The Larton Chronicles

by James Anson

  "'Bout time the penny dropped," said Robert. "Have you heard anything about the job you applied for?"

  "Wondered how long it would be before you cracked on you knew," said Michael.

  "Bad as a ferret, you are. I go for a first interview at the end of the month. Cross your fingers for me. It's helping to train the junior team of the Brits. Plenty after the job, too.

  And I'll still have time to teach at Jack's place."

  "Don't need to cross any fingers," said Robert. "You're a damned good teacher. I've watched you. You've lots more patience than I have. Will you be travelling?"

  "Not overseas. Just to the job, and to shows occasionally. Should be home most weekends, and it's seasonal. I'd better go out and rug the lads up; it's getting dark."

  When he returned Robert was busy boiling up the kettle and getting out mugs.

  "Making hot toddies," he said. "Think my circulation has given up - it's crouched in a corner somewhere, whimpering pathetically. What's it like out?"

  "Dropped another two degrees. Starting to freeze. Funny really, Jack and the family flew out to their winter sports holiday this morning. Might as well have stayed here."

  Robert stared at him. "They did what? No, don't tell me again. So much for the poverty-stricken upper classes. Told you to take a non-paid holiday, did they?"

  "More or less. Still, gives me a chance to catch up on things here. Plenty to do round the stable."

  Next morning found Robert, well wrapped up, settled in his study writing busily. He was determined to break the back of chapter fourteen if he stayed there all day.

  Michael, after getting in the provisions and doing odd jobs in the stables, brought him in a stack of sandwiches and a bowl of soup for lunch and took the typed pages away to check. As he had been in on the birth of the story, Robert was confident Michael would notice anything that seemed wrong.

  Finally, around five, Robert decided a decent break was in order and went into the kitchen. Snow flurries were blowing across the window. Peering out through the glass, he could just make out the stable lantern lit and hanging by Piper's door. The phone went and he answered it.

  "Colonel Heaton. Mike? He's across the yard, I think. Hang on, I'll get him." Robert opened the yard door and found six inches of snow confronting him and plenty more coming down.

  "Mike!" he yelled, deciding against crossing the yard himself. Amos, beside him, put out a tentative paw and patted the white stuff, spat, shook his paw and retreated hurriedly.

  Michael made his way across the yard, his mittened hands red with cold. Robert put on the kettle while listening to the conversation.

  "Right," said Michael. "I'll be off in about fifteen minutes. Meet you by the Brewers."

  "And where are you off to in fifteen minutes?" asked Robert. "You're never going out in this?"

  "Have to," said Michael. "Damn, my hands are cold." He was trying to construct a sandwich.

  "Here." Robert thrust a hot drink into his hand and took over the bread knife.

  "Cheese and pickle do you?" he inquired. "What's up then?"

  "School bus from Gretton is well overdue. Left in good time - could have gone off the road. The driver isn't a local man. There's a lot more snow forecast and the wind's getting up. So we'd better go and find it. Make it two big 'uns, will you, and I'd better have a thermos. Don't know when I'll be back. I'll just finish off in the stable."

  By the time Michael returned, his sandwiches were packed with a thermos and a filled hip- flask.

  "Thought that might come in useful," said Robert.

  "Good thinking. Stay here. You'll get a call if you're needed. This could just blow over."

  It was five hours before the phone went in the early hours of the morning. It sounded like 'frying tonight' on it.

  "Mike, what's wrong with this thing?" yelled Robert. "And where are you?"

  "Brewers," yelled Michael. "Phone's going out. We found the bus, kids are all right - just cold and hungry. Driver wasn't too good, he's in the cottage hospital. They went into a ditch. Stay where you are - everywhere's blocked at the moment. I'm having a kip here for what's left of the night."

  * * * * *

  Next morning, or rather, later that morning, Robert woke to find that the phone was now out and the power off.

  Thank God for the Aga, he thought, be doing all the cooking on that now. He stood a pan on it for hot water for shaving, then cheerfully took it off again - it was a good excuse not to shave - and dug out the frying-pan.

