So Long at the Fair

by Pat Herbert

  Mandy was a little surprised. What did this woman want, she wondered, almost unkindly. She didn’t have time to chat. There was the shopping still to do and Alfie needed his tea. But she was polite, nonetheless.

  “Mandy Fisher. How d’you do?”

  “Please to meet you, I’m sure,” said Effie. “To tell you the truth, I was very interested in what your boy was saying.”

  “Oh, please don’t take any notice of him,” said Mandy glibly. “He’s always telling fibs.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Effie. “You’re not a fibber, are you?” She addressed this to Alfie who was hopping from foot to foot with impatience.

  “No, I’m not. Can we go, Mum? I’m hungry. Can I have a cake?”

  “Yes, yes, Alfie. Be quiet for a minute, can’t you?”

  Alfie, tired of waiting for his mother, ran back to his schoolmates, obviously none the worse for their ragging. They seemed to be arguing all over again, but both the women ignored their noise. Mandy was very interested in this Effie Barker now.

  “What d’you mean you don’t think so?” she asked her.

  “I know he isn’t lying,” said Effie.

  “What was he saying?”

  “He was saying he saw a woman fall from the Big Wheel at the fair last week.”

  “And you say he’s not lying? He said she wasn’t on the ground even though he was supposed to have seen her fall. How can that be true?”

  “I know it’s true. Look, dear, I will tell you everything. Have you got time for a cup of tea?”

  “Er, no, not right now,” said Mandy, wishing she had. “Maybe I could meet you tomorrow?”

  “That would be very pleasant,” smiled Effie. “There’s a nice little café just a block from here.”

  “I know it. Mildred’s. What time?”

  “You tell me. You’re the busy one.”

  “How about eleven o’clock?”

  “Perfect.”

  Mandy watched the woman trot up the road and saw her turn the corner. What a funny little body, she thought. But she was intrigued by her. What did this woman have to tell her, and why was she so sure Alfie wasn’t lying?

  “Alfie!” she called, remembering she had a son. “I won’t tell you again. Come here. I haven’t got the time for your tomfoolery.”

  “Oh Mum!” came the whine of protest, as she clipped him around the ear.

  She marched him off smartly, leaving the other boys still laughing at their schoolmate. Children could be cruel at times, she thought. Alfie was always getting teased for telling stories, but he brought it on himself. Except this time, if this mysterious Effie Barker was to be believed, he was telling the truth.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  June 1959

  Mildred’s Café was situated along the High Street next to a camera shop and a newsagents. It was an inconspicuous little building sandwiched in between the two bigger shops, and those with less sharp eyes and no wish for tea tended to pass it by unnoticed. Mandy Fisher, who was blessed with twenty-twenty vision and a fondness for tea, had often spent the odd half-hour in Mildred’s, usually just before she was due to pick up Alfie from school. Today, however, she was there at eleven o’clock, much to the eponymous owner’s surprise.

  “Hello, Mandy,” she greeted her. “We don’t usually see you in here at this hour. Had enough of the housework, have you?”

  Mandy laughed. “I’m always fed up of housework. Why should today be any different?”

  Mildred joined in her laughter. “I get your point. Would you like the table by the window?”

  “I’m meeting someone, actually,” said Mandy, looking around her. “I don’t think she’s here yet.”

  “Oh, do you mean Effie Barker?”

  “That’s right. Is she here? I can’t see her.”

  “She’s gone to the Ladies,” Mildred informed her. “She’s at that table over there.”

  At that moment, Effie Barker emerged from the back of the café. “Hello, dear,” she said to Mandy. “I’m delighted you could come.”

  “I hope I’m not late,” said Mandy as she sat down opposite Effie, who was immediately hidden from her by the large menu card she was holding.

  “Not at all, dear. You are most prompt,” said Effie, peeping around the edge of the menu. “What’ll you have? I fancy the chocolate eclairs myself.”

  “Oh, only tea for me, please,” said Mandy hastily, remembering her spare tyre.

