The Bells of Little Woodford

by Catherine Jones

  ‘Don’t be daft. It’s only a hop, skip and a jump. I may be old but I’m not crocked. Not yet. See you Christmas Day.’

  ‘Bye, Gran,’ said Ashley firmly as he shut the front door behind him. He paused for a moment to take in the lights he’d put up. Blimey they were bling. He looked across at the Laithwaites’ house opposite. All very boring with plain white lights. No, Mrs L would deffo be unhappy about his gran’s lights.

  He made his way down the road, past the station and onto the high street. He slipped his hand into the pocket of his jeans and felt the money he’d been given. Maybe he’d buy something for his mum – a surprise for Christmas. He felt bad that his mum and gran were worried about him. Was it because he wanted to act rather than go to uni? But she was his mum and he supposed worrying about their kids was what mums did. Maybe he’d treat her to some chocs, or nice flowers. He’d already bought her a proper present from the money he’d saved during the year from doing odd jobs for neighbours and the occasional fiver his mum gave him as pocket money, when she was feeling flush – which wasn’t often – but another little gift would be nice. He wondered what she’d like.

  He walked along the road which was rammed with pedestrians doing last bits of Christmas shopping. It wasn’t actually raining and it seemed that every single resident of Little Woodford was out and about. He had to stop every few paces to let other people pass, or sidestep out into the road to avoid gaggles of other shoppers, and every now and again he saw people he recognised to whom he said hello or waved at. Progress was slow.

  He reached Boots and dithered outside. Maybe there’d be something in this shop that his mum might like. He only had a fiver but that would be enough for some nice bubble bath or something, wouldn’t it?

  He pushed open the door and was assailed by a warm gust of air. He shouldered his way through the shoppers towards the back of the store to where he could see a sign dangling from the ceiling announcing ‘bath, skin care, shampoo’. He trawled along the shelves but the trouble was there didn’t seem to be much in his price range. There were quite a few ‘3 for the price of 2’ offers but he didn’t want three of anything.

  ‘Hi, Ash.’

  Startled, he looked up. ‘Oh, hi, Sophie.’

  ‘What you after?’ she asked.

  ‘Something for my mum.’

  ‘Like?’

  ‘I haven’t a clue,’ he said wearily. ‘Something I can afford.’

  ‘What’s your budget?’

  ‘Not much,’ he admitted. He pulled the fiver from his pocket.

  ‘There’s these.’ Sophie indicated some nice bath oils.

  ‘I suppose.’ His lack of enthusiasm was tangible.

  Sophie drifted off and examined some of the other brands and offers. She glanced occasionally at the shopping list clutched in her hand as Ash dithered with the bath oil which was, frankly, unexciting. He was about to pick it up for want of anything better when Sophie bounced back.

  ‘I’ve had an idea.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘So, if I buy these two things and you buy something like this,’ she picked up a gift pack of toiletries which was way outside Ashley’s budget, ‘we’ll get one of them for free.’ She stared at the price tags. ‘It’ll be the cheapest so… this one. And the other two together come to under fifteen quid. You give me a fiver, I pay a tenner and Bob’s your uncle.’

  Ashley frowned as he thought about it. ‘But you could buy three presents and keep all of them.’

  ‘But I don’t want three presents, I only want two.’

  ‘Even so…’

  Sophie shrugged. ‘Take it or leave it.’

  ‘I’m sorry; I sound like a right git.’

  ‘You do,’ she agreed. But she said it with a smile.

  They grabbed their purchases and headed for the till.

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ asked Ashley.

  ‘Why not? This way we both save a bit.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  The girl at the till rang up the bill. ‘Want a bag?’ she asked.

  Sophie shook her head and pulled an old carrier out of her pocket. ‘No, ta.’

  ‘Fourteen ninety-eight,’ said the checkout girl. The pair handed over the money and stuffed their presents into the bag.

  ‘What you doing now?’ asked Ashley as they stood outside the shop.

  ‘Going home,’ said Sophie. ‘What about you?’

