The Devil Came to Abbeville

by Marian Phair

  “Yes, what you’re saying is true, Ruth. It isn’t healthy for a child to be cooped up with adults all the time and miss out on their childhood. I will give the matter some serious thought. Why don’t you fix us both a cup of coffee while I mull it over? You look as if you could use one, if you don’t mind me saying so.” He smiled as he said this.

  Ruth’s face broke into an answering smile. Father Patrick loved a cup of coffee and used every opportunity to get her to make one for him. He was such a dear; no one could refuse him anything.

  “Coffee coming up right away, and thank you, Father, for your help.”

  “Don’t thank me yet I haven’t done anything; but I do think better on a cup of coffee!”

  “Point taken, Father, I’m on my way to the kitchen now.” He watched as she walked away, admiring the graceful way she moved, the gentle sway of her hips. She appeared to glide along, rather than walk. With a sigh he brought his mind back to the problem of Sally. He was still preoccupied when Ruth returned with their coffee.

  They sat quietly, sipping their hot drinks. Father Patrick waited until he had drained his cup before breaking the silence.

  “Sally told me it will be her birthday in two weeks time. She has been reminding me of this almost daily over the past week. When exactly is her birthday?”

  “She will be nine on the twenty second of this month, Father. When I asked her what she wanted for her birthday she said, ‘eyes.’ She asked me for eyes that she can see things with Father. It breaks my heart to know the only thing that Sally wants is the one thing I can’t give her. I almost broke down in front of her.” Ruth felt tears welling up in her eyes, and wiped them swiftly away with her hands before they could spill onto her cheeks.

  Father Patrick kept his attention on his empty coffee cup so as not to embarrass her, knowing full well Ruth hated displays of self-pity. He sat in silence, allowing her time to gain control of her emotions before telling her of his plan.

  “Why don’t we hold a party for Sally here at the rectory, and invite all the children around Sally’s age to it. Then see what that brings, and take it from there?”

  “A party, Father, do you think anyone would come if we held one?” she looked at him in askance, having doubtful thoughts about it.

  “Sally’s only playmate was Liam. When she tried to befriend other children, they were either cruel to her, or didn’t bother with her because she is blind. Do you really think a party would help?”

  “Why not? I’m sure all children love parties. Don’t worry, they will attend. I’ll mention it in mass tomorrow. I’ll get the parents to tell me who will be coming, so we know how many we have to cater for, and we’ll take it from there. Are you up for a party?”

  Ruth looked at him, a huge smile spreading over her face, all previous doubts dispelled. She wanted to give him a big hug, but refrained from doing so.

  “You betcha!” she replied, using slang picked up from the local children.

  “Well, that’s settled then, that’s what we will do. I’ll start the ball rolling tomorrow. Why don’t you go and tell Sally about the party. Maybe the two of you could start planning a menu together.”

  “Thank you, Father, I will. I’m sure Sally will be excited when I tell her. Bless you; you’re so good to us.” She didn’t know how she could ever repay his kindness.

  “That’s what we were put on this earth to do, Ruth. To love, and to help one another, especially in times of need.”

  Ruth excused herself, and was hurrying away, when he called out to her.

  “Oh, Ruth,” She turned around and started back towards him.

  “Yes, Father?”

  “Don’t forget to include cheese and tomato sandwiches in your menu…lots of them!”

  “I will, Father, and thanks again.” She gave him a huge smile, and went in search of her daughter.

  Ruth found Sally in her bedroom, sitting cross-legged on the floor, her back to the door. She was totally engrossed in what she was doing. In her hands she held a candle, and appeared to be trying to carve something into the wax, using a broken pen nib as a tool. She was chanting something softly to herself, as she traced the carved outline with the pads of her fingers. Wax shavings were scattered on the carpet where she sat unaware of Ruth’s presence.

  “What are you doing, Sally?” Ruth asked her.

  “Mum, you scared me!” Startled, Sally tried to hide the candle under her shirt.

