Village Gossip (15 page)
Authors: Rebecca Shaw
He reached down into the desk’s bottom drawer and
rustled about in the rubbish for a Mars bar. As he sank his teeth into it he relished for the third time that day the thought that a Mars bar always met his expectations: each and every one more faithful, more reliable than any lover could ever be. In the midst of his pleasure, without so much as a knock, the door opened and in walked Venetia.
He was too late to hide the chocolate bar from her. His joy turned instantly into a sin.
‘Jeremy!’
‘I know. I know.’ He cleared his mouth as best he could and said, ‘I need this, I’ve just had a drubbing from the estate lot.’
‘What’s new?’ Venetia wandered across to the window and idly looked out across the gardens.
‘You seem at a loose end,’ he observed.
‘Do I?’
‘Lover boy done a bunk, has he?’
Startled by his outspokeness, Venetia rounded on him and brutally inquired. ‘So? What’s it to you?’
He cringed at her reply, he couldn’t help himself. Whenever he saw her trim bottom, her slender, taut figure, her neat rounded bosom, her cloud of dark hair – even if it was darker than nature intended – it was his own Venetia who, despite everything she ever did, he couldn’t stop loving in his own spaniel-like way.
He laid the Mars bar down on his desk without noticing that a trail of caramel had fallen on a letter he was about to sign. Head down, looking at his clenched hands, he muttered, ‘It hurts.’
‘Hurts?’ Venetia stood opposite him and leant her hands on the desk. ‘Hurts? Since when have you “hurt” about anything? Tell me that!’
‘I might not protest, but it hurts all the same. How do you think it makes me feel?’
‘You haven’t got any feelings.’
‘That’s what you think.’
‘You haven’t been near me for years. When I think of the great times we had together, but not now … Eh! not now.’
Helplessly Jeremy gestured at his body … ‘I can’t, can I, like this.’
Venetia swept the remains of the Mars bar from the desk, and by chance it landed in the wastepaper basket. ‘Stop eating these, then. I’ve tried to stop you, but you won’t. It’s disgusting.’
Jeremy bent down to rescue his treat but it was sticking to a tissue he’d used to clean his computer screen and was lost to him.
Venetia, savage in her desperation, shouted, ‘If only you’d try.’
‘What’s the point? It’s like a nail in my coffin every time you …’
‘Some nail. Some coffin. That’s where you’ll be if this snacking doesn’t stop.’
Jeremy looked up at her. ‘Fine Christian you’re turning out to be. Lip service on Sundays and on Friday night at the youth club, but where’s your religion now? If Peter knew what you get up to he’d be appalled.’
This statement brought Venetia up short and silenced her. It was the truth, as well as the shock of Jeremy speaking out. Not often troubled by her conscience, now long dormant, this last comment struck home. She swallowed hard. ‘You’re sticking the knife in and no mistake.’
‘You stick it in me all the time with what you get up to …’
‘But you’ve never said. Never complained. I thought you didn’t care, didn’t even realise.’
‘But I’ve known, I’ve always known I’m not completely
stupid. I’ve loved you from the first day I met you, but it’s hard to cling to that when you throw it in my face time after time. And another thing, I’ve always known that’s why we got this job here, because of you and
him
. Don’t you think it sticks in my craw having
him
lording it over me?’
‘Craddock’s not been interested in me since before … not since before he thought he would be getting married and then didn’t.’
‘I know, but the thought is always there in my head.’
‘I didn’t realise you knew all this.’
‘Too wrapped up in yourself, that’s why.’
Venetia stared at him as though he were a stranger. They’d been together for nine years now but she realised she barely knew him any more. So he’d known all along despite her being, as she thought, discreet. If Peter ever found out … She’d die. Literally die.
‘What did that lot want?’ she asked.
‘Me to drop the case.’
‘Why don’t you?’
‘Fitch would find out, somehow, and then where would we go? I’m in a cleft stick, me, a cleft stick.’
