(5/13) Return to Thrush Green

by Miss Read

  Not that he was unappreciative. He was particularly grateful for the magnificent meals she cooked, and the fact that she was obliged to curb her art when the doctor told Albert to eat less rich food, was one of the reasons for Nelly's growing resentment. It had culminated in Albert's throwing his helping of Christmas pudding at the wall.

  Another factor, of course, was the oil man. He was not every woman's idea of an attractive man, but his sleek black hair and dark beard appealed to Nelly. He had a glib tongue too, and was adept at flattery. It did not need much to woo Nelly away from her husband, and she went to join him with every confidence.

  She saw now that his charms were superficial. She had never been so short of money in her life, and she strongly suspected that there were several other women in his life.

  Things had gone from bad to worse, and one solitary evening, as she ironed her companion's shirts, she worked out just how little he gave her for housekeeping, and how much she had been obliged to subtract from her Post Office account during her stay. The results frightened her.

  Here she was, getting on, not likely to get a job easily, and no future with Charlie as far as she could see. He was a bad bargain. The best thing to do was to cut her losses, return to Thrush Green, where she was more likely to get a job, and to throw herself on Albert's mercy-at least for a time. After all, she was his lawful wedded wife, and plenty of husbands had to turn a blind eye to their wives' little weaknesses, Nelly told herself.

  Nelly was a realist. She finished the ironing, and went upstairs to pack. The next day she left a note for Charlie, collected some useful groceries from the larder, including a couple of chops which would do nicely for Albert's supper, and made her way to the station.

  'Once I've got Albert sweet,' she thought to herself, as she faced the steep hill to Thrush Green, 'I'll pop along to Miss Watson and see if my old job's still open. If not, she'll know someone who could do with a bit of cleaning, I don't doubt.'

  Puffing heavily, Nelly Piggott returned to Thrush Green.

  On the morning after Ella's party, Winnie Bailey, the doctor's widow, made her way next door to Tullivers.

  The May sunshine gilded the green. Daisies spangled the grass, and a lark's song fell from the blue, as clear and pure as a cascade of mountain water. How Donald loved a day like this, thought Winnie, tapping at the door. But there was no point in grieving. It was the last thing he would have wanted, and since his death she had learnt to savour each day as it came, to count her many blessings, and to try to put sadness behind her.

  Phyllida and Frank Hurst had helped enormously, she thought. What a comfort good neighbours could be!

  Phil's head appeared at a bedroom window above her. 'Oh, do just walk in, Winnie dear. I'm coming down now.'

  'I promised you some pansy plants,' said Winnie. 'I haven't brought them in case it's a busy time for you, but they're all ready next door whenever you need them.'

  'Lovely!' said Phil. 'Come in and sit down, or shall we sit in the garden?'

  'The garden,' said Winnie. 'It's much too gorgeous to stay indoors.'

  They sat on the garden seat, facing the sun. A border of pinks nearby was beginning to break into flower, and the roses were in bud.

  'You are going to have a fine show this summer,' commented Winnie.

  'I know. The sad thing is that we shall miss most of it this year.'

  'Not leaving Thrush Green?'

  'Good heavens, no! But we only heard this morning that Jeremy and I can go with Frank to America in June.'

  'The lecture tour you told me about?'

  'That's right. It was all arranged, as you know, last autumn for Frank, but getting accommodation for Jeremy and me was the difficulty. Now we've heard that a publishing friend in Boston can put us up for the whole three months, if need be, or part of that time. I didn't think it right to drag Jeremy from place to place, but this arrangement will be perfect. Isn't it marvellous news?'

  'It is indeed. And don't forget that I shall look forward to keeping an eye on the place for you.'

  'You are kind. And Harold has offered to keep the garden in trim, so we feel that we can go with an easy conscience.'

  'I hope you'll let me look after the cat too. She'll be much happier staying at Tullivers, I'm sure, and anyway she knows she is welcome next door if she feels lonely.'

  'I was going to ask you about that,' admitted Phil. 'As a matter of fact, she virtually lives in the garden in the summer, so that she shouldn't be too much of a bother.'

