by Ann Purser
Lois had known her a long time. Bridie lived in Waltonby now, where Derek was rewiring the pub, only a few miles from Long Farnden. But Bridie, like Lois, had grown up and gone to school in Tresham, and they had been mates. Both had rebelled in perfectly predictable fashion – a little petty shoplifting, truancy, smoking and drinking under age – and Lois had always been the ringleader. Once married, both had settled down to a law-abiding life of housework, casual work to earn much-needed extra money when the kids came along, and – in Lois’s case – loyalty to their husbands. Well, Bridie had been loyal too, so far, but Richard Reading was a very different kettle of fish from Derek Meade.
“Damn!” said Lois, her concentration gone. She had been in the middle of composing an advertisement for cleaners in the local paper: “NEW BROOMS are looking for hard-working cleaners. No previous experience necessary, but applicant should be strong and willing.” But no, that hadn’t sounded right. Willing for what? She had smiled, remembering some of her own experiences right here in this village, and had been just starting the ad again when the phone interrupted her.
Why didn’t Bridie leave him? After all, Hazel was their only child, and practically independent now, living her own life, very confident for her age and quite able to maintain herself if necessary. Why did married people cling together when it was all such a disaster? Richard Reading was a particular disaster, cruel and violent, and had Bridie completely under his thumb. It hadn’t been too bad when Hazel was little, and he was in control of both of them. But now his daughter had grown up with more spirit than her cowed mother. So far, it had enabled Hazel to stand up to him, and been the cause of violent rows, but Bridie was still a seemingly helpless victim. Lois considered what she could do – knew exactly what she would do in Bridie’s place! – but decided that there was very little anyone could do unless Bridie made the first move. She resolved to call in there on her way into Tresham to see her mother, and then put it to the back of her mind.
“NEW BROOMS – a new cleaning service, requires hardworking cleaners. Must be strong and used to physical work.” No, that wasn’t right, either. Sounded like an ad for a club bouncer. She looked at it, and erased the second sentence. Leave it at that, then? “NEW BROOMS sweep clean! A new cleaning service, based in Long Farnden, requires hardworking cleaners. Apply box number…” That would do.
She pulled on her coat and went out to the garage. It was still a novelty to have a garage, though her battered old Vauxhall was too far gone to benefit. She got in and started the engine on the third attempt. As soon as I get the business going, she thought, I might get a van, white, clean and reliable, with ‘NEW BROOMS sweep clean!’ in gold letters on the side…She drove off in a happy dream.
♦
The major was upstairs again, checking his laundry, which he took each week into Tresham. He could have bought a washing machine and done it himself, but he did not consider that man’s work. Anyway, it was an excuse to go into town and have a drink in the Tresham Arms. He had one or two drinking acquaintances there, and he might see the new barmaid. She was young, very young, but a town girl with a nice line in chat, and plenty of curly red hair. She seemed to like him, too, always had a warmer smile of welcome for him, he was sure. And if not her, then it would be an old friend and useful contact, who was there most days. Yes, it was a pleasant hour, once a week, and did nobody any harm. He glanced out of the window, and saw an old Vauxhall draw into the curb outside. He drew back, still able to see who got out. He’d seen the young woman many times before, Bridie’s friend from Long Farnden. She was dark and slim, and quick in her movements, well worth a second look. As he watched, she slammed the door, opened it and slammed it again, and then half-ran up the drive into the Readings’ house next door. Thank God for that! He did not encourage visitors. He considered himself a perfectly sociable person in his contact with the outside world, but never invited a friend back. He had no real friends, he reflected, not chums, and considered himself better off without them.
No wonder Mrs Reading’s friend had arrived! There’d been another of those shouting matches this morning. He could hear every word through the thin walls, and that silly woman had rushed out into the garden looking desperate, as usual. Ah well, that’s what you get in marriages. Well out of it, he told himself, and took a last look in the mirror. Satisfied, he went downstairs, out of the front door, and locked it behind him.