  “I’m not doing anything. Just sitting here and thinking.”

  Normally, Sally would have been aware of her mother’s presence long before she spoke, but Ruth realised her daughter had been so engrossed in what she was doing, that she never heard her approach. Ruth didn’t mention what she had seen when she entered the room, deciding to wait and see if Sally would tell her, and hoping this was not going to be another one of Sally’s ‘little secrets.’

  She sat down next to her daughter, and placing her arms around her, gave her a hug.

  “You know I love you, don’t you, Sally?” She stroked her daughter’s cheek as she spoke to her.

  “Yes, mum.”

  “You know you can come to me whenever you have a problem, or something is bothering you.”

  “I know that, mum.”

  “Do you have anything you want to tell me? Is there something worrying you that you want to share?”

  “No, mum! Why are you asking me all these questions?” Ruth heard the note of annoyance in her daughter’s voice.

  “I just wanted to remind you that I’m here for you, whenever you need me.”

  “I know that, mum. I can come to you with any problems, or go to Father Patrick. He’s already told me that.”

  “Speaking of Father Patrick, he think’s we should hold a birthday party for you here at the rectory. What do you think of that, eh?”

  “What’s the point of having a party, I’ve got no one to invite to it. The only friend I had was Liam, and he’s dead. ‘Gone, but not forgotten,’ Father Patrick said. He told me no one ever really dies if we keep them in our hearts, and we have to try to remember the happy times we shared together, rather than the sad times.”

  “Father Patrick’s right about that, Sally. No one really dies if we keep their memory alive. Now, about the party, Father Patrick thought we could invite all the children around your own age to it, both boy’s and girl’s. Who knows you might make a lot of new friends. It isn’t healthy for you to spend so much time on your own.” Ruth kissed the top of her daughter’s head.

  Sally felt something crawling over her leg and let out a yell. “Something’s on my leg, mum. Quick, get it off!” Ruth looked down to where Sally was pointing.

  “Keep still, Sally, it’s a big spider.”

  Before Ruth could do anything, Sally reached out, and grabbed her arm.

  “DON’T kill it, mum.” she pleaded.

  “I wasn’t going to kill it, Sally. I was going to try to capture it in something, and then release it outside.” She lightly brushed the spider off Sally’s leg, and watched it scurry away.

  “Never kill spiders, mum, its bad luck,” Sally told her.

  “Who ever told you such nonsense? I’m sure I must have killed many a spider in my day, either by accident, or otherwise.”

  “That could be why bad things keep happening to us,” Sally said tearfully.

  “Any witch will tell you. ‘If you wish to live and thrive. Let a spider walk alive.’

  “Witch…What on earth are you talking about, Sally? There’s no such thing as witches.”

  “Shush, mum. You shouldn’t say that, if you do bad things will happen.”

  “Sally, I came to talk to you about your birthday party, not to listen to a lot of nonsense about witches. I don’t know who has been filling your head with all this rubbish, but I intend to find out and I’ll put a stop to it.” Ruth felt her temper rising.

  “It’s getting late now and I have to prepare dinner. We can talk about your party later. Why don’t you write a
food list on your computer? Put down all the food dishes and the drinks you would like to have at your party. Then we can work on it together tomorrow.”

  Ruth had struggled to save up the money to buy the computer and the speech screen reader software. Putting a little aside each week, she had managed to save enough to make her purchases in time for Christmas. She had struggled with the instruction manual when attempting to install the software for Sally, as she wasn’t really computer literate herself. Once again, her knight in shining armour, in the form of Father Patrick, came to the rescue. She recalled how stupid she had felt when she realised that she had purchased a normal keyboard, and how Father Patrick had told her this was not a problem.

  “Blind people can use the computer keyboard just like anyone else,” he explained

  “It isn’t necessary to see the keyboard when typing. Experienced secretaries don’t need to look down to see where their fingers are as they type. It’s just a matter of learning exactly what is on each key, and where it is situated on the key-board.”

