‘Talk to me then, Craddock, really talk.’
But he didn’t. So she did. ‘All this anguish could be sorted inside ten minutes tomorrow when the world has woken up. It’s making you physically ill and you know it. Crouched over the fire, your shoulder blades are beginning to stick out. It’s not right what you are doing to yourself, darling. I’m not ready to be a widow yet.’
Craddock, startled by her forthright remark, straightened his back. ‘And I’m not ready to die yet, either. And I won’t. But I am beginning to hate this place. There, I’ve said it. Something I never ever thought I would say in the whole of my life about this house. Kate, my dear, what on earth am I going to do?’
‘Sell it to Johnny. He has the money, he has the will, it is fitting for it to be his. In your saner moments you know I’m right. Then we’ll have a holiday; we’ll rent a cottage by the sea somewhere in England to avoid the pressure of delayed planes and crowded airports and take young Sykes for walks. He’ll love it and so will you.’
‘But it’s winter. We can’t go in winter.’ He grabbed at another valid excuse. ‘In any case you’ve got school; you can’t just take time off in the middle of term, so that’s that.’
He sat back, relieved at finding a cast iron reason for not going on holiday.
‘Can’t I just. I have someone who would be glad to take over while I’m away and—’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘It’s true. I shall take unpaid leave and she’ll take over.’
‘Who’s she?’
‘Zoe Phillips. I was at college with her. She’s been widowed and desperately wants to get back into teaching; she stood in when Hetty had that operation in the summer. Remember?’
Craddock nodded, thinking, damn the woman.
‘So, sell to Johnny and let’s have no more of this anguish, please.’
Kate waited patiently for his reply. He blew his nose, stroked young Sykes’s head, stared at the fire, made himself more comfortable by resting his head on the back of his chair and then said, ‘I’ll have one more go at advertising and then . . . I might, might sell to him if I don’t get a buyer. But only might.’
‘You will. You’ve promised just now, and there’s no going back on it. Come to bed. This minute. Sykes, come on, in your bed. Now!’
Young Sykes obeyed her, trotting obediently into the flat kitchen without protest and curling up in his basket, but Craddock delayed, thinking only Kate could have trapped him like this. He couldn’t even remember saying he would sell to Johnny. What were the words he used to make her think that? He hadn’t said it, but . . . this could be his escape route if he did change his mind. My wife insists I sell to a Templeton. What had he come to? Hiding behind a woman’s skirts?
He heaved himself out of the chair, put his arm around Kate’s shoulders, gave them a squeeze, placed a kiss on her cheek and humbly made his way to their bedroom. In his head he knew that the idea of the burning log falling on the rug was still the best route to take. In the cold light of morning Craddock realised that one fire in the flat would not suffice to spread to the whole house and destroy it beyond all hope. It was too big, too lofty, so he decided to wait until after Christmas, hoping a better idea might present itself or a buyer might miraculously appear on the horizon.
Everyone else, blithely unaware of his torment, put their minds to enjoying Christmas. It was always a happy time in Turnham Malpas, for not only were there beautiful and inspiring church services to attend, for Peter had not lost his magic touch, but endless parties. The one at the Rectory was top of the list for most people. Caroline had given a Christmas party each and every year once the twins were any size at all and it was much coveted. It was on the basis that whoever was free on the night was most welcome to turn up, but some people got invitations and that meant they could arrive by eight o’clock. At ten o’clock it was a free-for-all.
This particular Christmas Beth had her own guests, namely Jake and his father, and this made her more than interested in the food being provided. About half of it was bought from the village store and the rest Caroline organised. When ten o’clock struck she replenished the food on the buffet table, laid out fresh glasses and drinks, paper napkins and cutlery and waited for the invasion. She needn’t have worried that perhaps this might be a year when those expected simply wouldn’t turn up. They came in droves and the food and the drinks rapidly dwindled. By midnight, when the church bells began to ring to welcome the birth of Jesus, an annual tradition not to be missed, Jake and Beth were sitting in his dad’s car outside the Rectory talking.