She slumped into the nearest chair and threw her head back so that her hair fell down the back of it. She closed her eyes. Immediately her conscience burst into life and she felt uncomfortable, disturbed. Leaping out of the chair, she said, ‘I’m going into the village, shan’t be long.’
She went to the church and sat in the little war memorial chapel where she knew Peter prayed every day. Venetia hoped that perhaps some of his crystal clear integrity might rub off on her if she sat there long enough. She waited an hour and came out feeling cleaner and purer than she had done for a long time, and vowed to behave better. None the less the moment she walked through the lichgate and
out into the road her first thought as she slotted her key in the car’s ignition was, ‘He’ll be back tonight.’
And he was. Bright, breezy and full of himself, Hugo burst into the rehearsal like a revitalised firebrand. With outstretched arms and beckoning hands he called out, ‘I’m back! I’m back! Gather round.’
Everyone, props, stage manager, actors, lighting, music, hangers on, rushed to him, full of questions, eager to welcome him back and ready to listen open-mouthed to his news. His eyes found Caroline first and foremost and he told most of the story as though she were the only person in the hall.
‘So I said to the director, I have a project in hand very dear to my heart and nothing short of an earthquake will drag me from it. So, old chap, you’ll have to wait, I said. Yes, I know the RSC usually takes precedence, but this time it’s the Turnham Malpas Amateur Dramatic Society that comes first. “The what?” he said. I told him, one day you’ll speak that name with awe, for they’re going to make a name for themselves! They are the dear, dear people to whom I owe a massive debt and they have first priority. So here I am, back in the bosom of my dear friends, in top form and so …’ he paused as though searching for the right words and then his voice dropped to a soft whisper as he said, ‘deeply, deeply glad to be amongst my friends.’ Hugo sprang up on to the stage, faced them all and called out, ‘To work, I say! To work!’ His rallying cry was answered by a cheer.
‘Act one, scene one?’ Someone shouted from the back of the crowd.
‘Exactly! Beginners, please!’
They’d never done it better than that night. Every move, every gesture, every word was perfect. Hugo was beside
himself with delight and, after the curtains closed, he kissed everyone with whom he came in contact.
‘To the Royal Oak! Anyone with the time to spare. Drinks on me, celebrate your success and mine! Come with me!’ He took Caroline’s hand and led the way. Everyone followed: an excited, exhausted, exhilerated band of players on a high because of Hugo’s praise and their own success. They burst into the saloon bar like a whirlwind, setting it alight with their enthusiasm and energy. Dicky and Alan worked like slaves to get them served and amidst a lot of laughter and leg pulling they finally settled at tables.
By an unspoken agreement they always left Hugo and Caroline to sit by themselves once the initial serving of drinks was over. He took her to a small table beside the open hearth and, lifting his glass, saluted her. ‘Glad to have me back?’
‘Oh, yes. I did begin to wonder if we’d lost you for ever.’
His dark eyes glowed as he said, ‘With you here, nothing could keep me away.’ He drank his vodka in one go and flung the glass into the fireplace. The sound of shattering glass caused everyone to look their way in astonishment. Hugo was nonplussed.
‘Another Vodka, Georgie, and I’ll pay for the glass!’
‘It wasn’t Peter, then, who persuaded you to come back? It was me?’
Hugo hesitated for a moment before he answered, allowing Georgie to place a second glass in front of him, saying quietly, ‘Don’t make a habit of it, will you? It might catch on.’
His mind intensely occupied in finding a reply to Caroline’s question, Hugo didn’t answer. Then he looked up, gave Georgie one of his stunning smiles and said, ‘No, I won’t. Sorry.’
Turning back to Caroline he asked her if she knew everything Peter and he had said.
‘Of course not. Just that he persuaded you to come back.’
‘I see. Caroline! What can I say. You’re married to a remarkable man. I have the greatest respect for him. In fact, I’m truly humbled by him and there are not many people who can do that to me. I’m jealous of him, too.’
‘You are?’
‘He has
you
, hasn’t he?’
Quietly the answer came back, ‘Has he?’
Hugo looked up and waited for Caroline to raise her eyes and look at him. ‘Hasn’t he?’
