Bonfire Memories

by Sally Quilford

  “Maybe I’ll have used you,” she said, impishly.

  “In which case, I’d wake up with a big smile on my face.”

  Cara giggled. “Would you? I’d like to see that.”

  “Streuth, woman, what are you trying to do to me? Here I am, trying to behave like a gentleman and you’re trying to corrupt me.”

  “I don’t think you’ll need my help with that. I read the gossip columns. I know what Hollywood is like.”

  Guy became more serious. “It’s certainly hard to keep your morals over there.”

  “You sound as if you hate it.”

  “I don’t hate it. It’s been good to me. I just dislike the way actors are treated like gods. Eventually they come to believe it, and think they can get away with anything. Sometimes they’re right. They can. Like me tonight at the dinner party. I was really rude to our host, yet no one chastised me. A thing like that can make a man forget how to behave.”

  “So why do you stay in Hollywood?”

  “I need to earn the money to do what I really want to do.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I want to make films in Australia. There’s a lot of talent over there that doesn’t have an outlet and there are a lot of stories that never get told. I’d love to set up my own film studio in Sidney. If this next film does well, that’s what I intend to do. Hollywood won’t see me for dust.”

  “That sounds exciting.”

  “Yeah, I think so too. Maybe you could help me. Would you like to go to Australia?”

  Cara did not know how to answer that. Was he asking her to go with him as a lover or just as an employee? “I think it would be very exciting to be part of something new,” was all she could say. “But I don’t know a thing about films.”

  “They need writers and researchers just like any other medium. You’re good at that.”

  “You’ve no idea if I’m good or not. You’ve never read anything of mine.” She feared that he was stringing her along, just as Tony had. He could just be trying to fill her head with dreams about being be a star, or if not a star, then a big player behind the scenes.

  “I can tell you’re good.”

  “Oh, can you? Well, perhaps you should tell all the publishers who’ve turned down my stories that.”

  “I will. Just give me their names and addresses.”

  Cara laughed. “You’re mad,” she said.

  Guy was about to reply, then he stopped, open mouthed, looking into the distance. They were on the outskirts of the village, near to the railway station. “There’s a fire,” he said.

  “Where?” Cara turned and looked towards the village centre and saw flames rising into the air. She screamed in horror and began to run….

  Chapter Eleven

  So Sammy Granger is back! Damn, I should have killed that boy when I had the chance. Who would have thought he would be so quick to run when I held the shovel over his head? I thought I’d at least chased him off for good. Where will he be?

  There’s only one place if Nancy was picking him up at the milestone. But what if he isn’t there? It’s a chance I’ll have to take.

  How to get rid of him for good? That’s the problem. I don’t have time to plan anything carefully, but I don’t want him to be able to talk to anyone else. There’s one way to do it and with any luck kids will be blamed for it.

  I hold my breath as I have to drive past the gypsy girl and her lover who are dawdling home from the dinner party. If they see me, I’ll have to abort and do it another day, but I’m afraid I might not have another day. Who knows what he and Nancy are cooking up?

  The village is empty when I get there. That’s one good thing about the pub being closed. No one is hanging about at this time of night. I park around the corner before walking to my destination.

  My fingers are trembling as I light the fuse wire and push the fireworks through the letterbox. I dare not wait to hear them bang in case it wakes people up and they look outside to see what’s going on.

  I run back to my car and drive away towards Shrewsbury, knowing that hardly anyone will be coming from that direction. All I can do now is let the flames do their work…

  ***

  Flames were reflected in all the windows when they reached the village centre. Several villagers had smelled the smoke and come out of their houses.

  The lower floor of the pub was ablaze when Cara and Guy reached it.

  “Mr. Simpson,” Cara called, on seeing him rushing out from his bungalow with a bucket of water. “Have you seen Nancy?”

  “No, Cara. There’s no sign of her. The pub wasn’t open again tonight. We hammered on the door and everything. I don’t know what’s up with the lass. I’ve called the fire brigade.”