  “Nonsense! You shall have a Belgian bun and like it.”

  Mandy laughed. “Whatever you say,” she said. The Belgian buns did look good, she had to admit, spare tyre or no spare tyre.

  When the tea and cakes had been dispensed, Mandy prompted the older woman. “Er, will you – that is – can you tell me about what you said yesterday?”

  Effie was thoroughly enjoying her éclair, the cream oozing from its sides. “What, dear? What was that?”

  Oh dear, thought Mandy, she’s obviously forgotten. “You know – when you said that my son wasn’t lying …”

  “Ah! Of course,” exclaimed Effie, wiping her sticky hands on her napkin. “Eclairs are delicious, but they do get messy, don’t you find?”

  “I – I suppose they must,” agreed Mandy, although her knowledge of eclairs was extremely limited as she rarely ate one.

  “I’m all alone in the world,” said her companion, once her hands were cleaned to her satisfaction.

  Mandy, not sure how, or even if, to respond to this statement, just gave her a sympathetic smile.

  “Not that that’s any concern of yours, dear,” said Effie, sipping her tea. “I was a twin, you know.”

  “A twin?”

  “That’s right. Twin girls. My sister Elspeth died last year.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “Yes, I miss her very much. Much more than I ever missed my husband. He died three years ago. Elspeth’s husband had been dead two years when that happened, so we came to live together. Which makes it that much harder to lose her after we’d grown so close again.”

  “It must be,” said Mandy, not sure if she wanted to hear the old woman’s life story.

  “Not that that’s in any way anything to do with why I asked to meet you,” said Effie. “I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than listen to an old woman wittering on.”

  “Of course, I haven’t,” Mandy asserted. She was lonely, poor thing, she thought. It wouldn’t hurt to listen to her for a while.

  “I’m telling you about my sister, as we both saw her that day.”

  “Saw her? Who?”

  “We were at the fair on the Common. We were looking up at the Big Wheel, wishing our dad would take us up there but knowing he wouldn’t. Said it was too dangerous. Well, we were only eight. Anyway, it certainly was dangerous that day because we saw this woman fall from the top of it.”

  Mandy’s hand went to her mouth in astonishment. So, this old woman had seen what Alfie had seen, although not recently. When she was eight! Which must have been hundreds of years ago, she thought unkindly.

  “We told our dad – we called him papa then – can you imagine? Anyway, he said he hadn’t seen anything and told us not to be silly, especially as there was no body on the ground. Well, Elspeth and I – well, we couldn’t understand it. Then we saw her fall again – and then a third time. We never knew what to make of it. And I still don’t.”

  “So, Alfie was telling the truth,” said Mandy, almost to herself.

  “What, dear? I’m a little deaf.”

  “Sorry, I said my son was telling the truth, then, about seeing the lady fall.”

  “Of course, he was. I’m glad that someone else has seen what we saw. At last.”

  “But what can it mean?”

  “That is something I can’t answer. I wish I could.”

  The two women finished their tea in silence and Effie paid the bill.

  “Put your purse away, dear,” she insisted, as Mandy made to pay for her share. “I’ve little to s
pend my money on, and I’m not a pauper.”

  Mandy could see that. The woman was well turned out in an elegant suit trimmed with fox fur. Her hair was freshly permed and the perfume she wore was obviously something more expensive than the one Mandy bought in Woolworth’s.

  “Thank you,” she said meekly. “It’s very kind of you.”

  “Not at all. You must come and visit me,” said Effie as they made their way out of the café. “Bring your son too. I’d love to ask him about what he saw. Here’s my card.”

  “I will, thank you,” said Mandy taking it and putting it in her purse. The sun went behind a cloud as they said their goodbyes.

  As Mandy made her way along the High Street to the greengrocers, she felt a few drops of rain land on her hat. Her mind wasn’t on her shopping, however, as she mulled over the conversation she had just had with Effie Barker. She could dismiss her as a dotty old woman, she supposed, but she couldn’t quite do so. But, if both Effie and Alfie really had seen this woman falling from the Big Wheel, what did it mean?

