Never Too Late (2 page)

“Excellent idea,” Maggie said. “I’ll contact Sharon and sort something out.”

She glanced at her watch as she left the library.
Gosh, where has the morning gone? Just enough time left to try and phone Chloe.
She wanted to get to Carlo’s first or Ken would feel obliged to pay for the coffees and cakes, something he couldn’t afford on his pension. The chemist would have to wait for another visit, but had only been pencilled in on today’s plan.

She dialled Chloe’s number as she walked. As expected all she got was voicemail and felt a moment’s irritation.

When was the last time Chloe answered a call from her mother?

She chided herself for uncharitable thoughts.

My daughter is a very busy young lady with important business meetings with influential people. Of course she doesn’t have time for family matters during a working day. She never seems to be home to take calls in the evening either though.

Once upon a time she would have hung up if she didn’t get an answer from a real person. Now she didn’t hesitate about leaving messages, always hopeful that she might get a call back.

Maggie took a deep calming breath before she spoke. “Hi Chloe, it’s just me. James is coming over soon, probably next week. Would you like to call him and arrange to come too? It’s a long time since we all had a meal together. I’d love to see you both when you can fit it in to your schedules.”

*

Chloe riffled her white gold pen between her fingers as she listened to the incoming message, her face marred by a frown. She leaned back in her chair, continuing the exercise that helped keep her fingers supple and strong for playing the baby grand in her flat. She’d hated playing the piano as a child. Now it was her main relaxation during the few evenings she didn’t go out. Perhaps it was not having her mother there, insisting she practice scales and arpeggios before playing her piano teacher’s choice of music, and even that had to be played to metronome tempo with ‘correct’ fingering. Now she could please herself.

After a few moments’ thought she speed dialled her brother’s number. James answered his direct line on the second ring.

“Hiya bro,” she greeted him. “Hope I didn’t break your concentration on all those fascinating numbers.”

“Hi, Chloe. Since when has it ever concerned you what anyone else is doing if there’s something you want? Are you feeling OK?”

She could hear the smile in his voice, for all he tried to sound stern. “Mater’s still hassling me,” she moaned. “We’re going to have to bite the bullet and go over soon. Is Saturday good for you?” She was hoping that her father would be there too if they went at the weekend, and if she hinted clearly enough he might have a gift for her. She loved surprises. He found really unusual things and knew exactly what would please her.

“Sorry, can’t do Saturday. How about tomorrow?”

“No, I’m going out with some friends.”

That reply didn’t really surprise him. He’d never known her alter her plans for anyone and she loved her Friday nights out with her friends.

“Well why don’t you go Saturday and I’ll go another day? You know I’m over there quite often anyway.”

“No way! I need you there as a buffer.”

“Oh come on, Chloe. You speak of Mum as though she’s some kind of ogre.”

Chloe frowned again. “I can’t stand the endless questions – ‘You’re looking a bit peaky - are you eating sensibly and getting enough sleep? Are they working you too hard? Have you been anywhere nice with your friends recently?’ On and on, with no-one else there to take the heat off me? No thanks!”

“Chloe, you sound like a sulky child. It’s no wonder Mum still treats you like one at times. As usual you’re exaggerating, and you know it’s only because she loves you and wants the best for you. How many weeks is it now since you went over?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” She made yack, yack, yack motions with her hand. “Look, I’m like totally booked for a few weeks. We’ll both pencil it in for Saturday 29th.”

“Chloe, that’s over three weeks away!”

“OK, OK! We’ll both go next Saturday.” Decision made she put the phone down.

James sat there for a while with the phone in his hand and looked thoughtful before replacing the receiver. Had she even heard him say he had prior arrangements for Saturday? Or was she deliberately using his desire to please his mother against him?

With a sigh he turned his attention back to the tax return he had been working on when Chloe called.

*

Hilda and Sarah stood waiting to cross to the village post office and shop as Maggie drove past.

“There she goes, Miss Goody Two Shoes,” Hilda commented, her mouth downturned in disapproval.

