A Village Affair

by Julie Houston

  ‘No, Mrs Heads, you don’t gets it. Samiri Exam.’ Deimante was getting impatient. ‘S A M I R I.’ She enunciated each letter crossly.

  I glanced at the clock. I had a meeting with David Henderson in five minutes. ‘That’s fine, you go for it,’ I said, having no idea what she was going for.

  Deimante grabbed her lollipop from where it was leaning against the chair and, sitting down, leaned back, legs apart and proceeded to use it in what I can only describe as a rather lifelike simulation of penetrative sex, just as David Henderson and Edward Bamforth walked in.

  ‘Samiri Test?’ Deimante panted. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Smear test perhaps?’ David said, eyebrows raised.

  ‘Oh, smear test. Right, got you now. Absolutely, Deimante, take as long as you need for it.’

  She straightened her clothing, pulled down her luminous vest before shaking her head in despair at David. ‘What a dickheads she is,’ she laughed affectionately, before heading for the office door.

  ‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting you as well, Mr Bamforth.’ The very idea that Xavier’s father was in my office had me hot under the collar. Had he told his father he’d been with me in Mexico?

  ‘Yes, sorry, last-minute thing really. Just thought I’d pop in on my way to work. Bumped into David in the car park.’ He paused, looking me up and down. ‘You look as if you’ve seen some sun. Been anywhere nice?’

  ‘Er, Mexico,’ I said, blushing.

  ‘Really? Xavier was there last week as well. Must be the place to go.’

  ‘Mustn’t it?’ I squeaked. ‘Now, can David help as well or did you just want to see me?’

  ‘Just wanted a word about the plans, you know? I’m not sure we got off to a very good start at the meeting here at school and then…’ Edward paused, ‘… and then at the general meeting in the village hall I think I came to blows with your daughter. It wasn’t my intention to fight with a little girl.’

  I laughed. ‘She may be a little girl, but she’s nearly fifteen, she’s feisty and she’s on a mission.’

  ‘And that’s why I’m here. I believe she’s planning some sort of protest this weekend?’

  ‘Oh, news travels fast.’

  ‘It does when it’s plastered all over the Midhope Examiner. Lefty rag, that one.’

  ‘Oh, brilliant,’ I said proudly. ‘She and my mother have been organising it all week.’

  ‘To be held in Norman’s Meadow?’

  ‘Yes, right there in Norman’s Meadow.’

  ‘Well, Mrs Beresford, as I’m sure I reminded you a while ago, Norman’s Meadow isn’t Norman’s, but ours – part of the Bamforth Estate. I suggest that any protest that is being held on those meadows will involve trespass on the part of your daughter. And your mother. I would also suggest that, as head teacher here, you really should remain neutral.’

  ‘Oh? Why?’

  Edward didn’t seem to have an answer to this. ‘Well,’ he said, after a while, ‘you have a position here. You have clout. It may be seen as abuse of that position – you know, politicising your headship…’

  ‘I’m willing to risk that. I will be there, Mr Bamforth, supporting my daughter, my mother, the tenants, villagers and farmers of Westenbury. And… and… Harry Kennedy.’

  ‘Who?’ Both Edward and David Henderson stared at me.

  I tutted. ‘Harry Kennedy? You know, the kid from round here who won The X Factor? I think, if you have Harry Kennedy in Norman’s Meadow, you’ll have the national press as well as the local rag in attendance. Maybe even Look North.’

  ‘I’ll remind you once again, Mrs Beresford, your involvement in organising some protest on the Bamforth Estate will not only look poor for your position as head teacher, but will involve trespass.’

  ‘And as I said, Mr Bamforth, I’m willing to risk that.’ Blimey, I was getting cockier with each week that passed. Where had Cassandra Beresford, doormat and cuckolded wife, gone? ‘Now, can I help you with anything else? I do have a school to run…’

  Once Edward Bamforth had left, I turned to David Henderson. ‘We’ve got squirrels.’

  ‘Have we? Friendly ones?’ He smiled in my direction.

  ‘Up in the roof. According to Stan they’re eating the ceiling.’

  David frowned. ‘Not good.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I’m glad you didn’t mention it while Edward Bamforth was here,’ he said conspiratorially. ‘He’d have loved that, wouldn’t he? The school falling apart and him just the man to build us a new one.’