  Winnie rose to go.

  'Now I must do some telephoning. Ella first. What a good party that was! I do hope Isobel finds a house soon. She'll be a great asset to Thrush Green, won't she?'

  'Indeed she will. I heard her say that she intended to see if Williams and Frobisher have anything on their books. They're pretty reliable. What about her present house? Is it the sort that will sell easily?'

  'I gather so. An ideal family house in a nice part of Sussex, and with a good train service to London. It should find plenty of buyers.'

  'Well, I wish her joy of moving,' said Phil. 'It nearly killed me looking at houses and trying to sell the old one, all at the same time. It's usually so horribly urgent. People dying to get in before you are ready to get out, while you are waiting to see the colour of their money, and wondering if you can possibly afford all the alterations you will need in the new place. Heavens, what a terrible undertaking! I'm never going to move again!'

  'And I'm delighted to hear it!' replied Winnie as she took her leave.

  ***

  Betty Bell, Harold Shoosmith's voluble daily help, found her employer remarkably vague in manner that morning. She began to wonder if he had heard all the titbits of news which she enjoyed imparting.

  'I was saying,' she repeated loudly, flicking a feather duster over Harold's treasured Coalport cottages, 'as Miss Fogerty's a different person now her friend's here. They was always close, you know, ever since they was young girls, and Mrs Fletcher don't act no different now she's rich, to what she did before.'

  Harold, now listening, felt some impatience. Why must gossip fly as soon as a newcomer appeared? It had been just the same when Phil Hurst had arrived.

  'Why should she?' he commented shortly.

  'Well, some does, you must allow,' replied Betty, glad to have his attention at last. 'And that Mrs Fletcher did do well for herself after all. Pots of money, and a husband as worshipped her—'

  'I wish you wouldn't tittle-tattle so, Betty,' snapped Harold. 'No one's safe from gossips' tongues, it seems, at Thrush Green. I can well remember what poor Mrs Hurst had to endure when she first appeared here.'

  Betty Bell's mouth dropped open in Surprise, but she soon rallied, flicking the duster with alarming bravado.

  'If you lives in a village, as you should know by now, new people gets talked about because they're interesting. Why, when you first come here I heard you'd been growing cocoa from Miss Ella, and coffee from Miss Dotty, and tea from Miss Dimity. And how many wives you'd had was nobody's business.'

  'Good Lord!' exclaimed Harold, reeling from the attack.

  'And what you'd done with them all kept everyone on tenterhooks, I can tell you,' went on Betty. 'So it's no good you trying to muzzle people in a village. They likes guessing about other people. It's better than a story in a book, or on the telly.'

  'Yes, I do understand that, Betty, but I still think it is insufferable to pry into other people's affairs. Particularly unprotected people, like Mrs Fletcher who is still grieving for her husband.'

  'She won't need to grieve for long,' said Betty shrewdly. 'She'll be snapped up by some man who's got eyes in his head and some sense too.'

  She opened the door.

  'Liver and bacon suit you? And a couple of tomatoes?'

  'Lovely,' said Harold mechanically. It was funny, but his appetite seemed to have gone.

  With Betty's departure to the kitchen, Harold set himself to the task of finishing the letters he had been writing bef
ore her arrival.

  It was almost noon before he walked across Thrush Green to the post-box, his eyes straying towards Ella's house at the head of the hill.

  He felt strangely disturbed by Betty's remarks about Isobel's probable remarriage. The damnable thing was that she was probably right in her forecast. She was an attractive woman, there was no doubt about it. The effect that handshake had had upon him was quite extraordinary. And yet she was completely without guile and those flirtatious ways which he so much detested in older women.

  No, it would be no surprise to hear one day that she was going to marry. A very good thing, of course.

  He dropped his letters in the box thoughtfully.

  So why did he mind so much? He had only just met the woman, and yet she filled his mind. Did she remind him of earlier loves?

  He thought of Daphne, fair and calm. And Lucy, who was a flirt and had married a fighter pilot who was killed. Then that red-haired minx, whose name he couldn't remember for the life of him, and her friend, who jolly nearly proposed to him when he wasn't on his guard.

