by Ann Purser
Conversation was never difficult with Auntie Eileen. Margaret was fascinated by her encyclopedic memory of the family history, and when that topic was exhausted, goings-on in Waltonby and all the villages around kept the two of them happily occupied until Margaret dished up the shepherds pie.
“So what’s the hot gossip from Battersby Towers?” Margaret asked, with a conspiratorial grin. Her aunt had been the only one to know about Margaret’s affair with Horace, and she had strongly disapproved. But when the Colonel had been so cruel in ending it, she had swung round to defend Margaret in private and deny all rumours in public.
“Much the same as ever,” she answered. “They’ve sold most of the horses, but kept one for a girl who comes to clean. She comes of a reasonably good family, and apparently loves cleaning other people’s houses. I often see her on a very nice mare, ambling round the village. Pretty girl.”
“From New Brooms?” said Margaret, suddenly interested. “You know, the agency run by Mrs. Meade from Long Farnden?”
“That’s the one,” Eileen said. “Lois Meade was in a car accident recently, with that simple boy Smith who lives in the council houses. He apparently saved her life, so his mother is saying. Nice lad, but frightened of his own shadow. Does a bit of gardening for the Battersbys, and likes Blanche. But folk have seen him turn tail and run away from the Colonel, and I can’t say I blame him. You’d have done better to run away, Margaret,” she added with a sly smile.
“That’s as may be,” she said. “But tell me more about the boy. If he’s that scared, how did he manage to save that woman’s life? Didn’t her van go up in smoke? Don’t tell me he fetched buckets of water from the stream and quelled the fire!”
Auntie Eileen didn’t smile. “He dragged her out of the van, and away into the edge of the wood, where they would be safe,” she said. “Neither you nor I, Margaret, know how much that cost him. He was bruised and cut, and has lost what little self-confidence he had.”
“Sorry,” Margaret said. “Don’t mock the afflicted, as Frankie Howard used to say. So what else is going on? No, don’t tell me until after I’ve fetched the apple crumble. I made it with ground almonds, specially for Dad, but yesterday he couldn’t get away fast enough. He and Joe don’t get on, though Dad does try. They’d been to a point-to-point, and Dad was upset when he came back. God knows what had been going on.”
“Arthur was always a good soul,” Eileen said. “Your mother was a lucky lady, and she knew it. How’s he managing without her?” She began to tuck in to her pudding with gusto.
“He keeps going, joins things and helps people out when he can. But the light’s gone out of his life, and it feels like he’s just coasting along until they meet again.”
Eileen nodded. “At least I’m used to living alone. Always have, so it’s nothing different. And . . .” She stopped and pointed to the window. “Look,” she said, “there goes Darren Smith, with his mother. He’s carrying gardening tools, so they’re probably going up to the allotment. Best one on the field, so they say. At least the lad’s got green fingers, if nothing else. I wonder what’ll become of him? His mum won’t last for ever.”
Margaret got up and peered out of the window. “He’s thin, isn’t he? Looks like a puff of wind would blow him away. Sorry, Darren,” she added quietly. “I didn’t mean to be unkind. It’s too easy, isn’t it, Auntie, to be cruel?”
FORTY-TWO
IF JOE HAD WANTED TO DIVULGE HIS REAL DESTINATION that Sunday, he would have been mildly surprised by the coincidence. A family day for both of them. He had in fact gone into Birmingham to visit his sister. He hadn’t mentioned it, because Margaret loathed her. She was an unmarried mother of twin boys, and, as Auntie Eileen would have said, no better than she should be. Joe’s sister was an ageing woman with a long career of prostituting herself. She had few clients now, and regarded herself as retired. The two boys had been the result of a temporary liaison with a local bank manager, who had kept her in reasonable comfort for about five years, and things had been going well until his wife found out. So that was the end of that, and she’d had to bring up the boys herself, keeping all three of them with what she could earn on the streets. A monthly cheque had also arrived in the post from the bank manager, until she saw in the local paper that he had died on the golf course. Heart attack, the report said, and she had thought wryly that he’d clearly found his nightly exercise somewhere else.
