The Bells of Little Woodford

by Catherine Jones

  Miranda was startled. ‘Yes. How—’

  ‘This is a small town, Mrs Osborne.’

  ‘Yes but—’

  ‘And I have lived here for a long time.’

  That was a lie. This estate was brand new.

  The woman put her foot on the pedal and prepared to mount her bike. ‘Take it from me, it’s a mistake to make yourself unpopular in a place like this. No one likes your protest at the market, or your petition against the bells, or your wind turbine. It’s a total eyesore and it’s causing a lot of resentment. People around here have long memories.’ She pushed off on her bike and rode away. She turned and called over her shoulder, ‘Very long.’

  ‘Like I care,’ muttered Miranda. She sniffed then made her way towards the town hall feeling unaccustomedly rattled.

  However, her slight unease only made her more determined and she stamped into the town hall and marched up to the desk. Imperiously she pinged the bell. And why wasn’t this place manned? she wondered.

  ‘Yes,’ said a woman who appeared from the back offices.

  ‘I want to see your environmental health officer – I want to make a complaint about noise pollution.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but we don’t have one.’

  ‘But you must.’

  ‘This is a parish council. Environmental health is a district responsibility.’

  Miranda stared at the woman to try and judge if she was being fobbed off. ‘Then I’d like you to contact him.’

  ‘She can be contacted through the district council website.’

  ‘So you are refusing to help me.’

  There was a tiny pause before the receptionist said, ‘Not in the least. It would be easier all round if you fill out the appropriate forms via the website. Although, if the noise is coming from one of your neighbours, maybe a friendly word first…?’

  ‘It’s not a neighbour. And a “friendly word”, as you so tweely put it, probably won’t work. This is general noise pollution that affects the entire town.’

  The receptionist gestured to the computer terminal sitting in the corner of the town hall’s reception area. ‘I can’t think of anything of that nature in the town.’ She looked perplexed. ‘And, certainly, we’ve not had any other complaints from the residents.’

  ‘Really?’ Probably because they were all too stupid to know that they could.

  ‘If you need to make a formal complaint, you can do it from here if you don’t have a computer at home.’

  ‘Of course I’ve got a computer,’ snapped Miranda.

  ‘Search for Cattebury District council and then environmental health and you’ll find everything you need to know.’

  Did this wretched woman think she was stupid? ‘I know how to use a search engine.’

  ‘Good. Then if that’s everything?’ The woman turned to go back into her hidey-hole.

  ‘One more thing…’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ve heard a rumour that my very eco-friendly, micro-generation turbine is a cause of dissent in this town.’

  ‘Ah – your turbine. You must live at The Grange. And, yes, we’ve had enquiries about it.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Mostly residents want to know if it’s legal.’

  ‘Of course it’s legal.’

  ‘Yes, so we understand.’

  ‘Do you think I would be so irresponsible as to flout permitted development laws?’

  ‘Mrs…?’

  ‘Osborne.’

  ‘Mrs Osborne, I believe you’ve also protested against some of the market traders.’

  ‘I have been exercising my right to freedom of speech. Besides, eating meat is vile.’

  ‘If you say so. It’s just this is a small town in the heart of a farming community and people here are inclined to like the way things are. And I don’t know what this noise is that you’re so dead set against, but if you’re in a minority I would imagine that the environmental health officer is unlikely to find in your favour. You might be wasting your time.’

  ‘We’ll see, won’t we?’

  ‘Indeed.’

  The two women eyeballed each other until Miranda decided she had better things to do than try and stare down this jumped-up functionary. But she didn’t like the fact that two people, in the space of just a few minutes, had made comment about her turbine and her protest. Then she told herself that these people just needed educating and to do that she needed to stick to her guns.

  *

  Cynthia, the town hall receptionist, blew out her cheeks in relief after Mrs Osborne had slammed out of the building. She opened her contacts book and reached for the telephone.

  ‘Heather? I’ve just had Mrs Osborne from The Grange in here. A word in your ear but, you know she’s got that petition about getting the bells stopped? Well, she was asking about environmental health and noise pollution… Yes, I think she’s still going to take action… Indeed… Very unpopular… Yes… Having met her, I don’t think she gives a damn.’