  Ashley shrugged. ‘Nothing. I’d take you for a coffee to say ta but I’m skint again.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that. As I said, we both saved on the deal.’

  ‘You could have saved more if you hadn’t done what you did for me.’ Ashley saw the exasperated look on Sophie’s face. ‘OK – I’ll shut up. But thank you.’

  ‘If you want a coffee you could come back to mine.’

  ‘Really?’

  Sophie nodded. ‘I expect Mum’d like to tell you how much she enjoyed the panto. We both did.’

  ‘That’d be nice, I’d like to.’

  They wandered along the high street to the turning to Sophie’s house. She got her key out of her bag.

  ‘Come on in,’ she said as she opened the door before she called out, ‘Mum, I’m back. I’ve got Ash with me.’

  ‘Hi, sweetie. Hi, Ash.’

  Sophie stuck her purchases on the stairs and went into the kitchen. ‘I’m making a coffee, Mum. Do you want one?’

  ‘Lovely.’

  ‘Go and talk to Mum,’ Sophie ordered as she filled the kettle.

  Ashley went into the sitting room. It was decorated with pine garlands which looped along the cornice at the top of the walls and in the corner was a big tree. The tree and the garlands had hundreds of white lights wound round them and the effect was quite magical. So very different from his gran’s bonkers decorations – although part of him liked the madness; it epitomised her.

  ‘Hi, Lizzie. Love your decorations,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you. We do the same every year but we like it like this. I’m a sucker for fairy lights.’

  Ashley nodded. ‘So’s my gran – only with her the more colourful and flashier they are the better.’ He grinned. ‘She doesn’t do tasteful.’

  ‘I bet they’re lovely all the same. I don’t think there’s a wrong or right when it comes to Christmas.’

  ‘You haven’t seen them.’

  ‘So,’ said Lizzie, ‘what are you going to do with that great big talent of yours?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Acting.’

  Ashley could feel his face flaring. He shrugged with embarrassment. ‘I dunno. Except…’ He paused.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I’m going to go along to the theatre group after Christmas and see if they’ll take me on.’

  ‘Take you on?’ squawked Lizzie. ‘They’ll bite your hand off.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I told my mum that I’d like to go to drama school rather than uni.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She’s not happy.’

  ‘Neither were my mum and dad. It’s a dodgy old existence once you graduate and auditions are hell on earth – but when you land that part… There’s no feeling like it.’

  Ashley’s eyes shone. ‘I think I know. When I stood on that stage and made people laugh…’

  Sophie came in with a tray of coffees. ‘I’m going to have to go back into town.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’ve just used the last of the milk. I’ll have this, and then shoot. You can stay here and keep my mum company, if you like.’

  ‘Sure. If that’s OK with you?’ He looked at Lizzie.

  ‘Of course.’

  Lizzie turned to her daughter. ‘Ash has told me he wants to go to drama school.’

  ‘Cool!’

  ‘You think?’ said Ash.

  ‘Totally.’ Sophie nodded her head vigorously and then slurped at her coffee. She gulped it down. ‘Back in a mo,’ she said as she dumped her mug on the t
able and scooted out of the room.

  ‘If it’s any help, I think uni is overrated,’ said Lizzie. ‘Mind you, I didn’t go, so I’m probably biased. But I did learn how to touch type and do basic accounting so I could always work as a temp between jobs.’

  ‘My mum’s ex-boyfriend said I should get a trade like being a plumber or a mechanic.’

  ‘You’ll need something to fall back on when you’re resting – and something that earns a decent wedge. It’s all very well doing bar work or waiting on tables but the pay is lousy and the hours are worse.’

  ‘I’m used to being skint,’ said Ashley.

  ‘Aren’t we all,’ said Lizzie. ‘Living on benefits is no laugh. If it wasn’t for Soph’s Sunday job at the filling station she wouldn’t get no treats at all, poor kid.’

  ‘I didn’t know she had a job.’

  ‘It’s only a few hours but it helps.’

  ‘I ought to get a job.’

  ‘Well, if you’re serious about joining the theatre group and you want to do well in your GCSEs you might be a bit stretched.’