She took a sip of her drink, neatly replaced the glass on the beer mat in front of her and said, ‘At this moment in time I don’t really know.’
‘You mean there’s
hope
for me? For you and I?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘You hinted.’
Caroline’s hand let go of her glass and gently touched his fingers. ‘I did, didn’t I.’
They were so absorbed in looking at each other, in their desire to read each other’s real meaning, that neither of them had noticed Harriet standing beside their table.
‘You two! Georgie’s called “time”. Those who want to are retiring to our house. Are you coming? Caroline?’
Her voice was inescapably full of meaning. This was Harriet telling Hugo to call a halt, and warning Caroline to watch her step.
Caroline said she wasn’t, thanks, she’d get home. Hugo ignored Harriet and said to Caroline, ‘Please come.’
‘No. I have things to do before I go to bed. Anyway, I’m tired. Good night.’
Hugo leant forward to kiss her cheek but she avoided him and quickly left.
Equally quietly Hugo answered ‘It’s none of your business, darling. I love her, you see.’
‘That doesn’t give you the right to …’
‘It does.’
‘Being in love doesn’t give one the freedom to do as one wishes with other people’s lives.’
‘You’re taking this far too seriously.’
Angrier with him than she could ever remember being, Harriet pushed him out of the door and into the street. Facing him in the dark she asked, ‘Are you behaving like this for your own amusement, then? Because if you are you’re even lower than I could ever have imagined.’
The sounds of the others hammering on her front door came to her as she waited for his reply. ‘Of course not. No. I am in love. And so is she.’
‘She won’t be when I tell her what I know about what you’re up to. You’re despicable.’
Jimbo called, ‘Are you two coming in, then, or shall I close the door?’
Hugo’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. ‘You know? I didn’t realise.’
‘I do. Every breath you take is monitored by this village. You’re a newcomer, you see, so they all keep an eye on you. If I tell her it will break her heart. I can’t do that.’
‘Well, don’t. I’ll deal with it.’
‘It’s your massive ego, Hugo. You can’t cope without the adulation, can you? You’re a child in a man’s body. Sad really, when you’ve so much going for you.’ Harriet stormed into her house leaving him standing out in the road. Within minutes she caught the sound of the throaty
roar of his sports car zooming away, and fervently prayed he wasn’t going for good.
She heard the sound of the bathroom door being unlocked. ‘Hold on! I’m coming down.’
Impatiently she filled the kettle, they’d have a celebration cup of tea, something stronger tonight in the pub. Wait till she told them all. At last, Vera Wright was on the up and up. She was so excited her hands trembled as she put out the cups, filled the milk jug, warmed the pot and brewed the tea. Don came down just before she finally erupted with the excitement of her news.
‘Don! …’
‘You’re late, I’m wanting my tea.’
‘You won’t when you hear my news.’
Don dropped himself down onto a kitchen chair. ‘Well?’
‘You know the nursing home’s been bought out?’
Don nodded. ‘So?’
‘Well, they’re making sweeping changes. Bringing the nursing home right bang up to scratch. Obeying all the rules and that. More staff, higher fees, naturally, but a much better service, ensuite bathrooms, you name it. All them
social workers who’ve been poking about for months can go back into their burrows now, ’cos we’re going to be one hundred per cent politically correct. No flies on us!’
‘So?’
Vera drew in a deep breath. ‘So-o-o-o, now this is the exciting bit, so listen carefully … they’ve invited me to be assistant housekeeper!’
Don perked up at this. ‘More money, then?’
‘Well, kind of.’
He tapped the table, ‘Now see here, promotion means more responsibility and that means more money. You’re not doing it if there’s no more money in it. I’m not having you exploited. They’ve had enough out of you over the years and it’s time to call a halt.’
‘Be quiet and listen. They’ve suggested and I haven’t accepted yet ’cos you’ve to give the go ahead, I can’t do it without you.’
‘Me? What’s it to do with me?’