♦
“Bridie?” Lois tentatively stepped into the kitchen. She could hear sounds from the television, and walked through to the sitting room, where Bridie sat slumped in an armchair, her head fallen to one side, and her face pale. Lois walked over and touched her shoulder, noticing a bruise on her cheek. “Bridie?” she said gently.
Her friend stirred and opened her eyes, then winced. “Ouch!” she said, touching her cheek.
“Did he do that?” said Lois. Bridie nodded, and Lois said loudly, “For God’s sake, Bridie, you’ve got to bloody do something!” Lois was always hard on the kids for swearing, but, as Derek said, it was one law for them and another for her.
“You always say that,” said Bridie, pushing herself unsteadily out of the chair.
“And you never do anything,” said Lois. “Here, sit down again. You’re swaying in the breeze. I’ll get you a cup of tea.”
She went back to the kitchen and put on the kettle. Then she collected up dirty plates and mugs and washed them quickly. She glanced at her watch. Her mother was expecting her for a snack at twelve thirty in Tresham, and she had to take her advertisement in to the newspaper office first. She made two cups of tea and took them through.
“You could get help, you know that,” she said, sitting down in front of Bridie. “He’s a violent pig, and always has been. What d’you think it’s doing to Hazel? She’s already old for her age, and looks as if she’s seen it all at nineteen.”
“She has,” said Bridie flatly. “But then, she copes. She’s like him, you know. I don’t worry too much about her. In fact…” She stopped, and her mouth quivered.
“What?” said Lois, frowning.
“In fact,” repeated Bridie, “she doesn’t need me, he don’t need me, nobody needs me…” She paused, and then all in a rush, said, “So the best possible thing would be for me to get out. Out of everything, I mean. Put an end to it.”
Lois stood up quickly. “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” she said. “You don’t mean it. An’ what’s happened to you, anyway? You were always up for anything…bunkin’ off school, helping ourselves to this an’ that…sorting out the randy sods! Come on, Bridie, don’t let him win. He’s got you so low you’ve given up…” Bridie began to cry. “Well, if you won’t take action, I will,” said Lois firmly.
“No! He’ll take it out on me! It’ll just make things worse, Lois, I promise you that.”
Bridie’s eyes held real terror, and Lois said quickly, “No, no, I don’t mean to tackle him or anything like that. I just had this idea that might help. You know I’m starting the cleaning business – well, why don’t you come and work for me? I know cleanin’s not all that grand, but it’ll get you out, and I’m paying proper wages.” She hadn’t very high hopes of getting Bridie to agree, and so was surprised at her reaction.
“Yes! That’s it!” she said. “It’ll be nuthin’ to do with him, and I’ll get to talk to other people, an’ that.”
“Well then,” said Lois, thinking privately that it was not going to be as easy as that. First she had to get him to agree, or he’d give her hell even more than usual. Still, worth a try, and she knew Bridie was usually a fanatical housewife, with floors you could eat off. She stood up and said, “I’ll have to be off now, Bridie, but I’ll get in touch. Just be thinking how to tell him.”
Bridie nodded. “Lois…” She hesitated.
“What?” Lois was impatient now to be off.
“Sometimes,” continued Bridie, “he’s not bad at all sometimes he’s quite nice, really…”
“Oh God!” said Lois, and l
eft.
Her car started first time for once, and she was on her way to Tresham at top speed, which in the Vauxhall was about forty-five miles an hour. As she drove into the suburbs of town, a plain, unobtrusive car passed her and a hand waved in salute. She saw through the window the familiar profile of Detective Inspector Hunter Cowgill.
♦
Prudence Betts, Prue to her family and friends but still Prudence to her grandmother, stood behind the bar of the Waltonby pub and hoped that the major would not be coming in today. There was absolutely no reason for this, she told herself. He was the perfect gentleman, always polite and correct, and she had no cause to be anything other than pleased to see him. But he made her feel uneasy, with his constant stream of talk about old times that seemed to have nothing to do with the look in his eye. She’d not told Hazel about this irrational feeling, but wished she could be like her, taking the major in her stride, laughing at him behind his back and flirting with him in a mild kind of way as she served him with his Teacher’s. Prue was happy enough with the young farmers, when they came in full of cheek and energy. She really liked them, and knew exactly how to handle them now.
