The Bells of Little Woodford

by Catherine Jones

  Please come to a Bring-and-Share party at the Community Centre on Easter Monday at 2.00pm to celebrate the reinstallation of St Catherine’s Church bells. All welcome. RSVP The Vicarage

  Then in Heather’s handwriting it said – Do come and if you’d like to make a cake or two… *hopeful face*

  Bex pottered into the kitchen, picked up the phone and dialled.

  ‘Hello, the vicarage.’ The voice wasn’t Heather’s.

  ‘Can I speak to Heather please?’

  ‘Sure. who’s calling?’

  ‘Bex.’

  ‘Oh, hi, Bex – it’s Jade.’

  ‘Hello, and how are you getting on…’ And so the conversation continued for some minutes as Bex asked after the family – all well – and if they had plans for Easter – not really, Mum’s working – until Jade said that Heather wanted a word too.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Bex, ‘gabbling on like that. You must have far better things to do than talk to me.’

  But whether Jade did was lost in the handover of the phone.

  ‘Hi, Bex,’ said Heather cheerily. ‘I trust you’ve rung to say you’re coming?’

  ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world and yes, I can do some cakes – shall I do several? Something like a Victoria sponge, a chocolate cake and a fruit loaf? And how about a quiche or a pavlova?’

  ‘That’s too much to ask.’

  ‘No, it’s not. You know how much I love baking. And, anyway, Miles might lend a hand too.’

  ‘Well, I’m not going to turn you down.’

  ‘I didn’t think you would.’

  ‘But don’t you overdo things. I know what it’s like at that stage of pregnancy – the lack of sleep, the aches and pains—’

  ‘The indigestion.’

  ‘Don’t remind me. But you’re keeping well.’

  ‘Mostly. I don’t feel a hundred per cent, if I’m totally honest – like I’m about to go down with something. But I don’t.’

  ‘Have you been to see the doctor?’

  ‘I’ll only be wasting his time. I’ve got no temperature, no other symptoms – well apart from indigestion, swollen ankles and insomnia.’

  ‘Even so.’

  ‘I’ll just be cluttering up his waiting room. No, as I said to Miles, it’ll all be fine once the baby is born and I’m not sharing my body with something out of the film Alien. Anyway, I can’t wait for the party and to have a catch-up with everyone. Will Olivia be there? I haven’t seen her for an age.’

  ‘I get to see her at church now and again but her shift pattern means she misses out on so many other things. But yes, she says she’s got Easter Monday off – all of it.’

  ‘Good. I miss her.’

  ‘So do I,’ said Heather. ‘And when she was on all those committees and – ahem – quite bossy, I never thought I’d say that.’

  Bex laughed. ‘I know what you mean. I imagine Miranda didn’t get an invite.’

  ‘Heavens, no. But I wouldn’t put it past her to turn up and try and spoil it. She might have joined the book club but she doesn’t exactly “join in” does she?’

  ‘She chose a book.’

  ‘That’s not the same as joining in. She’s present and she contributes, but that is all. It’s almost as if she doesn’t know how to.’

  Bex knew what Heather meant; Miranda had hardly divulged anything that could be described as personal information. She’d told them nothing they didn’t already know beyond the name of her husband and the fact she’d been a lawyer. She never commented on a book beyond what was factual and maybe, maybe, a very objective reason as to why she did, or didn’t enjoy it – usually based on the quality of the prose or the accuracy of descriptions. ‘She doesn’t exactly encourage any of us to cosy up and pop round for a girls’ night in.’

  Heather snorted. ‘And what a barrel of laughs that evening would be.’

  ‘Anyway, stuff Miranda. Let’s look forward to Easter Monday.’

