The Village Show (Tales from Turnham Malpas)

by Shaw, Rebecca

‘There, that’s it. I’ll have it done in no time at all.’

  ‘You’re too kind. Don’t do it if you’re too busy.’

  ‘Nonsense! He wants cupboards and cupboards he’ll get. He could do with encouraging. Boys need a man about.’

  He sat beside her on the sofa. She poured the tea, giving him a heaped teaspoon of sugar, the way she remembered he liked it.

  ‘He’s going to do well at school, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t know where he gets it from. Used to be a tearaway and now he’s working all hours. School says when he’s done his GCSEs, which isn’t for a bit yet, he should stay on and do A-Levels and go to University. Doug would have been that proud.’

  ‘Still miss him, Pat?’

  ‘No.’ She offered him the biscuits.

  ‘Thanks. Once bitten, twice shy?’

  ‘Don’t know.’

  ‘Come here. Give us a kiss.’

  ‘Dad’ll be in.’

  ‘I’ve paid him to stay in his room.’

  ‘You haven’t, have you?’

  ‘No. But he was young once.’ Barry kissed her and this time she kissed him. She’d taken her jacket off when she’d come in the house, and as he kissed her Barry smoothed his hands up and down her bare arm to where her sleeve began, and then more adventurously he slipped his hand inside her blouse and was caressing her collar bone as they kissed. Then her neck and then he slid her bra strap from her shoulder and began kissing the hollows at the base of her neck.

  ‘Mmmm … you smell good.’

  ‘Barry, that’s enough. Please.’

  ‘Come on. Come on. You know you’re beginning to enjoy it …’

  And she was, but she was afraid. Afraid of wanting him to go on. Afraid of enjoying it too much. Afraid of going too far, from which there would be no stepping back. And anyways, Pat Duckett didn’t do things like this and enjoy them. There wasn’t room in Pat Duckett’s life for enjoyment. All the same, it did feel …

  ‘That’s enough, you two. Anybody’d think you were teenagers. Is that tea still hot?’

  It was her dad. Pat struggled to sit upright, hooking her bra strap back up and straightening her hair. Barry laughed. ‘Come on, Greenwood. You’re a spoilsport.’

  ‘Spoilsport my foot,’ Greenwood said. ‘Your reputation goes before you, Barry. You’re not spreading it about round here. I want her treated with respect, and your past record doesn’t lead me to believe that’s what you’ll do.’

  ‘Come off it! That’s the first time we’ve really had a go.’

  Humiliated, Pat snapped, ‘Dad, be quiet. I’ll get you a cup.’ She disappeared into the kitchen.

  ‘And I’ll tell you something else, Barry. You don’t mess her about and then float off to pastures new. She’s had a rotten life with that fool she married. I’m not having her hurt again.’

  ‘Cross my heart and hope to die, I’m not messing about. Honest.’

  Pat came back.

  ‘Oh, I see. Cup and saucer tonight. Usually it’s a mug. Thanks, Pat. I’ll say good night.’ He nodded curtly to Barry, took his cup of tea from Pat and left.

  ‘You’d better go. Thanks for the drink tonight.’

  ‘That’s all right, my pleasure. I’ve been thinking, Pat. I know someone who has a big residential caravan. I did some jobs for ’im a while back and he said any time I wanted to borrow it, so long as he wasn’t needing it, I could. A week, he said. It’s quite close to the sea and there’s a river with trout fishing. I could take my rods and Dean could fish. There’s places to visit. I know Michelle likes to look round gardens …’

  Pat put up her hand to stop him. ‘Oh no! I’m sorry, but no. I’ve got too much respect for my kids to have them knowing I’m …’

  ‘Pat! Let me finish. There’s three bedrooms. It’s huge. Dean and me could have one, you and Michelle the other and Greenwood could be on his own. How about that?’

  ‘I’m sorry, beg yer pardon for misunderstanding. It’s a wonderful idea, but I’d have to talk to them about it. I’ll let you know. We’ll have a family conference and see. It would have to be when the schools break up. Our Dean can’t miss school at the moment, and our Michelle will want to be there, seeing as it’s her last term.’

  ‘Of course. I understand that. I’ll make enquiries then, just in case. Say yes, please. Goodnight, Pat.’ He left without giving her a kiss and she felt quite let down.