  ‘Absolutely. Someone’s coming out once the children have left this afternoon to look at it.’

  ‘Good, we don’t want parents getting wind of this. Not a word to anyone. Right? We’ll get the little varmints sorted once the kids have left this afternoon and no one will be any the wiser.’

  ‘Exactly,’ I nodded. David and I looked at each other and together said, ‘Mum’s the word.’

  And we’d have been fine, no one would have been any the wiser, had one particularly bold – and one can only assume hungry – squirrel not had the misfortune to fancy a particularly large piece of loose plaster, miss his step and plummet from the ceiling, landing neatly and squarely into Mikey McArthur’s lunchtime chocolate pudding and pink sauce.

  I was crossing the hall at the time, admonishing those with elbows on the table or handling their roast potato like a lollipop, and saw the whole scene before my own eyes. Mikey, for once stunned into silence, eyed the equally stunned squirrel for a few seconds before, totally traumatised, he shot out of his seat, sending pudding – and squirrel – onto the floor.

  Mrs Atkinson, the dinner supervisor, who habitually jack-booted her way round the dining room, rounded on Mikey but, when she saw the pink-sauce-covered squirrel, screamed loudly, backing away as it staggered in her direction like some Hallowe’en zombie. The squirrel suddenly stopped, mid stagger, sat up on its haunches and, obviously perking up, proceeded to eat the chocolate pudding and sauce that had stuck to its paws. There were a few seconds of silence before the rest of the children – some craning their necks, some out of their seats, and some screaming and shouting – joined in the general hullabaloo. Tufty stared cheekily at the kids before shooting underneath the tables and chairs and out of the door and to freedom.

  Keep this under wraps? Not a chance in hell.

  *

  By early Friday evening the whole of the garage was piled high with banners nailed onto wooden posts, boxes of flyers and balloons printed with the words:

  JUST SAY NO!

  Paula drove round in her old Fiesta – she rarely brought it out, preferring to walk and take the bus in order to save money and the planet – and Tom and I helped her and Freya load the boot and back seat with the banners. There was:

  CENTURIES TO MATURE, MINUTES TO DESTROY

  as well as:

  DON’T HAVE THE DEATH OF YOUR VILLAGE ON YOUR HANDS

  and

  THEIR CASH, YOUR CONSCIENCE

  Dressed in her best emo gear, Freya had decided to spend the night at Paula’s after the pair of them had cooked food round at Granddad Norman’s. ‘We need to be at the battlefield at the crack of dawn,’ she announced. ‘And we need to make sure Granddad Norman is up, ready and dressed for it. I mean, he is the main event, after all.’

  I laughed. ‘Granddad is always up early. Anyway, I thought Harry Wotsit was the big attraction?’

  Freya sighed. ‘Oh, wouldn’t it be wonderful if he made an appearance? He ought to, seeing his granny’s home is at stake. Paula is hoping Swampy is going to come, too.’

  ‘Really?’ I turned to my mother who was struggling with the logistics of the final banner.

  ‘Absolutely,’ she puffed. ‘He and I go back a long way. He said he’d put in an appearance if I sent him the train fare.’

  ‘Oh, Paula, you didn’t? And where have you got the money for this lot?’

  Paula looked defiant. ‘I have savings, and Granddad Norman has contributed some.’

  ‘Forget that,�
�� I said. ‘Whatever the pair of you’ve spent, I’ll reimburse you. Don’t forget you did some babysitting last week – I owe you for that.’

  ‘Whatever,’ Paula said dismissively. ‘If I’m out of pocket, and out on the street, I know where to find you. You are coming tomorrow, aren’t you, Cassandra Moonbeam?’

  ‘Oh, absolutely. I’m looking forward to it.’

  As the pair of them drove off, Paula’s exhaust rattling, Tom appeared at the front door. ‘I’m off out, Mum. I’ll be back late.’ And before I could ask any more, he was off, running for the bus into Midhope.

  I was dying to see Xavier. He’d texted once during the week to say he was in Paris and eating escargots with grandmère. It had all sounded highly exotic and I was loath to say I was in Westenbury eating sausage and mash with my two kids. I bet Ophelia didn’t eat sausage and mash. Or ketchup. I did hope she hadn’t flown out to Paris to surprise him.

  I was contemplating my Friday night treat of cheese on toast and a glass of red wine when my phone barked the arrival of a text.