It was a run-down part of the city, and in spite of a few spindly trees and vandalized tubs of wilted flowers put there by the council in an attempt to bring beauty into the lives of its residents, it was no place to bring up two lively lads. Inevitably they fell foul of the law, and were old in the ways of gangs before they were out of junior school. Now seventeen, they were seldom at home and totally out of what little control their mother had attempted.
They liked their Uncle Joe. He brought them gifts, and also jobs for them to do for him. These were well paid. They were told never to ask questions, and to keep their mouths shut. That meant not telling their mother, or Auntie Margaret, though they protested they’d never set eyes on her.
“Hi, boys,” Joe said, walking into the living room with a smile. “Where’s your mum?”
“Next door, gettin’ the ole man his breakfast,” Jim said. “He’s bedridden, poor ole bugger.”
They were not identical twins. Jim was the tallest and took the lead, while Stephen was smaller and quiet most of the time. He allowed Jim to make decisions for both of them, but occasionally lost his temper, and on those occasions could be terrifying.
“I’ll go and get her,” Stephen said now, but his uncle shook his head. “No, don’t bother her,” he said. “It’s really you two I’ve come to talk to. A little job I want done, and you’re the experts. Now listen carefully, and don’t interrupt.”
By the time his sister returned, greeting him fondly, Joe had made a satisfactory deal with the twins, and they had disappeared in the way they had perfected. Nobody ever saw them go, and they never told anyone where they were going.
“It was their birthday on Wednesday, wasn’t it?” he said. “I brought them new mobile phones and they seemed pretty chuffed. Better late than never, Jim said, cheeky bugger! So how are you, you old bag?”
Not in the least offended, his sister nodded and said she was fine, healthy and broke. A wad of notes changed hands, and she went off to make coffee. “Don’t bother,” he called. “Can’t stop. Got an appointment to keep, so I’d better be off.”
“Well, that was a flying visit! Can’t you stay and talk for ten minutes? Tell me how your lovely wife is, an’ all that?”
Joe said that ten minutes was all he could spare, and reluctantly sat down.
* * *
AUNTIE EILEEN SUGGESTED TO MARGARET THAT THEY should go for a stroll round the village after lunch. “I’m not very quick on my pins these days, but if you don’t mind going at my pace . . .”
Margaret assured her that it would suit her fine, and they set off, Eileen with her stick, limping cheerfully along. As they passed the driveway into the Battersbys’ house, the big car came down and had to stop to let the pair walk slowly past. Margaret could see both Horace and Blanche were in the car, and took her chance.
“Hi, Horace!” she shouted at the closed window. She waved at his scowling face, and blew him a kiss. The expression on Blanche’s face was a wonderful combination of disapproval and curiosity. Horace ignored Margaret completely, and they drove away with a squeal of tyres and revving engine.
“Really, Margaret,” Eileen said, “that was not very dignified.”
“It wasn’t meant to be,” Margaret said. “If he’d had the window open, I’d have made even more mischief. Horrible man!”
“But his wife is thought to be a really nice woman. Don’t you mind upsetting her?”
“She should keep him on a leash if she wants a peaceful life. Anyway, she’s welcome to him. I bet he’s murder to be married to.”
They wandered
on, and came to the gate in the allotment field. “There’s Darren,” Eileen said. “Working hard as always.”
“Could we go in and speak to him?” Margaret asked.
Eileen considered. “I don’t know,” she said doubtfully. “We usually leave him alone when he’s happy. Still, my friend Charlie is over there, on his patch, and we could go and say hello to him, then have a word with Darren on the way out. If we approach the lad first, he’ll probably vamoose. Come on then.”
They walked through the trim, neatly planted allotments, each with its rows of vegetables and the occasional patch of flowers for cutting. Charlie’s, said Eileen, had an area stuffed full of wild flowers. “Time you got rid of those weeds,” Eileen said, as they approached, and Charlie bristled.
“They’re not weeds! It’s my wild flower garden. You should see the butterflies when all the flowers are out. And bees too. Doin’ my bit for the environment, I am.”
