The bitch, thought Claudilia. The rotten bitch. She must have put in the bid while she was still alive. Now it will go to some over decorated room in the Manor, and not to Bindweed Cottage, where it would have been appreciated and used.
“Maggie isn’t here today but I’m sure Angus will take it for her.”
“Yes. Certainly,” came a voice from beside Claudilia. She hadn’t seen Angus there, and come to think of it, how long had she been holding his hand?
“What the hell am I going to do with three grands worth of pottery?” he asked releasing her fingers. “I don’t even like chess, I can play but I don’t like it. Maggie had no idea about the game. She’d only played once or twice, and that was at W.I. meetings.”
Claudilia remembered there’d been a couple of chess evenings the previous winter. Each member had played in the knock out tournament. Claudilia had won. When she picked up her prize, a bunch of flowers which could have been fresh from an accident black spot, she’d mentioned how much she enjoyed the game. Maggie must have put in an extravagant bid just to show off, to prove how much money she had and to make sure Claudilia didn’t win the set.
“I’ll buy it from you; not for that much, but I’ll reduce your loss.” The words were out before she had time to stop them …I hate it when that happens. Why did Claudilia want anything to do with Maggie in her house? Whenever she saw the chess set she’d be reminded of that woman. The look on her face in the gym as Claudilia pushed the bar down onto her neck. Maggie’s eyes, bright red and bulging. She’d remember the look of horror as the late Mrs Macintosh realised she couldn’t fight against the weights, the weights and the powerful woman forcing them down. Then there was the mocking look she’d got from the disembodied head; as it bounced around inside the chipper, not yet ready to be crushed, slices of flesh ripped away with each revolution of the serrated teeth. And the last chunks of her spurting into the digester. Red, she remembered it was red, but not quite liquid , more like a very fine mist.
“No,” said Angus. “You can have it; I don’t want the bloody thing at the Manor.”
“Are you sure? That’s a lot of money to just give away.”
“Yes, well it’s her money not mine,” said Angus. “And it’s not as if she is going to spend it on anything else.”
The Pastor thanked everyone for coming and their almost famous guest for her help. She left the stage quickly and started taking selfies with a small group of men. Each one was in exchange for a cash donation of five pounds. Claudilia wondered why anyone would pay. Then she saw where their hands were being placed, straight inside her already bulging t-shirt. With a few drinks inside them these men were no better than pigs she decided. Stuart reminded those who were still listening that the stalls would be closing in half an hour, but the funfair would stay open until late into the night. The pubs would keep their outdoor bars open for the evening, and there’d be a hog roast for hungry drinkers.
The afternoon had been hot, there was not a cloud in the sky and the sun was dipping into the west. It looked as if it would be a glorious evening too, the sort of evening that dreams are made of. You want to be with a lover, you feel ten years younger, you’re a couple of stone lighter and anything could happen.
Angus went back to the shooting range to collect the money from Holly, he had to take it to the organiser’s tent. Angus junior had worked hard all day, setting up targets and collecting them once the shooter had finished. He added up the totals and gave each participant a place on the league table. When it was quiet, which wasn’t often, he stood at the firing point and took shots at a spare target. It attracted punters and Angus senior had noticed with paternal pride the number of girls who wanted a go. He suspected they were trying to impress his son; it gave him a warm glow inside. Victoria would have been delighted with her little boy.
Claudilia returned to the cake stall, the table was almost bare, but Mrs Warbin’s offering had not been taken. The last one that remained untouched …and untouchable if you don’t want to lose half your teeth. Claudilia broke it up and took it across to the riverbank where a few parents with children were feeding the ducks.
“Just make sure no single duck gets too much will you,” she said as she handed it out. “We don’t want them to sink.”
“You’re coming to the party later aren’t you?” Claudilia asked Angus when they met in the organiser’s tent. Angus handed over his takings, three hundred and fourteen pounds, for which he received a receipt and thanks for stepping in at the last minute.
