‘Really? That’s tough.’ Lavender sips her tea and then remembers something about Jamie from the night she was in the pub with Matt. ‘Hang on… a week or so ago in the pub, Jamie said to tell you he understood. What did he mean?’
Gran shifts in her seat, shrugs and says, ‘Not sure. Unless it was that if he sees you with Matt, not to worry. I told Annie you had to be with him to achieve an end. Jamie agreed to help us out when I phoned him the night you administered the potion. Good job, because just you and me could never have got him in the car.’
Bloody hell, all this planning behind her back was practically Machiavellian. ‘Seems like you, Annie and Jamie had it all plotted out, long before I agreed to it.’
Gran shrugs again and pours more tea. ‘Had to be done.’
The way she says that sends a shiver down Lavender’s spine and she doesn’t know why. She thinks for a moment and realises Gran will stop at nothing to get her way. To win the battle. Lavender feels like a pawn in her game. Of course, she too wants Trevelyar permanently out of the village, because he is a wife beater and child molester, but she’s beginning to feel manipulated – controlled. All this Jamie stuff has rattled her. Is she the prize in some bizarre matchmaking exercise? Because Jamie helped with Matt, is she expected to reward him by agreeing to become his girlfriend, his wife?
‘Had to be done? Makes me wonder if you’re just caught up in all the intrigue and excitement. I mean, life must be pretty boring for you sometimes, Gran.’
Gran turns her mouth down at the corners. ‘How dare you! This isn’t a game, you know.’
‘Really? Because I was wondering if that’s exactly what it is to you.’
‘Eh? Have you forgotten about the way he treated his wife and those girls – the feud?’ Gran’s voice is trembling with fury.
‘No danger of that.’ Lavender holds her head high. ‘You tell me every day. But I think the main thing you’re still angry about is the way his gran nicked your man.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’
Lavender watches red blotches appear on Gran’s neck, a sure sign that she’s lying. ‘I’m not being ridiculous. You are punishing him, mainly because of what his gran did.’
‘I’m warning you, girl. Hold your tongue and show some bloody respect.’
‘Respect has to be earned.’
‘I’m your grandmother!’ Gran stands up, places her palms on the table, leans across it and glowers in Lavender’s face.
‘Really? Thought you were my pimp the way you’re trying to give me away to the highest bloody bidder!’
The slap comes so hard and fast that Lavender’s head rocks to the left, her hair tumbling over her face. She raises a tentative hand to her smarting cheek and glares at her grandmother. ‘It’s a good job you’re an old woman or you’d get the same back!’
Gran raises her hand again, but obviously thinks better of it. ‘Remember who you’re talking to, young lady!’
‘I know full well!’
‘I’m warning you. If you keep this up, you’ll be sorry,’ Gran growls.
‘What you gonna do – make me a potion?’
Gran’s face relaxes. She tries a smile and says softly, ‘Don’t be stupid. We’re in this together – you’re my brilliant and talented granddaughter and I love you. You sent Trevelyar packing and if the bastard ever shows his face back here, I know you’ll step up to the plate again. Next time we have to be sure he won’t be able to come back.’
The chill is back with reinforcements. ‘What exactly do you mean by that?’
‘The only good Trevelyar is a dead one.’
The horror of those words delivered as calmly as if she were talking about the weather pulls Lavender to her feet. She picks up her bag and coat. ‘I’ll be going now. I suggest you have a think about what you’ve just said.’
‘And I suggest you have a look and see where your loyalties lie!’ Gran calls after her as she hurries out of the door.
* * *
An hour’s stomp along the cliff path has done nothing to calm Lavender’s temper or allay the feeling of unease regarding Gran’s obsession with Matt Trevelyar. Her face, contorted with hatred, surfaces in Lavender’s mind, as do the words ‘the only good Trevelyar is a dead one…’ Would she actually go that far? Perhaps the hatred really is just to do with Gran’s personal history – not what Matt has recently been up to at all. Lavender sits on a bench and looks out over the ocean. The breeze whips strands of hair across her face, so she tucks them behind her ears and twists the rest into a ponytail. She’s out of sorts, but the expanse of choppy sapphire water, framed by a sandwich of yellow sand and grey sky, starts to work its magic. There’s a few dark clouds gathering in the west, and Lavender sucks in a deep breath – salt and seaweed. At last, calm spreads through the pent-up twisty ball that’s formed in her chest, and as she releases the breath, a plan begins to form.
