by Gwyn G B
6
It was Friday afternoon and Charlie had arranged to follow them down later that evening after he’d finished work. The idea was to help them settle in and do any DIY jobs that required immediate attention. By the time he caught up with them, he found a list of chores already started. He hadn’t seen Sophie and Alison this happy in months – both very tired, but definitely happy. They each grabbed hold of a hand and virtually dragged him around the house for a guided tour.
‘This is my room,’ squealed Sophie ‘and mum says I can have the spare TV from the study in here.’ She danced around the room flapping her arms, then suddenly pounced on his hand again. ‘Come on, I’ll show you where you’re going to sleep.’
She ran back down the corridor and pushed open a door, ‘Bathroom.’
Charlie had just enough time to peer around the door frame before being yanked off again.
‘Charlie’s room,’ said Sophie triumphantly, gesticulating into the next room, bare except for the wardrobe, bed and chest of drawers from their spare room in London.
‘Great,’ he said turning to Alison and smiling.
‘What do you think of our new home?’ she asked back.
‘I think it’s wonderful and I hope you’re going to be very happy here.’
Alison was both relieved and touched. She darted forward and kissed him spontaneously. He looked back at her as though she’d hit him with an electric shock and for a moment their eyes locked. Then Sophie took the moment away again by squealing.
‘You’ve got to clear the dead bodies from our loft Charlie.’
Alison quickly clarified her statement.
‘She means that we need to store things up in the loft but I’m not going anywhere near it until the dead spiders and their cobwebs have gone. Would you mind clearing them away for us please?’
Charlie looked at the two faces waiting anxiously for his answer. He thought how like her mother Sophie is, both of them making the same funny screwed up nose expression at the mention of spiders; and he thought how lucky he is to be able to take care of them and have them in his life.
That evening they ate fish and chips, the only take-away in miles, after which Sophie suddenly collapsed exhausted from excitement and was put to bed. Once they’d settled her down, Charlie brought out a bottle of Champagne and he and Alison toasted her new home.
Alison felt so good, that satisfying feeling of physical tiredness after a day’s worthwhile work, helped along by a dose of alcohol.
‘Thank you for our card,’ she said sipping at her glass. A big ‘Welcome to your new home’ card had been the first thing to greet them on their arrival.
‘My pleasure,’ he’d replied.
Alison looked at him, she had really meant it, there were very few men who would think of special little touches like that. Now he was here with them everything felt complete, nothing could hurt her while she was wrapped in his big arms. As she looked back down at her body propped up against Charlie’s, she seemed detached, almost as though it wasn’t her lying there but she was watching somebody else. This person felt different somehow, released from something that had been weighing down on her for what seemed like forever. Charlie had turned to kiss her and then before she really knew it they were making love, hesitantly at first, and then passionately. The emotions of past months seeking release through their bodies.
Afterwards they’d returned silently to their former positions, Alison’s head resting on Charlie’s lap. Charlie didn’t dare say anything in case Alison ruin his happiness by saying she regretted what had just happened. Alison herself was searching her emotions. Making love to Charlie had been easier than she’d expected, yes she’d thought about Phil a few times, but she didn’t feel guilty, she’d enjoyed it. One thing was for sure though there was no going public with this yet. Charlie would have to stay sleeping in the spare room because she didn’t want Sophie to seek out her mother in the middle of the night because of a bad dream, only to find Charlie lying in the place her father used to occupy.
As Alison’s tiredness began to creep upon her, Charlie suggested it was time to retire and much to her relief he kissed her goodnight and headed off to his room without so much as a suggestion that they should sleep together. As she was brushing her teeth, Alison smiled to herself at the memory of the evening. It was nice having a man around the house again and he hadn’t made her feel at all pressured. It was going to be hard when he returned to London and left them alone again, but then the space would be good for her, let the old wounds heal.
As she got into bed she heard the bathroom door creak shut and Charlie’s feet pad across to his room, and then only just audible was the careful closing of the door. She sighed contentedly. It was only as Phil filtered back into her thoughts that she began to feel guilty again and looked over to her dressing table where his smiling face beamed back, never sleeping, never ageing.
In the morning, Charlie was up before the girls, his body clock set for an early start at work. He decided to take a walk into the village to buy a paper and get some more milk for breakfast. In the daylight he was able to see the exterior of the house and the beautiful country that surrounded it. He was suitably impressed and had to agree with Alison that it beats London any day and is a much better place to bring up a child. His selfish reasons for wanting to keep Alison in the city aside, he had to admit she’d made a good move.
On his way up the track he noticed Martha Hurrell’s cottage for the first time. Alison had told him about the old woman and he was quite looking forward to meeting the ultimate old fashioned country lady. He noticed that the front door was slightly ajar and decided to introduce himself and see if she needed anything from the shops.
There was no reply from the front of the house and so he’d walked around the side, gingerly calling out to her.
‘Hello… hello… Mrs Hurrell?’ but still he got no answer. She was obviously around for there were freshly picked herbs in a basket and the smell of something cooking. He knocked on the back door and repeated his greeting. Still no reply. So he stuck his head round the corner. It was dark inside, but he could just make out the outline of several boxes stacked in the hallways as his eyes tried to adjust. He called out again.