  Chapter 35

  Amy was round at her mother’s new house helping to put up the Christmas decorations. Every flat surface in the living room was covered in cards, and tinsel and streamers were draped over the pictures. Sprigs of holly were tucked behind ornaments and a large piece of mistletoe hung in the hall. Amy, balanced on the top of a set of folding steps, was hanging lametta over the lampshade in the sitting room. Her skirt had hitched up and the tops of her tights showed.

  ‘Ash breaks up tomorrow,’ she said as she leaned precariously to arrange the silvery strands.

  ‘They’re late this year, ain’t they? It’s only a few days to Christmas now.’

  ‘But they don’t go back straight after New Year. He’s glad about that. He says he’s got a ton of revision to do – he’s got mocks starting the first day of term.’

  ‘He’s a good lad, your Ash. He works hard.’

  Amy climbed down the steps and pulled at the hem of her skirt. ‘Yeah, but all work and no play…’ She picked up a box of multicoloured baubles. ‘Mum, I’m worried about him.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He’s barely said a word to me since that panto. He spends all his time in his room and when he does come downstairs he pretty much ignores me. Something’s bothering him and I wish I knew what.’

  ‘You did burst his bubble when he said he wanted to go to drama school.’

  ‘Come off it, Mum. Acting’s not a proper job. He needs to be told to go for something sensible and if I don’t do it who will?’

  ‘Maybe, but if it’s what he wants to do… And he was good. He was the star in that panto and no mistake.’

  ‘So? If I’ve told him once I’ve told him a thousand times he ought to get a degree and then have a proper career. Besides, I don’t want him hanging around with all them arty types. They’re all gay, you know.’

  ‘Don’t be daft, Ames.’

  ‘Huh.’

  ‘And what if he does? Your Ash isn’t gay.’

  ‘Really, Mum? I’m not so sure. He hasn’t got a girlfriend; he’s always talking about costumes and make-up. I swear he was jealous of Megan’s frock in the panto…’ Amy sighed and began to hang the baubles on the fake still-bare Christmas tree in the corner.

  ‘No – leave that. I need to get the lights on it first. Actually,’ Mags added as Amy began to put the little glass balls back in their box, ‘send Ash round to help me with the lights. I want some to go up round the front door too – you know, those nice flashing ones we bought in the sales last year. I might need a hand to put some hooks up for them.’

  ‘OK, Mum.’ Amy looked around the sitting room which was now filled with a total mishmash of colourful Christmas decorations. It was garish and over-the-top, but bright and jolly. ‘In that case, we’re about done for today. I’ll send Ash round later. You have a word with him and see what you think and I hope you find out I’m wrong, I really do.’

  *

  Over at The Beeches, Bex was also decorating but in her case she
was busy decorating Alfie’s cake, lovingly made in the shape of a bulldozer which was pushing a huge pile of M&Ms with its bucket. It was a masterpiece, but there was a bit of Bex that worried about what Alfie’s reaction might be when it came to cutting it. The yellow earthmover was sitting on a big block of chocolate sponge on which she’d iced Happy Birthday Alfie and some markings to make it look like a piece of roadway. She supposed that if the worst came to the worst his guests could be fobbed off with the base rather than the digger itself. She finished the icing off with two big eyes on the bulldozer’s windscreen and straightened up. Her back ached and she put a hand behind her to try and ease the dull pain.

  ‘The joys of pregnancy,’ she muttered as she picked up the empty bowl of icing and put it in the dishwasher before she put on the kettle. She glanced at the clock as she plugged it in. She had half an hour before she went to the pub to work her last shift before Christmas. As the kettle boiled she went over what had to be done before the Big Day. She grabbed a scrap of paper and began to make a list. Her first priority was the party the next day – she began with that.

  Alfie’s party

  pass the parcel

  goody bags

  jellies

  pin the tail on the donkey

  musical bumps/chairs/statues

  prizes…

  But then she’d really need to pull her finger out about Christmas.