  At that moment, a car hooted, and there was the beautiful Alfa Romeo emerging from Ella's gate. Isobel saw him and waved.

  With his heart pounding ('Like some fool boy of sixteen,' thought Harold crossly), he hurried along the road to greet her.

  She held up a sheaf of papers.

  'Williams and Frobisher are doing their stuff,' she told him. 'I picked these up this morning, and John Williams is taking me to see two houses south of Lulling.'

  'Well done,' said Harold happily. The sun seemed extra warm and bright, the flowers twice as fragrant, and Isobel prettier than ever.

  He patted the car.

  'When you've time, would you tell me how you find this particular model? I think I shall have to change my car soon, and this looks as though it would suit me very well. How does it hold the road?'

  'Very well indeed. I haven't had it long, but I tell you what. Why don't you drive it yourself? I want to look at another place somewhere between Minster Lovell and Burford tomorrow afternoon, and if you are free I should love to be driven, if you like the idea?'

  'Like the idea! You adorable woman!' sang Harold's heart, but he heard himself thanking her politely and saying how very much he would like to try the car, and tomorrow afternoon was absolutely free, and he was entirely at her service.

  'Then shall we say two o'clock tomorrow?' said Isobel, giving him a smile which affected his heart in the most peculiar but delightful way. Til hoot outside your gate.'

  She waved, and drove off down the hill to Lulling, leaving Harold to cross the green on legs which had suddenly weakened.

  'Here I am,' he said to himself in wonderment, 'in my sixties, a confirmed bachelor, and dammit, I'm in danger of falling in love!'

  It was a disturbing thought. Another, even more disturbing, followed it.

  'She'll hoot outside my gate at two o'clock! That'll make Thrush Green talk!'

  He suddently felt intensely happy, and went home, whistling.

  The children at the village school were just emerging into the playground, after demolishing school dinner consisting of cold lamb and salad, pink blancmange and red jelly. They were, as always, in tearing high spirits and rushed about yelling happily, making such a fearful din that Miss Watson, who was on playground duty, only just heard the telephone ringing.

  Agnes of course was in her new classroom across the playground, busy cutting up paper ready for her painting lesson that afternoon. The third teacher, a young probationer, would never dare to answer the telephone while her headmistress was at hand, so Miss Watson herself hurried round the side of the building to the lobby door.

  Here stood a gigantic metal door-scraper which coped admirably in winter with the sticky Cotswold clay which the children brought along on their boots. In the summer, of course, it was scarcely needed, and Miss Watson had often thought that it should be taken up and stored somewhere during the fine months. It certainly constituted a hazard, and many a child had sustained a grazed knee by tripping over the thing.

  On the other hand, where could it be stored? Like most old-fashioned village schools, Thrush Green's was short of outhouses and storage space in general. Such a large, rigid intractable object was impossible to store. Consequently, it remained in situ all the year.

  In her haste, the telephone bell shrilling its urgency, poor Miss Watson caught her sensibly-shod foot against the edge of the scraper and fell sprawling into the lobby.

  A few children hastened to her aid, and Miss Watson began to attempt to regain her feet and her dignity, but realised immediately that something was seriously amiss. It was going to be impossible to stand up. She began to feel faint.

  'Get Miss Fogerty,' she told the children, as the playground whirled round and round amidst increasing darkness. The children fled towards the new classroom, and the young teacher appeared.

  'Oh dear,' she cried. 'Here, let me help you up.'

  She put strong arms about Miss Watson's shoulders and began to heave.

  'No, no!' screamed poor Miss Watson. 'Don't move me, please.'

  At that moment Agnes Fogerty arrived and took command, marshalling her memories of First Aid, learnt only last winter at Lulling.

  'She's quite right,' she said. 'We mustn't move her. But quickly get her coat and a cushion, and then run across to Doctor Lovell.'

  The girl fled, and Agnes knelt beside her headmistress.

  'Poor Dorothy,' she said, all thoughts of protocol vanishing in her anxiety. 'We're getting help. We'll soon have you more comfortable.'