‘Mrs Hurrell, are you in?’
‘What the hell do you want you snooping bastard?’ An extremely gruff voice came from behind and he felt the double steel barrels of a shotgun on the back of his neck.
‘I’ve got a licence for this and I know how to use it. You’re on my property. What do you want?’
‘Mrs Hurrell, I was coming to introduce myself.’
‘Oh was ya? How do you know my name then? Turn around and show me your face.’
He did so very slowly, mindful of the fact he didn’t want to die yet, and was met by the flinty stare of a small wrinkled old woman. This wasn’t the lady Alison had described. Her face was mean, the manner as hard as nails. He tried to extricate himself from the situation.
‘Mrs Hurrell, I’m a friend of Alison’s.’
She looked slightly puzzled.
‘Alison Swift, who’s just bought the house. I’m staying next door. I was just coming to introduce myself and see if you needed any shopping from the village.’
The penny dropped.
‘You’re Charlie,’ the transformation was incredible. In seconds her face softened to the extent he’d swear that had it not been for the gun she still held, she wouldn’t say boo to a goose. ‘Oh Charlie, I’m so sorry. You must think me terribly rude, but I’m afraid an old woman alone like me can’t take any chances.’
Rude! Thought Charlie, more like bloody dangerous, but he kept his thoughts to himself.
‘Yes of course, it’s me that should apologise, it was silly of me to come round like this. I should have waited until Alison introduced us.’ He started to back away now.
‘No, no, it’s me getting all silly in my old age. I do hope you’ll come over for some lunch later. I told Alison you’re all invited, she
’ll be far too busy to cook.’
‘Yes, yes, thank you, that would be lovely.’ He was almost down the side of the cottage by now, still backing away.
‘Oh Martha please,’ she said and at last lowered the rifle. ‘I’ll see you later on then’
Too shaken to worry about his newspaper, Charlie headed back up to the house. He didn’t like dear old Martha Hurrell, something didn’t quite ring true. The way she’d first reacted to him, that wasn’t a frightened old lady trying to protect herself and her property, that was a woman who knew exactly what she was doing and meant it. When he looked at her, he didn’t see a sweet old lady, he saw the twinkle of evil.
7
Alison was in the bathroom when Charlie got back from seeing Martha Hurrell. She was horrified that he’d scared her dear sweet next door neighbour.
‘Frightened her!’ exclaimed Charlie, ‘she pointed a double-barrelled shotgun at my head and you say I frightened her!’
‘Well of course you did, she’s all alone, she was only defending herself. People do things differently in the country you know. Anyway, I bet the gun wasn’t loaded.’
He looked at Alison’s face and it was obvious she wasn’t going to hear a word said against her new friend, so he dropped it. After all, maybe she was right, maybe old Martha had just had a rough past and has learnt to look after herself.
Saturday was spent cleaning and scrubbing. They did all visit Martha for lunch, much against Charlie’s wishes, but she was sweetness and light. Sophie obviously liked the old dear and he almost began to doubt the morning’s encounter had ever happened. However, when she invited them back again the next day, he’d quickly jumped in to refuse the offer before Alison or Sophie could accept.
‘We couldn’t possibly impose on you again,’ he’d said, breathing a big sigh of relief when Alison agreed. Martha had smiled at him, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes.
By Sunday lunchtime the kitchen was fully functional but cooking was the last thing Alison wanted to do. Charlie told them both to stop emptying boxes, he was taking them for their first lunch at their new village pub.
The Ferret ‘n’ Weasel was busier than they’d expected, and mostly full of men. They arrived at about quarter to one and walked through a crowded smoky bar to the garden out the back. By the time Sophie needed the toilet and begged her mother’s guardianship, it was just past half one. The bar was only quarter full by then and Alison guessed that the boozy husbands had all gone home to their wives’ roast lunches.
Daughter relieved, they began their return journey to the beer garden, only to be stopped in their tracks by the outstretched hand of David Spencer.
‘Alison Swift! I’m glad to see you’re already supporting our local service industries,’ he threw a glance at the barman, chuffed at his attempted joke. The young lad behind the bar nodded and laughed, but as soon as Spencer’s eyes returned to Alison, the smile left his face. Tom Leggett had grown quite adept at humouring the punters, he’d always laugh at their jokes and have a return quip. Today though, he wasn’t in the mood. Partly because he felt a little embarrassed in front of the sophisticated and attractive newcomer, he now knew to be Alison Swift, and partly because his mother had given him yet another huge rollicking that morning for the mess his motorbike parts made in the front garden.
Alison took the scene in, along with a huge waft of alcoholic backdraft from Spencer’s mouth. She stepped back a little aware that he was swaying, and because experience had taught her drunk people tend to lean in towards you as they speak, invading those few private inches of space around your body. She was right.
‘You certainly got a bargain with that house,’ his nose, complete with open pores and hairs curling their way into the daylight from his nostrils, lurched towards her.
‘Yes I’m very pleased with it,’ she’d replied, not concentrating on the conversation, but on the nose which swung to and fro before her.
