Tragedy at Two

by Ann Purser

  She and Josie walked back across a small iron bridge and on to the footpath going along the opposite side of the river. This bordered the leisure part of the town. A playground for small children had its usual huddle of subteens, up to no good. “Part of growing up, Mum,” Josie said, reading her mother’s expression. “Not that different from your own depraved childhood.”

  Lois laughed. “That’s quite enough of that, miss,” she said.

  They walked past the scout hut, the wide open sports field, and admired an attractive row of cottages on the far side. Josie tried to imagine the town without the horse fair, and thought how pleasant it must be to have a holiday here. But Rob would have been bored out of his mind. He was an indoor man, she remembered, continuing her train of thought. So in that case, what was he doing walking along a road on his way back home late at night?

  Lois glanced at Josie, whose pace had slowed. She knew at once what had happened. Josie’s head was down, and she was frowning.

  “Penny for ’em,” she said.

  Josie looked up. “Nothing much,” she said, and seeing disbelief on her mother’s face, she continued, “and do you really need to ask?”

  “Not really,” Lois said, linking her arm through Josie’s. “Let’s try to leave it behind for a few days, duckie. Come on, time for supper soon. I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”

  THIS HOTEL IS SO COMFORTABLE AND PLEASANT, THOUGHT LOIS as they sat down at a table in the dining room. I could stay here for ever, away from Farnden and all my worries. She knew she didn’t mean it, and supposed that was what holidays were for, to escape and return home more able to cope.

  They ordered their meal, and looked around. It was early, and only two or three other tables were occupied. The waitress was foreign, but her English was adequate, and they had a conversation about her home in Poland and the boyfriend she had left behind.

  “I don’t suppose gypsies would be allowed to stay here,” Josie said. “Can you imagine them sitting respectably at a table talking in hushed voices and minding their manners?”

  “Of course not,” Lois answered. “The whole point of the fair is to be together with all their . . .”

  “Tribe?” suggested Josie.

  “Friends, I was going to say,” Lois said. “They want to be with their own. A lot are related, and only see each other at these fairs. Appleby is like the Grand Prix. The big event of the year. You wait ’til we see the races an’ the campsite.”

  “How come you know so much about it?”

  “I did my homework,” Lois said proudly. “Googled up all the Web sites. Your mum is no slouch, you know.” She patted Josie’s hand and smiled. Then both she and Josie turned to look at the entrance to the dining room, hearing a familiar voice.

  “Well, if it isn’t Mrs. Meade and her sidekick!” Alf Smith, with an odd expression on his face, approached them and stood looking down, first at one and then the other. “And what brings you here, may I ask?” he said.

  “Same as you, I expect,” Lois said, quickly gathering her wits. “We’re having a break, come to see the fair and shake the dust of Farnden off our feet for a few days. Is Mrs. Smith with you?” She did hope he wouldn’t ask to share their table, but he shook his head.

  “No, she’s not interested in gypsies. Quite the reverse, in fact,” he said. “She’s looking after the farm while I’m here. Getting up to mischief, I dare say. While the cat’s away, etcetera.”

  Was he joking? Lois thought. He didn’t smile, and excused himself without further conversation, walking across to a table as far away as possible from theirs.

  “Blimey, that’s a turnup,” Josie whispered. “Didn’t know he was that keen on his gypsy friends.”

  “He claims his great-grandmother was one of them,” Lois said softly.

  “Why ain’t he camping up with the rest of ’em on their site, then?” said Josie sourly. She had not forgotten his set-to with Sam Stratford in her shop, and had no neighbourly feelings towards Alf Smith.

  AFTER SUPPER, LOIS AND JOSIE DECIDED TO HAVE A WANDER around the town. “Leave your handbag in the room,” Lois said. “Best if we have nothing on us worth stealing.”

  “I thought you didn’t believe all that stuff about the gypsies thieving?”

  “There’s good gypsies and bad gypsies, just like everybody else,” Lois said. “Better safe than sorry, as Gran would say.”