“It was nothing,” said Angus in reply. “I enjoyed the whole event,” and he’d meant it too. He couldn’t remember a better Saturday since Victoria got sick; and to make it even more special he’d been doing something with his children. Angus wondered why he’d let Maggie change their lives so much. What fun had the three of them missed out on during her time at the Manor?
“What?” said Angus, coming back from his moment of distraction.
“The party, you and the kids are coming to the party aren’t you?” repeated Claudilia. “The party that Hubert and Marie have every year after the fete, it’s for the stall holders, our family and friends. I’m sure you fit into one of those categories.”
“I don’t know anything about it.”
“We gave Maggie the invite when she booked her pitch for the fete.”
“She never told me,” said Angus. “Did you have one last year?”
“Of course we did. Which part of “every year” don’t you understand?”
“Well, maybe she had something else booked.”
“Or maybe she was too much of a stuck up cow to associate with the rest of us?” whispered Claudilia.
“Yup! it could have been that too,” Angus conceded.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
At seven fifteen, both Claudilia and Max jumped at the knock on the door. Max barked and raced to the solid oak panel for a sniff…silly sod, he’ll get woodworm up his nose. Claudilia had jumped too. She was putting on make up and it wasn’t going well. She looked like a circus clown on a bad day, a very bad day, and now she had mascara on her cheek.
Claudilia moved from her dressing table to the open window, she leaned out just far enough to be heard but not seen. “Go around to the back and let yourselves in, the kitchen door’s open. Gin’s in the cupboard by the door, the tonic, ice and lemons are in the fridge.” All she heard in response was a “thank you” coming up from below. She ran dressed only in bra and pants from her bedroom to the loo. She needed to scrape this mess off her face and start all over again. With a bit of luck there’d be no lasting damage.
Angus poured the drinks, G and Ts for him and Claudilia, beer for his son and apple juice for Holly, Hamish went into the lounge and took up his usual place on the settee. Max joined him and together they looked like a pair of mismatched bookends. Claudilia came padding down the stairs in bare feet, her shoes in her left hand …I’ll break my neck if I try to walk down stairs in these things, I don’t know why I need to wear heels anyway, I’d much rather be in wellies.
“My God you’ve got legs,” said Angus. He’d never seen her in a dress before.
“Of course I’ve got legs you imbecile,” replied Claudilia. “Just because I keep them covered doesn’t mean they don’t exist. You should try mucking out in a ball gown or galloping over Monk Hill in a mini skirt.”
Holly giggled at the idea of her father in a dress. “You’d have to shave your legs Dad,” she said. “He’s got very hairy legs Claudilia, we’d need to get the lawn mower out.”
Claudilia turned to address Angus’s daughter, she was struck by how pretty Holly looked. She had her mother’s build, tall and willowy, with high cheekbones. Give it a couple more years and Angus would be fighting off the boys with a stick. “I’ve seen your father’s legs, and yes the counselling is going very well thank you. My therapist says that in time I should make a full recovery.”
“When did you see Dad’s legs?” Holly asked in horror.
“He turned up here a couple of weeks ago, on a pushbike of all things. He was wrapped up in lycra, with a daft hat and shoes that made him walk like a constipated duck. Have you seen how a constipated duck walks Holly? No, didn’t think you had, that’s because they have too much sense to go out, they’d get laughed at by the other ducks, and that’s not a nice thing to happen if you’re a duck with a bunged up backside. Anyway he turned up here in fancy dress. I gave him a cup of tea and a bun, then sent him home to put some grown up clothes on.”
Everyone except Angus was laughing now.
“We can’t have deviants like him wandering around the countryside and frightening the animals. The cow’s milk will go sour and the chickens will stop laying.” Another round of laughter came from the young Macintoshes. “So I hope those things, those shiny tight things which show off every extra helping of steak and kidney pie, every chip and each second helping of ice-cream, have been consigned to the dressing up box - or the recycling bin. It’s just not dignified for a man of his age to go out like that?”
