A Form of Justice

by Dawn Marsanne

  ‘I can wait, there are always loads of seats,’ laughed Andrew. ‘I doubt we’ll have to stand.’

  ‘Don’t be cheeky and go into church,’ said Roger, cuffing his son hard around the ear and making Andrew lose his balance so that he stumbled slightly.

  ‘Ow!’ he wailed.

  ‘Morning, Mr Locke!’ said another congregant, Miss Sherringham, who glared at Roger, clearly unhappy at his display of aggression towards his son.

  ‘Oh, morning, Miss Sherringham,’ he replied.

  ‘Roger! You hit Andrew really hard and outside the church of all places. Stop showing us up.’

  ‘Be quiet, Angela and don’t make such a fuss. What do you think they’ll do to him in the army? Wrap him in cotton wool. For God’s sake!’ he shouted.

  ‘Stop swearing, what’s the matter with you?’

  ‘Listen, you said Patsy was sick in the night. You don’t think she’s, you know...’ he jerked his head to one side. ‘You know.’

  ‘Know what? She’s no doubt got food poisoning from some junk food yesterday.’

  ‘But what if she’s, well, you know, in the family way.’

  ‘Roger, don’t be ridiculous. She’s fourteen!’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So, you are being silly. Patsy’s not like that. She’s a good girl.’

  ‘Is she? Well, I think she’s becoming a bit of a hussy. She answers back all the time. I don’t like what’s she’s turning into. Her skirts are too short, haven’t you seen them?’

  ‘It’s called adolescence. Or didn’t you go through that?’

  ‘I might have known you’d take her side,’ said Roger, huffing and puffing as he marched up the path towards the church door. He tripped on a loose paving stone and cursed, ‘Bloody, buggering uneven path!’ just as the vicar hurried past on his way to the vestry.

  ‘Morning, Mr Locke!’ he called, his vestments billowing out in his wake.

  Angela laughed to herself, then set her face in a serious expression as she followed her husband up the path.

  **

  Patsy had the quickest ever shower as time was precious and left her hair to dry naturally, then threw on some shorts and a T-shirt. She still had over an hour and a half on her own, but she needed to keep an eye on the time. Patsy was the sort of person that once engrossed in something, had little awareness of how the minutes were seeping away, as had happened the previous day in the library.

  Removing the library book on plants from under her clothes in the chest of drawers, she headed out into the garden. Unable to muster any enthusiasm for David Copperfield during her sleepless night, she had managed to flick through a few pages of the gardening book and had made some notes on a sheet of paper. Making her way along the flower beds, she tried to match up the plants with the pictures in the book. The first one she honed in on was Aconitum, the one she had questioned her father about the other day. There was no doubting that the purple flowers matched the picture in the book and there was a paragraph which emphasised its poisonous nature and advice on its handling. Some people were particularly sensitive to it, and it could cause an alteration in heartbeat and in severe cases, death. Was this what had resulted in the demise of Bella? Patsy checked by the fence and could see no sign of the saucer which was supposedly provided for the hedgehogs. She felt dizzy and sat down on the lawn. The memory of last night loomed into her conscious mind, and she felt incredibly sad about the neighbour’s cat. Poor, elderly, Mrs Granger would be heartbroken, Bella was company for her, and she doted on the lovely creature.

  Over towards the rear of the garden was the poor defenceless animal, committed to the ground late last night by her cruel father. The cat’s life had come to an abrupt end, and she just hoped that her death had been quick and painless. How long would it be before Mrs Granger asked them whether they had seen it and her father would unashamedly lie to her? No doubt she would put posters up on lamp posts asking people to look out for her treasured pet. But what could she do? What should she do? Mrs Granger was like a grandmother to Patsy, but her son had an aggressive nature and would probably beat her father up if he found out about the cat. Then, her father, knowing it was Patsy who had given him away, would doubtless take out his anger on her and life would be even more miserable than it was now. Just thinking about the dilemma was making her head pound. It could be a case of opening a can of worms, and the more she considered the problem, she concluded that despite her misgivings, she had to keep her discovery to herself.