  “I’ve got the key,” said Cara, panic stricken. “We should go in. She might be trapped.”

  “I’ll go, you stay here,” said Guy.

  “I want to help.”

  “Stay here and wait for the fire brigade,” he said, firmly. “There’s no point putting everyone in danger.”

  “You might get hurt,” she protested.

  “I’ll be fine.” Guy pulled a big white handkerchief from his pocket and tied it around the lower half of his face.

  Cara had an agonising wait, as a few of the men went into the pub through the back door. Her mother had come up from their cottage, the news of the fire having travelled very fast through Midchester. “Nancy might be in there, mum,” Cara said, her voice cracking. “I don’t understand. She’s always so careful, making sure all the ashtrays are emptied, and the cigarette ends are put in water at the end of the night. She was always nagging me to remember to turn the stove off too. Oh, God, what if I left it on? What if it’s my fault?” Her guilt about leaving things in such a bad way with Nancy had got the better of her.

  “I doubt it, sweetheart,” said Martha. “You’ve had all your meals at home today, remember?”

  “Yes.” Cara nodded. “Oh, mum, we hadn’t made up properly.” She put her head on her mum’s shoulder.

  “Hush, now, she’ll be fine, I’m sure.”

  All around was confusion and chaos, as people tried to do their best to help. Some minutes later, there was a distant sound of a fire engine, which drew louder and closer. At the same time, Guy emerged from the pub, carrying someone wrapped in a blanket. The other men followed him, carrying a figure between them. It was a man, dressed in just his underpants and vest.

  Guy put the person he carried on the floor, and knelt over them, giving mouth to mouth resuscitation. As Cara moved nearer, she saw that it was Nancy. She was naked beneath the blanket.

  The firemen started to douse the fire, whilst Guy worked frantically to bring Nancy back to life. An ambulance, an old Bedford left over from the war, came and two men jumped out. The local doctor had come from his house, and took over from Guy, trying to revive Nancy.

  His wife, who was a trained nurse, worked on the man, whilst everyone watched. It was as if the whole village was holding its breath.

  Eventually they both looked up. The doctor spoke to at those assembled. “There’s nothing more we can do. I’m sorry.”

  Someone screamed, “No! Nancy, no!” Cara realised it was her. Loving arms surrounded her, before all went black.

  ***

  “Do you want a cup of tea, love?” Martha sat on the edge of Cara’s bed and took her hand. It was around two in the morning, and hardly anyone in Midchester seemed to have gone to sleep yet. Through the open curtains, Cara could see that there were lights on in nearly every house on the street.

  After her initial shock she had become numb. She supposed it was a reaction to feeling too much pain over Nancy’s loss.

  “No thanks mum. I’ve had enough tea to sink a battleship.”

  “Herbie has just come back. The firemen reckon someone threw a firework through the letterbox.”

  Cara sat up. “But who would do such a thing to Nancy? She’s never hurt anyone.”

  “I don’t know, sweeth
eart. But Herbie said that Mrs. Abercrombie has identified the man with her as one of Nancy’s boyfriends a long time ago. He was always trouble that boy.” Unable to be unkind, Martha added, “It wasn’t his fault. His mum had a problem with drink, and he was neglected. I used to invite him here for meals sometimes, hoping our Freddie would make friends with him, but Sammy wasn’t very bright, and you know our Freddie. He was really clever. He tried to be kind to Sammy, but they had nothing in common.”

  “Sammy? Do you mean Sammy Granger?” With the shock of what had happened Cara had almost forgotten about the conversation at the dinner party.

  “Yes, that’s him.”

  “ Oh…” Cara tried to get out of bed. “I need to see Guy. I need to talk to him.”

  “He’s gone home to rest, love and that’s what you should do.”

  “But don’t you see? There’s a connection somewhere. At the dinner party, Mrs. Abercrombie said she’d seen him the other day and Nancy met him. Then someone shoves a firework through the door of the pub. All that old, dry wood. They never stood a chance. Black must have guessed Sammy would go to stay with Nancy. That’s what’s been bothering her these last few days. Sammy came back to see her. I think I heard her talking to him this afternoon when I went for my clothes. I need to speak to Guy.” The words came out in a rush, as Cara jumped off the bed and started throwing some clothes on. She was breathless by the time she finished.