  Xavier? I grabbed the phone.

  Mark.

  Are you home? I do hope you had a good time. We did always plan a trip to the Caribbean together, didn’t we?

  Yes we did, you pillock. Probably at the same time you were planning little cosy trips to London with Tina. Ha!

  I texted back.

  Fabulous, thank you, Mark. I didn’t realise how much I would enjoy my own company. Thailand, I think next. Enjoy your weekend.

  There, that would show him.

  The dog barked again. I really would have to change that damned canine to something a little more soothing.

  Xavier! My heart lurched as I feverishly read his text.

  Are you at home? Could I pop round to see you?

  Could he? I’d quite possibly die if he didn’t.

  Yes of course. That would be lovely. Everyone else is out.

  OK, I’ll be there in twenty minutes.

  Twenty minutes to frenziedly pull off my work clothes, shower, rub moisturiser into every bit of me – tan was looking good – pull on jeans; pull them off and try on a skirt; pull the jeans back on again; try them with a white shirt, a pink shirt, a navy sweater, back to the white shirt… buttons fastened? Definitely not. Three unfastened and I was begging for it; one and I looked like a headmistress. You are a bloody headmistress, Cassie. Two buttons, then. Shoes? Sandals? It’s bloody November, Cassie. I went for a pair of soft suede ankle boots and stood at the mirror. Too much makeup? Not enough? Red lipstick? No, pink with the tan…

  By the time the bell went downstairs I was a gibbering wreck and had to count to ten before I went down. I opened the door.

  ‘Hi, you,’ Xavier smiled, kissing my cheek oh so softly. ‘I’ve really missed you.’

  25

  Hunt the Lemon…

  ‘Present for you,’ Xavier smiled as I led him through to the kitchen to find glasses and pour the wine I’d remembered to shove in the fridge before my mad dash upstairs.

  Chocolates? French perfume? Champagne?

  ‘Aren’t you going to open it?’ He sounded disappointed.

  ‘Yes, yes, of course.’ I said, and then laughed as I pulled out a CD of Gloria Gaynor’s greatest hits, and a string of those French bonbons that kids bring back from France. I was so faint with longing for him to kiss me that I couldn’t put them back in their bag, and left them on the kitchen table so that he wouldn’t see my hands shaking.

  ‘Cassie?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’ve done to me, but I’ve spent a week unable to get you out of my mind.’

  ‘Oh, crikey,’ I squeaked and then, realising I probably sounded like a fifth former from Malory Towers, I made an effort to calm down. ‘I mean, how lovely. And in Paris, too, with all the distractions on offer there?’

  Xavier laughed. ‘I’m not sure my grandmother is that much of a distraction. I’d rather have been here seeing you. She usually gives me earache about my life, about my lack of children, about Ophelia.’

  I was curious. ‘Did you never want children?’

  ‘I’d have loved children,’ Xavier said sadly. ‘Ophelia seemed keen to begin with, but then she kept making excuses – you know, the flat was too small in London; she didn’t want to bring up children in Yorkshire as she didn’t know the area; she was in the middle of yet another business venture. All a bit too late now…’

  ‘Well, you can borrow mine,’ I said. And then, because it sounded awfully forward and presumptuous, I said, ‘I mean—’

  He laughed. ‘I know what you mean, don’t worry.’ He came over to where I was standing against the fridge and took my glass from my hand. ‘Cassie, if I don’t kiss you, I’ll go mad.’

  The smooth, cold surface of the fridge behind my back was a distinct contrast to his warm mouth that started at my lips and was now forming moist shapes on my neck and shoulders while making its way towards the remaining fastened buttons of my shirt. Thank God, I hadn’t buttoned up to the neck, was my one thought: I don’t think I could have prolonged the suspense. I pulled his jersey over his head and started unfastening a few buttons of my own. Heavens, he smelt good. I buried my nose into his smooth brown chest, breathing in his scent as he unbuttoned my shirt cuffs and slowly pulled my shirt from my shoulders.

  The fridge chose that moment to bounce into life, throbbing rhythmically beneath me. Every sense was aroused as Xavier took a mouthful of cold wine and, with an open mouth, passed it between my own lips before reaching behind me, unfastening my bra and pressing me back against the cold vibrating fridge…

  ‘Hi, Cassandra Moonbeam, it’s only me.’ Paula’s voice drifted down the hall and disappeared into the sitting room at the other end of the house.

