The Bells of Little Woodford

by Catherine Jones

  ‘You all right, Bex?’

  Bex jumped. ‘Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.’

  Megan stared at her. ‘Really?’

  ‘Just a dizzy spell. Head rush… you know.’

  ‘I hate it when that happens. Did you stand up too quickly?’

  ‘Must have done.’ Bex stood up and picked up the kettle again. ‘Tea?’

  Megan nodded.

  ‘Got any plans for today?’

  Megan sighed. ‘Ash wants to go through a couple of scenes.’

  ‘He’s very keen on this play, isn’t he?’

  Megan nodded. ‘Tell me about it. But, I suppose it’ll only take an hour or so. I think this afternoon Zac and I may go into Cattebury.’

  ‘Zac?’

  ‘I’d go with Soph but she can’t get away and Zac says being at home is awful. His sister is still living with them and driving him spare.’

  ‘It must be tricky.’

  Megan sat down as she waited for her promised mug of tea and Bex went to the fridge to get the milk out. As she did a waft of leftover prawns from the previous night’s stuffed spuds caught her and she gagged. Luckily Megan was busy looking at her iPhone and was oblivious to her stepmother’s discomfort.

  Which begged the question, thought Bex, as she swallowed bile – what the hell was she going to do if it turned out she was pregnant? She’d just got her life back now that the boys were both at school. She loved having time to herself during the day. Did she really want to go back to nappies and sleepless nights? No, no she didn’t. And she didn’t dare contemplate what Megan’s reaction might be.

  On the other hand this was Miles’s baby too and he’d hinted how he wanted to be a father. When they’d slept together – and those occasions could still be counted on the fingers of one hand – they’d been very careful. Maybe her falling pregnant, if she was, was karma. Meant to be, not for her sake, but for his.

  Bex took her tea and went back up to her room. She lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling. She liked Miles – she really did. And she liked lot of things about him, even his obsession with folding things up neatly. He was great with the kids, he was kind, he was a fabulous cook and, if she was honest, he was pretty good in bed. So… so if this was morning sickness did she want to contemplate a real commitment to Miles? Was she ready for that? Having a fling was one thing but this…? This was something else.

  Bex sighed. She hadn’t looked at this relationship beyond the here and now; a bit of fun, some companionship, someone to confide in, to share an evening with… And right up to this morning it had seemed completely simple and now – now, if her suspicion was right, it was a God-awful mess. A nightmare. She had to hope she wasn’t pregnant, that was all, because if she was… How could she face Miles if she got rid of the one thing he really wanted and which was, if she was brutally honest, the last thing she did?

  *

  Brian looked, yet again, at the bell-fund bank account. His cold calls to local businesses had paid off to a certain extent and the total was creeping towards five figures. It was nice to see it grow; he gained a certain amount of satisfaction every time there was a deposit. He began to understand Scrooge and Harpagon’s love of seeing large sums of money safely stashed. And, if all went well, the Heritage Lottery Fund might come through with a hefty grant – the promise of opening up the bell tower to teach youth groups, schools, the U3A… anyone… about change-ringing, plus the fact that bell-ringing was considered to be a heritage craft meant that their request for funds might be looked on favourably. Or so he’d been reliably informed.

  Heather came into his study and looked at the spreadsheet over her husband’s shoulder.

  ‘We’re getting there,’ she observed.

  ‘Not fast enough, though. I’ve had so many complaints now about the bells. People don’t like them being silent.’

  ‘No, but there isn’t any choice. By the way, have you made an approach to the Osbornes?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The new people at The Grange. Amy says they’re, and I quote, “stinking rich”.’

  ‘Richer than the Laithwaites before, er, Nigel’s problem?’

  ‘According to Amy, yes. Apparently the work that is being done on the inside of that house beggars belief. It’s all to do with minimalism, says Amy. Just about everything that can be hidden behind an almost invisible door is. Apart from some huge great pieces of art.’

  ‘Well, if Amy says it is so, it must be true.’