  For the next ten minutes or so, she easily identified geraniums, antirrhinums, dahlias, foxgloves and lupins. Then she saw something which jangled a bell in her brain. She spotted a plant which consisted of spikes bearing vivid red berries, contrasting markedly against the leaves which had largely died back. Patsy double checked the picture of the plant, there was no doubt, Arum maculatum, she read, or Lords and Ladies. They looked magnificent, attractive and inviting, almost like red currants.

  Finally, she saw a plant whose leaves resembled those of the herb sage, used in cooking. She’d seen that herb in the supermarket and her mother often bought a bunch at Christmas to make stuffing for the turkey. This one in the garden had purple flowers, and Patsy identified it as Salvia divinorum.

  It was amazing thought Patsy, just how many different plants there must be in the world. This small garden had a surprising number, so if you added up all the species in all the different countries, how many would it come to? Just thinking about it made her headache worse and the midday sun was becoming rather too intense. Her family would be back in half an hour, perhaps less if it was a short sermon and they didn’t linger to chat with fellow worshippers. Patsy had one more job to complete undisturbed, and she ran back into the kitchen to collect what she needed.

  Chapter 32

  It was Tuesday afternoon, and Patsy’s domestic science class which unfortunately included Harriet but not Eugenia, was assembled in the top floor room awaiting the start of the lesson. The cookery teacher was a hypocrite and a bully as far as Patsy was concerned. Mrs Moore, or “Mrs More Food” as the girls had nicknamed her, was invariably late for the lesson, reeked of cigarettes and was grossly overweight. Her forte was to unleash a combination of criticism and sarcasm in varying proportions and Patsy had often been on the receiving end of her acerbic comments. On one occasion, Patsy was sure that Mrs Moore had got the cuts of meat and their descriptions mixed up, it just didn’t seem to make sense. So, when she asked the group which was the piece of fillet steak and which part of the animal it had come from, Patsy answered, repeating the information given by Mrs Moore. The teacher laughed uproariously at Patsy’s answer making her feel a total idiot. She then accused her of never concentrating and then topped it off with a hint that she presumed that fillet steak had never been served in the Locke household. Patsy could have stabbed her there and then with a knife, given half a chance.

  ‘Before you go back to your workstations I’m going to demonstrate how to make a basic sponge mixture,’ announced the teacher. ‘Then I want you to make some nice little fairy buns of your own, and I also want you to show your creative skills by decorating them. I will give marks not just for the quality of the sponge but also the prettiness of the cakes. Cooking is all about appearance as well as composition. Remember, food must be attractive to the eye as well as pleasing to the palate. Bring your notebooks over so you can jot things down,’ she instructed. The group gathered around ready to observe the expert at work.

  ‘Harriet, please come and weigh out the ingredients, the amounts are on the sheet of paper.’

  The girl did as instructed.

  ‘Beautifully done, Harriet. You did that very carefully. Next, we do what is called creaming together the butter and the sugar. You can also use margarine if you can’t afford butter,’ she added. Patsy was surprised she didn’t pointedly mention her name again at that point. The demonstration continued, and Patsy thought ahead to the cakes she planned to make.

  ‘So, why is it important not t
o add the eggs too quickly to the butter and sugar mixture?’

  Sheila put up her hand. ‘Because it might curdle,’ she answered.

  ‘Well done. Quite correct.’

  Patsy yawned. She had made cakes many times with her mother and knew the order of addition quite well. Her mother was an excellent cook, though she received little praise from her husband. He was always quick to point out the slightest imperfection in anything her mother made yet he had probably never even boiled an egg. Finally, they were ready to start their own creations, and the group dispersed to their workstations.

  **

  ‘So, Roger, come in,’ said his manager, Graham. ‘Take a seat.’

  ‘Now, if it’s about the extra day we’ve asked for over the Christmas shut-down, I want you to realise that my union won’t budge on that. There is almost unanimous support for it. We won’t change our minds.’ Roger puffed out his chest as he delivered his spiel.

  ‘Be quiet, Roger,’ said Graham. ‘I’m trying to tell you something to your advantage.’