  The town was jumping. Crowds ambling along the roads made it impossible for traffic to do more than crawl. Loud-voiced men, women dressed for a festival, the ever-present wild children and dogs, all filled the town, transforming it into something—as Josie said—very un-English.

  There was a police presence larger than any Lois had seen anywhere. Policemen and policewomen on every street corner, cruising round in cars, gathering at well-known hot spots, anticipating trouble. By a Caught on Camera van, a knot of police officers talked together, and then suddenly they all laughed. Friendly badinage between gypsies and police reached up to Lois’s open window, and she felt a strong urge to be part of this festive atmosphere.

  The hotel receptionist had given them a key to the front door of the hotel, which was firmly locked. She looked worried when they said they were going for a stroll. “Stick to the middle of town, then,” she said. “We get a lot of hangers-on this week, bad ’uns who use the fair as an excuse to break the law, knowing that it’ll all be blamed on the gypsies. Keep together, anyway. Most of our residents spend the evening in our pleasant lounge, watching television and having drinks. Can’t I persuade you?”

  Josie would have been happy to be persuaded, but Lois thanked the receptionist kindly, and said they would be careful. She was sure they would be fine, with all those police about.

  FIFTY-ONE

  EDWINA SMITH WAS NOT AS EXCITED AS SHE THOUGHT SHE would be at the idea of Alf being far away for a few days. She had got up early and seen him off to Appleby, assuring him that she would look after everything on the farm. “And Sam will come over and help with all the things you arranged with him,” she said innocently.

  That would be tomorrow morning, quite early, Alf had said, as he left. Now it was evening, and she wondered if he had arrived at his hotel. She looked at the clock. Nearly time for Alf’s favourite programme on television. She had had bread and cheese for lunch and a cheese and pickle sandwich for supper, and had indigestion. Perhaps she would go to bed early, stretch out and ease her stomachache. She went through to the empty sitting room and switched on, ready for the show.

  SAM AND SHEILA STRATFORD WERE WATCHING THE SAME EPISODE, and instead of sitting separately, Sam settled on the sofa and beckoned Sheila to join him. “Come and cuddle up,” he said, and put his arm around her.

  At last! thought Sheila. Here’s my old Sam back again. It had been such a long time since he had shown her any sign of affection, and she impulsively kissed him on his cheek. He smiled at her. “Why do we watch this old rubbish,” he said. “Not exactly the everyday story of country folk, is it?”

  “Nor the everyday life of our dear young Queen,” she said, and began to giggle.

  “Funny how you remember these sayings from years ago,” Sam answered. “My mum was a royals fan. She watched the Queen’s coronation on my gran’s little ’ole telly. It was covered with a fancy cloth when it was switched off.”

  “My gran’s telly was kept in a cupboard,” Sheila said, snuggling closer.

  Sam roared with laughter. “God,” he said, “how long ago that was. Seems like another life. An’ yet in some ways, only yesterday.”

  They were quiet for a few moments, and then the familiar soap tune came up and Sheila said, “D’you reckon that Karen will leave her hubby?”

  “Dunno,” Sam said. “Be a right fool if she did. He’s not a bad bloke, compared with some.”

  DEREK WAS NOT WATCHING TELEVISION, ALTHOUGH GRAN HAD settled for an hour or so’s viewing with a cup of tea after supper. He said it was a good opportunity, with Lois away, to fix the overhead
light in their bedroom. It was lethal, he said, with bare wires visible.

  “And you an electrician,” Gran had said.

  Now he came back and fidgeted about the room, passing by the screen so often that Gran said finally, “Oh, for goodness sake, Derek, settle down, do.”

  “What d’you think they’re doing at this moment?” he said, by way of an answer.

  “Enjoying themselves, I should hope,” Gran said. “There’s been enough fuss and bother organising it all. Mind you, that Floss did a good job in the shop today. I’ve told her to ring me if she has a problem. I reckon she’s too good to be a cleaner. And now she’s married she’ll need more money than Lois pays.”

