Tableland (24 page)

Spread myself out on Wednesday's activities so much so that there is little room for Thursday and Friday's doings. Nothing very interesting has happened anyway apart from a visit to the school for our French conversation class.

Was reading through my last entry when I came to the bit where I'd had a nasty turn thinking Julie was dancing with Les Crow. I remembered my joke about a mystery – the feeling that he'd gone without warning, called away unexpectedly and no one seemed able to agree exactly where, a “now you see him, now you don't” situation – and suddenly, without warning, a fantastic suspicion rushed in on me. I put two and two together and came up with twenty-two. It all seemed to fit, seemed so obvious and yet so crazy I had to laugh.

Julie was cutting her toe nails and shouted to me, ‘What are you laughing at?'

‘Just something about Les Crow,' I replied.

‘Funny, isn't it, how he seems to have vanished off the face of the earth?' she said.

She'd taken the very words out of my mouth and in a rush I poured out my ridiculous idea.

‘You can't be serious,' she said, ‘it sounds like some horror film. You know what your trouble is – an over-active imagination.'

We both had a good laugh.

Back to our French conversation class. Thought we would enrol at our first lesson so went along full of keenness but realised at the end of two minutes that we were out of our depth. Neither of us could understand a word that was being said, so quickly did they speak. ‘Perhaps you would like to try the intermediate class,' our tutor said kindly.

Our hopes in this area were dashed but on our way out our attention was caught by the beekeeping class in full swing and we decided then and there to join this lively group – profitable hobby with an end product. Our own honey. We might even sell it…

While I was busy brushing up leaves and throwing them into the garden of the empty house next door, who should turn up but Alan. ‘Have you such a thing as a two inch nail?' he asked. ‘I'm right out of them.'

While I rooted around in my tool box, he said, quite out of the blue, ‘Sue and I have been giving a lot of thought to the matter and we've decided to ask you to join us on our holiday in Yorkshire next year. A real back to nature holiday, woodburning stoves, a morning dip in the stream, self sufficiency, raw vegetables, ecology, the lot!' he enthused.

Julie suddenly materialised at this moment and, to my surprise, said very firmly, ‘Oh, I'm afraid we're going to Brittany next year.'

It's the first I've heard of it.

Managed to convince Trev that he hadn't heard The Dregs on his friend's transistor last night, although he was quite insistent – funny boy.

Rumour has it, or so P.H. says, that a large order for roof trusses could be coming our way. Nothing definite yet but he said with a wink, ‘Remnant's the name.'

Have managed to get some off-cuts for our toy-making enterprise from the factory and brought them home in a cardboard box this evening. Trev and I enthusiastically emptied them out on the floor and studied the pieces. They presented a strange, unlikely lot of shapes and aroused no inspiration in us. Trev said uncertainly, ‘I suppose we could nail these two together and make a sort of aeroplane.'

‘Right you are,' I said, looking at it from all angles.

My hammer appears to have walked and I had no suitable nails.

Neither Julie nor myself had realised what a lot there is to beekeeping.

Trev came home from school today with the address of a pen friend with whom he intends to keep up a regular correspondence.

‘That's a very good idea,' I said, ‘I'm all for the entente cordiale and such like. It will broaden your mind and improve your languages.'

‘Don't they speak English in the Isle of Man then?' asked Trev.

Located my hammer, bought some small nails and set to work on the aeroplane. Another piece of wood, we decided, looked exactly like a one-eared owl and another could, with a little imagination, be taken for a small pig and yet another for a gun. Trev rubbed all these down with sandpaper and we painted them with the yellow ochre left over from the windowsill. Trev then added one or two artistic touches with the aid of his modelling paints, giving the owl a pair of enormous staring eyes etc., then we sat back and looked at our handy work.

Julie was very enthusiastic about the aeroplane and gun but less so about the owl and the pig, which she thought might frighten a small child.

Today is the day both Julie and Trev celebrate their birthday and Julie and I recalled our great excitement eleven years ago when Trev arrived two weeks ahead of schedule on Julie's birthday. Everyone had said how clever she was.

Gave Julie a silk scarf, which she wore for the rest of the day, and we gave Trev a transistor radio. Now he can listen to his favourite country and western music as performed by The Roosters.