“Are we going to this party or do you want to stay here and pick apart my character all evening? Because, remember I know quite a lot about you two,” Angus said to his children, “I’m your father, and you don’t want me to share those secrets with Claudilia, do you?”
“You can’t embarrass me Dad,” said Holly.
“So you wouldn’t mind if I told her about the time when you were a baby, the time you pooed so hard it went up the inside of your vest and came out over your shoulders!”
“Errrk. Dad, that’s gross,” cried his daughter.
“Shall we go to the party now?” asked Angus.
Hamish and Max were sleeping in front of the television when their humans left. The lane between the green and the Belcher farmhouse was lit by a string of coloured lanterns, and the patio was bathed in the soft glow of a dozen ornamental streetlights. On the far side Hubert was half hidden by smoke as he fussed over the Bar-b-que.
It seemed as if the whole village was at the party, although the pubs, funfair and hog roast were doing good trade too. The kitchen had been commandeered by the W.I. and was heaving with every conceivable variety of salad or quiche. A mountain of steaks, sausages and burgers, all home grown on Belcher farms, were waiting to go out to the Bar-b-que. There were enough trifles, tarts and sticky puddings to make a happy man very fat.
A trestle table was set up in the conservatory, and a make-shift bar arranged. A couple of barrels of Belchers Best as well as a keg of Summer Lightning had been tapped and draped in wet towels. Beside the table an old oil drum had been cut in half cleaned and painted both inside and out, it was filled with ice and water. Cans of larger, Coke and lemonade floated like a ghost fleet amongst miniature icebergs.
Angus detached himself from Claudilia and joined a knot of men standing by the ornamental pond. They were mostly staff at Macintosh Energy, or tractor drivers who delivered to the plant.
“’Evening all,” said Angus. He was trying to be friendly, one of the lads so to speak, but still he felt he’d intruded on their conversation. He was their boss, and there was a ripple of tension as he joined the group. Like so many others that evening, they’d been talking about his wife, Maggie, and where she might be. They knew her car had been sold and that seemed odd. News travels quickly in a small village, though not as quick as a rumour, and nothing outpaces a scandal.
“Hello boss,” said one of the men”. Angus didn’t remember his real name. He was always called Buster, and Buster occasionally worked as a handyman at the plant.
“Hello Buster, how’re you doing? Were you at the fete today?”
“We was all there boss,” said another man. “We were looking after the beer tent.”
“I thought the pubs took care of their own tents,” said Angus.
“Yes, but we were there too. Just to make sure they did it right. A sort of supervisory role,” he said through a burp.
“You mean you spent the whole afternoon on the piss,” said Claudilia who’d come across to join them.
“We might have enjoyed a drink or two, just to keep the dust out of our throats. You know, in case we needed to sing or something.” He laughed. “But we never ‘ad toooo much.” Another burp. “And we behaved ourselves didn’t we?” Buster asked.
Angus noticed the way they talked to Claudilia, like she was their school teacher or a rather scary aunt.
“Yes Buster you’re right. There was no trouble, not this year. But I haven’t forgotten last year. You threw a piglet in the river to see if it could swim. Or the year before. You remember the year before last don’t you Buster, when you tied that lamb to a skateboard.”
Buster tried not to laugh, and too his credit he was holding it together quite well, which is more than could be said for some of his friends. “Oh yes Ms Claudilia, I remember that lamb. Lovely animal that lamb, and talented, well he had to be, to ride a skateboard like that. And he was tasty, very tasty later in the year, with vegetables and few new potatoes.”
“Well I’m glad you had a good time, but don’t spoil it by drinking too much and being sick in my brother’s fishpond again. That was you last year wasn’t it?” she asked.