Gran’s mysterious ‘source’ needs to be tracked down and questioned. It has to be someone who works at the school, or someone who knows someone who does. This is the only way she’d be privy to what Matt had done in London. At the back of Lavender’s mind there is a friend or relation of someone at the school. A friend or relation that Gran knows… but who is it? The post office is hovering at the back of her mind too. Kevin Parry runs it, and as far as she knows, he and Gran aren’t big friends – nor does he have anything to do with the school. He’s not old enough either, only around fifty-odd, because didn’t Gran say that the source had suffered at the hands of a Trevelyar in the past?
The post office won’t go away though, so Lavender decides to go there, see if anything will jog her memory. She’ll have to hurry, because it will be shut in half an hour.
* * *
Kevin’s sorting through some birthday cards as Lavender walks in. He smiles and carries on, leaving Lavender unsure how to open the conversation. She goes over to the envelope shelf and pretends to look at them, then she says, ‘You okay, then, Kevin?’ Lame but hey ho.
‘I am thanks, my lovely. Can I help you with anything, Lavender?’ He kneels down and pulls out a drawer full of cards in cellophane, frowns at a picture of a cat in a hat and looks up at her expectantly.
‘No, just looking for a few envelopes.’ She smiles and waves at the envelopes to emphasise her comment. Dear God, he must think she’s away with the fairies. He goes back to his task and she stares at his shiny bald pate. ‘Have you always run this place then?’
Kevin looks up again, rubs his short grey beard and says, ‘For the last twenty years. My dad ran it before that. Why?’
‘Just wondering.’ Lavender’s sure she’s on the right track now. ‘Oh… I think my gran might know him. What’s his name?’
‘She ought to know him. They were at school together. John Parry’s his name.’
John Parry? Yes, she remembers Gran talking about him now. He’s normally in the pub propping up the bar, or walking an old whippet almost as old as himself through the village. But there’s a bit missing… Lavender looks up to the left, puts her head on one side, pretends to think. ‘Hmm. I think she might have mentioned him. Did he have anything to do with Penhallow School?’
Kevin shakes his head. ‘Not apart from being a pupil there once, like Morvoren. But my sister has been the school secretary for the past few years.’ He smiles and gets to his feet. ‘Decided on an envelope?’
Lavender can tell he’s obviously tired of this Q&A game. Probably wants to close the shop. She buys three envelopes, unnecessarily, because she’s got exactly what she wants, and it isn’t envelopes.
* * *
John has his eyes shut and so does his dog. The pair are at a corner table – well, the dog is half under it – and John’s got his hand around an empty half-pint glass. Lavender slides into the bench opposite him and the dog opens one eye. She reaches down and strokes it, saying in a loud voice, ‘Hello there, boy!’
John jerks awake, looks at her as if she’s an apparition. ‘Where did you come fro
m?’
Lavender chuckles. ‘I’m just saying hello to your lovely dog here. What’s his name?’
John’s weather-beaten face concertinas into a gummy smile and he pats the dog absently. ‘Name’s Bullet. He was as fast as one back in the old days, weren’t you, lad?’
Bullet opens the other eye and yawns.
Lavender says, ‘He looks tired, bless him.’
‘Aye, he will be. We walked round the village and that’s about all either of us can manage nowadays.’ John rubs his eyes and sits back in his seat. ‘How’s Morvoren doing?’
‘Her usual self, thanks. Fighting fit.’ Lavender strokes her tender cheek.
‘Always was a firecracker, your grandma.’
‘You were at school together, weren’t you?’
‘Yes. Since we were… ’bout four. That means we’ve known each other best part of seventy-five years.’ John laughs. ‘Old bloody crocs.’
‘Wow, that is a long time! Your daughter works at the school now, doesn’t she?’ Lavender says, hoping that she doesn’t sound too nosy.