  Decorate house – because it wasn’t fair on Alfie to have his birthday overshadowed by Christmas.

  Find and fill stockings…

  Collect turkey

  Collect parents

  Collect Christmas tree

  Make up spare room bed

  Bex threw down her pencil. OK, so once Alfie’s party was over the list would be a lot shorter but how on earth was she going to get all the rest of this done before Tuesday – Christmas Day? Especially as once her parents arrived on Saturday they would need a lot of attention and looking after. Tiredness washed over her as she got to her feet to make her cuppa. But, tired or not, she was going to have to cope. She could put her feet up on Boxing Day when the family could be fed on leftovers.

  As she sipped her tea she reckoned that she had all day tomorrow to get the bulk of the shopping done and prepare for Alfie’s party, then on Friday, while Amy cleaned she could decorate the house which, hopefully, would keep the kids occupied, and then on Saturday, when her parents arrived, at least she’d have two other adults in the house to play board games, read books and keep Lewis and Alfie occupied while she and Megan got on with everything else. As a plan, it was pretty scrappy… but it was the only one she had.

  She finished her tea, cleared up the kitchen, hid the cake in the pantry on a high shelf and walked round to the pub where she knocked on the door and waited to be let in.

  ‘Morning,’ said Belinda, all bright and breezy. ‘Want to know what I heard?’

  Bex shrugged off her coat as she said ‘Hi,’ and ‘What?’

  ‘I bumped into Cynthia from the town hall.’

  ‘Cynthia?’

  ‘Nice woman – works on reception. She says that frightful piece of work who’s moved into Olivia’s old place has been stirring up all kinds of shit.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Well… she didn’t say “all kinds of shit”, she’s much too PC, but you get my drift.’

  Bex nodded – she did. ‘Doesn’t she do the protest at the market?’

  Belinda nodded. ‘Makes herself a proper laughing stock. I think when she first did it people got a bit intimidated but now she does it every week… well, they just ignore her. But she’s the one who set up the petition against the church bells. And now Cynthia says she was asking about the environmental health officer and wanting to know about noise pollution.’

  ‘She cannot be serious.’ Bex hung up her coat and went behind the bar to get the dusters and polish ready to clean the tables.

  ‘It seems she is.’

  ‘She wants to watch upsetting too many people. I can imagine that she might find life becoming a bit tricky in a small place like this.’

  ‘Not tricky enough, if you ask me,’ muttered Belinda. ‘Besides, from what I’ve heard she doesn’t use local tradespeople and she gets her groceries delivered so she obviously does her shopping online so, as far as I can see, there’s nothing we – the locals – can do. I suppose we could ask Amy to boycott cleaning for her and I could bar her from the pub, but, seeing as how Amy needs the cash and Mrs Osborne has never darkened this door, both of those ideas are total non-starters.’

  ‘What’s a non-starter?’ said Harry, one of their lunchtime regulars coming in for his pint.

  As Belinda pulled Harry’s beer she explained the situation.

  ‘Sounds like a right piece of work,’ said Harry. ‘We don’t want that sort living here. And as for that ruddy windmill she’s got… What’s all that about?’

  ‘She generates electricity with it,’ said Belinda.

  ‘She’s too posh to get her leccy off the national grid like the rest of the country, is that it?’

  ‘I think she’s trying to be eco-friendly.’

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ said Harry. ‘So why does she drive everywhere in that darn-great four-by-four? Pah. She’s just full of bullshit – pardon my French.’

  ‘That’s as maybe, but I still can’t see what we can do to stop her.’

  ‘I expect she’ll get her comeuppance,’ said Harry. ‘Mark my words. Someone round here will make it obvious how the town feels – and I don’t suppose she’ll like it when they do.’

