(3/20) Storm in the Village (4 page)

'It must be very hard work,' I observed. 'All that kneading and squeezing. I wonder if it's nicer that way?'

'Don't you start, for heaven's sake!' said Mr Annett with alarm. 'Here, have some honey, and don't go getting ideas in your head!'

He began to talk about the two boys who had been so interested in my car.

'The smaller one tells me that there's talk of a housing estate in Hundred Acre Field,' said he. 'Heard anything about it?'

I said I hadn't.

'There was a tiny paragraph in the
Mail
or the
Telegraph
a week or two ago,' said Mrs Annett. 'Something about two or three thousand new workers coming to the atomic place. They've had some new plant put in, haven't they?'

'And is this housing estate for them?' I asked, somewhat alarmed. 'Good lord, it surely won't be built at Beech Green? It's miles from the atomic station!'

'Well, I don't know. There'd be work buses, I suppose.'

'Not that we're likely to have a huge estate here,' said Mrs Annett. 'That field is excellent farming land. Surely, it wouldn't be built on?'

We ate, for a few minutes, in silence, turning over this uncomfortable rumour in our minds. Mr Annett broke the silence.

'Come to think of it, there were two men sizing things up over there one morning last week——

'So there were!' I broke in. 'We thought they were just Ag-men!' For it is by this euphonious term that officials of the Ministry of Agriculture are known here.

'Never mind,' said Mr Annett boisterously. 'Think of all the children! Beech Green Comprehensive School, we'd have here, and Fairacre would have a couple of new wings and a bathing pool and a nursery block——'

'And if Mrs Pringle's going to look after that lot, my life won't be worth living!' I retorted. 'Let's pray that we hear no more of housing estates in this peaceful spot!'

Alas! My prayer was not to be answered.

When Mr Annett had driven off to his orchestral practice in Caxley, in his shabby little car with the 'cello propped carefully in the back, Isobel and I enjoyed ourselves putting young Malcolm to bed.

We enveloped ourselves in mackintosh aprons for bathing the energetic baby, for he was a prodigious splasher, screaming with joy as he smacked the water, and drenched the bathroom.

When we had dried him and tucked him firmly into his cot, we tiptoed downstairs.

'Not that we need to bother,' said his mother, 'he'll be standing up again by now, ready for half an hour's jumping! He's just like George—never still. I'll go and cover him up when he's fallen asleep with exhaustion, but that won't be yet!'

Sure enough, we could hear the rhythmic squeaking of Malcolm's cot springs as he jumped spiritedly up and down, letting off the final ounce or two of energy that still quivered in his plump frame.

'Let's forget him!' said his mother, leading the way into the drawing-room, where a bright fire burned.

'George is looking very well,' I said, when we were settled.

'I'm so glad to hear you say that,' said young Mrs Annett earnestly. 'You know, I often wonder if he's really happy. It's not easy to be a second wife. One always imagines—wrongly, I'm sure—that the first wife was a paragon of all the virtues, and that one is a very poor second best.'

'What an idea!'I exclaimed.

'Well, there it is! I can't talk about it to George, naturally, and there's really no one else I've ever felt I could say anything to; but it doesn't stop these nagging doubts, you know, just to keep quiet about them.'

I felt very sorry for the girl. She was obviously worrying about a non-existent problem, as I set about explaining. But, once she had started to tell me her confidences, more came in quick succession and I began to wonder, with some trepidation, what further disclosures Isobel might make. As an incorrigible spinster I very much dislike being the confidante of married ladies, and marital troubles, imparted to me in low tones whilst their husbands are temporarily from the room, fill me with the greatest alarm and foreboding. Fortunately, Isobel's good sense and reticence spared me any major discomfort.

'Of course, I know I'm foolish to think such things,' went on Mrs Annett, poking the fire vigorously. 'And I should feel better about it if George and his first wife had been married long enough to have had a few healthy rows. But to be killed—when they'd only been married six months—well, it does cast an odour of sanctity over the whole thing, doesn't it? And George really did adore her. You must admit that a second wife's got a good bit of leeway to make up!'

She sat back on her heels, brandishing the poker and looking so fierce that I burst into laughter.