Vera took another deep breath. ‘I can have the position of assistant housekeeper so long as I’m willing to go live there. We’ll have this beautiful flat, really beautiful flat, fully furnished, heating and lighting free.’
‘There must be a catch.’
‘Well, there is. Well, not a catch but … I’m to be the backup person on the premises during the night. So if there’s an emergency they’ve always got someone on hand besides the night nursing staff. To help, like. A body, paid to be there. The flat, oh! Don, it’s beautiful. Lovely furniture, newly decorated, lovely bathroom, a beautiful living room looking out over the side garden, and two
huge
bedrooms, so our Rhett’s all right, he can come with us.’ Vera sipped her tea with a faraway expression on her face. She could just see herself entertaining people on her day off. That carpet in the living room! The kitchen with all that
lovely equipment! She looked round her old cottage, the cottage she’d been waiting years for Don to bring up to scratch and thought, ‘Goodbye, you horrible dump. Goodbye.’
‘They want us to move in first of the month. Just think, Don, it’ll be nearer to work for you. Cut five miles at least off the journey. They might even have casual work for you, and if our Rhett doesn’t get a job they might have him as gardener ’cos the grounds are “extensive”, as they say in the brochure. Isn’t it wonderful? Vera Wright no longer at the bottom of the pile!’ She nudged his hand where it lay inert on the table, because he hadn’t shown any enthusiasm. ‘Well?’
He’d drunk his tea and now pushed his cup towards her intimating he needed a refill.
‘And what would you do with this place, then?’ He jerked his head and looked around the kitchen of the home he’d been born in and had never left.
‘I’ve been thinking about that all the way back on the bus. Clean it up and rent it out, then when I get the order of the boot we can turn out the tenant and bob’s yer uncle, we’re back home with lots of lovely rent money in the bank. Well?’
‘We’re not going.’
The kitchen was filled by the heavy silence which lay between them. It was broken when Don slurped his tea, unconcerned by Vera’s deep and puzzled frown. Finally, she found her voice. ‘Not go? Not go?’
‘
We’re not going
,’ he repeated with emphasis. ‘I’ve lived here all my life and this is where I’m staying. I leave here feet first in a box.’
‘But the money! To say nothing of the chance of a lifetime!’
‘Money isn’t everything.’
‘Say what yer like, I’m not going.’
‘What if I say I am?’
Don calmly replaced his cup in its saucer and repeated, ‘We’re not going. I’ve said. So that’s that. You can tell ’em tomorrow when yer go. Our Rhett said he’d be back soon, he’ll be wanting his bloody tea, just like me, so get cracking, girl. It’s no good looking at me like that, we’re not going.’
All her years of struggle hammered one by one into her brain with the aggression of a pile driver. The insistent thud shattered any restraint she might have had in the past and she knew once and for all that she’d never climb out of the mire to the upland plains which were her just reward if he’d always be there to drag her back. Vera rose to her feet filled with hatred.
Don nodded his head at her and through a mist she heard him say, ‘In any case, they won’t want yer when they know you’ve got a criminal record, they won’t want someone who’s done porridge, will they? Stands to …’
Standing on the top of the cooker was one of the cast iron pans Vera had inherited from Don’s mother and never had the money to replace. She picked it up and hit him on the head with it. He sat looking at her, quite still and not speaking. Her temper boiled over even further at his lack of reaction, and she hit him again. He fell slowly sideways as blood oozed from the top of his head in a great trickle. There was a single grunt and then no more except for the thud of his body as it fell between his chair and the cooker. Vera put on her cardigan, picked up her bag and marched out of the house.
Where she was going she didn’t know, but somehow the Store felt like a haven and she knew Jimbo would know what to do. He’d advise her. He was a businessman. He’d
tell her how to go about renting the cottage out. She marched down Church Lane towards Stocks Row, breathing rapidly, still blind with rage. As she turned the corner she heard the jangle of the bell on the door of the Store and by chance it was Mrs Jones who came out. Vera’s temper boiled over again and, like a flash of lightning, she suddenly knew it was her who’d blown the gaffe to the estate about her garden pots and her lovely table and chairs, all because of the wardrobe mistress business. Unaware of Vera’s rage-inspired revelation Mrs Jones set off to go down Shepherds Hill, a loaded carrier bag in her hand. From behind she received a stunning blow from Vera’s bag which caught her on the side of her head. She staggered, retrieved herself and twisted round to see who’d attacked her.