  Without thinking, Xavier stuffed my bra into his trouser pocket and pulled his sweater over his unbuttoned shirt before smoothing his hair and sitting himself down nonchalantly at the table with his glass of wine. I shot into the utility with my shirt, closed the door behind me and frantically did up buttons, before running fingers through my mussed-up hair.

  ‘Oh…’ I heard Paula say as she opened the kitchen door and saw Xavier.

  ‘Hi, I’m Xavier Bamforth.’ I heard his chair push back as he stood. ‘Cassie’s just gone to find a … er, a lemon…’ He laughed. ‘Apparently she discovered a taste for gin and tonic in Mexico.’

  I looked round desperately for a lemon in the vegetable rack at the back of the utility room and then, clutching a very poor withered specimen as if it were the Holy Grail, opened the door, a bright smile on my face.

  ‘Oh, Mum, I didn’t hear you… This is Xavier Bamforth. Funnily enough, we ended up at the same hotel in Mexico. He’s just, er, just brought back a CD he borrowed while we were there.’

  ‘Oh, right. Hi, Xavier.’ Paula seemed even more on edge than we were. ‘I just called back for the megaphone.’

  ‘The megaphone?’ Xavier and I looked at her.

  ‘Yes, I borrowed a megaphone for tomorrow and left it here somewhere. I thought it was down in the sitting room but I couldn’t see it there. It’s probably in the garage.’

  Xavier looked at his watch. ‘I’m going to have to go, Cassie. I promised I’d have dinner with my father.’ He turned to Paula and said, by way of explanation, ‘I’ve been in Europe all week – Denmark and Paris – and I need to report back.’

  ‘Er, right.’ Paula didn’t seem to know what to say and I glanced across at her, trying to work out what was wrong with her. ‘So, are you Edward Bamforth’s son, then?’

  ‘Yes,’ Xavier said cheerfully. ‘The enemy, I’m afraid.’ He glanced at his watch once more and drained his glass of wine. ‘Thanks for the drink, Cassie. Bye, Paula, nice to meet you.’

  I followed him out, both of us giggling like naughty children. ‘I am an adult, for heaven’s sake,’ I laughed, ‘and a totally free agent. I was sure Freya was with her.’

  ‘Come and have dinner with me tomorrow,�
�� he smiled. ‘I’m not a bad cook and we can finish what we started… that is, if you want?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ I said as he kissed me, leaving me in no doubt as to what was at the end of the finishing line the following evening, and left.

  *

  Still giggling, I went back into the kitchen and threw the manky old lemon I still had in my hand into the bin.

  ‘Xavier Bamforth?’ Paula said. She was sitting at the kitchen table, her back towards me.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Cassandra, he had a bra hanging out of his trouser pocket.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I giggled. ‘It was mine, not his.’

  ‘So, are you seeing him?’

  ‘Mum, I am madly, truly deeply in love with Xavier Bamforth. I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve truly never been in love before. It’s heaven. It’s bliss. Give me some more wine… I need to celebrate…’

  ‘Cassandra, you can’t be.’

  ‘What, because of Mark? After what Mark’s done, I can do anything I want. I am a totally free agent.’

  ‘No, really, Cassandra, you can’t be.’

  I poured myself more wine. ‘Oh, you mean I’m sleeping with the enemy…’

  Paula swivelled round in my direction. ‘And are you sleeping with him?’

  ‘I certainly intend to be by tomorrow evening,’ I said, beaming at her.

  ‘Cassandra, you can’t.’

  ‘Mum, I can and I will.’

  ‘No, Cassandra, you can’t.’

  I looked at her white face. ‘What is it? Why can’t I?’

  She looked directly at me. ‘Because, Cassandra,’ she said slowly, ‘I’ve got a horrible feeling that Xavier Bamforth is your brother.’

  26

  Explain Yourself, Paula…

  ‘What the fuck are you talking about, Paula? What do you mean, he could be my brother?’ I glared at Paula. What the hell was she up to now?

  Paula appeared not to know quite what to do. She stood up, sat down and then stood up again. ‘Look, I need to get back to Granddad and Freya. I only popped out for the megaphone. They’ll wonder where I’ve got to.’