Casting the Net

by Pam Rhodes

  It was while Neil was taking the weight off his feet for five minutes with a cup of tea and an iced bun as he sat at a table prettily laid out with a checked cloth and jug of summer flowers, that Peter and Val came over to join him.

  “Did you notice who’s popped back for a visit?” Peter asked, nodding in the direction of the lucky dip. Peering through the crowd, Neil suddenly saw her: Maria, the Romanian girl who had arrived hungry and homeless at their last Bring and Buy sale. She looked up at that moment and stared straight at them, her face breaking into a shy smile. It was then that Neil realized she wasn’t alone. Jim from the homeless hostel was standing beside her. He spotted them and took Maria’s arm as they made their way over to say hello.

  “Welcome, Maria!” smiled Neil. “How are you getting on?”

  “Good. At the hostel, they are very kind.”

  “She’s doing really well,” smiled Jim. “In fact, I can’t imagine how we managed without her. She’s always making beds and cleaning up after everyone. A bit of a treasure, that’s our Maria!”

  “I’m glad. That sounds wonderful. So what happens now? How long can Maria stay with you?”

  Maria’s attention was already distracted as she looked at all the activity around her.

  “I do like the look of those,” said Val, noticing the longing with which the young woman was gazing at some necklaces sparkling on the hand-made jewellery stall to their right. “Do you want to come and see, Maria?”

  Once the two women were out of earshot, Jim answered Neil’s question.

  “Hers is a bit of a sad story really – all too typical, I’m sorry to say. She was sent over by her family to join a cousin who was supposed to put a roof over her head and help her get a job. The cousin turned out to be a complete waster, not remotely interested in working, let alone looking after a rather naïve, scared young woman. He sent her out to get some bread one day, but left the flat and slammed the door behind him the moment she’d gone. She waited in the street for two days, but he never came back. So there she was – hungry, homeless and completely alone. She stayed in London for about a week, eventually keeping warm by just hanging around all day long in Kings Cross Station. One day when she thought no one was looking, she slipped into a train that seemed to be out of service, because it looked a lot warmer and more comfortable than the seats on the station forecourt. She lay down on the seat, so I suppose the guard didn’t notice her when they closed the doors and took the train up the line. By the time Maria woke up, the train was standing in a siding just outside Dunbridge – you know, that bit of line where they hold the spare rolling stock ready for the morning rush hour.”

  “So that’s how she ended up living in a hut at the builders’ yard down by the station!”

  “And she only had the clothes she was standing up in, so she had no choice but to try and help herself to anything she needed. She didn’t have any money and her English is pretty basic, as you know.”

  “Does she want to go home?”

  “I don’t think so. It seems they only sent her over here because there was nothing for her there.”

  “And she’s not illegal?”

  “Romania’s in the EU. Movement between countries is unrestricted.”

  “So what’ll happen to her?”

  “Well, that’s where you might come in. It didn’t take us long to see that she’s a very capable young woman, hardworking and anxious to make friends in spite of her shyness. We’d like to work towards getting her into her own accommodation and able to support herself. That’s obviously a long way off, but it would be a good start if we could organize some voluntary work for her, where she can get experience of working with other people in a caring environment where the only language spoken is English.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  “So I wondered if there was any way she could help here? She’s a good cook. She’s got five younger siblings, so she’s used to being with children, and I believe she’s basically honest. I know you caught her stealing from your Bring and Buy sale, but…”

  “She had no choice,” finished Neil. “I thought that straight away. Look, leave it with me and I’ll talk it over with the team here. Can I give you a call in the week?”

  Jim shook his hand gratefully. “I’ll look forward to that, Neil – and thanks!”

  Much later that afternoon, as the crowds thinned out and the sun dropped lower in the sky, a weary Claire came to find Neil. He was carrying away the final couple of tables to stack them in their usual place under the stage in the church hall. In the churchyard, the last of the banners had been taken down, and Barbara had organized a competition for her cub pack to find the champion at picking up litter. The boys were whooping around with enthusiasm, enjoying themselves too much to realize they’d been duped into tackling the job that everyone else hated.

  Sighing with exhaustion, Neil put the tables he was carrying down on the grass, wrapped his arms around Claire and kissed her soundly.

  “Where’s Sam?”

  “Harry and your mother took him home. He’s loved every minute of this, but I don’t think it will take much rocking to get him to sleep tonight. A quick bath and bed, I reckon!”

  “Ooh,” sighed Neil, “that sounds nice!”

  “Apparently Iris has cooked us all one of her famous casseroles.”

  “Oh joy! Butter beans!”

  “Except these are my butter beans. I can vouch for their excellent quality.”