Vera, purple-faced, screamed at the top of her voice, ‘You bitch, it was you, wasn’t it? You told ’em, didn’t yer? It’ll be the end of me but I don’t care. I’ll go down fighting.’ She grabbed Mrs Jones by the throat and began shaking her so that Mrs Jones’ head swung back and forth violently. All the time Vera was shouting, ‘You bitch! You bitch!’
At last, Mrs Jones struggled free of Vera’s grasp, stumbled over her fallen shopping and tried desperately to escape by running back into the Store. Her way was impeded by Linda, Jimbo, Bel and a customer who’d rushed out into Stocks Row when they heard the shouting. Vera caught up with Mrs Jones and began hitting, punching and scratching her, anything to get her own back. Linda couldn’t stop saying, ‘Oh! Oh! Oh!’ at the top of her voice, but Bel waded in and grabbed Vera, while Jimbo stood in front of Mrs Jones to protect her.
Vera, still screaming, fought like a wild cat to escape Bel, but the sheer weight of Bel’s body prevented her. Finally
Vera capitulated and began to groan, ‘Oh! God! Oh! God! Oh! God!’
Jimbo and Bel took Vera inside, followed by Linda holding on to Mrs Jones who was trembling and so white they thought she was going to faint.
‘Linda! First aid box, small brandy for these two. Come now, Vera, sit here and calm down. Mrs Jones, you too, sit yourself down. My goodness me, what a hullabaloo! What were you thinking of? Bel, ring Harriet. No, better still, ring the Rectory. Get Dr Harris. Tell her it’s urgent. Quick sharp, please.’
Linda arrived with three brandies, one for each of the two antagonists and one for herself. She tossed it down, went weak at the knees, pulled out a stool and plumped herself down on it. ‘Oh, Mr Charter-Plackett! I feel terrible. What’s it all about?’ she asked.
‘Sip it, Vera. Steady now.’ Jimbo, still supporting Vera, looked over to Mrs Jones, who was tossing back her brandy as though it was cola. ‘Mrs Jones, steady with it, please. Do you know what’s caused this?’
Mrs Jones shook her head. ‘No more than you.’ She took out her handkerchief and mopped her lips.
Vera, encouraged by the warmth the brandy was bringing her, said, ‘She does know. It was her told Jeremy Mayer about my pots and that, just to get her own back.’
Mrs Jones opened her mouth to deny it but catching Jimbo’s baleful eye she closed it again without a word.
Vera finished her brandy and gave the paper cup to Jimbo saying, ‘It was her, I can see it now, to get back at me about them costumes. Well, she got more than she bargained for, didn’t yer? Yer own son and his wife perhaps made homeless. Serves yer right. No wonder yer wouldn’t confess.’
Linda, catching a whiff of scandal and emboldened by her
brandy, said, ‘No, really? Is this true Mrs Jones? Was it you?’
Mrs Jones didn’t reply, but Jimbo looked sorrowfully at her and said, ‘Better to get it out now and apologise before it’s all too late.’
‘Before it’s too late?’ Vera stood up, wobbled a bit, and then sat down again. ‘It’s already too late. The damage that old cow’s done … and now she’s most likely lost me a blinking good opportunity to kick myself into a lifestyle above and beyond what I’ve got now.’
‘The brandy’s gone to her head. What on earth is she talking about?’ Mrs Jones sniffed derisively. ‘Lifestyle! What lifestyle can she ever expect?’
Caroline arrived in breathless haste. ‘What’s happened? Bel said there’d been an accident.’ She looked from one woman to the next, then at Jimbo.
‘We thought Mrs Jones was going to faint and Vera’s not feeling too perky. There’s been a disagreement, you see, between the two of them.’