  She entered the greengrocers in a daze.

  “Hello, Mrs Fisher,” said the friendly greengrocer. “A pound of King Edward’s as usual?”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  June 1959

  Robbie turned up at the vicarage following Bernard and Albert’s visit to the newspaper archives earlier that day. Bernard couldn’t wait to tell him all that he had discovered.

  “What’s up, old boy?” asked Robbie as he noticed his friend’s agitation. “Have you got St Vitus dance or something? Careful, you’re spilling it!”

  Bernard was indeed spilling the whisky he was pouring for Robbie; his hand was shaking so much.

  “Sorry, Robbie,” he said, making an effort to keep calm. “It’s just that I’m so excited. I’ve been waiting all day to tell you what I’ve found out. And you’re usually here long before this. It’s nearly nine o’clock.”

  “Sorry, but I had a confinement which turned out to be more complicated than expected. And whatever you’ve found out is no excuse for spilling the Glenfiddich.” To Robbie, spilling even one drop of the golden nectar was sacrilege.

  When both men were finally seated, Bernard gave him all the news he had managed to glean from the archive. Robbie’s eyebrows rose higher and higher as Bernard spoke. It was almost, but not quite, worth sacrificing a few drops of the Glenfiddich, after all.

  When Bernard had finished, Robbie said something that dampened his enthusiasm. “Why didn’t you get Photostat copies of the articles?”

  “Oh dear!” Bernard sighed. “I never thought of that. To tell you the truth, I needed to get out of there before Albert became suspicious.”

  “What d’you mean? Wasn’t Albert making the discovery with you?”

  Bernard explained.

  “That’s all very well, but why were you so keen for him not to know what you’d found out? It’s his story, after all.” Robbie was puzzled.

  “I didn’t know what to do, Robbie,” said Bernard. “I thought it best to tell you first and ask your advice.”

  “Advice about what?”

  “About telling Albert. I thought it might be best to tell his father first.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense, old boy. Doesn’t he already know?”

  Bernard tutted impatiently. “Yes, but he hasn’t told Albert. If we tell him instead, he’ll probably fall out with him and the poor man’s very ill, apparently.”

  “You’re all heart,” grinned Robbie. “But I see what you mean.”

  “So, what do you advise, then?”

  “Hmm, let me think about it. I’m more interested in the way Olivia met her death. Much more interested.”

  “I know what you’re thinking,” said Bernard, pouring out more whisky, this time with a steadier hand “You think she’s the lady you saw at the fair. You and Alfie.”

  “Well, don’t you?”

  “I suppose I do but it’s a bit of a coincidence, isn’t it?”

  “Then there’s the Latimer connection,” said Robbie, ignoring Bernard’s last remark. “Hal Latimer. I wish he’d reply to our advert. I think we should put it in again next week. Someone’s bound to see it, even if he doesn’t, and let him know.”

  “So, you think this Latimer’s a relation of the man who killed Olivia?”

  “It all makes sense,” said Robbie, smacking his lips as he finished his second drink.

  “Anyway, Robbie, while we’re waiting for Latimer, what should I do about telling Albert? Have you thought?”

  “I think you’re right,” said Robbie slowly. “Tell his father that you know all about his mother’s death and that you’ll tell Albert if he doesn’t. See if that has any effect.”

  Bernard was glad his friend agreed with the course of action he was planning. It was definitely the right thing to do.

  

  But, right thing or not, Ernest Williams wouldn’t budge.

  “How dare you come round here and threaten me in this way?” he growled at Bernard.

  It was the following morning, and Albert was out at his work. Bernard had set off, full of optimism that, once Ernest knew what he had discovered, he would ensure that no one but himself passed on the information to his son. It was his right, and Bernard was sure he’d see the sense of it.