  Before she went to sleep, Pat thought about the evening and how much she’d enjoyed it. A week by the sea would do them all good. But she couldn’t understand the game Barry was playing. What with Avril Nightingale and the woman from Home Farm, and all the tales she’d heard, ’cos Jimmy and Willie knew what he was like, it didn’t fit in that he wanted a holiday with two kids and a grandad. Still, she liked the bedroom arrangements and with Dad there he couldn’t, could he?

  As she was falling asleep she found the answer. It sprang into her mind in a flash, just when she was thinking about Barry’s lips on her collar bone. Of course. That was it. It was as plain as the nose on yer face. Louise was trying to look like Caroline.

  Chapter 10

  On the Monday morning, instead of heading straight for the rectory, Louise went up to the Big House to see what was going on. Quite by chance she met Jeremy Mayer out on the front lawns. He was standing with his bulky legs apart, his pocket watch in his hand.

  ‘Good morning, Jeremy. Nice day.’

  ‘Good morning, Louise. To what do I owe this pleasure?’

  ‘Sewers.’

  ‘Ah, yes. They should be here by now, but they’re not. Eight o’clock start they said, and it’s now half-past nine.’

  ‘It’s all very well you know, but what about the Show? We can hardly run it if there’s diggers and trenches in the way.’

  ‘My very thoughts. Mr Fitch is steaming over there in Toronto. In fact, I’m amazed he hasn’t been on the buzzer yet.’

  ‘The leaflets and the posters are being delivered this week. I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘My dear young lady – and you’re looking dashed handsome this morning, I must say – if Mr Fitch has anything to do with it, we shall all have spades in our hands before long, me included.’

  He patted the sleeve of her new suede jacket with his white podgy hand. She adjusted the Jaeger scarf at her neck and said, ‘Do you mean that?’

  ‘He hasn’t got where he is today without making things happen. But this time he seems to have come up against something even he can’t fix. Believe me, if paying everyone to get behind a spade will speed things up, he’ll do it. This Show’s important, you see. It’s all part of establishing himself in the village. Shouldn’t be saying that but it’s true and they all know it, but he doesn’t realise they all know it.’

  ‘So basically the committee have to keep their fingers crossed?’

  ‘Exactly. But things don’t augur well, do they, when the men haven’t even turned up. Try not to worry.’

  ‘We’ve arranged so many events,’ Louise fretted. ‘I haven’t the courage to confirm things, but I’ll have to pretend it’s going ahead and keep my fingers crossed.’

  The receptionist came out of the front door. ‘Mr Mayer – it’s Toronto!’

  ‘Oh God! Pray for me. Coming, Fenella.’ As fast as he could, considering his bulk, Jeremy scurried back inside.

  Louise drove back along the drive, feeling in two minds about the Show. One half of her wanted to take the gamble that it would go ahead, the other cringed at the thought and wanted to cancel the whole thing. Peter might have a few ideas – she’d consult him. While she waited at the drive gates for an opportunity to get out into Church Lane, she looked at herself in her rearview mirror and liked what she saw. Minimum of make-up, brown curls, the Jaeger scarf adding a touch of colour to the dark, dark brown of her suede jacket. She’d spent a fortune. Thank heavens for little plastic cards. But the day of reckoning would surely come, she knew that. In fact, the idea of getting a job began to loom in the fur
thest corners of her mind. As Mother said, and she didn’t say much of significance very often, money didn’t last for ever. But she looked good. Oh yes. Depending on the atmosphere at the rectory, today could be the day. She was brought down from the clouds by a loud tooting behind her. It was Barry Jones wanting to get out of the gates.

  She twinkled her fingers at him through the open window and with a quick check turned right into Church Lane. Barry Jones … He gave off that extra bit of something she couldn’t quite define. A kind of manly vibrance. A sexuality which excited. Still, Pat was welcome to him – though what he saw in her she couldn’t imagine. She, Louise Bissett, had her sights on higher targets than an estate carpenter.

  She put on the handbrake, picked up her new leather handbag and her briefcase and leaped out ready for what could be the best day of her life so far. Because today things would happen. She was vague about exactly what, but today she was taking a big step forward of some kind.

  When she opened the door in response to Louise’s knock, Caroline was taken aback but strove not to show it.