  ‘Amy also says it is a pain in the arse because she can never find the hoover. She says the cupboards in the kitchen all look the same and she has to open them all to find anything she wants.’

  ‘I can’t see Amy complaining about having an excuse to have a good rootle around.’

  ‘No… well…’ Heather smiled. She was pretty sure that Amy needed no excuse to have a good rootle around. Not that she cared. There was nothing to hide at the vicarage – except the good biscuits and she didn’t think Amy had found those yet.

  ‘What about you going to see these people?’ said Brian.

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Don’t you want to see what they’re up to?’

  Heather couldn’t lie. ‘Yes, of course, only wouldn’t it be better if you did – more official?’

  ‘As these people are incomers and more than likely haven’t formed a bond with the town, and given that we haven’t seen them in church, I think the chance of either of us persuading them to make a donation is vanishingly small. So, bearing that in mind, it might as well be you who goes up there and gets a chance for a bit of a snoop round.’

  ‘Put like that… I’ll take a walk up that way now.’

  *

  Miranda Osborne placed an antique bronze figurine of a dancer in the centre of her dining table. While she didn’t like clutter, she liked objets d’art, especially when she knew how much they had cost. This piece was by Marcel Bouraine and had cost an absolute mint. She loved it.

  She stood back to admire it as the doorbell rang. She wasn’t expecting visitors or a delivery and the builders wouldn’t be back till Monday. She crossed the vast empty expanse of floor to the door and saw a woman in appallingly unfashionable clothes and bad hair standing there.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Hello, I’m Heather Simmonds and welcome to Little Woodford.’

  The name rang a faint bell but Miranda dismissed it. Why would she have had anything to do with a country mouse like this? ‘I’m Miranda Osborne.’

  The woman looked at her, expectantly. Oh God, she wanted to be invited in. Miranda made a quick decision. She had no idea how influential or otherwise this person was but maybe it wasn’t a wonderful idea to piss off the residents from the get-go. For all Miranda knew she might be the town mayor and, as she had ideas for this house that would involve getting planning consent, maybe she ought to be polite – for now.

  ‘Lovely to meet you,’ she said, turning on the charm. ‘Come in.’

  She threw the door wide and her visitor stepped over the threshold.

  ‘Goodness, this is… airy.’

  ‘Wonderful, isn’t it? The previous owners really didn’t maximise the potential of the space.’

  ‘Didn’t they?’ The woman looked about her. ‘Yes… very – um – minimalist.’

  ‘Isn’t it perfect?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Coffee?’

  ‘I’d love one.’

  Heather followed Miranda into the kitchen area. ‘Ooh, new units.’

  ‘Ah – you knew the previous owners?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Olivia and I are good friends.’

  ‘My cleaner says she and her husband downsized.’

  ‘Amy? Yes, they did. And Amy cleans for me too.’

  So that’s why she knew the name. ‘Ah – you’re one of the people who wrote a reference for Amy.’

  Heather smiled happily. ‘Yes, yes I did. She’s a good cleaner.’

  ‘She’s a gossip.’

  ‘Only if you encourage her.
’

  ‘I don’t.’ Miranda stood in front of a coffee machine that looked as if it would be more at home in a large branch of Costa. ‘What would you like?’

  ‘A filter coffee with milk?’

  ‘OK. Except I only have almond milk.’

  ‘Oh… well, yes, that’s fine.’

  ‘Dairies are concentration camps for cows.’ She pressed some buttons. ‘I take it you’re a resident here?’

  ‘Yes, my husband’s the vicar.’

  Which explained the clothes. ‘Really? Roderick and I subscribe to the New Labour policy about the church.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘We don’t do God.’

  ‘No, people don’t. Still, there’s plenty who do.’

  Behind Miranda the machine burped, steamed and gurgled and coffee dripped into a glass mug with a chrome handle while she bit back a comment about deluded fools.

  ‘Anyway, I always think,’ continued Heather, ‘whether you are religious or not, one can appreciate the wonderful architecture of our ancient churches.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘St Catherine’s is Norman – well, quite a lot of it is. When this town got rich on the wool trade they added bits to it in the Middle Ages. And put in stained glass although some of that didn’t survive the Reformation.’