‘I see.’ She looked more closely at Mrs Jones. ‘You’re going to have a lovely black eye.’
‘Am I? That’s all your fault, Vera. Hitting me like that.’
But Vera had suddenly gone very quiet. The blood had drained from her face and she was nervously plucking at her cardigan sleeve. Caroline bent over her, her arm around her shoulders. ‘All right, Vera? Is there anything I can do for you? Get Don, perhaps? Walk you home, maybe?’
‘I’d come to ask Mr Charter-Plackett how to go about renting out my cottage. That’s all.’
‘Are you moving, then? I didn’t know.’
‘No one did.’ Abruptly she stood up, clutched her handbag to her chest and made a move to leave. ‘I’ll go to our Dottie’s. She’ll sort me out.’
‘But that’s in Little Derehams. There’s not another bus now till nearly six o’clock.’
‘I’ll walk. Do me good, some fresh air.’
Jimbo raised his eyebrows at Caroline, who shook her head. ‘Dr Harris says you’re not fit to walk all that way. I’ll take you in the car.’
Vera tried to smile at him, but it wouldn’t quite come. ‘Will you? Then we’ll talk about renting out the cottage on the way. Got to get it straight for tomorrow.’
‘Of course. I’ll just have a word with Bel.’ He winked at Caroline and left the office.
When Jimbo and Vera had gone, Linda went to pick up Mrs Jones’ shopping and Caroline sat down facing Mrs Jones and asked her what it was all about.
There was a moment of indecision, then she said, ‘It’s all my fault. I’m the one who split to Jeremy Mayer about the garden stuff. I never let on, someone must have told her it was me. She’s quite right. I should never have done it. I didn’t think about the consequences, you know, about it affecting our Barry and that.’
‘All over the costumes?’
Mrs Jones nodded. ‘That’s right. Then when it all blew up in my face I couldn’t, just couldn’t let on. Our Barry was so upset for the kids and that. I couldn’t have faced him, just when life was going really well for ’im. My own grandchildren, ’omeless.’ She dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief but it made her wince. ‘But she just attacked me, didn’t even speak, just hit out at me. Such a shock.’
‘It must have been. You’ll need to apologise, best to come out in the open, you know. Your eye’s looking worse by the minute.’
‘Never mind, I’ll get my herbal stuff out, I’ve cured more bruises for my three boys than I’ve had hot dinners. I’ll just go see if Linda’s rescued all my shopping.’
‘We’ll both go, then. Vera did seem odd though, didn’t she?’
Before Mrs Jones could reply they heard a commotion in the Store and Rhett shouting, ‘Quick, Bel, ring for an ambulance – the call box is out of order. It’s Grandad, he’s fallen and split his head open. There’s blood all over the place.’
Rhett wouldn’t go inside the cottage again, said he couldn’t bear all that blood, he’d wait outside in Church Lane and direct the ambulance when it came and would Dr Harris do what she could? Instinct told Caroline that something more than a bad fall had taken place at Vera’s cottage: Vera’s confused behaviour at the Store, and two cups and saucers on the table with the teapot still quite hot. Don, who never touched alcohol and hadn’t ailed a thing all his life, falling off a chair? He was unconscious on the floor, looking for all the world as though he’d fallen and hit his head on the corner of the cooker as he went down. Lying on the floor in the pool of blood was a heavy pan. He must have clutched it as he tried to save himself, or knocked it off the cooker with his arm, perhaps. She moved it away to make a space so that she could examine him.
After making sure she’d done all she could for Don, and despite realising she might be interfering with evidence, Caroline quickly washed up one cup and saucer and put them away in the cupboard, rinsed the bloodstains from the saucepan and replaced it on the cooker.
It took twenty-five minutes for the ambulance to arrive.
‘Dr Harris! How’s things? Those two nippers of yours all right, are they? Good. Good. What have we here?’
‘This is Don Wright. It would appear that he’s fallen and hit his head on the corner of the cooker. He’s not spoken since I got here, he’s out for the count and no mistake.’