  The first thing he noticed when Ernest opened the door to him was how ill he looked. The fit of coughing that came soon after his arrival only confirmed this. The poor man wasn’t long for this world, Bernard could see. The sooner the man made his peace with his son the better.

  But the man wasn’t prepared to see sense, it seemed.

  “I won’t ever tell Albert about what happened to his grandmother, and you’d better not,” he snarled.

  “But surely he has a right to know?” questioned Bernard, almost pleading.

  Ernest was prevented from replying by another violent coughing fit, sending Bernard scurrying into the kitchen for a glass of water. When the old man had recovered a little, Bernard tried again.

  “You must see, Mr Williams, that Albert should know the truth. He wants to get married soon, but he feels unable to set the date with this hanging over his head. Won’t you reconsider?”

  “There’s nothing to stop him getting married. I want him to marry Faith as soon as possible …” He started coughing again.

  Bernard could see why his son getting married soon was uppermost in Ernest’s mind: he wanted to be there to see it. He tried again.

  “Don’t you think Albert will delay his wedding until he finds out?”

  Ernest glared at him. “He’ll probably call it off if he finds out the truth,” he said.

  There was little more Bernard could say. “I’m sorry you feel this way, Mr Williams,” he said sadly. “But you leave me no alternative.”

  “What d’you mean?”

  “I will have to tell him myself.”

  “I just told you not to. You’ve no right to go against my wishes in this. I have strong reasons for not wanting Albert to know.”

  “I really don’t see what the problem is,” said Bernard as reasonably as he could. “After all, the manner of your mother’s death is no cause for you to be ashamed or keep it secret. You didn’t murder her yourself, for goodness’ sake.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Ernest glowered. “Meddling vicars! I can’t stand people like you. I know how Henry the Second must have felt about Thomas à Becket now.”

  Bernard heard those famous words in his head. Will no one rid me of this turbulent priest? He never thought of himself as a ‘turbulent priest’, but he supposed, in Ernest’s eyes, that’s exactly what he was. But whatever Ernest Williams said or did, he knew where his duty lay. Albert had to know the truth, and it seemed he would have to be the one to tell him.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  June 1959

  Bernard had done his duty, but he hadn’t enjoyed it, particularly as he had to tell Albert all about his grandmother’s tragic death
with his fiancée present as well.

  “I’ve brought Faith with me, Vicar,” Albert told him that evening, “as I’ve decided – we’ve decided – to set the date for our wedding.”

  Bernard could see why Albert was anxious to marry her. She was a very pretty brunette with an oval, childlike face, clear blue eyes and a smile that made his heart flip a somersault. His only regret was that she was there when he had to tell Albert the devastating news about Olivia Ayrton-Williams. He hoped that she wouldn’t be scared by what he had to say, and he hoped even more that she wouldn’t call off the wedding. Luckily, his hopes on both counts were gratified.

  He was interrupted during the telling of the story by Robbie who was obviously immediately captivated by Albert’s fiancée.

  “This is Faith Murray,” Albert told him. “We are going to be married in September. We’ve set the date.”

  “And I hope you will be coming to church, the pair of you, not just to hear the banns read, but every Sunday from now on,” said Bernard sternly.

  To tell the truth, he couldn’t wait to see Faith’s pretty face staring up at him as he preached his sermons from the pulpit.

  “Yes, Vicar,” Albert said meekly. “We will be coming every week, I promise.”

  “Have you told him?” Robbie said as an aside to Bernard while still eyeing Faith with approval.

  “Yes, Robbie, I have.”

  “And have you told him about my experience – and Alfie’s, too, of course?”

  “I was about to,” Bernard said, “just before you came in.”

  “Good show.”

  “But, as you’re here, maybe you should tell him that bit yourself.”

  Robbie was only too pleased to do so. Albert’s jaw dropped as he listened to him. Faith, seated close beside him, gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

  “But – but do you think the lady you saw was a vision from the past? Do you think it was my grandmother trying to tell us something?”

  “I do, lad,” said Robbie, all eyebrows and conviction. “But what that something is we do not know.”