  “She likes working for New Brooms,” Derek replied, slumping down into the armchair that was usually Lois’s. “Like one big family, Lois always says.” He looked at his watch. “D’you think they’ve had supper in the hotel?” he asked.

  “Derek Meade!” Gran said, losing patience. “Forget about them! There’s safety in numbers, and Lois is not going to put her only daughter in any danger, is she? If you don’t want to watch telly, for heaven’s sake read the evening paper. It’s still on the mat in the hall.”

  Derek got up thankfully and fetched the paper. “Usual rubbish,” he said, before he opened it. He turned at once to the sports pages, and it was not until the programme had finished that he sat up suddenly and said, “Gran! Look at this! Here, at the bottom of the page.”

  “Tresham market trader arrested in the north.” The headline meant little to Gran, until she read on and learned that the market trader had had a stall in Tresham market with his brother. She had seen it herself on a market day when she went in to town shopping with Lois. But they had agreed that it was all junk, and Lois had said they were just fly-by-nights. Something to do with the lot that camped here, on Alf Smith’s land. Probably never paid any rent for the market pitch, Gran guessed.

  “I remember them!” She looked at Derek in alarm. “Nowhere near Appleby, is it?”

  “Doesn’t say exactly where they were. But read on. See what he’s supposed to have done.”

  The story was brief. The body of the younger brother had been found, possibly drowned in nearby floods, and the older one had been arrested. “Police are pursuing their enquiries,” the story said. “And there’s a missing dog.”

  “I reckon they were among them gypsies that were here,” Derek said. “Alan Stratford said he’d walked round the wood behind them, and saw the same pair as I did them with the pit bull terrier. They’d more or less told him to clear off, he said.”

  “I wish Lois and Josie would ring us,” Gran said. “Just to let us know they’re safe.”

  “I thought you said we should forget about them, let them get on with enjoying themselves,” Derek said.

  “Yes, well,” Gran muttered. “As long as they’re safe.”

  FLOSS AND BEN HAD GONE TO BED EARLY. THEY HAD A TELLY in their bedroom, and were propped up on pillows watching the news. Floss had enjoyed her day in the shop, with one or two new customers from the development over in Waltonby. Josie stocked such a good variety that Floss reckoned you could buy all you needed and not have to go out of the village at all. She was trying this out herself, as her Ben had decided that supermarkets were the root of all evil. Bankrupting the farmers, he had said. And making people buy more than they needed with their cheap offers and buy-one-get-one-free enticements.

  The local news started with a story about kids from Fletching school who had done a cycle ride for charity, and Floss said she knew one of the boys they could see wobbling about on his bike and giving his neighbour a push so he fell off. “That’s young Braddon,” she said, “his folks farm over at Fletching. A troublemaker, apparently. Funny how you can tell quite young.”

  “I wonder if we’ll spot it in our own. . . .” he said, looking sideways at her.

  “Ours will be perfect,” she said, “when they come along.”

  He turned to her. “Shall we give them a helping hand?” he said, sliding down the bed beside her and disappearing under the duvet.

  “Hey! Stop it, Ben! Wait! Look at this—it’s about them gypsies who were camped over at Farnden. D’you remember all that fuss, with them being moved on? I’m sure that one who’s been arrested was over the fields one day with one of them dogs—you know, the dangerous ones you’re not supposed to keep. Ben!”

  Ben surfaced, his face flushed, and said never mind about flaming gypsies, how about a bit of the other.

  Floss giggled, and turned off the news. Much later she remembered the story about the arrested man. The young one had come to the door once, she was sure, asking if they had anything to sell. She had shut the door in his face, more or less, and now wished she hadn’t. It must have been him that ended up dead in the mud up north.

  HUNTER COWGILL WAS ALSO WATCHING TELEVISION. HE HAD eaten a solitary supper and picked up a thriller he had borrowed from the library. But the author’s account of police activity was so wide of the mark that he wondered if she was thinking of some other country, a police state some thirty years ago maybe. He turned to the front to look up publication date and saw that he was right. Published in the seven-ties, and not reprinted. No wonder! Not only were the police sorely misrepresented, but the plot was so convoluted that he gave up, throwing it to the floor.