  ‘Good morning. Isn’t it lovely today? Like the hair. What a transformation. Makes you look completely different!’

  Louise hung her suede coat, with the new scarf tucked down the sleeve, in the cupboard and smiled. ‘Thought it was time I smartened up, seeing as I shall be going for interviews soon. Don’t want to look like a country bumpkin.’

  ‘Absolutely not. They couldn’t think that about you before and certainly not now. You’ve got interviews then?’

  She couldn’t downright lie so she said, ‘In the pipeline, thank goodness. I’ll do an hour and then go and finish the photocopying. Has Peter shown you the front cover?’

  ‘Yes, I’m so pleased with it. When the magazine’s finished I’d like a copy to send to my friend.’

  ‘Of course. That design on yellow paper has worked really well. We make a good team, don’t we, Peter and I?’

  Tongue in cheek Caroline agreed and said, ‘Sylvia’s making coffee. I’ll ask her to bring it in.’

  Caroline was constructing a tent for the children with a couple of blankets and the kitchen table when Sylvia returned from taking Peter and Louise their coffee.

  When Caroline emerged from under the table Sylvia said, ‘There’s your coffee, Dr Harris, on the corner by your rocking chair. I’ll sit in the other one, otherwise we’ll spoil the tent.’

  Usually Caroline and Sylvia chatted while they had their morning break but today Sylvia was silent. The only sound in the kitchen was the slight creaking of Caroline’s chair as she rocked and the chattering of the children having their own drink and biscuit in their makeshift tent.

  ‘Is there something the matter, Sylvia? Have I upset you or something? You’re awfully quiet today.’

  ‘You haven’t upset me, no.’

  ‘Well, then are you not well? I’m sure we can manage if you’d rather be at home.’

  ‘I’m quite well, thank you.’

  ‘I see.’ Caroline looked at her over the rim of her mug and pondered on the cause of Sylvia’s silence. She’d come to rely on her for bits of information about the village that she ought to be aware of, and drinking their morning coffee was one of the best times for talking.

  ‘Has someone else upset you then?’

  ‘Nothing no one’s said, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘What then? Come on, you can tell me. I’m the soul of discretion.’

  Sylvia reached across and placed her mug on the corner of the Aga. ‘If I tell you I could upset several people. But I can’t keep quiet. For your sake I can’t keep quiet.’

  ‘Well, then spit it out.’

  Sylvia cleared her throat, hesitated for a moment while she found the right words and then said, ‘Since the first day she walked in here, into this rectory, it’s been as if a time bomb’s been waiting to go off. I can’t put it more strongly than that. A time bomb. You know it. I know it. The only one who doesn’t is the rector, bless ’im. And now this.’

  ‘This what?’

  ‘Haven’t you noticed anything different this morning with Louise?’

  ‘She’s had her hair done and bought some new clothes. I thought she looked quite good.’

  ‘That’s right – she does. But have you realised what she’s doing? I noticed it in church yesterday.’

  ‘Brightening herself up, I suppose. Ready for going to interviews.’

  ‘No, Dr Harris, she’s copying you.’

  Caroline was astounded. ‘Copying me? Really, Sylvia, I know you’ve never liked her but this is ridiculous.’

  ‘Is it? Dark brown suede jacket, expensive scarf, Jaeger skirt and blouse not exactly like yours, but the same colours. Saw her in church, wearing a pale pink jumper and black trousers very, very similar to yours – and her hair has now gone brown and curly. Believe me, I’m right.’

  ‘I never realised that, but you could be right … They are similar, aren’t they?’ Sylvia nodded. ‘But what would she want to do that for?’ Caroline said slowly.

  ‘Think about it. It’s not because she admires you, is it?’

  Caroline put her mug down on the table and sat deep in thought. Then she said, ‘I’ll leave the children with you for a while, if I may.’ She stood up and left the kitchen by the back door. Sylvia could see her walking in the garden; to outward appearances she was checking her plants but Sylvia, who knew her well, guessed rightly that she was searching in her mind for an answer to the problem.

  Louise came in with the empty coffee mugs from the study before she left to finish the photocopying.

  ‘Thanks for the coffee, I’m off now. Caroline not about?’

  ‘No. She’s not.’