Decided to pay a visit to a recently opened stately home about thirty miles away called Llanmadd Hall. Thought it would make a nice day out for all of us – ‘Give us an idea of how our forebears lived,' I remarked. Julie said something like she hadn't realised that I was descended from the aristocracy. Would have reminded her yet again of my mother's great uncle whose cousin by marriage was Sir John Fordyce, but didn't want to have “words” on her birthday.

Were just about to leave the house when Julie's mother rang up to say happy birthday and reassure Julie that her present was on its way, together with a book for Trev. She also said Bri's agent was doing wonders for the group and they'd soon be “hitting the big time” or some nonsense like that, and she promised she'd be coming to stay with us again very soon.

Took Craig with us and when we arrived at Llanmadd Hall, having bought our tickets, he and Trev rushed off before we could stop them. They seemed to vanish into thin air. Julie and I spent the best part of half an hour looking for them and finally tracked them down in the vintage bicycle museum. Was about to give Trev a piece of my mind but suddenly remembered that it was his birthday so let him off with a stern caution and together we looked round the craft exhibition in the old stables – what amazing things they do with corn… and pebbles. Julie and I had already had a lightning look round the main part of the house in our search for the boys.

Over a very good afternoon tea in the huge old kitchen, around which hung copper pans reflecting the roaring log fire, we refreshed our memory of the rooms as we pored over the guide. The boys were keen to see the relics of battles exhibition in the butler's pantry so Julie and I decided to live dangerously and go for a ride on a pony trap round the grounds.

We settled ourselves into the trap with a young girl, who flicked her whip over the rear end of the pony and we waited expectantly. He wouldn't move. Eventually, we were handed our money back.

All in all, a very enjoyable day, rounded off with a Chinese takeaway which we ate while watching Double Your Challenge.

As promised, Julie's present from her mother arrived – beautifully packed but broken in many pieces. As far as we could make out it had been an egg timer in the shape of Blackpool Tower. Julie rather upset.

A postcard arrived from the Wineglasses who are doing a package tour of America. It simply read, “Las Vegas yesterday, Colorado Canyon today and Miami tomorrow.”

Rounding the corner out of Springcroft Meadow this morning on my way to work, I happened to see Mike Grope ease his way out of the Mallards in his new G.T. Capri. He caught my eye and gave me a thumbs up sign. Can't say for sure, but feel pretty certain it was he who disfigured my menu card.

Kept wondering if Mike Grope's gesture meant that he had been elected a member of the Round Wheel already. Perhaps I had been turned down and Steve was too embarrassed to come right out with it and say so. Decided to get to the bottom of this once and for all and called on Steve this evening, but he was out.

Found my mind kept wandering at our beekeeping class this evening, which was devoted to the numerous diseases of the bee.

Found Steve at home this evening, still limping round painfully. ‘Well, how's the old ankle, then? Not quite up to a nine-mile hike yet, eh?' I joked, but his temper seemed uncertain and he frowned as I gave him a jar of Julie's green tomato chutney and said, rather unnecessarily I thought, ‘What's this then, someone's pickled appendix?'

Didn't know how to get round to the main purpose of my visit but then I remembered the Wheelers' Halloween party at the end of the month.

‘How are plans coming along for celebrations on the 31st?' I asked. He didn't even seem to know what I was talking about until I explained. ‘Oh, I believe something's being organised,' he said vaguely.

Thought I'd try another approach and asked, ‘Any plans for next year's holidays?' But realised quickly that this was perhaps an unfortunate reminder for him of his now cancelled dry ski classes so I rushed on hurriedly. ‘By the way – and this'll make you laugh. I thought I saw Les Crow at the Wheelers' dance, dancing with Julie.' I don't know why I thought it would make him laugh. It didn't. In fact, he looked what I could only describe as startled and said, ‘Forget Les Crow.'

The atmosphere became even more chilly and I left without having found out anything further, which is very frustrating.

Added to which, I now find it impossible to forget Les Crow.

Garden covered in leaves owing to a gale during the night which has now died down. Swept them into a big pile and thought of having a bonfire but Julie pointed to the line of Diane Butt's delicate underwear and nightwear drying in the sun. ‘They'd get covered in smut.'