The faces of the two elderly spinsters spoke volumes about their outlook on life. There were deep frown lines etched in Hilda’s face, whereas the laugher lines around Sarah’s eyes spoke of joy and optimism.

Sarah shook her head and the soft, paper-thin skin of her double chin wobbled slightly. “I’ll never understand why you seem to dislike her so much,” she told her friend. “She does so much for folk here, and always a smile and a kind word.”

Hilda snorted. “Oh yes, Little Miss Bountiful, butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. Ha!” She stomped across the road, a tall ship in full sail with Sarah trailing behind like a skiff caught in its wake. “Some people are no better than they ought to be.”

Hilda’s irritation deepened her habitual scowl.
Why did I make that ridiculous promise not to tell?
she wondered for the umpteenth time.

Hilda paused with her hand on the half open door of the post office. “You wouldn’t know as you were away from the village so much with your families, but I could tell you a thing or two about that woman that would soon change your opinion of her. However,” she continued, wagging her forefinger, “far be it from me to go spreading gossip.”

Entering the shop with her attention still behind her led to Hilda nearly walking straight into Ada Riley, who was looking at breakfast options.

“Oops! Sorry.” Ada could have bitten her tongue off when she realised that once again she had apologised to Hilda for something that was Hilda’s fault. Old habits, she supposed…

Hilda glared at her and marched down to the post office at the rear of the shop.

 “I can only speak as I find,” Sarah managed in an almost inaudible whisper to Hilda’s back, “and she’s been a great help to me over the years.” Children were so much easier, she thought wistfully. Sarah’s timid nature, when it came to adults, made it very difficult for her to argue with anyone, but sometimes Hilda went too far with her jaundiced view of the world.

Hilda had excellent hearing and eyesight, for all her seventy nine years, and missed nothing that happened or was said in the village. She half turned and glared at Sarah, her friend since primary school days. “Hmmmph!”

She held herself very erect as she sailed to the rear of the shop. Her stern stare was then redirected at the postmistress, Mrs Nichols, as she slammed her post office account book on the counter.

“I’ll have all of my pension out,” she demanded, feeling outraged all over again that the government had done away with proper pension books.

Expecting people to trust a plastic card and machines in walls is a step too far. There’s no way I’ll be caught standing in the street withdrawing my cash, leaving myself open to attack by any passing yobs. No thank you! And you hear so much about card fraud on the news these days. This government has a lot to answer for and no mistake. And when it comes to imposed changes, why change pension day to Monday? Money on Monday is no good for buying a joint for Sunday
.
I’ll stick to Thursday - much more sensible.

Jean Nichols counted the money aloud as Hilda watched and passed it over. Hilda counted it herself before stowing it in her purse.

Sarah pursed her lips. It would make life so much more pleasant if Hilda would only remember that little words like ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ made such a difference. Her expression quickly changed to a smile as Hilda turned, the transaction having been completed in silence.

“Get on with it then! Unlike some people I haven’t got all day to be dithering around.”

“Good morning Jean,” Sarah said as she laid her own account book down. “I’ll have just £40 please. I have some cheques to write so I’d better leave something in to cover them.”

They exchanged a smile of understanding as Hilda stalked off to the shelves of canned food.

“There you go, Sarah. How’s your new hip coming along now?”

“Oh it’s easier every day, thanks for asking,” Sarah told her. “Maggie has been an absolute gem, taking me to all my follow up appointments at the hospital.” They heard Hilda slam a can back on the shelf. “I don’t need to go back at all now, just to Dr Rose every month as normal for my prescriptions.”

“Oh, that is good news,” Jean beamed at her. “But mind you don’t overdo it, though, trying to do things too quickly. We don’t want any more falls putting you back to square one.”

“Oh I won’t. I don’t want to experience that kind of pain again I can assure you.”

Hilda caught her breath and held tightly to the shelf. The vivid memory came back of Sarah lying at the bottom of their stairs, looking as pale as death. She thought Sarah actually was dead at first. For a few horrific minutes she thought she’d be left all alone again.