Eileen and Charlie were obviously very old friends indeed, and were soon deep in local gossip. Margaret said quietly that she’d just have a walk round and look at the other allotments. Eileen nodded, and returned to her conversation.
Darren was at once aware of a strange woman walking towards him. His mother had gone home, promising to fetch him in an hour’s time. He kept his head down and continued to pull out every weed that dared to show its head. Soon he saw the woman’s legs approaching. He still did not lift his head, but then a nice voice said hello to him, and he looked up. The woman was smiling, and saying something about the weeds always win in the end. He wasn’t sure what she meant, but her smile was friendly and he nodded.
He remembered what his mother said about being polite, and stood up, holding out his hand. “How do you do,” he said. “My name is Darren.”
“And mine’s Margaret. It is a lovely afternoon. Just right for gardening. Do you enjoy gardening?”
“It is a lovely afternoon,” echoed Darren, not looking at her. Eileen had said that he seemed unable to look people in the eye, which gave him a reputation for being shifty. But Eileen had thought that it was fear. Looking people in the eye was a connection too terrifying for him. Margaret respected Eileen’s judgement. After all, she’d been talking to children over the gate for fifty years or more.
“Your garden looks very neat,” Margaret said to Darren, who was now looking over at the entrance gate, as if considering his getaway.
“Yes. Very neat.” He put his hand over his ear, as if to shut out her voice.
“You were a very brave boy, I hear. Rescued Mrs. Meade from the fire. That was very well done, Darren.” Margaret meant well, but his reaction was a disaster. He threw his fork to the ground, turned around and ran swiftly towards the gate. But it was blocked by two people: Colonel and Mrs. Blanche Battersby, getting out of their parked car. Blanche had forgotten her handbag, and they were on their way back to collect it, much to Horace’s annoyance. It had been Blanche’s idea to stop for a minute and see how Darren’s patch was getting on, and maybe have a word with him. She had tried to persuade Horace to stay in the car, but he was angry, suspected her motive and insisted on accompanying her.
Darren stopped dead in his tracks. He put his hands up to his face and began to hum loudly, shaking his head from side to side. Eileen had seen it all before, knew he was in a state of unbearable terror, and came hobbling as fast as she could down the narrow grass path to reach the lad.
“It’s all right, Darren. Auntie Eileen here,” she said, and she let her stick fall to the ground. Her arms went around him tightly. “Hold on,” she said. “Mum’s coming to take you home. Hold on to me and you’re quite safe.”
The humming quietened and his head was still, but Eileen could feel him still trembling violently. “Anything I can do?” Margaret asked, joining them.
“Go and fetch his mother,” Eileen said, and looking towards the gate, noted that the Battersbys had disappeared. Then another figure appeared, and Eileen said, “Thank God. Here’s Mum, Darren. Now you’re safe as houses.”
Darren did not fly into his mother’s arms. He stood quite still, thin, white-faced and heartbreakingly vulnerable. He looked up, at an angle away from anything happening, and stayed like that, motionless, until his mother took his hand and led him gently away.
Margaret looked at Eileen, and was shocked to see her wiping away a tear. “What was all that about, Auntie?” she said.
“That bloody Battersby!” Eileen replied, and the expletive was powerful, coming from an old lady who, as far as Margaret knew, never swore.
“Tell me what it was about,” she said, anxious to help her aunt.
But Eileen shook her head. “Another time, dear,” she said. “We must get back now and have a cup of tea before you have to go.”
“Was it my fault?” Margaret persisted. “Something I said to him? I certainly didn’t say anything to frighten him. I was just congratulating him on rescuing Mrs. Meade.”
Eileen said, “Ah, might have been that. Perhaps remembering the fire was too much for him. That might make him run away, but his total panic was much more likely the appearance of the Colonel and his lady. Blanche is fine, but the sight of the Colonel would be enough.”
“They didn’t stop to help, did they?” Margaret said. “Scarpered, like a couple of rabbits.”
“Just as well,” said Eileen. “Now, come on, we must get the kettle on.”