  The two horses were pop-eyed with wonder at this strange white world. Robert, seeing to their needs, was less than impressed. He shivered, thankful that Piper and Flash at least threw out a considerable amount of heat. He had already decided that if Jos got through today at all he was going to be very late. He was just considering what to do next when he heard a bump in the yard. Going out, he found Ashley clambering back up onto his skis.

  "I don't think I've got the hang of these yet, Mr March," said Ashley cheerfully.

  "There isn't enough snow to really go whoosh! They've cleared a track to the end of the lane. Mother's gone down to the Parish Hall to help out feeding people. Did you hear about our bus getting stuck?"

  "I did," said Robert. "Any idea where Mike is now? He rang from the Brewers in the early hours; phone's out now."

  "Oh, he went off to Fred's on the tractor," said Ashley. "His generator's packed up and the cows need milking. Ours is fine, but he can't move his stock over to our place. I must go. Mother asked me to check in case Mrs Prentice needs anything."

  "I'd better get down to the village - see if there's anything I can do," said Robert.

  He left a note for Michael and made his way, with difficulty, to the lane end where he was hailed by Polly Gould and her Range Rover, crammed with passengers.

  "Like a lift?" she called. "Can drop you off at the Brewers."

  "That will do fine," said Robert. "Good thing you had a set of chains."

  "Always keep 'em in the boot," said Polly. "Bloody, isn't it?"

  Robert and her passengers agreed. The Brewers had the air of Command HQ, packed with villagers organising food and accommodation for stranded motorists. Those village school children whose homes were now inaccessible had been parcelled out to relatives or family friends - thankfully their parents had been alerted to this before the phones cut out. Dr O'Neil and the local vet were out attending human and animal casualties, while the vicar, Colonel Heaton and Mr Potter were compiling a list of elderly and now housebound villagers who might need assistance.

  "Just the man!" said Colonel Heaton, on seeing Robert. "You used to be a policeman, didn't you?"

  Robert, who was itching to help but knew all too well that his leg wouldn't allow him to dig anyone out of anything, hurried over and was directed to PC Jeffers at the tiny village station-cum-police house, who needed someone to man his police radio when he was out on a call.

  Robert pointed out modestly that as an ex-policeman he was familiar with the equipment and was practically clasped to a blue serge tunic in relief.

  "My two lads will take messages for you," said Jeffers, "and Mary will be happy to get you something to eat. I have to get over to Melwood if the damn road isn't too blocked. Shouldn't have any problems with the set: it has its own supply. Any big emergency, try and get me on the short wave. It's been acting up, though."

  "So what's new?" said Robert. "They always did. Sub-standard rubbish they fob us off with."

  They had a few moments' grumble together, then PC Jeffers set out on his quest and Robert made himself known to Gretton Police Station and prayed nothing too exciting would happen.

  Quite like old times, this, he thought as he ate the excellent meal served by Mrs Jeffers, his ear still cocked for emergency calls. He had to stop to send Samuel Junior off with a message about yet another stranded motorist who had thought he could get through and had not. He then discussed with Gretton idiots who, when told to stay put, started driving merrily round the countrys
ide, putting everyone to trouble and inconvenience, and heard from them with distaste that even more white stuff was on the way. They were just discussing getting cattle feed through when PC Jeffers returned.

  "Think that's everyone accounted for now," he said. "Finally managed to persuade old Mother Braithwaite to leave her cottage and come into the village till this is over. She wanted to stay put but it's just too damned cold in her place. She'll be fine with the Perkins till it's fit for her to go back. Mrs Mossop had her baby: it's a girl. They are delighted with it. She never fancied going to that hospital in Gretton. They are going to call her Eira. Means 'snow' in Welsh, apparently."

  "Hope she changes her mind," said Robert. "It's got a funny sound, Eira Mossop. List of messages for you: mostly the usual twaddle from headquarters. Never change, do they? Still knee-deep in paperwork."

  PC Jeffers agreed fervently and applied himself to his dinner. A horn hooted outside.

  "That's Polly for you. Should have a meal laid on for you at the Brewers by the time you get there. They were arranging it when I left," said the police constable. "Thanks, Mr March. I'll let you know if you're needed again."

  "Any time," said Robert as he hurried out. The four-wheeler was still going strong.