  She took the coat and cushion from her fellow teacher, covered the prone form and tucked the cushion gently under Miss Watson's head. Her face was very pale and her eyes were closed, but she managed to smile her thanks.

  Fortunately, Doctor Lovell was still at his surgery, and hurried across. Within minutes he had rung for an ambulance, put the patient into a more comfortable position, and complimented Agnes on her grasp of the situation.

  'They'll have to take her to Dickie's,' he said, using the local term for St Richard's Hospital in the county town. 'They've got all the right equipment there, X-rays and so on. It's the hip joint all right. One thing, they've some marvellous chaps there to put it right.'

  Miss Fogerty would have liked to have accompanied her old friend to the hospital, but she knew where her duty lay.

  'I'll come and see you as soon as possible,' she promised, as the stretcher was put into the ambulance, and Miss Watson nodded wanly.

  'Mind the school,' she managed to whisper, as the doors shut.

  Agnes watched the ambulance until it vanished down the hill and turned back, shaken in body, but resolute in spirit, to carry out her headmistress's last command.

  12. House-Hunting

  WHEN Nelly Piggott finally arrived at her own doorstep, she dropped her heavy case and grocery carrier and paused to take breath.

  The brass door handle, she noticed, was badly tarnished, the step itself, thick with footmarks. Behind the sparse wallflowers was lodged a collection of crisp bags, ice-lolly sticks and cigarette cartons which had blown there from the public house next door, and which Albert had failed to remove.

  Time I was home, thought Nelly to herself, and opened the door.

  'What's going on?' growled Albert thickly. 'Who's that, eh? Get on off!'

  There was the sound of a chair being shifted, and Albert still muttering, approached. Nelly swiftly heaved her luggage inside and followed it nimbly, shutting the door behind her.

  Albert confronted her. His eyes and mouth were round Os of astonishment, but he soon found his voice.

  'None of that, my girl! You're not comin' back here, I'm tellin' you. Clear orf! Go on, you baggage, clear orf, I say!'

  He began to advance upon her, one threatening fist upraised, but Nelly took hold of his thin shoulders, and guided him swiftly backwards towards the chair. He sat down with a grunt, and was immediately overtaken by a prolonged fit of coug
hing.

  Nelly stood over him, watching until the paroxysm spent itself.

  'Yes, well, you see what happens when you lose your temper,' she said calmly. There was a hint of triumph in her voice which enraged Albert. He struggled to rise, but Nelly put him down again with one hand.

  'Just you be reasonable, Albert Piggott.'

  'Reasonable!' choked Albert. 'You walks out! You comes back! You expects me to welcome you, as though nothink 'as 'appened? You can go back to that so-and-so. Or 'as he chucked you out?'

  'Certainly not,' said Nelly, putting the carrier bag on the table, and feeling for the chops. 'I came of my own accord.'

  'Oh, did you? Well, you can dam' well go back of your own accord.'

  Nelly changed her tactics.

  'You may not like it, Albert Piggott, but you'll have to lump it. Here I am, and here I stay, at least for the night, and you can thank your stars as I've brought you some nice chops for your supper. From the look of you, you can do with a square meal.'

  Albert lay back. Exhaustion kept him from answering, but the thought of a return to Nelly's cooking, however brief, was a pleasant one.

  Nelly began to busy herself about the kitchen, and Albert watched her through half-closed eyes.

  'And when did this place last get a scrub up?'

  'Molly done it lovely,' whispered Albert, defending his family.

  'And not been touched since,' said Nelly tartly, filling the kettle. 'This frying-pan wants a good going over before it's fit for use.'

  She whisked about, unpacking the chops, and some tomatoes and onions. For all his fury, Albert could not help feeling some slight pleasure at the sight of her at her old familiar ploys. He roused himself.

  'Seein' as you've pushed yourself in, you'd best stay the night, I suppose. But it'll have to be the spare bed. You ain't comin' in with me.'

  'Don't flatter yourself,' said Nelly shortly, investigating dripping in a stone jamjar.

  She scoured the pan, and then set the food into it. Once the cooking had begun to her satisfaction, she took up the heavy case and began to mount the stairs.