Fancy frightening me like that! How careless Sarah is sometimes! Probably did it deliberately to get all that fuss in hospital over Christmas.

“Sarah, will you hurry up?” Hilda boomed down the length of the shop. “I have a thousand things to get done today, now come along!”

She barged past Ada Riley, who was still pretending to carefully weigh up the claimed merits of two different brands of breakfast oats. Ada shook her head in sympathy with Sarah. She knew Hilda may well plan ‘a thousand things’ but it would be Sarah who would be directed to actually do them.

As the two women left the shop Jean and Frank Nichols looked at each other and grinned.

“How does Sarah put up with her?” Jean wondered aloud.

Frank laughed. “I’m certainly not surprised our Miss Watkins never found a man willing to take her on.”

“I have heard something about her being engaged,” she mused. “A long time ago, obviously. And I’ve no idea who to, or any of the details, or even if it’s true,” she added.

Ada joined them. “’Far be it from me to go spreading gossip’,” she quoted and they laughed, “but it’s true. I happen to know the man she was engaged to. Stephen was a lovely young man and was billeted with Hilda’s family at the start of the war.”

Her eyes took on a distant look as she thought back to those days, how the lasses of the village had all wanted to be the one chosen by the handsome captain to be invited to the dances held on the nearby army base every week.

“We were all so jealous when he chose Hilda, right from when they first laid eyes on each other, but it didn’t surprise us - she was so beautiful and with a real zest for life. It was hard for any of the rest of us to get noticed by the boys if she was in the room.”

Jean and Frank looked at each other, startled by this revelation. Ada noticed and continued, “Oh, I know it’s hard to imagine now. Hilda seems all sharp edges and bony protuberances these days, but look at that classic bone structure in her face, and those big eyes of hers weren’t always such a faded blue.”

“It might be easier to imagine if she didn’t always look so sour,” Frank commented. “I think I’ve only ever seen her look pleased with life when she’s stirring mischief for some poor soul.”

Jean was more interested in the young man. “What happened to Stephen?” she wanted to know. “Did he leave her for someone else?” She and Frank had only recently stopped being ‘newcomers’ to the village, having bought the shop nearly twenty years ago, and she was fascinated by local history.

“Oh no, they really were very deeply in love,” Ada assured her. “But he was killed at Dunkirk – refused to leave until he’d got places for all his men on boats back to Blighty. He was helping a wounded private up into the one of the Thames barges that had made it over, goodness knows how, that was ferrying men out to the bigger ships that couldn’t get in any closer to the shore, when it was hit by a shell and they were all killed. Not even enough left that was identifiable for a burial.”

“Oh, how terribly sad,” Jean sighed. “And she never met anyone else?”

“All the lasses met plenty of eligible men as they passed through on their way to and from war. I married one of them. Oh, the fun we used to have!” She chuckled, thinking of the larks they used to get up to in those heady days of new found freedom, then shook her head. “But the spark had gone out of Hilda. I don’t think she believed anyone could possibly compare to her Stephen so she wouldn’t give any man the chance to try.”

They looked over to the war memorial in front of the green. Seventeen names of young men lost in the First World War. Another eleven lost in the Second World War. So many young lives from such a small village. They weren’t just names to the villagers who had lived here all their lives. They were husbands, sons, relatives, friends, lovers, all with known characters and histories, although as the years passed they were gradually being reduced to faces on faded family photos.

Jean nodded. “They do say as it’s impossible to compete with a dead lover. Only their good points are remembered, and they’re not there to mess up and disappoint you as is bound to happen with someone living.”

“What are you hinting at there, woman?” Frank growled at her and mock slapped her behind.

“Oh, give over, you big lummox!”

“Anyway,” Ada continued, “she kept herself very much to herself after that, very reclusive for quite a long while. And once she felt ready for life again she found the times and people had moved on. The post war years were pretty austere in many ways but we struggled through to the 50s, and then as for the 60s… well! Quite shocking! And something poor Hilda could never adapt to or accept. All those years alone turned her a bit, well, strange.”