  He had shown tremendous patience in teaching the computer layout and its functions to Sally, opening up a whole new world for her. Now the pupil was fast outdoing the master, much to Ruth’s amazement.

  “I can’t use my computer, someone unplugged it, and I banged my head on the desk when I tried to find the socket.”

  “Why didn’t you say something? Maybe I forgot to plug it back in after I vacuumed your room. If I did, I’m sorry. I’ll go and set it up for you now. How did you do your school work today with your computer unplugged?”

  “I used the old Optacon that Father Patrick found on the internet. It’s like reading in Braille really, only better, ‘cus I can read any book with it.”

  “The word is because, Sally. Don’t say ‘cus. You know I don’t like it when you use that word.” Bending down to put the plug into the socket under the desk, Ruth noticed a scrap of paper that had fallen down the back, and was trapped between the desk and the wall. Going onto her hands and knees, she crawled under the desk to retrieve it. She was about to place it on the desk when she noticed there was writing on it. Someone had written something in what appeared to be Latin. She slipped the scrap of paper into her pocket instead, saying nothing to her daughter of her find.

  She would show it to Father Patrick, and ask him what was meant by…….

  Desine Sperare qui hir intras!

  CHAPTER 14

  A letter lay opened on a small side table beneath the front window of number thirty four Station Road, Buxton. The contents of which had caused Lily White to turn to her bottle of gin much earlier in the day than usual. Admittedly the place was looking a little neglected, and needing a few repairs, but nothing that a lick of paint, and some new wallpaper wouldn’t put right, she thought. The last tenants had moved out over six weeks ago, leaving the place in a filthy state. Lily decided to put the property on the market, no longer having any desire to own the house, and all the problems that went with being a landlady, especially now she was in her late seventies.

  Smith and Johnson, the estate agents she had approached, had sent out one of their staff to inspect the property, and give her a valuation. Now unless various repairs and some cosmetic work were done to the place, they wouldn’t have it on their books.

  In its present dilapidated state, and the fact that there was a junkyard practically on the doorstep, with a noisy railway station within one hundred yards of that, left little in it’s favour for them to work with.

  Old Bob Brice who owned the junkyard, situated at the junction between Station Road and Buxton High Street, had offered to replace the rotting front window frame for twenty pounds. This was only the tip of Lily’s iceberg. She poured herself another gin, and sat with her reading glasses perched on the end of her nose, while she studied the itemised list that Timothy Simpson had quoted in his letter. She had been shocked at the amount of work that needed to be done, just to put the house on the market. The quote was for wallpaper, paint for internal walls and woodwork. Then there was a further cost for external paintwork, and labour charges. She was looking at a totalled sum of two thousand pounds from Timothy Simpson alone. On top of this, she had been told by the agent, that the brickwork had to be pointed, and that she would have to find a carpenter to replace two of the internal doors. She was still awaiting the quote for this from the builders, and two skips would be required to take away the rubbish at a cost of sixty pounds each. All of this extra work would eat a big hole in her meagre savings, with no real guarantee of a sale at the end of it.

  What little furniture there was in the house was hardly worth keeping. The old brass bedstead had certainly seen better days. She wondered if she could persuade old Bob Brice to take it away as scrap metal, in lieu of replacing the front window frame. Any saving’s she could make would be to her advantage. Then of course, there was the matter of a ‘little’ problem she was to help Albert Brooks with. He needn’t think her time and help was being given freely. If she could, she would try to squeeze one hundred and twenty pounds out of him, and that would pay for the skips. Maybe she could persuade him to part with a little more than that, after all, she had left her cosy little home in Lexington to come here and help him out. Just then there was a knock at the door, and with a sigh, she rose and went to answer it.

  Albert Brooks almost shoved Rosemary though the open doorway, in his haste to get inside. He glanced over his shoulder, to make sure no one was following.