  ‘If I’m going to act I won’t need exams.’

  Lizzie scowled. ‘Now, you listen to me… you can’t apply for drama school till you’re eighteen and supposing you don’t get in? I am sure you will but what if you don’t? You have to have other options.’

  Ashley shrugged. ‘You mean I’ve got to stay at school and do A levels?’

  ‘Why not? Anyway, what’s wrong with school? I’d have thought that after the panto you must be about the coolest guy in the class.’

  If Ashley could have blushed redder he would have done. And the thought that he was one of the cool kids made him even more set on becoming an actor.

  Chapter 37

  Christmas Eve, a Monday, dawned in Little Woodford much like any other Monday with the exception that, across the town, most small children were almost beside themselves with excitement. Alfie and Lewis were no exception and crashed into their grandparents’ room at half past six with shrieks of, ‘Is it Christmas yet?’

  Granny May sat up in bed and put on her glasses while Grandpa Jack slumbered on beside her, his hearing aids on the bedside table, happily oblivious of almost all noise. They’d arrived from Cumbria the night before, shattered from all the travelling and the boys had both been allowed to stay up to meet them. They’d all expected – and hoped for – a bit of a lie-in the next morning as a payback. No such luck, it seemed.

  ‘Goodness me, boys,’ she said, ‘if you’re not careful you’ll wake Grandpa and then he’ll be grumpy all day.’

  Lewis and Alfie looked at each other. ‘Grumpy Grampy,’ whooped Lewis, shrieking with laughter.

  Granny May sighed and said, ‘You two go downstairs. I’ll be along directly.’

  The two boys clattered down the stairs and Granny got out of bed, slipped on her dressing gown and slippers and followed them – much more decorously and almost silently. As she reached the ground floor she could hear them wrestling over the remote and then the sound of the TV switching on. Leaving them to it – they’d be quiet for a few minutes she went into the kitchen and was surprised to see Bex there, sitting at the table with a cup of tea, playing on her laptop.

  ‘Hello, lamb,’ said her mother. ‘What are you doing up so early?’

  ‘I was hoping to get some stuff done before the boys woke up.’

  Granny May snorted. ‘Fat chance of that.’

  ‘The kettle’s just boiled,’ said Bex.

  ‘Good.’ She went over to the counter and made two mugs of tea. ‘I’ll take this up to Grandpa although he managed to sleep through the boys’ invasion. Sometimes there are advantages to not being able to hear without hearing aids!’

  When she returned Bex had her big Kenwood mixer out and was measuring fat and flour into the bowl.

  ‘You can never have too many mince pies,’ she said, switching on the big machine.

  ‘But you can have too many cooks. How about I go and make sure the boys are OK. I’ll see if they’d like a story reading to them, shall I, pet?’

  ‘Oh, Mum, that’d be ace.’

  As Granny May left the kitchen Bex’s laptop pinged so she stopped watching the beaters turn flour and fat into tiny, breadcrumb-like particles and checked what the Facebook notification was all about. For a second she stared at the picture that popped up, unable to quite make head or tail of what she was seeing. Then she realised. It was Olivia’s old house but at the top of the drive, where it joined the road up the hill, was an enormous, steaming pile of manure. The caption read – It seems as if someone who is full of bullshit needs some more.

  Bex swallowed down the urge to laugh. On one level it was quite funny but on another a tiny bit of her felt sorry for Mrs Osborne. For a start, how the hell was she going to get the midden moved given that it was Christmas? It’d be days before she’d be able to get a contractor to come and shift it – and that was if there even was a contractor who’d take the job on. Plus, there was no way of getting a car in or out of the drive and, to cap it all, it must stink to high heaven.

  Old Harry at the pub had said she’d get her comeuppance. Now she had. And he’d said she was full of bullshit… But the name at the head of the picture wasn’t Harry’s so maybe he was innocent, except... No, surely not Harry.

  When Bex had got a batch of two dozen mince pies in the oven she went into the sitting room. The boys were transfixed by an episode of Octonauts and Granny May was half-asleep on the sofa.