  “Cara, love, it’s past two in the morning. You can’t go wandering up there alone this time of night.”

  “I’ll telephone him then.”

  “He’ll be sleeping. He’s had a busy night. Herbie said Guy did everything he could to save Nancy.”

  “Yes, you’re right. But, mum, what if Sammy knew something? Miss Watson said that she’d seen Sammy going up to Mr. Black’s house, but he acted as if he barely knew him.”

  “Do you really think he might be Guy’s brother-in-law?”

  Cara had filled her mother in on their findings at the library when she had gone home to change before the dinner party. “Guy doesn’t recognise him, but he might be. He didn’t look very happy when Reverend Cunningham offered to introduce Guy to his friend in intelligence. If she was hanged as a spy, then that might implicate Eric Black. If he’s her husband, that is.”

  “I don’t know. He’s been here a long time now.”

  “Yes, over twenty years, but he didn’t arrive here until after the war. He’s not a villager.”

  “Cara,” said Martha, reproachfully. “I’m surprised at you, talking like that. We’re not from Midchester either. You should know better than to look down on people after the way we’ve been treated.”

  “No, mum, I didn’t mean it like that. What I mean is he wasn’t born here, and has only been here since about nineteen-forty-four. We don’t really know if anything he tells us about himself is true. He turns up and within a year he’s running the newspaper and putting himself up as a councillor. Now he’s our mayor, but we still don’t know anything of his early life in Newcastle. And I overheard Miss Price saying that he’s a possible parliamentary candidate in the next elections. He could end up as a Member of Parliament.”

  “Being born in Newcastle doesn’t make him a spy, Cara.”

  “No, I know it doesn’t, and there is the added problem that he claims to have been diabetic all his life. That could be a lie. But perhaps the German army didn’t care about such things during the war as long as they had men fighting. Or maybe that’s why he became a spy, because he wasn’t able to fight. All we do know is that Greta came here for a reason, and it must have had something to do with her husband.”

  ***

  The joint funerals took place several days later, on a dull, cold day in late October. Sammy had no living relative, and Nancy’s only relation, Tom Yeardley was in America. He had been informed, but could not make the trip back in time. His daughter, Betty, had spoken to Cara on the telephone a couple of days before the funeral.

  “He’s devastated,” Betty said. “He doesn’t care about the pub, even though it’s been in our family for years. He just can’t imagine Midchester without Nancy. I’ve never known anything hit him this hard.”

  “I’m having the same problem,” Cara had replied. “I keep expecting to turn a corner and see her sauntering along the street in a mini skirt, with that fabulous red hair piled high on her head.” Every day since the fire began with the ache of remembering her best friend. “Give Tom my love,” she said to Betty. “I don’t have to tell you to take care of him.”

  “We’re keeping a close eye on him, don’t worry.”

  Nearly everyone in the village turned out for the funerals, more for Nancy’s sake than Sammy’s. The pub had been the centre of the village. Most of the adults in Midchester had their first legal drink of alcohol in The Quiet Woman, either under Tom Yeardley’s tenure or Nancy’s. It was a special place to them, not just for the drink, but for the companionship they found there. Now it was gone, burnt to the ground. With it went a vivacious young woman who had listened to all their problems at some time or another.

  “It’s just too sad,” Mrs. Simpson said at the grave side, adding, “C’est la vie.” For once no one rolled their eyes at her insistence on throwing French phrases into every sentence.

  The police had put the fire down to a prank, blaming local teenagers. Neither Cara nor Guy believed that to be true, but they realised they would have to be careful about slinging accusations. If there was a killer, it was better if they believed they had gotten away with it.