  *

  Amy let herself into Miranda’s house and called out a loud ‘Coo-ee,’ before she slipped off her coat and hung it over the back of a chair. There was no hook near the front door – apparently Miranda didn’t believe in coat hooks or hat stands. They came under the heading of clutter. There was a cupboard for guests’ coats but as she wasn’t a guest she hadn’t been told where to find it. Of course, she had found it. There wasn’t much she hadn’t found. She’d had a good rummage through most of Miranda’s minimalist, hidden cupboards but Miranda’s minimalism wasn’t just outward – it also seemed to extend to other possessions and food. She hadn’t found anything very nice in that department; certainly nothing she fancied helping herself to. Well… perks of the job, wasn’t it? Dear God, wondered Amy, what on earth did that woman survive on? Lentils and fresh air? No wonder she was in a permanent bad mood. So, if it pissed off Miranda that she dumped her coat wherever it suited her, then so be it.

  Amy had dusted, polished and swept and was about to start mopping the bleached birch planking – about the only thing that had survived Miranda’s extreme makeover of Olivia’s old house – when the door opened and in came her boss.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Osborne.’ Amy had long since learnt that Mrs O was even more blooming formal than Mrs L had been. Well, posh houses were bound to be inhabited by snobs. Amy didn’t stop to think that Bex wasn’t snobby – not in the least.

  ‘Amy, I’ve heard a rumour that the bells are going to be rung again at the weekend.’

  ‘Easter Sunday? Yes, that’s right. Heather – the vicar’s wife – says they’re all finished and back up in the tower. She says the foundry did a right good job.’

  ‘Did she now.’

  Amy could see Miranda’s mind working; she could almost hear the cogs turning. She decided to bung a drop of something combustible onto the flames. ‘Yeah, the locals are all dead keen to hear them ring again. It ain’t been the same without them. Of course, there’ll have to be a practice first, then they’re ringing on Easter Sunday and, on the Monday, Heather’s having a party to thank all the fundraisers.’ Miranda pursed her lips so tight Amy was reminded of a cat’s arse. ‘Heather’s using the community centre by the cricket pitch for that do.’

  ‘Really,’ said Miranda.

  Amy couldn’t resist a naughty suggestion. ‘It’s bring-and-share so I don’t suppose it’d matter if you wanted to go along too as long as you take a contribution. It’ll be a cracking way of meeting people. Bex’ll be there and Mrs L. I expect some of the other book club ladies will be and all. And the bells are going to ring a quarter peal and Bert say that goes on for about forty minutes, just to make sure everyone knows everything is back in tip-top condition.’ Amy beamed disingenuously at Miranda and wondered if her boss was going to self-combust. She was almost throbbing with pent-up anger and annoyance.

  She saw Miranda take a deep breath and exhale slowly. ‘Then it might be fun to attend.’

  Amy thought it almost certainly would be – for the onlookers. Nothing like a mad woman throwing a hissy fit to give everyone something to talk about for days – possibly even weeks.

  ‘Oh, go on,’ urged Amy. ‘You’ll have a blast.’

  Chapter 49

  The schools might have broken up for Easter but the Woodford Players had a production coming up and the rehearsal schedule couldn’t afford to stop so, the following Tuesday evening, Ashley made his way to Sophie and Lizzie’s house and rang the bell. Lizzie, ready and waiting, opened it.

  ‘I am stupidly excited about this,’ she admitted to Ashley, as he helped manoeuvre her out of the house.

  ‘It’s only the theatre,’ said Ash. He pushed the chair down the path, through the open gate and onto the pavement.

  ‘It’s not just that… it’s being out and about, meeting new people. I mean, I’m not a recluse and I do go out but it’s not easy for Sophie and I hate it that I cramp her style so much. She’s OK pushing me on the flat but she’d never get me up the Cattebury road and as for anything with steps…’

&
nbsp; ‘I know it wouldn’t solve the problem of the steps but what about an electric wheelchair?’

  ‘I wish. Do you know how much they cost?’

  ‘A lot, I suppose.’

  ‘And some. It’s no picnic, living on benefits.’

  ‘I kinda know that,’ said Ashley. ‘Sometimes, when one of Mum’s ladies moves or goes away and she’s not wanted for a week or two, we really have to tighten our belts. Come the summer, once I’ve done my GCSEs, I’m going to look for a job. Something like Sophie’s got – shop work maybe.’