  Now he was watching the news, and nodded sagely as the story of the drowned man and his arrested brother came up. He knew about it, of course. He wondered if Lois was watching. Perhaps he would give her a ring, draw her attention to it.

  “Hello? May I speak to Mrs. Meade, please? Inspector Cowgill here.”

  Derek had answered the phone, and his heart sank. “What’s happened!?” he said. “Is Lois all right? And Josie?”

  Cowgill said, “Sorry? What did you say? Surely you would know better than I if Lois and Josie were all right?”

  It occurred to Derek that Cowgill did not know they were in Appleby, and he relaxed.

  He explained that they had gone to the horse fair, and would be away for a few days.

  “Where are they staying?” said Cowgill, his voice suddenly sharp.

  Derek told him, and gave him the number. “What d’you want her for?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Nothing important, thanks Derek,” Cowgill replied, and cut off the call at once.

  FIFTY-TWO

  LOIS AND JOSIE SET OFF FROM THE HOTEL, PAST THE CROWD sitting outside the pub and over the bridge, where families were walking slowly back and forth in the evening sun.

  “We could be in the south of France, not the remote north of England,” Josie said.

  “With the same weather for once!” Lois took her daughter’s arm in an excess of affection, and Josie squeezed it and then gently disengaged it.

  “Well, now our climate’s supposed to be changing, perhaps we could do the same? Maybe play boules round the back of the village hall? We could suggest it to Dad, get him to propose it to the parish council.”

  “Not quite British, though,” said Lois. “And what about when it pours with rain every evening for weeks, like it did last summer?”

  “There’s brollies,” Josie objected. “You can get lovely holiday designs, like the ones people bring back from Monet’s garden an’ that.”

  “Can you see old Ivy Beasley under a Monet umbrella promenading down the High Street in the rain?”

  “Why not? She’s a game old thing. Probably lead the way.”

  Lois gave up. “Let’s go and look at the fie ld where the camp and the stalls are. Where everything happens,” she answered, expecting a refusal. After all, the sun was beginning to sink and the camp field was the heart of it all, and after a few beers they must all be in fighting mood.

  But to her surprise, Josie said it was a good idea, and they started up Gallows Hill. Privately Lois had decided that she was most likely to see George or Athalia when they were all gathered together on the field.

  From a long way off, they could hear t
he music, loud and exciting. Josie said she reckoned the stalls would all be packed up for the night, so perhaps not so many people would be up there. They could just have a wander around and then come again tomorrow with money to spend.

  Eyes followed them as they entered the field. It was full of activity and with so many camp fires burning, there was a marvellous smell of wood smoke and charred meat. Everywhere there were vans, trailers, tents, and dozens of small tinkers tearing around with noisy shouts in a foreign tongue. Several times, a group of them stopped dead at the sight of Lois and Josie, staring, as if the two women were creatures from another planet. A row of stalls ran from the entrance into the field, and they walked slowly along. Many were still trading, and most of the stuff for sale was to do with horses. There were beautiful leather harnesses, and brightly coloured carts for racing, horse blankets and newly decorated traditional wagons, with their owners sitting proudly chatting, puffin g on pipes.

  Josie stopped at a stall selling jewellery, and after a conversation with the seller, bought a bracelet with tiny hanging pendants bearing pictures of Christian saints. Lois agreed it was pretty, but doubted if it had been a traditional craft of the Romany people. “More like Taiwan,” she said.

  A gypsy woman approached them and said directly to Josie that she could see she’d had a lot of sadness lately, but good things would happen by the end of the year. She offered a gypsy wish for a fiver, and Lois tried to pull Josie away. Josie did not move, and stared at the gypsy woman. “I’ll have a wish, then,” she said. The woman gave her three blue glass beads, and patted her on the hand. “Good luck, my dear,” she said.

  “Mum!” Josie said suddenly. “Look! There’s that bloke you were staring at this afternoon. He’s one of them gypsies that were in the village, isn’t he?”