In the peace that followed the final peal Jake said, ‘You know, don’t you, that you’re very special to me. I’m very sorry if I ever gave you cause to be distressed by anything I did. You know what I mean . . . with Janey. At the time I didn’t see anything wrong in having two girls in tow, except you were special even if I never said so to you. I can’t believe how cheaply I treated Janey. I’m ashamed about the whole episode.’
‘She’s in a scruffy flat in Culworth; I saw her a few weeks ago. She seems happy enough. With a scruffy boyfriend who’s out of work, so she’s the wage earner.’
‘Beth! No! Where’s she working?’
‘She’s a skivvy in the kitchen at that pub at the bottom of Micklegate. Working very long hours.’
‘That makes me feel guilty.’
Beth turned to face him. ‘Did you send her there? She’s a free agent, free to do whatever she likes. Just like you. And me.’
‘I know she is, but I still feel guilty. Have you thought any more about . . .?’
‘I know what you’re going to ask and I have thought about it and I am going back next October. I’ve decided I must. For my own sake and no one else’s.’
‘Not because I said you should?’
Beth smiled into the dark night. ‘Absolutely not! It’s my decision.’
Jake kissed her. ‘I’m glad; I know it’s right for you.’ They both heard the front door open. Disappointed their time together was being cut short, Jake muttered, ‘There’s Dad wanting to be off. I’ll go in and say my thanks. Have a wonderful Christmas Day, Beth.’
To her embarrassment he kissed her with his dad waiting outside, right by the driver’s window. Beth got out and said, ‘Happy Christmas, Mr Harding.’ His dad shook her hand saying, ‘Thank you, Beth. We’ve had a lovely Christmas Eve, Jake and I. It’s been perfectly splendid. Tomorrow is Christmas Day with Granny, like it’s been since Jake was born. Thank you again.’ He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, whispering, ‘Keep that boy of mine in check. He does like his own way far too much.’ They both laughed.
Beth went to bed happier now that her mother knew the truth about Africa. It somehow had brought them even closer, but her puzzlement about her feelings for Jake still lingered.
While listening to the church bells, Johnny was walking up and down, up and down with his son propped against his shoulder, trying to get him to sleep. He didn’t mind because he loved the feel of this new life laid so helplessly against him. They’d had him home, entirely reliant upon them, for exactly twenty-four hours and he already felt a powerful attachment to him. Charles Ralph Templeton they’d finally decided upon. It had been James, then out of the blue Alice changed her mind and asked him if he liked Charles better. ‘We could call him Charlie for everyday and Charles when he’s been naughty, or Charles all the time. Charles Templeton. It sounds rather grand, doesn’t it?’
At the time Johnny would have said yes to any name, he loved her so much, and as for their baby son . . . he couldn’t find the words to describe his joy at his arrival. The sooner they had another one the better, or Charles would be spoiled to death. He felt Charles’s soft breath on his bare shoulder and thought there was no feeling anywhere in the world as beautiful as that: nor the sweet smell of him, nor his tiny hands softly clenched, nor his weeny toes resting on his chest. Was this paradise? Very gently he laid him in his cradle, pulled his blankets up round his shoulders
and tucked him in. Johnny climbed into bed, into the waiting arms of his soon-to-be-wife and felt the happiest he had ever been in the whole of his life.
There was one more thing to achieve and then his life would be complete, and Johnny fell asleep with a vision of him swimming in the lake, with Alice standing beside it holding on tightly to the handle of Charles’s pram. He couldn’t wait for that day.
Finally at half past one the last light in the houses around the green was switched off and the whole village slept. The geese round the pond were silent and still; the only discernible movement was a small swirl of smoke curling upwards in the chill night air from the Charter-Placketts’ chimney. They’d been the very last to go to bed because Grandmama was spending the night with them and she’d kept them up when they got back from the Rectory party telling them tales of Jimbo’s father in his salad days. Her grandchildren loved the stories she told about him, but at the same time couldn’t forgive his treatment of her and their dad. How could he have what amounted to two wives and two families and keep his integrity? So they loved the stories but thoroughly disliked the man. Yet Grandmama spoke of him with humour and contentment; only very occasionally did the bitterness show through.