“No missus that wasn’t me, I can’t tell a lie, as God’s my witness I was never sick in your brother’s pishfond. That was definitely someone else, I know it wasn’t me ‘cos I threw up in our Jack’s crash helmet,” Buster broke down and started to laugh. Everyone else was laughing too, everyone except Jack, who remembered cleaning it out.
Even Claudilia was having a chuckle at this, but she gained control. “Did you get a photo with our celebrity guest?”
“Oh yes missus.” Said Buster whipping out his phone. “I got two good ones.”
On the screen Claudilia and Angus could see the first photo. Buster was standing next to the almost celebrity whose name they’d already forgotten, Buster had his arm around her waist and was grinning like an idiot. In the second shot she was planting a kiss on his forehead as he leered into her cavernous cleavage. Claudilia sighed, In Wimplebridge there were very few eligible men. Most of the good ones were snapped up by the time they were twenty five or thirty. Anyone of her age who was single normally came with quite a lot of baggage. And then there were the Busters of this world. They were mostly harmless but they’d come from the shallow end of the gene pool. Those who were married, and there were few, often shared a grandparent or two with their spouse.
“My brother would like a word if you have a moment Mr Macintosh,” said Claudilia, in a friendly but not over familiar way.
“Gentlemen it appears I’ve been summoned by our host,” said Angus. He went striding across the lawn towards the bar-b-que, where Hubert could just about be seen through the smoke.
“Pretentious twat” said Buster under his breath, “No wonder his wife’s left him.”
“I heard that” said Claudilia.
There must have been sixty adults at the party, and children, lots of children. The number kept changing as people wandered down the lane to have a go on the carousel or scare themselves in the bungie cage. You could tell who’d been flung into the air because they came back ashen faced, and in need of a stiff drink.
Later, when everyone had eaten and enjoyed a few drinks, the patio furniture was moved and an area was cleared for dancing. The music was changed and the more relaxed guests…You mean the ones who’d had most to drink, were the first to get up. There was always a toddler dancing too. The small children looked comical as they shook themselves from side to side or jumped up and down on the spot. Coke, crisps and sherry trifle was a dangerous combination, eventually young Jemimah or Benjamin would go green. Then mum would shriek, and she’d dash out and grab her little darling just in time, before another dancer’s Jimmy Choo’s were irreversibly decorated.
Marie had been busy in the kitchen all evening, first cooking and serving, then organising the clearing up. She’d had help from many of the ladies of course, but the men were all busy w
hen it came to the washing up. A mountain of glasses and plates went through the sink. The dish washer was running it’s second load and she’d wiped down all the surfaces when she heard the dance music start.
Marie removed her rubber gloves and grabbed her drink, a large white wine, periodically topped up, had kept her going so far. She went through the conservatory to the garden. Hubert was dancing badly with Maggie their youngest daughter. His dance movements were never graceful but they were hampered by Alan perched high on his hip. Their youngest was almost asleep, but still he clung to his father’s neck with one hand and the remains of a burger with the other.
That’s my boy, thought Marie. He loves his dad and he loves his food. To have both at once must be heaven.
“You must be Angus’s son,” said Marie to a young man standing just outside of the dance area.
“That’s right. How did you know?” Answered Angus.
“With those looks you couldn’t be anyone else. Are you having a good time?”
“Yes thank you, but I don’t know many people. I’ve met Helen and Emma this afternoon, and my sister Holly, she’s here somewhere. Otherwise I only know Dad, and Claudilia of course, I’ve met her too.”
“What do you think of Claudilia? Did you know she’s teaching your father to ride?”
“Yes. She’s…” and Angus junior stopped for a moment while he searched out the right word. “Formidable.”
Marie threw her head back and laughed. She had expected lovely, funny or even scary, but formidable was perfect. Claudilia was without question formidable.
Young Angus looked shocked. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I mean she’s very nice and I’m sure she’s very popular but she seems a bit forceful. Dad says she rides the most massive horse so she must be very strong.”
The Village Fate Page 36