  “Hi, Lily, long time, no see,” he greeted his elderly friend. Once they were inside and the door was closed behind him, making the introductions, he said, “This is Rosemary, the young lady I spoke to you about.”

  “Rosemary, this is my old friend, Lily White.”

  “Not so much of the old.” Lily said, punching him lightly on the arm.

  “Well, you’d better come through to the kitchen. I’ll put the kettle on and we can have a chat over a cup of tea, that’s if they didn’t go off with my kettle as well as the plates and cutlery.” Lily walked ahead of them leading the way.

  Rosemary looked around at the dingy room. As she followed Lily and Albert, she was filled with trepidation over what lay ahead of her. The kitchen was in an even worse state than the front room had been. There was a dirty old gas cooker in one corner of the room, and a mousetrap had been placed on the floor among the dirt and litter beside it. Rosemary found her feet sticking to the greasy old linoleum that covered the floor as she followed Albert. A table had been pushed up against the far wall on the other side of the kitchen. On it were four cracked and chipped mugs, a carton of milk, and some loose tea-bags. Rosemary sat down on one of the two rickety chairs, holding her overnight bag on her lap, afraid to place it down on the dirty floor.

  Albert stood beside the table, a look of disgust on his face, as he took in his surroundings.

  “Fuck me, Lily, this place is disgusting. Surely to God you could have made a bit of an effort to get it cleaned up. You knew we were coming, and why.”

  “If you think this is bad, you should have seen it yesterday. I had to pay a neighbour fifty quid just to help me put the rubbish out, and give it a bit of a sweep.” Turning to Rosemary she offered her apologies.

  “Sorry about this, love. I know it’s a dump. This is the result of renting to bad tenants. I’m having the place done up, and putting it on the market. Don’t worry, I brought clean bed linen with me, and did a tidy up in the bedroom, at least that room is sorted.”

  “Thank God for that,” Albert told her. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket he spread it out on the other chair and sat down gingerly on its edge.

  “How long is this gonna take, because the sooner we get started, the better?” He looked across at Rosemary as he asked Lily the question, and gave her a smile of reassurance.

  “That depends on Rosemary, really.” Lily replied.

  “What do you mean, it depends on Rosemary? You’re still going through with it aren’t you, my love?” he asked her.

/>   Rosemary just nodded her head in agreement, afraid to voice her fears. She wanted to flee, but she knew she had no choice but to go through with this abortion.

  “Look at the girl; she’s as tense as a coiled spring. I’ve got a bottle of gin in the other room, Albert, go and get it, and bring the glass as well. I’ll give it a quick swill under the tap and we’ll get a drop of ‘mother’s ruin’ into the girl to help her to relax”

  Albert came back with the bottle and the glass, handing them over to Lily, who washed the glass under the tap, then poured a large measure of gin into it, and handed it to Rosemary.

  “Get this down your neck, love, it will help you,” she said kindly.

  Rosemary took the glass from Lily’s hand and took a tentative sip from it.

  “Don’t sip it, love, knock it back like this.” Lily raised the bottle to her lips and tipping back her head, took a gulp of gin from it.

  Rosemary drained her glass and sat coughing and spluttering on the rickety wooden chair, her screwed up face showing her distaste.

  “That’s the way to do it, love,” Lily told her.

  “I can see by your face you’re not used to a drop of the hard stuff,” she chuckled. Turning to Albert, Lily asked if she could have a word with him in private.

  “Excuse us for a moment, love, but I need to speak to Albert about something, and its private like.”

  Albert gave Rosemary a quick kiss on the cheek as they left the room, and whispered in her ear. “Won’t be a minute, pet, why don’t you pour yourself another drink?”

  Lily closed the door to the kitchen so they wouldn’t be overheard.

  “Well, what’s this all about then, Lily, what’s so private that you can’t say anything in front of Rosemary?”

  “It’s a delicate matter really, Albert. We haven’t discussed payment yet.”