  Roger looked slightly crestfallen and flushed unattractively. He straightened his tie and played with the creases in his trousers.

  ‘Now, I’m not sure whether you’ve heard any rumours about Cyril?’

  ‘Cyril Bettingser?’

  ‘Yes, of course, Cyril Bettingser. How many people called Cyril are there working here?’ Graham was beginning to lose patience with Roger. He wondered whether he’d made a misjudgement. ‘Well, Cyril is taking ill-health retirement. He’s got a neurodegenerative disorder.’

  ‘Oh, dear. Really?’

  ‘Indeed. But as you have probably worked out, his departure from the company will leave a vacancy.’ Graham raised his eyebrow at Roger.

  ‘So will you be advertising for someone? Headhunting?’

  ‘We will have to advertise, officially but I just wanted to tip you the wink.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About the position. We will consider other applicants, but we’d much rather promote someone in-house. Someone who knows the ropes here and has a lot of experience.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘So, you understand what I’m saying?’

  ‘Well, I think I get your drift.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Sorry, and what?’

  ‘Are you interested?’

  ‘In what?’

  ‘God’s sake, Roger. Wake up! I mean are you interested in Cyril’s job?’

  ‘Oh, I see, sorry, well, yes, of course, I’m interested. Do you think I’ve got a chance?’ replied Roger, his mood suddenly brightening.

  ‘Well, yes, otherwise we wouldn’t be having this conversation. It’s all going to happen fairly quickly as Cyril isn’t feeling at all well. Which means you should paint yourself in a good light, you know the sort of thing I mean. Make sure there are no cock-ups, increase productivity even further in the next few weeks and then I’m sure it will look very good for you.’

  ‘I’ll certainly try. Goodness, that is a surprise. A very pleasant one too!’

  ‘Well, as I say, if you can come up with a new cost-saving initiative then that would also create a very good impression. Get to work on one and well, I can’t really say this, but I think the job would be yours.’

  ‘I will, thank you so much, Graham. Mum’s the word,’ he said, tapping his nose.

  ‘Well, thanks for stopping by. Don’t say anything to Cyril about his illness, he’s not going official with it yet, OK?’

  ‘Of course not. You can trust me.’

  Roger stood up quickly then appeared to stagger slightly and put his hand to his forehead. He grabbed the desk in front of him and stood still for a few moments.

  ‘Are you OK, Roger? You look pale.’

  ‘No, I’m OK, just a bit dizzy. I’m fine now,’ he replied, recovering his poise.

  ‘OK, well, remember what I said and give it some thought. Thanks for stopping by.’

  ‘Well, thank you,’ he replied and he almost backed out of the office deferentially like a royal foot servant. As he wandered back along the corridor, he had to reign in his emotions as he felt like punching the air. He couldn’t wait to tell Angela. This was the promotion he’d been hoping for, a section manager’s job. In his opinion, it was ten years overdue, and now he had turned fifty he had begun to think that he was too old for another step up the ladder, but now it looked as though things were finally looking more favourable. With the increased salary they would be able to afford a new car and perhaps take a more luxurious holiday. He just hoped that his trip to the doctor wouldn’t put a damper on his good fortune, but he kept reminding himself that there were tablets to treat most conditions. Sitting back at his desk, he tried not to grin too widely otherwise his colleagues would certainly suspect something was afoot as he wasn’t normally known to possess such a sunny disposition.

  **

  Patsy was pleased with her fairy buns which had just come out of the oven and were cooling slightly before she turned them out on to a wire rack. Now she had to make the lemon butter icing and then decorate them with the glacé cherries. She had taken a look around the room as she was washing up her cooking utensils and some of her classmates’ efforts looked quite pathetic. Hers, in contrast, looked very tempting and would look even nicer once they were finished.

  ‘Those look lovely!’ said Mrs “More Food,” as she circulated around the classroom. ‘Now remember, the decoration will literally be the icing on the cake!’ she said, laughing at her own joke which turned into a hacking cough as a result of her twenty a day habit. ‘Keep an eye on the clock, girls! Twenty minutes more, then I’ll be coming around to mark your work.’