  ‘That’ll make a big difference to your mum.’

  ‘I’ll give her half and save half. I’ll need money if I’m going to do drama school.’

  ‘You’ll always need money if you’re going to go into acting.’

  Ashley stopped the chair at the main road and waited for a gap in the traffic before he pushed Lizzie across. ‘So you never made it big?’

  ‘Ha!’ said Lizzie. ‘That’s the irony. I worked my way out of a provincial theatre to a bit part in a West End production, only a few lines but the rest of the cast were all household names. Obviously their mates came to see the show and one of them asked me to go and do a screen test for a film he was going to be in.’

  ‘Wow,’ said Ashley, genuinely impressed.

  ‘Yeah, that was about two weeks before I got the diagnosis for multiple sclerosis. After that my life became a bit of a car crash.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Yeah. So was I.’ Lizzie gave a hollow laugh. ‘I couldn’t cope with it and I hit the bottle, tried drugs, did all sorts of stupid things – oh, don’t worry, I don’t do any of that now. But I decided that if my life was ruined I might as well try the live-fast-die-young approach. Trust me, it’s not a good idea. All I did was rinse my savings and wind up in a lot of situations I shouldn’t have done. The only good thing to come out of it was, as a result of a very hazy weekend, I found I was pregnant. I went home, told my parents, straightened myself out and promised myself that I’d do the best I could, for as long as I could, to take care of my kid. So, using my office skills, I got a job which I held down till things got too bad and then it was benefits.’

  ‘Right, well, here we are,’ said Ashley. He pushed the chair down the side passage that led to the stage door. He was quite glad they’d reached their destination – he wasn’t overly comfortable with having a grown-up confide in him. It had been one thing him telling Lizzie about his worries and problems – but somehow it didn’t seem right that she was reciprocating.

  He pulled open the door and turned the wheelchair around so he could heave it up the steps. Using all his strength he managed to haul it into the building and then he pushed Lizzie behind the stage and into the big room that served as the dressing room. Cassandra was already there being pinned into her costume by Debs, the wardrobe mistress, and the woman with the Cupid’s bow mouth – Evie – was leaning in towards a mirror and applying lots of kohl.

  ‘Evening,’ said Ashley. ‘This is Lizzie. She used to act—’

  ‘Used to,’ interrupted Lizzie, ‘being the operative words. But I know a certain amount about theatre production and if I can do anything – front of house, backstage, anything – I’d really like to get involved again.’

  Evie put down her kohl pencil and swivelled around in her chair. ‘Darling, we can always use another pair of hands.’

  ‘Good, because the legs aren’t much cop,’ said Lizzie.

  ‘I’m Evie, Evie Fairbairne.’ Languidly she extended a hand for Lizzie to shake.

  ‘And I’m Cassandra. Director, actor, Jack-of-all-trades.’ Cassandra waved at Lizzie because, with the wardrobe mistress pinning up a hem she couldn’t move. ‘So, any specific skills?’

  ‘Typing and accountancy qualifications but I’m good at make-up, I can operate a sewing machine so I could help out with costumes and I’d be happy to prompt or sell tickets or … anything.’ She grinned up at the other two women. ‘I’m trying not to sound too needy but I’d love to be a part of this company.’

  ‘You joining us isn’t a problem. As we’re all volunteers we’re not constrained by the wages bill.’

  ‘Wages! I wish,’ said Evie. ‘No, we do this because we’re artistes.’ She waved her hand theatrically. She then returned to her mirror and carried on painting her eyes.

  ‘I am sure,’ continued Cassandra, ‘we’ll be able to find plenty of jobs for you round and about. I mean, if you’d like, you could prompt at tonight’s rehearsal. I usually do it but, as you can see,’ she plucked at her costume, ‘I’m in this production so it’s a tad tricky when I’m on stage myself.’

  ‘Oh, I’d love to!’

  ‘Ash, be a love and find Lizzie a copy of the script. I think there’s one by the props’ table.’

  Ashley scurried off to find it.

  ‘Now, that’s a lad who might go far in acting,’ said Cassandra to Lizzie. ‘Really talented.’