  Oh God, not a history lesson, please. ‘Fascinating.’ Miranda suppressed a yawn. The coffee machine finished making Heather’s coffee and she handed her the mug and passed her the milk jug. ‘Sugar?’

  ‘Just milk. Actually, it’s about the church I came – well, not the church exactly, but the bells.’

  ‘The church has bells? I’ve not heard them.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Heather beamed at her. ‘Isn’t it awful without them? We’ve had to silence them because they’re in a parlous state. We’re having to raise thousands to get them fixed and I thought maybe, as you’ve chosen to live in this wonderful little town, you’d like to help us reach our total.’

  ‘Donate to the bells?’

  Heather nodded eagerly.

  ‘So they can ring again? And shatter the peace?’

  Her guest’s face fell.

  ‘We moved here to get away from din and racket.’

  ‘But it’s not din and racket – they’re beautiful.’

  ‘That’s your opinion; one I don’t share. Besides, there are laws about noise and I think you should know that my husband is a barrister. If your bells wreck the peace and quiet of this town we’ll take action.’

  Heather stared at her open-mouthed. Then she put her mug down on the counter.

  ‘Well!’ she said, and stalked out. She shut the door rather more forcefully than was necessary.

  Chapter 20

  Olivia sat next to Heather in the front pew of the church, fuming. She was livid, incandescent. She hadn’t felt this angry since Nigel had told her about his debts. She couldn’t believe what Heather had just told her about what the new inhabitant had said about the bells.

  ‘She said what?’

  Beside her Heather whispered, ‘Her exact words… “din and racket”. She also told me her husband is a barrister.’

  Olivia snorted. ‘So all this fundraising may be in vain if we can’t ring the bells at the end of it.’

  ‘That’s the size of it. Or we can block up the louvres in the bell chamber to muffle the sound; other churches have done that as a compromise, but if we do that’ll be even more expense.’

  The organist began the introit and Heather and Olivia stood.

  ‘We must talk over coffee,’ said Olivia. ‘I don’t need to rush back; I’m not working till later.’

  At the end of the service, Heather and Olivia rehung their kneelers, gathered up their hymn books and Books of Common Prayer, their handbags and their gloves, and then made their way to the back of the church where the Friends of St Catherine’s were dishing out coffee and cake. Small children, released from Sunday School in the community centre on the next-door cricket pitch, streamed into the building to be reunited with their parents and then run around in the big space by the font. Some of the old biddies looked disapprovingly at the children.

  ‘Anyway, tell me more about the new people?’ said Olivia as they reached the head of the queue for coffee. She took two cups and handed one to Heather and then Heather relayed all the details she could remember about the makeover that had been given to Olivia’s old house.

  ‘Honestly, it’s bare and echoey. I mean, don’t get me wrong, you can tell she’s thrown a mint of money at it and there are some socking great pieces of art in it which I expect might be worth as much as a small country’s GDP, but I wouldn’t want to live there. There’s no sense of comfort or personality. It’s not a place to kick back and loaf in front of the TV. Not that I care,’ said Heather. ‘I can’t see Brian and me getting an invitation to supper there any time soon.’

  ‘Or ever.’

  ‘No. Still, no loss. Although it would have been useful if she’d found it in her heart to give us a fat donation.’

  ‘How’s the fundraising going?’

  ‘The Heritage Lottery Fund looks like it’s going to come good and Brian’s done well with the local businesses.’

  ‘I feel so guilty about not being able to help more.’

  ‘Don’t. You’ve done plenty over the years. Did you know Belinda has promised to run a pudding evening at the pub?’

  ‘Is she? Good for her.’

  ‘Yup, £20 gets you all the puds you can eat. She says Miles is going to have about fifteen on offer.’

  ‘Sounds lush. If I’m not working I might have to give it a go. Not that I should, of course.’ She looked down at her stomach which was perfectly flat but, like many middle-aged women, she worried about middle-aged spread.