  "At times like this," said Robert as they waited for a tractor to make up its mind, "I could almost swop my Merc for one of these."

  "She's not bad," said Polly. "Does everything I ask of her, or has up to now. This is my last run to the Brewers for today."

  "Never like this in London," said Robert. "All we ever got was four inches of grey slush and then they acted as though the seven plagues of Egypt had landed."

  "Do you miss London?" asked Polly. "Can't stand it myself. Of course, poor Cris has to be there all week."

  "Not at all," said Robert. "Mind, sometimes I swear I can feel moss growing on me. Ah, the Brewers."

  The village machinery for crisis was now meshing beautifully, Robert realised as he was handed a steaming plate of food almost on entering. Then Mr Potter passed him a large whiskey.

  "On the parish council," he said.

  Robert raised his glass in salute. "You've got everything well organised," he said, looking about.

  "Well, there's only us to do it out here, isn't there?" said Mr Potter. "And we like to look after ourselves."

  "I went over and saw to the horses, Mr March," said Jos.

  Robert stared at him. "How the hell did you get here?" he asked, knowing Jos lived on a distant hill farm.

  "Oh, I borrowed my brother's sledge. Thought I'd see if I could get down that way.

  Never again, Mr March. Thought I was on the Cresta Run. Didn't know how to brake the damn thing. I've left it in your yard. Young Ashley and some of the lads were looking at it. I said they could borrow it. I'm staying at my Auntie Molly's now. I'll never get back up to the farm till it thaws."

  "Thanks, Jos," said Robert. "Look, if you need a meal, put it on the tab here or come and eat with us. I'm off to the village hall."

  Apparently Michael had last been seen carrying several camp-beds in that direction, according to the most recent information. When Robert arrived Jess was organising what appeared to be a dormitory and pointed at a side room. He found Michael fast asleep with his head on a table. Someone had kindly draped what looked and smelt like a horse blanket over him. He stirred and looked round.

  "'Lo, Rob," he said, yawning. "That's better. What's the time?"

  Robert consulted his watch. "Nearly eight, and it's starting to snow again. Jos has seen to the horses and I've been playing 'Z Cars' at PC Jeffers'. That's a very nice wife and family he has. Found the inspector at Gretton was in the Met. same time I was. Glad to get out to the sticks, he said. Get the milking done?"

  "I never want to see another udder," said Michael, stretching. "It's the reproachful look on their faces, as though you have cold hands or something. God, I'm aching to the elbows and I'm on again tomorrow."

  "Ah," said Robert. "I think your boudoir is needed for someone else. Come on, Butch, let's go home."

  After feeding their animals they settled by the fireside, Amos curled on Robert's knee purring like an engine.

  Robert sniffed. "I swear I can smell cowshed," he said. "That and the tantalising perfume of Jeyes Fluid. Hope you've had a good wash?"

  "You have to scrub up these days before they let you touch a cow," said Michael.

  "And you could eat off Fred's milking-shed floor, it's that clean. Spent half the morning boiling water on his Aga to get everything washed down, and us."

  "What time do you have to be off?" asked Robert. "Suppose you have it all planned out."

  "They'll pick me up at the end of the lane round five," said Michael. "So I'm thinking of an early night. I'm knackered anyway."

  Robert got up and removed a hot brick carefully from the side oven, with some swearing as he wrapped it in an old blanket. An intense smell of burning wool arose.

  "For me? Oh, Robert, you shouldn't - "

  "For us," said Robert. "My blasted blanket's off, isn't it? And there's more room in your bed." He grinned. "And I'm pleased to hear you're knackered. Try not to wake me when you dash off to the milking."

  * * * * *

  Several days later Michael shook the snow from his jacket and peered across the candlelit kitchen. Robert, now with several days' growth of greying beard was struggling to write, his mittened hands clutching a pencil.

  "God, you look beautiful in this light, Celia," said Michael.

  "Fuck off," said Robert. "I've given up on the lights ever coming on again. Keep expecting to see wolves padding across the yard, looking at poor Flash and salivating. Which reminds me, we are getting low on hay and that for those two straw converters."