  “Well, that makes all the difference,” he grinned at her. “I will learn to love them because I am madly in love with the woman who grows them…”

  He leaned forward to kiss her again with a tenderness that took her breath away, and as they stood locked in an embrace that blocked out the world around them, neither of them saw Wendy coming round the corner of the church, her expression reflecting a conflict of emotions: shock, then sadness and finally blatant hatred.

  * * *

  Debs looked lovely as she stood beside a spruced-up Graham at the register office the following Tuesday morning. To Neil’s delight, the service was taken by Angela Carter, whom he’d last seen at Vera Dunton’s funeral.

  The marriage service was short and to the point, which perfectly suited the wishes of the couple and the very small group who were there to wish them well. Graham’s mum looked on with pride, surprised to see that now her son had tidied himself up a bit he looked strikingly like her ex-husband, who’d had no contact with the two of them since their divorce. Debs’s mum, Jackie, looked every inch the mother of the bride in her feathery hat, dress and matching jacket, all in a tasteful shade of mint green. Brother Darren was plainly bored throughout the whole proceedings, unlike his dad, Don, who seemed the most genuinely emotional of all of those who watched Debs and Graham make their vows that morning.

  In his role as both witness and best man, Neil stood slightly behind Graham, in line with Wendy who was bridesmaid. Wendy had carefully avoided any eye contact with him from the moment they arrived – not that Neil had noticed.

  The rings safely placed on the right fingers, the groom was given permission to kiss his bride, to a ripple of applause from the small gathering around them. The registers were duly signed, and once the group had found a patch of grass beneath a cluster of trees at the back of the building, cameras started clicking.

  They were going on to an Italian restaurant in town for a wedding lunch, but Graham knew that Neil had to excuse himself because his workload was so pressing. Remembering everything the three of them had shared that week, Graham shook Neil’s hand warmly.

  “We’re off to the Cotswolds for a week…”

  “Nice place for a honeymoon,” agreed Neil. “In fact, we might even think of going there when Claire and I get married…”

  “What? You dark horse, you! When did that happen?”

  “I asked her when we were walking in the Derbyshire Dales. We’ve not had time to get the ring yet.”

  “Well, congratulations to both of you!
Debs, did you hear that? Neil and Claire are getting married!”

  Angry with himself for not realizing Graham would blurt out the news immediately, Neil accepted the congratulations that echoed around him, knowing that among the crowd was Wendy, who would probably be less delighted than the rest of them. He looked over in her direction, only to catch a glimpse of her back as she hurriedly left the room.

  “Drink at the Wheatsheaf on Monday week, Neil?” called Graham. “I’ll let you win at darts.”

  “Will the wife let you out?”

  “She will, because she knows I’ll always come back.”

  “Good luck, then, Graham. You too, Debs! Enjoy yourselves – and God bless!”

  * * *

  It was almost midnight when Wendy sat back from her computer screen with a small sense of triumph. She’d found him! She’d thought so immediately from his Facebook entry, which gave his name and the details of where he lived in Australia, but it was the photo that confirmed it. Even though the picture was small and difficult to see clearly, she couldn’t help thinking that Ben Stone had aged quite well from the rather gangly, blond young man she remembered from his visit to Dunbridge years before.

  Thinking for a moment about exactly what she wanted to say, she started to type.

  Hello! I think you might be the Ben Stone who spent several months in Bedfordshire, England, about seven years ago now. Am I right? If so, hello from me, Wendy Lambert. I was the dark-haired girl who never could quite beat you whenever we met at the squash club on Tuesday nights. Do you remember? How are you? It would be great to hear your news. And if it is you, isn’t it time you paid us a visit again? It’s been far too long. Mark me up as a friend if you fancy getting in touch.

  Regards, Wendy Lambert.

  Reading the message several times just to make sure it sounded right – friendly, intriguing, inviting – Wendy took a deep breath, then clicked the SEND button.

  * * *

  “It’s perfect, Mum. I can see you really settled here.”

  Iris had survived the upheaval of the move from Bristol the day before, and now she stood enjoying an early morning cuppa in the kitchen of her new home in Ransom Road. She was looking remarkably fresh and pleased with life. There were boxes piled up in every room, but within the hour Peter and Val would join Neil and Claire to get things straight throughout the house. They all knew Iris would be in her element, issuing orders and trying pieces of furniture first in one room then another until she was finally satisfied – but Neil could forgive her that, because he couldn’t remember ever seeing his mother so energized and contented. Initially he’d had real reservations about her moving from the house his father had taken her to as a bride thirty-two years earlier, but it was plain that her decision to buy in Dunbridge had brought out the best in her. She was busy, happy and surprisingly rather pretty, with her cheeks flushed by a mixture of excitement and sheer hard work. She even seemed to enjoy the experience of Neil drawing her into a heartfelt bear hug, as he did often these days. That was something the old Iris would definitely have thought rather distasteful and distinctly unnecessary.