  At the service, Reverend Cunningham talked about Nancy and her contribution to the village. He spoke of her vitality and good humour. He had less to say about Sammy Granger, because no one knew what he had been doing since leaving the village. He did, however, touch upon Sammy’s troubled younger life. When Cara saw Mrs. Abercrombie nodding sadly, she guessed that the old headmistress had filled the vicar in on those details.

  Cara looked across the grave and saw Eric Black, standing with Barbara Price. She felt an unaccountable burst of hatred for him, and had to remind herself that people were innocent until proven guilty. But since Guy told her on the way home from the dinner party that he believed Black to be a fake, she had started to notice it more. There was something too mannered in his performance. She noticed Barbara Price whispering in his ear, and for no good reason suspected that his lover was telling him how to look sad.

  After the funerals the mourners went up to the village hall, where Cara and Meredith served tea and cakes. The atmosphere was understandably solemn as everyone sat around the tables, wondering who would be the first to speak.

  “I could do with a drink,” said Len Simpson finally, looking down at his cup of tea. “Any other funeral and we’d all go off to the Quiet Woman for a pint. Nancy’d cheer us all up.”

  “That’s not what you said when she first took over the pub,” his wife reminded him.

  “Well, she had all that big hair and false eyelashes and those skirts that were more like belts,” Mr. Simpson said. “Besides, I always thought a pub needed a man at the helm. Not that I’m saying she did a bad job. She was a good lass.”

  “She was that,” said Herbie Potter.

  “The best,” said one of Mrs. Simpson’s friends.

  Cara could not bear it any longer. She put her cup down with a clatter and ran outside, standing in the grounds of the village hall, wondering where to go next.

  “You forget your coat,” Guy said, putting it over her shoulders. He put his arms around her and instantly took away the chill she had been feeling.

  “They used to criticise her all the time,” she said, jerking her head towards the village hall. “Nothing she ever did was right. It was always ‘This wouldn’t have happened in Tom Yeardley’s day’, and ‘When Tom Yeardley ran this pub’. Sometimes she’d cry about it at night, because she’d tried so hard to please them.” Cara rested her head against Guy’s chest. “She never cried for long though. She always bounced
back and tried harder the next time.” She looked up at him. “You didn’t see her at her best, when she came home in a bad mood that time. She wasn’t like that, not really.”

  “I know. She had every right to be upset about me taking the pub over.”

  “I think it’s because you were a man, and she’d spent so long trying to bring them around to her way of doing things, then you turn up and in one night have them all eating out of your hand. You ought to have heard them when she put the jukebox in. They vowed never to use it and glared at anyone who tried. Then in one night they’re all up and bopping away to the Rolling Stones.”

  Guy hugged her closer. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, don’t be. It’s not your fault. You’re you and I wouldn’t want you any different.”

  He smiled. “Thank you. That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.” He kissed her. It acted like a salve on the pain she felt, easing her tortured soul. She wished they were alone, so he could really bring her comfort. She wanted him desperately at that moment. She wanted an end to the ache of loss.

  There was a gentle cough behind them, and they looked around to see the reverend standing nearby. “Sorry,” he said, smiling kindly. “I hate to disturb young lovers, but I needed to speak to you, Guy. I’ve had word back from my friend in intelligence and he said he’s happy to talk to you. He’s free on Saturday.”

  “Thanks, Rev,” said Guy. He turned to Cara. “Let’s go down to London for the weekend. It’ll do us good to get away from Midchester for a while.”

  He was right. Midchester was too sad a place to be at that moment in time. The loss of Nancy and the pub hung like a thick, dark pall over everyone. Cara longed for spring when the sun would shine, and take away some of that darkness.

  The reverend gave Guy the details of his friend and where to find him in London. A few moments later, Meredith Cunningham joined them. “I think we need to talk about the bonfire night celebrations,” she said.

  “Do you think they should be cancelled?” asked Cara.

  “Not completely. I just think we shouldn’t have a bonfire. Not after what happened with the pub. I can’t see anyone taking any pleasure in watching the flames. We could just have a few fireworks for the children, and a buffet in the village hall.”