  *

  If Bex had felt knackered at the prospect of Alfie’s birthday party the reality was even more exhausting, but eventually fifteen five- and six-year-olds went home, having been entertained, fed and watered and given a thoroughly good time. Their mums and a few dads, who had been treated to soft drinks or wine when they came to pick up their little darlings, had helped keep a certain amount of control as the state of general overexcitement, sugar and additives began to take their toll. The digger birthday cake had stolen the show and several mums even asked Bex if she’d make cakes for their sons when the time came. Finally peace descended and all that was left were sticky floors, crumbs and a kitchen that looked like a bomb had hit it. At least, thought Bex as she flopped onto a kitchen chair, no one had to get up early in the morning as the Christmas holidays had now started. Just five minutes’ peace would be nice, she thought, before she began the bedtime routine for Alfie. What would be even nicer would be a glass of wine, but that wasn’t an option.

  And tomorrow she’d have to start Christmas preparations in earnest. No peace for the wicked.

  Chapter 36

  The next morning, Amy persuaded her son to go and help his grandmother to finish off her Christmas decorations while she went to work at Bex’s. Twenty minutes after he arrived at Mags’s house he finished tapping some nails into the tiny wooden porch outside her house and then wound the flex that connected the string of fairy lights around each one. He managed to make two circuits of the porch with the decorations and secured the free end with a small cable-tie. Then he tucked the battery pack onto a convenient ledge, switched it on, and eureka – it all worked. He reopened the door and called to Mags. Outside, the multicoloured lights were strutting their stuff. According to the instructions they could be programmed in a variety of ways: steady lights; slow flash; ripple flash; slow fade; quick fade… or what they seemed to be doing at the moment which was a bit of everything in succession.

  ‘Gran, what do you think?’

  Mags clapped her hands. ‘Oh, these are perfect.’

  Ashley explained about the different settings.

  ‘No,’ said Mags, ‘no, I like them just like this. It’s just what I want.’

  She saw Olivia staring out of her window at the lights and Mags gave her a cheery wave.

  ‘I bet she isn’t happy,’ she said out of the corner of her mouth to Ashley. ‘I bet she hates my lights.’ She chuckled wickedly. �
�I think I might see if I can get some of those picture lights in the sales – you know, reindeers or snowmen or Santa – ready for next Christmas. Mrs L would do her nut over ones like that!’

  They returned indoors and left the lights to flash garishly outside.

  ‘Tea?’ offered Mags.

  ‘I thought you wanted me to put the lights on the tree as well,’ said Ashley.

  ‘You can do that while I’m making it.’ She handed Ashley the carrier bag containing a tangle of wires and bulbs.

  Ash looked in. ‘Gran! This is a right old mess.’ He sat down and put the lights in his lap as he picked at the scrambled wires in an attempt to make some sort of sense of them.

  A few minutes later, while he was still trying to unravel the flex, Mags put a cup of tea on the table in front of him and sat down on the chair opposite with an audible ‘oof’.

  ‘You still set on going to drama school?’

  He looked up. ‘Why?’

  ‘Your mum’s worried about it.’

  He returned his attention to the lights. ‘It’s what I want. And I don’t see what the problem is.’

  ‘She’s worried about the types you’ll be mixing with.’

  ‘What? Because there’ll be people who don’t live on a council estate or went to comps? It’ll be the same at uni.’

  ‘It’s not just that.’

  Ashley snorted. ‘She doesn’t get it, does she? This is my life and I want to live it how I want. And you’ll have to tell Mum that because she might listen to you. She sure as hell hasn’t listened to me. She wants me to be something I’m not and I’m not going to change, not for her or anyone.’

  ‘If you say so, dear,’ said Mags, mildly. But inside she was wondering just what it was that Ashley wanted to be. Was it just being an actor or was it more than that? Was Amy right?

  Ash gulped down his tea. ‘Anything else you want me to do?’

  ‘No. You’re a good lad.’ She fished in her handbag and handed him a fiver.

  ‘Gran! No, I don’t want any money.’

  ‘But I want you to have it. Get yourself a treat. Go on.’

  Diffidently Ash took it and then dipped down to kiss his gran on the cheek. ‘Ta, Gran.’ He slipped the note into his pocket. ‘Right, I’ll be off. Mum says you’re coming to ours for Christmas lunch. Do you want me to come over and walk you round?’