Later in the evening, as I was just touching up some of the outside woodwork here and there with yellow ochre, I was enveloped in clouds of filthy smoke billowing out of an outsize bonfire from the Butts' garden. Had to go indoors and planned revenge for tomorrow with the pile of leaves and some particularly nasty pieces of lino lying out in the garage which I know will make a terrible smell.

Finding it difficult to forget Steve's words of last night, namely “Forget Les Crow” – it makes him sound as if he's gone for good and before me rose up yet again the terrible sequence of events, in graphic detail, starting with comments I'd heard over the months… “He plays the field, does Les”, “He's hot stuff”, “How does he get away with it?”, “He's for the chop”, and “He'll go too far one of these days”. He had gone too far. I thought of Steve's suppressed fury as Les fooled about with Una after the knockout, then my mind raced on to the War Games. Had that game been in deadly earnest, with an ulterior motive unknown to me? Easy for someone to be bumped on the head in the dark or chopped on the back of the neck – perhaps an accident, horseplay gone too far – body concealed in quarry overnight. Then what? The sudden appearance, and in very secretive circumstances, of a fish pond.

Feel very much out on a limb – all this puts me in an awkward position and am not sure at this moment in time what stand to take. I'll have to give it careful thought.

Saw Una return from shops this morning with child's shrimping net. ‘Steve's new occupation,' she said, ‘fishing leaves out of the pond. He likes to keep busy.' This pond is now full of water and a couple of large, rare fish. I thought of him sitting by the pool, lost in thought, brooding. Had he been so busy chewing things over in his head, so to speak, that he'd tripped over the washing on the stairs?

If my conjectures are correct, is he, in fact, the prime mover in all this or is it a cover up job by loyal Wheelers?

I flicked back over the pages to see if I could throw any light on the matter but saw that my course at Beauchamp Manor had taken up my thoughts after the crucial events.

Now, I ask myself these questions: What can I do? Is it too late to say anything and do I, in all honesty, want to? Who would believe me? Answer – noone. After all, I have no proof. Perhaps, like Julie says, I have an over-active imagination.

One thing is certain though, if I mention the name of Les Crow again to Steve, it could kill my chances once and for all of ever becoming a Wheeler, so, “Mum's the word”, for the time being anyway.

Owing to a strong wind, my bonfire plans had to be abandoned so I followed my usual habit of tipping the leaves into the garden of the empty house next door.

After the third shovelful had gone over, I became aware of a young man quietly watching while now and again bending down to plant a rose bush. He said nothing. Came to a quick decision that it would be better not to say anything in the circumstances, and went indoors hurriedly. The house must have been sold. How was I to know? Feel I owe the young man an explanation, I don't want him to think I'm the sort of chap who goes round tipping rubbish into people's gardens.

Julie found out that the house has been sold and this was confirmed when she saw the removal van arrive this afternoon.

‘We must go round and say hello,' Julie said, ‘After all, we've been living here ages and they'll probably be feeling a bit new and strange.'

Averted my eyes from the leaves blowing around as we walked to the front door after supper. We introduced ourselves and they asked us in.

‘We don't want to intrude,' began Julie, ‘but thought we would just pop in and say hello. I know what it's like to be in a strange place and not know a soul. I'm sure you'll like Weston – when you've been here a while and got used to it.'

‘Oh, we've both lived in the area all our lives,' said Dawn and Scott added, ‘We don't really bother about the social whirl very much – we're really quite self-contained.' There was a pause after that.

Afraid the leaves might be referred to at any time, I jumped in quickly with, ‘Well you've quite a bit here to keep you busy for a while, haven't you?' I looked round at the sparsely-furnished room and walls, which looked as if they could do with a few coats of paint.

‘Oh, we're just about finished,' said Dawn. ‘I was just saying to Scott, that we've organised everything very quickly.'

‘Do you go out to work?' asked Julie quickly, sensing an awkward moment.

‘We both work at the bank,' said Scott.

‘That must have been handy when you were engaged,' Julie joked, ‘Have you been married long?'

‘Oh, we're not married,' replied Dawn.