‘Yes. Our Maureen loves it there.’ John looks at his empty glass, longingly, so Lavender asks if he wants another. He protests, but she insists, and soon he’s gulping down a pint and telling her his life history. It takes a while for her to get a word in edgewise, but as he’s yawning, she jumps in.
‘Gran told me you were wronged by the Trevelyars years back. Bet you weren’t very pleased to hear there’s another teaching at the school. Well, he’s not exactly teaching now, is he?’
John frowns and scratches his head. ‘Not wronged so much, really. It was this young Trevelyar teacher’s grandma – Elowen. I was in love with her, but she wasn’t never more than a friend to me. I should have come clean about how I felt, but I was too shy.’ John sighs. ‘Always regretted it. Anyway, she chose Terry Trevelyar, and that was that. Your grandma was livid, because she was in love with him. It was a right old scandal at the time!’
‘Yes, Gran did tell me some of it.’ Lavender hurries on before he goes on about all the ins and outs. ‘Serves this Matt Trevelyar right, if you ask me.’ She lowers her voice conspiratorially and leans across the table. ‘Him being a wife beater and pervert. I mean, who wants a man like that in the village?’
John pulls his neck back and wipes froth from his mouth with the back of his hand, looks at Lavender in bewilderment. ‘Wife beater and pervert? That’s the first I’ve heard. Our Maureen tells me he’s a lovely man, bloody good teacher. She believes him that he was set up – stripped naked in his car.’ John shakes his head and looks into his pint. ‘A terrible business.’
Lavender wishes she had a pint. She needs a drink. More than one. She swallows hard, takes a deep breath, tries to slow her quickening pulse. ‘Really? I heard his wife killed herself because he beat her, and he molested girls at his school in London.’
John’s jaw drops, and he shakes his head. ‘No, no. That’s not right at all. Maureen said his wife died of leukaemia. And they wouldn’t let a bloody paedophile teach at our school. Even I know that, and I’m not up on school rules!’
Lavender feels like a prize idiot. She should have known too, shouldn’t she? It stood to reason. But she’d let Gran’s stories in without question. Just as she always had. What Gran says, goes. Well not any more. How many more lies has she swallowed over the years?
‘Who did you hear this rubbish from?’
Lavender shakes her head, drops her gaze to Bullet, who’s gone back to sleep. What does she say now? Gran will be furious if she drops her in it. But isn’t it about time she was dropped in it? The hideous things Lavender has done to an innocent man, because she believed the lies. Her stomach rolls at the thought. Poor Matt’s been humiliated, might have lost his job permanently, all because of herself and the witch of a grandma she’s been unfortunate enough to be saddled with. Besides, the way she’d behaved towards Lavender earlier is still fresh in her mind. If Morvoren Penhallow isn’t stopped now, there’s no telling what she’ll do. The only good Trevelyar is a dead one…
‘Lavender, did you hear me? I said who–’
‘I heard.’ She lifts her head and wipes away angry tears. ‘I heard it from my gran. She told me that you’d told her. Must have bent the truth a bit though, eh?’
‘What?’ John’s raised voice snaps a few heads in their direction. He lowers his voice again, says, ‘All I told her was that there’s a new Trevelyar teaching at the school. I knew she hated them because of the old feud and what happened with her and Terry. I told her my Maureen says he seems nice though and that the poor lad lost his wife from leukaemia. That was it, I swear.’
She nods and pats his hand. ‘Don’t worry. I believe you, John. I just wish I hadn’t believed her.’ Lavender stands up to leave.
John beckons her closer and she leans in. ‘Why are you so upset, love? Has Morvoren got something to do with all this mess the lad’s in?’
She so wants to tell him. Wants to blurt out all of it. But how can she? She’d be in it right up to her neck and that would be the end for her. There’d be no coming back from that. Imagine the wagging tongues. Half the village already think she’s a weirdo. And she might end up in prison for all she knows. She ought to be, given what she’s done. No. Gran had made sure that if she went down, she’d pull her granddaughter under too. Very clever, Morvoren.