  "I know," said Michael. "I'll haul the sledge up to Jess's and get some more later. She's still got plenty in hand. What's for dinner?" He looked into the pan boiling on the Aga. "Oh goodie, stew and dumplings again," he said glumly.

  "Keep telling you we can't cook cordon 'blue' on an Aga," said Robert. "Or at least, I can't find how to in the cookery book. Must ask about that. How are you and the Friesians getting on?"

  "Jerseys," said Michael. "I swear one of them, CF35 I think her number is, knows me. Her little face lights up."

  "Oh Gawd," said Robert. "All right, we know you're irresistible: another broken heart when the lecky comes back on, poor dumb beast. Here, have a taste and see if that's done yet."

  Michael chewed reflectively. "Tastes all right," he said. "You still working on the book?"

  "Just the last few pages," said Robert as he dished up. "Suddenly realised that we needed a couple more sentences at the end while I was sitting at the cop shop. I've been invited over to Gretton Station for coffee and lunch with the lads if the snow ever melts. Saw they were working on the lines again. Get some wine out, will you? It won't need chilling."

  Robert moved slowly to the sideboard for the cutlery and Michael watched him for a moment.

  "And what else have you been doing?" he asked. "Your leg wasn't that stiff this morning."

  "Probably the hike to the Brewers, then sitting all afternoon at Jeffers' place," said Robert.

  "Oh, nothing to do with the sleigh run the lads had at Brosters Hill?" Michael inquired affably.

  "Ratbag!" yelled Robert. "Who snitched? I couldn't resist it. Had three good runs till I hit a stump."

  "Half the village," said Michael. "They were very impressed with your technique. Wish I was small enough to fit on a sledge."

  "I've just had a great thought," said Robert as they ate. "Halliwell can't get at me for the final revision of the book."

  "He's probably training a couple of carrier pigeons. Or sending out a long-distance skier. I presume the rest of the country is coping. Battery still going on the radio?"

  "Just. Things have been bad in London - even had some trains cancelled. Terrible privations. You know, I'm in favour of us declaring UDI and never rejoining the UK. We don't need them after
all."

  "Spoken like a true Lartonian," said Michael. "I'll get Jess to knit us a flag. Personally, I've enjoyed your electric blanket being off which has forced you to invade my privacy in search of warmth and companionship."

  "A gentleman," said Robert primly, "would not have taken advantage of the situation. Mind, there's something to be said for having a chat at 3 a.m. when my insomnia's bad. Even when you leave me at five o'clock, cold and alone."

  Michael looked up. "What's that flickering?"

  "The lights!" yelled Robert. "That's what I've missed: being able to read at night without risking singeing my hair."

  "Oh damn," said Michael. "We'll have to cancel the revolution."

  * * * * *

  "It's a funny thing," Robert said early that summer in Mr Halliwell's office. "While I'm writing the damned book it's hell, and when it's done I can't think what to do with myself. I'm sick of crime. I'll have to think of something else.

  "Oh, thanks for the champagne for my birthday. We both enjoyed it. Mike's made sure I don't leave him: he gave me Sarah for my birthday. Be company while he's away, he said. She's lovely, too. Great dark eyes - comes just up to here," he gestured. "Sort of a soft dove grey with the proper cross and everything on her back. Of course, he told me he'd saved her from being fed to the Beaufort Hounds for lunch. I've seen her papers.

  She's got a better pedigree than Mike has. Very intelligent, donkeys. Do a lot of standing and thinking, not like horses. Piper and Flash now, bless 'em, haven't got much upstairs.

  Mike got one of those pannier baskets from Ireland. Pop it on Sarah's back and she's a walking wheelbarrow. We go off for walks together, collecting stuff, and if I get tired she can give me a lift, too. The lads think she's great. I was afraid at first they might take advantage of her till Mike," here Robert went rather pink, "explained they couldn't. You know how he is."

  "Mr Faulkner has a countryman's robust attitude to sex," said Mr Halliwell.

  "I'll say. I could have crawled under the table when he explained to that young lady at the literary lunch just why her horse made that funny noise when he was walking. You don't want to know. Next thing I knew, this ex-cavalry bod joined us, gave his six penn'orth to the discussion and they went off in a huddle for the rest of the afternoon."