  ‘He says he wants to go to drama school.’

  ‘He should.’

  ‘Finance will be a problem.’

  ‘It will be the same if he goes to uni. The only advantage of uni is that he’s more likely to get a steady job after. Acting is so precarious.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ said Lizzie.

  When Ashley returned with the script Cassandra and Lizzie were chatting as if they’d been mates for ten years, not ten minutes.

  Later that evening, as Ash wheeled Lizzie home again, she said, ‘Thanks for that, Ash. I really appreciated it. It was such fun being with actors again – I’d forgotten how much I missed it. And Cassie thinks a lot of you.’

  ‘Does she? Really!’

  Ashley saw Lizzie nod her head. ‘She thinks you have real talent. You ought to stick with the theatre group till you leave school and decide what you really want to do.’

  ‘Yeah, I kinda worked that out for myself. And I thought I might try and get an apprenticeship in a trade. Like you said, then I’ll always have something to fall back on. I’m not stupid, I know there’s a lot of actors who never make it.’

  ‘It’s a tough profession. You need buckets of luck as well as talent. And you must never lose sight of the fact that luck comes in two flavours – good luck—’

  ‘And bad.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  Ashley turned into the road that led to Lizzie’s house. ‘All I have to do now is persuade Mum that uni isn’t the be-all and end-all.’

  ‘Get the teachers to have a word with her. I’m sure that nice Miss Watkins will back you. Mums only want what’s best for their kids, you know. Trust me.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  They reached Lizzie’s front door.

  ‘Right,’ said Ashley after he’d pushed her up the ramp and over the threshold, ‘I’ll be off. Glad you enjoyed it.’

  ‘I loved it. Night, Ash.’

  *

  While Ashley was out Amy contemplated whether she had the brass neck to gatecrash Heather’s party. She knew Miranda wouldn’t give a tuppenny toot about upsetting people – besides, she was, as Amy knew only too well, under the misguided impression that it was open-house. But Amy had dusted the invitations on enough mantelpieces to know that it was definitely invitation only and she also knew she’d done nothing to merit one. And if she did gatecrash would Heather be sufficiently hacked off to throw her out? Was it worth the risk to get a ringside seat to see what Miranda did?

  Amy thought about taking along a cake or a bottle of wine on the pretext that, while she understood she wasn’t invited, she thought it would be a nice gesture to help out with the food. And then keep everything crossed that Heather would suggest she should stay. That might work.

  The next morning, on her way back from work, Amy popped into the bakery and bought a cake. When she got it home she transferred it from the silver-covered cake board onto one of her own plates and then picked a few bits off the edge to give it a home-made appearance. She admired her handiwork before she slipped it into an airtight t
in and popped it in the fridge.

  *

  Over at The Beeches, Bex was working hard in her kitchen baking the cakes she’d promised Heather, while Megan revised for her GCSEs in her room and the boys played in the garden. The weather was kind and she had the back door open so she could keep a vague eye on them while she cooked. She promised them that, if they played nicely and let her get on, she’d take them up to the swings later. There was a part of her that really regretted her promise because, if she were honest with herself, she didn’t feel completely well. She had a niggling headache and felt slightly sick. A bug, she told herself as she bent down to open the oven door to get out the two sponges she’d just baked. The gust of super-hot air didn’t help matters and, as soon as she’d released the cakes from their tins and turned them out onto a couple of wire cooling racks, she poured herself a glass of water and drank it. Her head swam and she sat down with a bump. She folded her arms on the table and rested her head on them. Two minutes, she told herself, just two minutes.

  ‘Mummy, Mummy, when can we go to the swings?’ Alfie tugged at her sleeve.

  Wearily she raised her head and glanced at the kitchen clock. The two minutes had turned into twenty. And she needed to get going with lunch for everyone except the very thought of lunch made her feel sicker.

  ‘After lunch. And I’m just about to make it for everyone.’ She forced a smile. ‘I thought we could have pizzas.’ Well the kids could, Bex thought she’d pass.