  By six o’clock that evening, when Val and Peter finally left, the house was transformed. Pictures had been hung, ornaments unwrapped, dusted and placed on shelves and mantelpieces, plants lined up on window sills, cupboards neatly arranged, beds made up and table lamps glowing with soft light. They all stood back to admire their handiwork as Harry and Sam arrived through the new gate, which Harry had installed to create a direct shortcut between his kitchen and hers.

  “Thank you,” said Iris, glowing with satisfaction as she looked around her. “You’ve all been so kind. Thank you!”

  “This is for you!” said Sam, handing Iris a bunch of freshly cut garden flowers that Claire had gathered for him to bring as a house-warming gift. Having duly delivered the flowers, Sam looked around with interest. “Have you got Sky TV here?”

  “I will have,” replied Iris, “and if ever your grandad insists on watching snooker, and you think it’s boring, you can come and join me over here. I quite like a good cartoon.”

  Sam nodded approvingly before stopping in front of the row of photos stretched along the mantelpiece.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Me on my wedding day.”

  Sam peered closely at the photo.

  “You look weird. I don’t like your hair.”

  “It was all the fashion at the time.”

  “Who’s that man?”

  “That’s Neil’s father, Robert. We’d just got married when that photo was taken.”

  “At St Stephen’s?”

  “No, in a place called Bristol. Have you ever heard of it?”

  “No.”

  “It’s nice. I liked living there, but I’m going to enjoy being here even more.”

  “Where’s Robert now? Why doesn’t he live with you?”

  “He died, Sam, nearly eighteen years ago.”

  “Oh. Like Grandad’s wife. Her name was Rose. You really miss her, Grandad, don’t you?” Sam looked pointedly in Harry’s direction.

  “I do,” replied Harry.

  Sam turned to Iris. “And do you miss Robert?”

  “Yes, Sam, very much.”

  Sam’s thoughtful gaze took in both Iris and Harry.

  “Well, you’re both old now and you’re friends, so that’s all right. Oh, Mum, that stuff in the oven is smelling good. Do you think it’s ready yet?”

  “Probably,” said Claire. “Shall we go over and eat?”

  “It’s pasta, my favourite and I’m starving!” announced Sam, and with a mischievous grin, the small boy darted back towards Harry’s house.

  “Madam,” said Harry, bowing towards Iris as he offered her his arm. “Seeing as we’re all alone in the world and young Sam thinks we’re very elderly Billy-No-Mates, would you care to accompany me to the dining room?”

  As the two of them wandered arm in arm down the garden path, Claire planted a peck of a kiss on Neil’s cheek, taking his hand so they could follow Harry and Iris through the gate. At that moment a memory flashed through Neil’s mind. He recalled how fiercely Iris had fought to stop him becoming a priest and taking up his curacy in Dunbridge. How curious life was – and how wonderful it now promised to be…

  * * *

  There it was! The moment she clicked on Facebook, Wendy spotted his message.

  Wendy, how great to hear from you! I have really fond memories of Dunbridge. That was a very happy trip for me. Funny you suggesting I should pay a visit sometime. Recently that’s exactly what I’ve been thinking myself. Perhaps you could give me some advice on how best to organize it? Love your picture, by the way. You’ve not really changed at all, except you’re prettier, of course! Thanks so much for getting in touch. Ben X

  Wendy didn’t hesitate in tapping in her response.

  So come as soon as you like! It must be winter there because we’re enjoying a glorious summer here. You’re welcome to stay at my flat if you need somewhere to base yourself. Just let me know when you’re arriving, and I’ll meet you at the airport. Don’t think about it. Just come! Love, Wendy.

  And as she pressed the SEND button, Wendy realized that after all the miserable months she’d been through, things were definitely looking up!

  Neil’s misadventures continue in:

  IF YOU FOLLOW ME

  Also by Pam Rhodes:

  WITH HEARTS AND HYMNS AND VOICES

  When the BBC Songs of Praise team decides to broadcast a Palm Sunday service from a small idyllic Suffolk village, not everyone is happy.

  The vicar, Clive, is amiably absentminded, but his practical wife Helen gets on well with the television team – perhaps a little too well, where the charming, enigmatic Michael is concerned. Charles, the Parish Council chairman, is deeply opposed and resents the enthusiasm of other villagers – including his wife Betty. As the outside broadcast vehicles roll in, the emotional temperature rises…

  “Very moving, very powe
rful intimate moments... I really did enjoy it.”

  – Lynn Parsons, BBC Radio 2

  “Very readable... Warm and witty.”

  – Woman’s Weekly

  “Ambitions and emotions run high...”

  – Family Circle Magazine

  “A gripping story which touches some very basic emotions... Captures wonderfully the two extremes of village life... This is very powerful stuff.”

  – Barbara Erskine

  ISBN: 978 1 85424 975 3 | e-ISBN: 978 0 85721 074 6