldn’t reach the ground.
‘Dad! Come here a minute.’
‘I’m having my breakfast.’
‘Never mind yer breakfast, come here and sharp.’
Grandad came grumbling out of the back door. ‘What’s so urgent I can’t fini— Aye Aye! What’s all this then? I didn’t know you’d got a new bike.’
‘Neither did I. I’m using it today and then it’s going back.’
‘Who’s it from?’
‘Guess who?’
‘Not Barry?’ Pat nodded. ‘I warned you about ’im, didn’t I?’
‘Look, I need it right now to go to school on, then he’s getting it back, believe me. Lower the saddle, will yer, Dad? It’s getting late. I don’t want to let Mr Palmer down. Be sharp.’
‘All right. Hold yer horses.’
Michelle came out. ‘Oh Mum, a new bike! Where did yer get it from?’
‘Barry, and it’s going back.’
Michelle was horrified. ‘Mum, yer can’t give presents back. He’ll be ever so upset.’
‘I don’t care, he’s got a cheek.’
‘No, he hasn’t, Mum, it’s your present. He’s only being kind. Please don’t hurt his feelings.’
‘Well, I shall.’ Michelle burst into tears and ran inside.
‘That it then, Dad? That’s better. Thanks. Be nice to her, tell her I can’t accept presents from him, no matter what.’
‘OK. Off yer go, then.’
She’d be going to the Show committee tonight; she’d tell him then. They weren’t at the stage for giving big presents. He’d ruined it all. She whirled along down the drive amazed at how far the bike went with such a small amount of effort. It definitely put her old bike in the shade and not half.
The Village Show (Tales from Turnham Malpas) Page 7