  ‘Mum,’ said Bex.

  Granny May’s eyes snapped open. ‘What is it, love?’

  ‘Why don’t you bring your tea into the kitchen where it’s warmer? The boys are fine here.’

  ‘If you’re sure.’ She picked up her mug and followed her daughter.

  ‘Sit down,’ said Bex.

  Granny May frowned as she took a seat and put her mug down on the table. ‘This sounds serious.’

  ‘It is. Kind of.’ There was a silence that stretched for a number of seconds.

  ‘And…?’

  ‘Mum… I’m pregnant.’

  ‘So that’s why you look a bit peaky. I did wonder why but I didn’t like to ask. I have to say it’s a bit of a relief that that’s all it is. No… that came out wrong. I was worried it was something serious, something nasty. I am delighted for you, as long as you are delighted for yourself.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Then I’m really, really pleased. It’ll be lovely to have another little baby in the family. They grow up so fast.’

  Bex nodded.

  ‘Who’s the father – if you don’t mind me asking?’

  ‘It’s Miles.’

  Granny May nodded again. ‘From what you’ve said he seems like a nice guy.’

  Bex nodded and told her mum all about the new man in her and her family’s life. ‘You’ll meet him tomorrow – he’s coming over for Christmas lunch. Actually, he’ll probably cook most of it.’

  ‘That’s good. What about Richard’s folks?’

  Bex shrugged and looked at the floor.

  ‘You’ve not told them?’ There was a pause. ‘You can’t not.’

  ‘I’m going to FaceTime them tomorrow – so the kids can chat to them on Christmas Day. I’m going to break it to them then.’

  Granny May raised her eyebrows. ‘A Christmas present.’

  ‘Something like that. It’s been over eighteen months since Richard died…’

  ‘You can’t live in the past.’

  ‘And it isn’t as if I meant this to happen. And I honestly think Richard would be pleased for me – that I’ve found someone else.’

  ‘Yes, I think he would. Whether his mum and dad will see it like that…’ Granny May knew all about her daughter’s tricky relationship with her in-laws.

  ‘We’ll find out tomorrow, won’t we?’

  *

  Miranda, half-asleep, slowly became aware of a noxious smell. What on earth? What the hell had Roderick done in their en suite? She opened
her eyes and as full consciousness returned she realised that whatever it was she could smell it probably had nothing to do with her husband.

  Dear God, what were the locals up to now? And on Christmas Eve? Who on earth would be muck-spreading now? She glanced at the bedside alarm. Seven? Ridiculous!

  Crossly she threw back her unbelievably expensive eider down duvet and sat up. Whoever was responsible had to be stopped. This was outrageous. Even as she swung her legs out of her bed the wording of a letter to the council was starting to come together in her head. She appreciated this was the country and the local-yokels did things differently here but this was a step too far. In fact, given the awfulness and strength of the smell, might it not be hazardous – in which case ought she to ring the emergency services?

  Still contemplating her letter and other possible courses of action Miranda hit the button on the remote to raise the electric blinds at the windows as she headed into the en suite for an early morning pee. After she’d finished and washed her hands she returned to her bed and glanced out the window – largely to see what the weather was doing.

  She froze. What the…?

  ‘Rod! Roddy.’ She shook her husband’s shoulder.

  Roderick grunted and rolled over. ‘What’s the matter?’ he slurred, sleepily.

  ‘Roderick. It’s a disaster,’ she said as she slammed the vent shut.

  ‘What is?’ He sniffed. ‘And what’s that smell?’

  ‘Exactly!’ screeched his wife. ‘Look!’ She pointed out of the window as Roderick scrambled onto his knees and turned round to see what she was pointing at.

  ‘Holy shit.’

  ‘Are you trying to be funny?’ she snapped.

  ‘But… but why?’

  ‘Because I ordered it for the garden.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Roderick. Of course I didn’t. This is probably from some small-minded farmer trying to dissuade me from protesting about the sale of disgusting meat products at the market. Well, it’s not going to work.’

  Roderick sighed. ‘So what are we going to do about it?’