Well, it was nearly two o’clock, and the major hadn’t appeared. He was a strict timekeeper, and would certainly have been in by now. Prue relaxed. “Nice day, Mr Meade,” she said, calling across the room to where Derek sat in the window, taking a break from his rewiring.
He nodded, his mouth full. He liked Prue Betts, and felt the customary disapproval at seeing such a young girl behind a pub bar. He knew, of course, that it was legal. Geoff would never allow an underage girl to serve. It was just that Prue looked so much younger – and was, a year or so – than Hazel. He’d done some work for her parents in the village school, where her father was headmaster. Prue was a precious only, and her father’s pride and joy. Derek had heard she was waiting to go to university, filling in time and earning a few pounds, and he wondered what her parents thought. Maybe they reckoned it was safe enough, being in the same village. Anyway, you couldn’t lock ‘em up! He knew that well enough from his own Josie, unfortunately.
“Haven’t seen the major today,” Derek said, making conversation.
Geoff Boggis answered him. “Gone into Tresham,” he said. “It’s Tuesday, and on Tuesdays the major marches off to Tresham with his dirty laundry. Every Tuesday, without fail.”
“Walks all that way?” said Prue.
Derek and Geoff looked at each other. “No, dear, that was a joke,” said Geoff. “He took the bus as usual, 9.45 am outside the village hall, and back on the 3.15 pm, arriving at his front door at 3.25 pm precisely.” He drew himself to attention, clicked his heels and saluted.
Prue laughed this time. “Why does he go on the bus?” she said. “He’s got a car. I’ve seen him cleaning it.”
“He says the parking’s terrible in Tresham, which it is, and anyway, if we don’t use the buses we’ll lose them, he says. Makes it sound like a duty…take the bus, or straight to the guardhouse for twenty-four hours!” Geoff Boggis snapped to attention again, and Prue smiled.
She would have liked to ask some more questions about the major. Hazel had told her that he was an old lecher, and had several times asked her if she’d like to go and see his holiday snaps. She had been scornful, and Prue had felt a moment’s pity for the major. Maybe just an old bloke who’s lonely, she thought. No harm in him, most likely. Still, these days it wouldn’t do, she knew that from her parents’ frequent warnings.
“How’s Dad and Mum?” said Derek. He’d liked both of them. Mr Betts was a bit stiff and starchy, but polite enough. Some people, when you worked in their houses, treated you like dirt, stepping over you like you were something the cat brought in. But Mr and Mrs Betts had been nice, talking to him about this and that. Regular cups of coffee had appeared, and when he’d finished the work, they made a point of saying how pleased they were with it, and how they’d certainly be in touch if they had any more electrical problems.
“They’re fine,” said Prue. “Dad’s busy with meetings and such, and Mummy…Mum…is shopping for new clothes today. I expect she’ll be back by the time I get home, full of it!” And full of questions for me, she added to herself. How did I get on? Who was in the pub? Who did I talk to? Was it all right, and did I manage the money, giving change and so on and so on. What they really wanted to know, of course, was did all the men gang up together and rape me on the billiard table after the pub closed? She sighed. Chance would be a fine thing. Her father had at first met her after work, especially if it was a late night shift. She had done her best to discourage him and he hadn’t been there recently. She had a momentary vision of him taking on the young farmers single-handed, and laughed.
“You got a nice laugh,” said Derek in a fatherly voice. “Mind you don’t waste it.”
Now there’s a nice man, thought Prue.
∨ Terror on Tuesday ∧
Three
The advertisement in the Tresham Advertiser brought in a big pile of replies, many more than Lois had anticipated. Some she knew at once she didn’t want. Too many jobs already, or too reliant on others for looking after kids. Then she remembered how much she’d relied on her own mother. Well, now she didn’t have to so much, what with school buses and after-school clubs. She looked again. Own car – that was something she had put in the advertisement, but even so some hopefuls had applied, saying they had bikes, or could get lifts. She shook her head. No, that ruled out quite a few.