  ‘Sadly, I don’t think I will be able to go.’

  ‘That’s a shame.’

  ‘Strictly between you, me and the gatepost, Brian and I need to tighten our belts – our expenses keep going up and our salaries don’t. I am seriously thinking of putting one of our spare rooms on Airbnb.’

  ‘Really?’

  Heather nodded. ‘Of course the problem is that I can’t offer a room with an en suite. But I imagine, if I reflected the fact that we can only offer shared facilities in the price, we might get a taker or two. And a few extra quid each month would be a real help.’

  ‘That bad?’

  Heather nodded. ‘We’re the proverbial church mice.’

  Olivia put her hand on Heather’s arm. ‘I wish I was in a position to help but…’

  ‘I know.’

  Olivia’s brow wrinkled. ‘But… would it be allowed – I mean, are you allowed to sublet the vicarage?’

  ‘Not sublet, no, but I had a word with the bishop’s office and they don’t have a particular objection to us running a B and B. We’d have to give the diocese a proportion of our income but frankly we’d still make a healthy profit. I’m just not sure I’ve got the energy – it’d be a lot of work and I’d have to make a real effort to keep the place clean and tidy.’ She sighed. ‘Changing the subject, how’s Jade?’

  ‘Ah, well…’ Olivia brightened. ‘She’s finally got a job. She’s working as an office manager for a company on the industrial estate on the Cattebury road. I suspect she’s probably overqualified for the role but at least she’s employed now and not kicking her heels at home.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘Yes and no. She and I had words about her helping with running the house and, to give her her due, she did take on some of the chores and helped with the cooking. Of course now she works too, she can’t possibly be expected to shoulder that burden as well.’

  ‘But of course, you can.’

  Olivia nodded. ‘Obviously.’ She drained her coffee. ‘Time I got going. I ought to do the ironing before I go to work.’ She sighed. ‘No rest for the wicked.’ She gave Heather a farewell kiss on the cheek. ‘See you next week – shifts permitting.’

  ‘Bye.’

>   Olivia walked out of the church and up the road past the cricket club onto the high street.

  ‘Hiya, Mrs L,’ called a familiar voice.

  ‘Amy? How are you? I haven’t seen you in an age.’

  ‘Not too bad, Mrs L. I got my old job back at your house but she’s a piece of work and no mistake.’

  ‘Heather has just been saying something similar.’

  ‘I tell you, if I didn’t need the money I’d tell that Mrs Osborne where she could shove it.’

  ‘Mrs Osborne?’

  ‘Yeah, why, do you know her?’

  ‘Tall, slim, hair in a French pleat?’

  ‘That’s her.’

  ‘She stayed at the hotel.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, you work up at the Priors, don’t you? How are you getting on?’

  ‘Mostly very well, when we don’t have guests like her staying. She was a nightmare.’

  ‘I can believe it. And you should see what she’s done to your place. It’s all white and shiny. And none of the cupboards have no knobs on them. She doesn’t like knobs. Huh, well in that case she shouldn’t have married one. Her old man is the biggest knob in Little Woodford, if you ask me.’ Amy guffawed at her own joke. ‘Anyway, mustn’t keep you. Bye.’ She went on her way leaving Olivia thinking about the awfulness of the Osbornes. Somehow she didn’t think they were going to be an asset to the community.

  *

  She could hear the row before she opened the door to her house. Zac and Jade were going at it hammer and tongs and it seemed that Nigel had gone out. She was very tempted to turn around and go back out herself.

  ‘Stop it!’ she yelled in a nanosecond of silence.

  ‘She started it,’ Zac shouted.

  ‘Quiet.’ Silence fell. ‘I could hear the pair of you out in the street. What on earth is going on?’

  ‘Zac used all the hot water and I wanted to wash my hair,’ whined Jade.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, is that all?’ said Olivia. She stamped into the kitchen and hit the override button on the boiler. ‘The water will be hot again in an hour.’