FORTY-THREE
FLOSS PICKERING KNOCKED AT THE MEADES’ DOOR AND Gran admitted her, warning her that Lois was tired from her foolish outing to a point-to-point when she was just out of hospital. Three days had gone by, and Lois still looked pale, with dark circles under her eyes. Derek had privately cursed himself for not standing up to her and forbidding the plan. But Lois was so persuasive, and had, in fact, looked much healthier the day he picked her up than she did now.
“Her son Douglas is coming home this afternoon,” Gran said, “and I had hoped to make her rest this morning. But she’s in her office now, staring at the computer screen. Perhaps you can at least take her mind off all that for a bit.”
“I haven’t come with any problems, Mrs. Weedon,” Floss said. “I just wanted to see how she was and wish her well . . . and to offer help.”
“Hazel has more or less taken over in Sebastopol Street, and is trying not to consult Lois unless it is really urgent. Now, in you go, and make it a short visit.”
Floss knocked softly on the office door, and went in. Lois looked round and smiled when she saw who it was. Floss was shocked to see that Lois had lost weight. She was a shadow of her usual bonny self, Floss thought.
“Hello, Floss, come and sit down,” Lois said.
“I’ve just popped in to see how you are and offer help of any kind. Anything at all.”
“How nice of you,” Lois said quietly. “But unless you can help me unfreeze this sodding computer, I think everything’s been taken care of. Gran’s gone into stern caring mode, and Derek stands guard over me in case I escape.”
“Well, you’re in luck,” Floss said. “Computer studies was about all I was good at at school, so let’s change places and I’ll fix it for you.”
“Wonderful!” said Lois, and got up from her chair, wincing as she walked round the desk. “I’ll get Gran to make us some coffee.”
“Oh, I’m not sure I can stay long,” said Floss quickly, remembering Gran’s strictures.
“Take no notice of my mother,” Lois said. “It’ll do me a power of good to chat to you. Catch up on the gossip and news from the outside world! My Douglas is coming this afternoon, and he’ll want to know what’s happening in Farnden. He hasn’t been home for quite a while.”
“I expect he’s worried about you. I’ve never met him, but Josie talks about him quite a lot.”
“He’s a good lad. Works hard. He’s just finished with his long-time girlfriend, and probably wants some mothering. Or grandmothering!”
Floss laughed. “Well,” she said, “let me think of some news. Your
accident is high on the list, of course, and Darren Smith’s brave rescue. But what else? Oh yes, I fell off my horse yesterday.” She bared her arm and showed a badly grazed elbow. “She shied away from a barking dog, and I wasn’t concentrating. Still, that’s not really news, is it?”
“What did the Colonel say?” Lois asked. Her voice had sharpened, and Floss saw a flash of her old boss.
“He was more anxious about the mare than he was about me,” Floss said ruefully. “But Mrs. Battersby was very kind, and made me go into the house and have a cup of tea—very sweet, it was. Ugh! We chatted, and then old Horace came in and said the mare was fine. She made him some coffee, and he sat down and asked me lots of questions about you. How you were, and had you recovered your memory, and was it going to affect New Brooms, and all that sort of thing. I was surprised, actually, that he was so interested.”
“Did he mention Darren?” Lois said. “After all, he works for them, and he was the hero of the whole nasty business.”
“No, he didn’t ask about him at all. I suppose he knows that I’ve not really had anything to do with him. I have taken him a mug of coffee in the garden once or twice, but he doesn’t speak. Doesn’t seem to want to, so I’ve never bothered.”
Gran came in with a tray, and looked at Floss. “I expect you’ll want to be getting on with your job soon,” she said. “Where are you working today?”
Floss looked at her watch. “Yes,” she said quickly. “I must get over to Mrs. Tollervey-Jones. I’ll just finish this drink, then I’ll be off.”
Gran vanished, and Lois laughed again. “She prides herself on being able to put the frighteners on,” she said. “Go when you’re ready, Floss. I’m very glad you called. Thanks for fixing the computer, and for the chat.”
When Floss had gone, Lois sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. She did feel tired now, but her mind was buzzing. As soon as she could, after Douglas’s visit, she would get in touch with Evelyn Nimmo, and see if they could get some ideas together. And that reminded her of Dot. Poor old Dot. No change apparently. If she didn’t make it, that would change things!