  ‘I wanted a word.’

  ‘You can leave a message.’

  ‘Tell her … tell her … Never mind, I’ll see her next time I come.’ As Louise went towards the door into the hall she half-turned and smiled oddly at Sylvia. The back door opened and in came Caroline.

  ‘Louise! I’m glad I’ve caught you. I wanted a word.’

  She returned to the kitchen. ‘Oh right. Yes?’

  ‘Flattering though it is for me to find that you have chosen to copy the way I dress, I don’t like it.’

  ‘The way you dress? What do you mean?’

  ‘What you’re wearing today. It’s tantamount to a complete copy of my clothes.’

  ‘You’re being ridiculous. Why on earth should I want to copy you?’

  ‘I don’t know – you tell me.’

  ‘You’re totally mistaken. That was never my intent at all.’

  ‘I don’t like it, I’m afraid. However, I’ve said how I feel – 1 can’t do any more.’

  ‘You certainly can’t. I repeat, you’re quite mistaken. These clothes are my choice and nothing whatsoever to do with your taste in fashion. If I wanted to copy anyone, it would be Harriet Charter-Plackett, not you.’

  Angry beyond belief at the manner in which Louise was speaking to Caroline, Sylvia interrupted: ‘You know full well why you’re doing it. We’re not idiots in this village, though I know you think we are. You’re doing it to get a response from the rector – and don’t deny it!’

  ‘Who do you think you are, speaking to me in that tone?’

  ‘Someone who sees more clearly than you would like. If you’re trying to win him for yourself, you’re barking up the wrong tree. The rector wouldn’t even look at you, even though you’re dressed like Dr Harris. He only has you here to work and for nothing else.’

  Louise turned to Caroline. ‘Are you going to stand by and allow a … servant to shout at me? How can anyone possibly think I see Peter as anything other than my spiritual advisor? When have I ever done anything to make anyone think otherwise?’

  Sylvia didn’t allow Caroline time to answer. ‘Dressing like you are today, and when I saw you yesterday in church. If you never came back in this house again it would be too soon. I know exactly what you’re up to. The rector, bless him, can’t s
ee it, because he never thinks ill of anyone, ever. But I can see straight through you, oh yes! Now buzz off and don’t come back.’

  By now the children, sensing that their mother and their beloved Sylvie were upset, had crawled out of the tent and had become very agitated, crying, ‘Mummy, Mummy!’ They clung to Caroline’s legs, begging to be lifted up.

  Caroline, in an attempt to calm the situation said, ‘Sylvia! This won’t do. Please leave it to me.’

  ‘I can’t, because you won’t say what has to be said. I saw clean through her the first day she came here. I knew her little game. Well, it’s to be stopped before it goes any further. I won’t see this family broken up and stand by and say nothing. So, off you go.’

  Not one of them noticed that Peter had heard the arguing and come from his study and was now standing in the kitchen doorway. Louise, seething and fast losing control of the situation, said the one thing she knew cut right to the heart of her intention. ‘Broken up? This family broken up? As if I would do such a thing to these two little children.’ She looked lovingly at the twins as they stood clinging to their mother.

  ‘“These two little children?”. You don’t care that much for ’em.’ Sylvia clicked her fingers as close to Louise’s face as she could. ‘You only pretend to care to keep in the rector’s good books. They’re his and Dr Harris’s and don’t you forget it.’

  Louise finally lost her self-control. ‘Hers and Peter’s? Oh yes?’ There was a scornful note in her voice which stabbed straight at Caroline’s heart. She went ashen, and her hands began to shake. The children fell silent.

  Sylvia stepped forward as though she would strangle Louise. ‘Get out! Go on, get out. Never ever come back here. Do you hear me? Never!’

  Peter’s voice at its loudest would have stilled a storm and he used it now, overriding Sylvia’s shouting, every word couched in cold implacable anger. ‘I will not have this arguing in my home. Your behaviour is disgraceful. Both of you should be ashamed. Absolutely ashamed. Not another word. Sylvia, please leave. And you too, Louise. Out! Your behaviour in front of my wife and our children has been quite unforgivable.’ Neither of them moved. ‘I’m waiting.’ His face was deathly white with temper, and he smashed a fist against the palm of his other hand as he repeated, ‘I’m waiting!’