Lavender pats John’s shoulder. ‘No, don’t worry. I’m upset about something else… me and Gran aren’t getting along lately. I can’t go into it all though. Please don’t mention any of this to anyone, especially Gran. She’d be very embarrassed if she knew that I know she’s made stuff up. I worry for her mental health… Anyway, I’ll see you, John.’ Then she strokes Bullet’s head and hurries out into the cold evening air.
Chapter 17
Matt steps off the tube into the London rush hour and hails a taxi. He can’t be bothered getting a bus, as he’s been travelling six hours already. Six hours to get from Cornwall to the capital – nuts. He could almost get to the USA in the same time. The car would have been a little quicker, but he’d wanted to relax. Too much stress makes Matt a dull boy. He’s had enough of that over the past few weeks.
Shit. The taxi flies past him down the street. Matt sighs, pulls his coat collar up against the bitter fume-filled wind. Crowds swarm in and out of the tube station, shops, cafés, all in a rush to be somewhere, see someone, do something. He used to be one of the crowd; now he’s used to a slower pace. But for how much longer?
In a taxi ten minutes later, he thinks again about the meeting he’d had with Deborah a few days ago. She’d been very sympathetic and told him she did actually believe him that he’d been set up, but having said that, it might be better if he sought a post elsewhere. The governors discussed it all at length and the parent governors had said the feeling amongst the majority of parents was that if Matt came back, they’d remove their children.
Deborah it seemed was in a terrible position. She didn’t want to lose such an able and hitherto well-liked teacher. But in the end, she would have to put her school first. Imagine the scandal if the kids walked out en masse. It would be on the local news; it might even make the nationals. At least this way Matt could apply for other jobs relatively shame-free. Deborah, of course, would write a good reference. He totally understood her decision– he would have done the same – and so Matt had done the honourable thing and resigned.
The taxi draws up outside his old terraced Victorian family home in Hackney. There are no lights on and Matt hopes his parents are in, as they have had new double-glazed doors fitted since he left and he hasn’t a key. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to make a surprise visit after all. Paying the driver, he jumps out and hurries up the path. After a few moments ringing the bell, his hopes are dashed. Serves him right for not calling ahead. Matt looks down the street to the café on the corner. He could wait in there, or do the ten-minute walk to Gran and Granddad’s. An image of Gran’s comfy kitchen and home-made cake pres
ents itself and the choice is made. His grandparents might not be in either, but once again he decides not to call as he likes to surprise them.
A similar Victorian terrace waits at the end of the avenue, but this time there’s a welcoming light escaping around the margins of the blind at the bay window. Matt lifts the door knocker and lets it fall three times. The blind shifts an inch and he sees a partial view of Gran’s face looking out at him. Then the door flies open and she’s standing there, tears in her eyes, a huge smile on her face and her arms outstretched. ‘Matt! My darling boy!’
Matt walks into her embrace, and for the first time in a long time, he feels safe, wanted. ‘Hello Gran. Thought I’d come and surprise you.’
She holds him at arm’s length. ‘You certainly did that all right. Did your mum and dad know you were coming?’
‘No. Nobody does. Just been there but they aren’t in.’
‘Yes, they’ve gone for an early tea.’ She ushers him inside and follows him along the hallway to the kitchen, which is just how Matt pictured it in his head. On the table is a fresh batch of scones and a chocolate cake. ‘They’ve taken your granddad with them, then they’re going to the cinema to see that new Star Wars film. As you know, I’m not a fan.’
Matt shrugs his coat off, sets his rucksack down and sits at the table. ‘Yes, I remember.’ He nods at the baking. ‘I expect you’ll be wanting someone to share these with you?’
Gran laughs and hugs him again. ‘It’s as though I knew you were coming. I wasn’t going to bother baking until tomorrow, but I did it anyway. Tea?’
Matt nods and feels the knots in his neck start to loosen, the burden of worry lighten. He watches Gran bustle about the kitchen and marvels at her energy. What is she now – seventy-six, seventy-seven? She looks and acts a good ten years younger. Mind you, Matt knows she must dye her once naturally blonde hair nowadays. That would make the difference to her overall appearance of youth. Her bright blue eyes sit on a multitude of crow’s feet, but they are still alive and full of an intelligent curiosity.
The Feud Page 10