Chapter 22
The post held up over Christmas came early on the first day back at work and Craddock Fitch was in his office as though everything was fine and dandy when he knew full well it wasn’t. He hadn’t set fire to the house as he’d promised himself, because he knew his chances of getting away with it scot free were very slight.
The first letter he chose to open had a thick, expensive envelope and the letter was written on thick, expensive paper too. It was an enquiry about his newest advertisement from a company that owned . . . well, let’s be honest, thought Craddock: homes for elderly people. Except these elderly people must be well-heeled, for it mentioned two in the south-east they already ran, and Craddock knew from the addresses they were stately homes that had been sold because the owners could no longer sustain them. And if anyone knew what that meant it was him. He assumed they were hoping he would be ready to end his days in one of their properties. The insolence! He wasn’t ready to give up like that! No, sir, he was not!
Then he sprang to his feet faster than he’d done for weeks. My God! They wanted to come to see Turnham House with a view to buying it? Within the week! Why hadn’t he thought of it? But he hadn’t, but they had. His mind raced through the facilities available and he realised that what had once been for students and promising employees would easily convert to a home for the elderly. Well, the rich elderly. The brochure wasn’t for him personally, but enclosed so he could gauge for himself what was on offer.
They concentrated on improving the general health and wellbeing of their residents, expecting them to swim and walk and in limited ways do pilates and aerobics, they organised a bridge club and once a month had guest speakers, and outings were organised too so they all got out and about and weren’t sitting round the room in upholstered armchairs gawping at TV all day. They provided regular theatre trips, welcomed family guests to stay (at extra cost). Of course, thought Craddock, it would be at extra cost. By the time he’d read the literature he quite fancied staying in one of their homes himself. That was until he pulled himself together and dug out his diary to make sure when best to make an appointment.
Since Anne had at last got another job – he’d been rather flattered by the fact that she wanted to stay with him, but he’d finally persuaded her to go – the diary was now his affair. He impatiently waited until the very end of the day before he rang, not wanting to appear too eager. He pretended he would be going abroad on business shortly, so it was either this week or not for another three weeks. Fingers crossed while he waited for the reply. Day after tomorrow! Brilliant!
‘That’s great. You have the address for your sat nav from the advertisement so I won’t bother you with instructions on how to find us. Very much looking forward to seeing you. You won’t be disappointed. May I ask who will be coming?’
He wrote down their names, put down the receiver and, clenching his fist, punched the air.
‘I’ll show that so and so Templeton where to get off. This could be it if I play my cards right! My God! At last!’ Mimicking an American accent he said, ‘Sorry! Johnny Templeton! No can do!’ He could even face the prospect of Glebe House and that terrible décor knowing he wasn’t lording it over everyone.
When she got back from school Kate found him drinking whisky from his secret supply in his office.
‘What’s this?’ She sensed his excitement. ‘Good news?’
He flung the brochure onto the desk for her to read. For one dreadful, shattering moment she thought he was thinking of moving into it. ‘You’re not . . .?’
‘They’re coming on Friday to see about buying this place for another home for the elderly. That’s what they do. Homes for the rich elderly! Can you believe it?’
Kate dropped into a chair and began to read while she recovered from the surprise of it all. It was supremely better than that Freedom Blade. Lovely elderly people with money. Good for the church. Good for the village. Good for the village store. Ideal in every way. A whole new start for the village, for everyone.
‘Oh! My word. If it comes off!’
Craddock said grimly, ‘It will. I’ll see to that. I knew we’d do it eventually.’
‘Darling! Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched, please. We won’t tell anyone, just in case.’