‘I think Jim’ll be coming round tomorrow to check you’re settling in OK,’ he’d slurred back. Alison had smiled and started to nudge Sophie in the direction of the garden.
‘I’m afraid we have to be going, our lunch is waiting. Nice to have met you again Mr Spencer.’
This time he didn’t even have the energy to shake her outstretched hand, he’d just lifted his halfway, gave a weak wave and then let it drop down to his side like a dead weight. Alison beat a hasty retreat, fearful that things were going to get a little messy. As they left the bar, she looked round just in time to see Spencer fall back into a chair and slump forward. His face was then blocked from her view by the broad frame of Tom going to his rescue with the hope that if he managed to get him to the toilet in time maybe he won’t make a mess of the bar that ‘you know who’ will have to clear up.
Alison was rather surprised at Spencer, she didn’t have him down as someone who’d get drunk and lose all sense of decorum, especially on a Sunday lunchtime, but it takes all sorts. She and Sophie returned to their lunches and to Charlie who in their absence had struck up a friendship with a tan and white cocker spaniel which was currently trying, with every thread of its being, to persuade him to part with just a morsel of his meal.
By two-fifteen, with humans and dog fully sated, they left the pub and started walking back home. Just across the street was the church.
‘Do you mind if we have a quick look around,’ Alison asked Charlie, ‘I love looking around churches and old graveyards. They can tell you so much about a village and its history.’
Charlie concurred and they crossed the street, walking through the ivy covered gateway and into the house of God.
Inside they found the Vicar clearing up some hymn books from the morning’s service. He seemed pleased to see them and waved them in excitedly. Alison introduced herself at which point realising they were new residents and not just tourists, he got even more excited and took them off on a guided tour.
‘Originally we think the church dates back to the twelfth century, but it was burnt down and rebuilt during the Deepdene Inquisition around sixteen forty.’
‘Inquisition? What was that?’ asked Charlie looking up from inspecting a brass memorial plaque to a Major General Saint-Romaine.
‘The area supposedly had a spate of witches and one night the original church was struck by lightning and burnt down. There was a huge hunt for the culprits and it resulted in about five local women being executed. There’s a memorial to the five in the square, as of course it’s now believed they were just local spinsters, epileptics and the like.’
Sophie’s eyes had widened at the mention of witches and all the adults noticed her ears prick up so the subject was tactfully dropped. Instead the Vicar went on to talk about a prominent landowner. It was a sparse little church built from local Purbeck stone. The stained glass windows were small and there were very few ornaments adorning the interior. Over the altar was a red velvet cloth and as they passed they couldn’t help but notice the strange black symbols painted on the marble beneath and poking out around the edges of the cloth.
‘I’m afraid we have our fair share of trouble with thieves and vandals,’ the Vicar explained in answer to the expression on their faces.
‘From locals?’ Alison had questioned, surprised.
‘No, youths from the towns. They go for drives in their suped-up Fiestas or stolen motors and look for a target to amuse themselves with. Sadly churches are easy prey. I’m afraid I refuse to lock the doors, this is a place of worship, it shouldn’t have opening hours. I just don’t keep anything worth stealing around, that’s all.’
They followed him out of the church and into the yard where the full extent of the vandalism problem became all too apparent. Around the back, several of the graves had been dug up and their headstones smashed. Many had Devil’s pentagons painted on them. Alison looked at him incredulously; the Vicar had his back to the main area of damage as if trying to ignore its existence and was chatting inanely about some plague back in the eighteenth century which h
ad wiped out half the village.
Alison couldn’t contain her disgust.
‘This is terrible, surely there must be something you can do?’ He sighed and looked up at her.
‘I’m afraid not, I’m only part time here. I split my work between three villages. We have very few worshippers. I’ve told the police, but nobody ever sees them doing it.’
‘Are you sure it’s just kids?’ Charlie was staring at the damage, which seemed more systematic to him than some frenzied vandalism prank. The Vicar looked over at Sophie who was picking daisies a few yards away and lowered his voice.
‘You’ve heard the gossip then? About a so-called clan of Devil worshippers around here defiling graves to prove that even the dead aren’t beyond their reach. That’s just nonsense, old country tales.’
‘Are your other churches vandalised like this?’ asked Alison. But the Vicar had obviously grown tired of this line of conversation for he shook his head and walked over to where Sophie played, ensuring that no more questions could be asked.
Alison looked at Charlie, he was viewing the churchyard in disgust. It was a mess, some of the graves must have even been robbed of their bodies for a couple had been hastily filled in with new earth. He felt Alison’s glance and looked back at her, pulling a face.
‘Thanks for the tour,’ she said to the Vicar. He looked up at her from where he crouched, daisies in each hand. His eyes looked troubled and when she shook his hand it was sweaty.
‘He must be getting a lot of flak for this,’ she said to Charlie as they left, ‘he seems decidedly stressed out by it all.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ replied Charlie, who made the decision to change the subject as it was making him feel definitely uneasy. He took hold of one of their hands each and giving Alison’s a squeeze, said ‘Anyone for ice cream?’