“How many are you going to start with, gel?” said Derek. They were sitting at the big kitchen table with the applications spread out in front of them. One of them slipped off the edge and floated to the floor, and the cat, Melvyn, a stroppy ginger torn, pounced on it with muddy feet straight from the garden.
“Give it here!” said Lois sharply, and tugged at it. Melvyn hung on, and the letter tore in half.
“Better ditch that one,” said Derek. “Must be a jinx on that woman.”
“Rubbish,” said Lois, and wrestled the other half away from the cat. She put the two halves together carefully and read aloud: “‘Sheila Stratford, aged forty-five, married with grown-up kids, own car, reliable.”’.
“Which is more than could be said for yours,” said Derek.
“‘Hard-working and reliable, like my car…’.” Lois laughed. “I like that, shows a sense of humour and my God you need one sometimes. Sounds promising?”
“Where’s she live?” said Derek.
“Um…oh, yep, that’s good. She lives in Waltonby…I think it’s the council houses on the Tresham road. You know, on the right hand side, just up from the pub. Definitely a possible.” Lois put the two halves on the pile of possibles, and picked up the next. “Oh no,” she said. “This one’s sixty-eight and lives miles the other side of Tresham. Fallen on hard times, I shouldn’t wonder, from the ladylike sound of her.”
“Prejudice,” said Derek. “Give it here.” He read it quickly and smiled. “Mrs Bigsby-Jones, I don’t think you’ll do,” he said, and put it with the rejects.
Finally, they had six possibles, including a twenty-eight-year-old man, who said he was useless at most things except housework, and he was excellent at that. Derek repeated his question. “How many for a start?”
Lois shook her head. “Don’t really know,” she said. “It’ll depend on what they’re like. I think the best thing is to hire say three or four of the really good ones, and then take on jobs accordingly. As we get known, I can always recruit more. There’s word of mouth, too. If I can get recommendations, that’ll be a good thing. They’ve got to be the right sort, not just good at cleaning. Got to know when to keep their mouths shut, an’ that.” In her mind, Lois knew exactly what she was looking for, and that last quality was not entirely to do with the cleaning business. But Derek need not know that. She checked that the six all had telephone numbers, and went off to her office to make some appointments.
Derek tidied up the table and got ready to go out to work. He w
as proud of Lois, and determined to do what he could to help her set up this business, but he had a vaguely uneasy feeling that she was not telling him everything. Still, when had she ever?
“Cheerio!” he yelled, but there was no answer. Lois was already on the telephone to the first on the list: Sheila Stratford, of Waltonby.
As luck would have it, Mrs Stratford’s husband answered the telephone and said that Sheila had gone away up north to her sister’s. She’d be away for a couple of weeks, but was very keen to have a job with New Brooms, and would – if required – get in touch the minute she got back. Lois put down the phone, disappointed at this first frustration, but went on to the next one down on the list. This one was in her twenties, address in Tresham, own car, one six-year-old and a next-door mother. She dialled the number and after a few seconds a light, flat voice answered. Yes, she was Joanne Murphy, and would be pleased to see Lois at any convenient time. She was doing a bit of bar work, but that was flexible. Lois arranged to see her the following morning at eleven o’clock, and put down the telephone feeling uneasy, but could not think why.
She had decided to interview the women in their own homes, then she could get a surreptitious look around, see how they lived. She knew only too well how easy it was to hoodwink employers. One story had stuck with her, about a woman who’d claimed all kinds of grand references and on the first day had pinched a valuable piece of silver and never turned up again.
She worked her way down the list, making appointments and checking details. “We shall be working in villages around Tresham,” she said to each one. “I don’t intend covering Tresham at first, Unless there are urgent jobs.” The kind of village client Lois had mind was the well-heeled worthy, well-known in the community and easily managed. Vicars, doctors, teachers, solicitors, accountants – they were the ones she had in mind. Not farmers…they were too tight-fisted, and anyway, seldom wanted cleaners. She’d heard one the other day declare loudly in the shop that he didn’t need a char. He’d got a wife, hadn’t he?