  Patsy prepared her butter icing. She had even borrowed her mother’s piping bag and a nozzle, as she wanted them to look extra special. The warm room meant the margarine was soft and easy to beat with the icing sugar. The task was nearly complete as Patsy knelt down to steady her elbow on the work surface, piping a very neat swirl on each cake. Finally, a glacé cherry completed each one. ‘Perfect,’ said Patsy to herself.

  She quickly washed up her remaining items and then stood by her creations waiting for the teacher to see that she was ready.

  ‘Ah, Patsy, what do we have here?’ The teacher stood back and observed the cakes. ‘Well, I must say, these look extremely professional. Of course, the proof will be in the tasting. May I?’

  ‘Please,’ said Patsy.

  The teacher cut through the cake and examined the texture of the sponge.

  ‘They have risen very well and the sponge is moist. Let me guess? Lemon icing?’

  ‘Yes, I love lemon cake,’ replied Patsy.

  ‘I’ll take a sample of the sponge with the butter icing.’ The teacher cut a quarter of the cake and ate it, then grimaced. ‘My goodness, that’s a bit sharp. Too much lemon I think.’ She peered at the icing. ‘How much zest did you put in there?’

  ‘I put the zest from three lemons in the whole of the icing. Is that too much?’

  ‘Three lemons? It’s far too much,’ she said, coughing and trying to clear her throat.

  ‘Oh, sorry,’ said Patsy, looking contrite.

  ‘The zest is very intense, you only need a small amount. You don’t want it to completely overwhelm the taste of the sponge.’

  ‘OK, I’ll remember that.’

  ‘However, you did very well, and I’m going to give you eight out of ten.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Moore.’

  ‘I think I’ll just take another couple of your glacé cherries, if I may? Just to take the taste of the lemon away.’

  Patsy offered her the plastic pot, and the teacher guzzled down two of the cherries, adding a third to her mouth, just for good luck.’ She continued to cough as she made her way to the next girl as Patsy boxed up her cakes ready for the end of the lesson.

  **

  ‘It’s Little Red Riding Hood,’ said Eugenia, slapping Patsy on the back, as she left the school grounds and headed to the bus stop. �
�With her basket of goodies for her grandma!’

  Harriet grabbed Patsy’s basket off her and ripped off the plastic cover. ‘Oooh, cakes!’

  ‘I hope you weren’t intending to take these home?’ shouted Eugenia.

  Sophie took advantage of the distraction, grabbed Patsy’s satchel, removed her purse and took out a fifty-pence coin.

  ‘Give them back,’ shouted Susan, who always caught the bus with her friend.

  ‘It’s OK,’ said Patsy. ‘Leave it, they aren’t worth it.’ She picked up her basket and satchel and continued on her way. Her tormentors began to tuck into the cakes.

  ‘They are a bit lemony!’ said Harriet, grimacing.

  ‘I like lemon,’ said Eugenia, ‘besides, I’m starving.’

  ‘Patsy,’ hissed Susan, ‘why didn’t you try to stop them? Your cakes were lovely. Are you going to let them walk all over you?’

  ‘I can’t be bothered, let them get fat. Look! The bus is coming,’ she shouted and chased along the pavement with Susan following her.

  Chapter 33

  Patsy arrived home at around 5 p.m. and could hear her parents talking away excitedly as soon as she opened the front door. Whereas her father would normally be out in the garden, he was actually talking to his wife, and they weren’t arguing. What could have happened? Patsy felt somewhat perturbed as it definitely wasn’t a normal evening.

  ‘Hi, Pattie,’ said her mother.

  ‘Hi,’ she replied, going to the kitchen to get herself a glass of water. She wandered into the lounge and saw her father beaming away. ‘Are you OK, Dad?’

  ‘Yes, why?’

  ‘Oh, nothing, you just look different. Sort of happy.’

  Before Roger could reply to the double-edged compliment, her mother interjected, ‘Your Dad has had a bit of good news at work, but we can’t tell you, it’s a secret.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Well, I’m not important I suppose.’

  ‘We don’t want you blabbing to your friends, we know what you are like,’ said her father critically.