‘Oh! Ye of little faith! I’ll go to the store to tell Jimbo; he’s the soul of discretion. He won’t let on, but I must tell someone. Is there anything we need?’
‘A litre of milk. But not a word. Promise.’
‘What’s a litre in English money?’
‘Two pints, roughly. Promise me, please, not to say a word or it will be round the village before we go to bed and they haven’t even seen it yet.’
Craddock laughed at her. ‘All right then. Must go.’
He straightened his face and solemnly went into the store just as Jimbo was tidying the shelves ready for the assistant who looked after things for the last couple of hours in the day, enabling Tom and Jimbo to finish at five, and Tom had gone in the back to count the day’s takings.
‘Just in time. I only want a litre of milk. Semi-skimmed, please. If it’s not too much trouble.’
If he thought Jimbo wouldn’t notice the change in him, that he looked ten years younger, had a spring in his step and a smile on his face, he was mistaken. ‘You look surprisingly perky. Got some good news?’
The appearance of Craddock Fitch in the store was surprising to say the least, but to the one customer still loitering by the tinned soup shelves trying to decide which of Jimbo’s offers suited her best, it was a heaven-sent opportunity to eavesdrop.
‘Good news? As a matter of fact yes, I’ve got a very promising buyer coming on Friday. A company looking to buy a property suitable for a residential home for rich elderly people; not a word to anyone, right? No one else knows but Kate. So please, mum’s the word.’
‘Oh! Absolutely. Much better option than Freedom Blade, believe me. I’m very glad for you. I’ll keep my fingers crossed. Here’s your milk. Hope you’re successful this time. Sounds very suitable that: rich elderly, yes very suitable.’
The lone customer didn’t make herself visible until well after Craddock Fitch had left the store and when she did go to the till she paid, said thank you and melted away into the dark, bubbling over with this latest snippet of news, leaving Jimbo rubbing his hands with glee while he contemplated what kind of stock he would need to get in for rich elderly people. More malt whisky? Gin for the ladies? Vodka? Everything of the very best? Double his order for Country Life? The future looked bright.
By eight o’clock that night, seated at the old table with the oak settle down one side was Maggie Dobbs, eagerly checking her watch every five minutes waiting for her usual clique of friends to turn up. They were later than usual and she
was bursting with her news.
Who would have thought it? There’d be jobs there for people and not half! Bit of a blow for Jimbo, but he’d had it his own way for years so perhaps it was someone else’s turn now. She took another sip of her white wine, the latest in her long line of favourite drinks. What was it last time? Oh! Yes, lager. Then she’d gone off that, tried various other drinks and finally settled on white wine. Ah! Here they were!
Willie, Sylvia, Vera, Barry and Pat simultaneously piled in through the door. Maggie waited until they’d got settled with their drinks and then told her news. ‘Have you heard the latest?’
‘If it’s about the big house and who’s buying it we’re all ears,’ said Willie.
‘Well, there’s to be another supermarket out on the bypass.’
‘Another supermarket? Whatever for? One’s enough.’
‘Apparently we need another, and the council intend giving permission. More competition will bring down the prices, they say.’
Barry asked whereabouts. ‘Which end?’
‘Our end, apparently.’
‘Who did you hear this from?’
‘You know our Kev? Used to be in the planning department? The one Mr Fitch had in his pocket? Got caught taking bribes and not just from Mr Fitch? Well, I met his mother yesterday at the car boot – she hasn’t half put weight on by the way – I hardly recognised her. Anyway, he’s working for this chain of supermarkets now, searching out land suitable for future expansion and the farmer who owns the field where the car boot always is has sold out to this supermarket company, so now it’s one of their future projects. It’ll be half as big again as the one we’ve already got. They say the farmer will never need to work again; he’s got a fortune for it.’
Barry finally said, ‘It could be years before it happens. They do this, apparently: all the supermarkets have land they’ve bought up with the intention, when the time is ripe, of building another branch.’
A Village in Jeopardy (Turnham Malpas 16) Page 21