'Listen!' I said. 'If you've got the sense to see it aU as squarely as that, then you must also have the sense to see that you're an addle-pated ass! And why not give George credit for a little intelligence too? He married you because he wanted to—and the first wife just doesn't come into the picture now, poor soul!'

'I do see that really,' admitted Isobel, 'but I'm here alone such a lot that I think too much and imagine things. You see, I've always had people round me—at school, at college, and then when I taught with you at Fairacre. The day seems quite long with George over at the school, and although I'm terribly busy with Malcolm and the house and meals—somehow one's mind goes rattling on, and I get these idiotic ideas.'

It was the first time that I had realised the possibility of young wives being lonely, but I saw now, in a flash, that that very simple circumstance was, possibly, the reason for a number of troubles in early married life. Isobel went on to tell me more.

'And then, of course, I worry far too much about our finances. When I was earning, I bought anything I took a fancy to—within reason—and if I were short at the end of the month, well, that was my own affair and I took the consequences. But now I feel that it is George's money, and that I must use it to the best advantage for the three of us. It really is shattering at times! And there are so many things I see when I go to Caxley—pretty things, you know, like flowers and china and blouses and bracelets—that I would have bought for myself before, and had no end of a thrill from—but now, I feel it's extravagant and go without, and it is distinctly depressing!'

I was becoming more enlightened, each minute, about the terrific adjustments that a young female of independent means has to make when she throws aside her comfortable job and takes on the manifold duties of a wife and mother.

'And another thing,' continued Mrs Annett, now in full spate, 'I enjoyed teaching and knew that I could do it well. I felt sure of myself—but now, I can't tell whether I'm making a good job of housekeeping or not. There's no one to tell me if I am, and, I must say, I feel full of doubts.'

'Don't forget,' I said, 'that you've suddenly taken on about six skilled jobs and have got to learn them all at the same time. Catering, cooking, looking after Malcolm, keeping George happy, laundry work, entertaining, and all the rest of housekeeping will take months and years to learn. I think you're doing jolly well. The only thing is—I feel you do it all for twenty-four hours out of the twenty-four, seven days a week, and have no time to stand away from the job and see how nicely it's getting along.'

'I suppose that's it, really. It's impossible for us both to go out together unless we get a reliable sitter-in, and Malcolm's a bit of a handful at the moment, so we don't do it often. But I do miss the orchestra!'

'Then I'll come definitely every orchestra night,' I promised. 'I should have thought of it before. It's the least a godmother can do.'

Mrs Annett's face lit up.

'Do you mean it? Won't it be an awful tie to you? I'd just love to go, but I feel it's too much to ask anyone.' She broke off suddenly.

'Listen!'

We sat rigidly, mouths open. I could hear nothing but the gentle gurgling of the rain down an outside guttering, and an occasional patter on the pane.

'He's stopped jumping!' said Malcolm's mother, leaping to her feet. 'Let's go and cover him up.'

Collapsed, face downward, at the end of his cot lay Malcolm Annett. With bated breath we turned back his blankets, scooped the warm bundle to the right end, and covered him up all over again. This time he lay still, and we tip-toed downstairs again, leaving him to his slumbers.

When I returned home, I found that a note had been put through the door. It said—

'FAIRACRE FLOWER SHOW

A committee meeting of the above will be held in the school at 7 o'clock on Friday next, March 30th.

Your attendance is requested.'

'Well, Tibby,' I said to the cat, who was curling round my legs luxuriously, 'that'll be a nice comfortable evening, cramped up in small wooden desks.'

But, as it happened, Fate decided otherwise.

The rain which had been so torrential on the Tuesday when I had visited Beech Green, gave way to clear skies and high winds.

The children were excited and boisterous, as they always are when the weather is windy. Doors slammed, windows rattled, papers blew from desks, and the gale roared so loudly in the elm trees that border the playground that at times it was difficult to make my voice heard in the classroom.

On Friday morning the wind reached unprecedented force. The weathercock shuddered at the top of St Patrick's spire, my lawn was scattered with petals torn from the prunus and almond trees, and the gay clumps of crocuses lay battered in the garden beds, like bowed dancers in satin skirts.

I was busy correcting Eric's arithmetic at his desk at the back of the classroom when the rumbling began. The children looked up in alarm, for the noise was terrifying. I had only just time to realise that it must be a tile slipping down the roof, when, with a deafening crash, it reached the skylight, smashed the glass into a hundred tinkling fragments, and fell thunderously on to my desk below. It was, in fact, a large piece of the curved ridge of the roof, and had I been sitting in my accustomed seat, would doubtless have caused me a trip to Caxley hospital.

The children were much shaken-and so was I, for that matter. Miss Jackson burst in from the infants' room to see what the trouble was, and stood appalled on the threshold. It was Joseph Coggs who first recovered.

'Best clear the mess up,' he growled huskily, and set off for the lobby, returning with the dust-pan and broom. I lifted the heavy lump of masonry and staggered with it to the playground, while Miss Jackson wielded the broom, and the children, having recovered from their fright, began to cluster round and thoroughly enjoy this sensational interruption to their peaceful labours.

Mr Willet, who had been setting out his seed potatoes ready for sprouting, in shallow wooden boxes, in his own quiet kitchen, had somehow been informed of the disaster, by the mysterious bush telegraph which works so well in every village, and had rushed straight to the scene, pulling on his jacket as he pounded up the village street.

'Accident! Up the school!' he had puffed to curious questioners, without slackening his pace.

It was not surprising, therefore, to find that Mr Willet was accompanied by four agitated mothers when he arrived, in an advanced state of breathlessness, at the school door.

'You all right?' he gasped out.

I assured him that we were all unharmed and indicated the smashed skylight.

'Lord!' breathed Mr Willet, with awe. 'That's done it!' The four mothers edged round the door, their eyes goggling. I let them feast on the scene before them for a minute, and then decided that it was time for them to depart.

'No harm done!' I said firmly. 'And now that Mr Willet's here we shall soon clear up the mess!' I shepherded the reluctant quartet towards the lobby.

'Poor little mites! Might have been struck dead!' said one, with relish.

'I always said that skylight was a danger!' asserted the next.

'Tempting Providence to have glass in a roof!' said the third.

'Proper upset I be!' said the fourth, somewhat smugly. 'And if our Billy has the nightmares, I shan't wonder! Poor little toad, and him so high strung! I've a good mind to take him back home with me!'

She glanced sidelong at me to see how I would take this display of maternal concern.

'Take him by all means!' I said. 'But I think you're being very silly. It will only make Billy think he's been in far more danger than he has. We shall all finish our lessons in the infants' room, while the skylight is being seen to.'

'Maybe that's best,' agreed the woman hastily. It was quite obvious to me, and to the rest of the mothers, that she had no real intention of being burdened with her son's presence for the rest of the day. Now that she had paraded her maternal rights she was quite prepared to give way.

'Perhaps you'd be good enough to tell the other mothers, if you happen to see them, that all's well here, and there's nothing to worry about.'

Full of importance, and heavy with the dramatic tales which they would be able to unfold, they hastened away, chattering among themselves, and I returned to Mr Willet.

He was standing on my desk, surveying the ugly splinters of glass which protruded from the edges of the skylight's frame.

'I'll have to pull they out,' he said slowly. At every shuddering blast of wind, the skylight rattled dangerously, and it was obvious that we should have another shower of glass before long.

'Best do it from the roof,' advised Joseph Coggs, who had taken a workmanlike interest in these happenings. 'If us doos it underneath us'll get glass cutting us!'

Mr Willet surveyed the small boy with respect.

'You're dead right, son.' He turned to me. 'I'll get down to Rogers at the forge and we'll bring his long ladder and get up on the roof.'

'I'll take the children out of your way,' I said, opening the dividing door in the partition, and shooing my children into their younger brothers and sisters.

''Twould be best to nail up a bit of sack, I reckons,' continued Mr Willet, still gazing aloft. 'Catch the bits, like, and keep some of the weather out. Cor! What a caper, eh? What actually done it?'

I told him about the lump of tiling and he stumped out into the playground to inspect it. His face was full of concern when he returned.