It's Raining Men

by Milly Johnson

  ‘I’m going to leave you to it,’ she said, taking one of the torches. ‘I’ll go and check on May.’ She held her hand up as Clare opened her mouth. ‘You enjoy yourself here. I’m quite happy babysitting. I’ve got to a good bit in my book anyway.’

  ‘I won’t be that long,’ said Clare.

  ‘Be as long as you like,’ said Lara, looking up the staircase and shaking her head. This place must be like heaven for Clare, she thought. But, the way Lara was feeling that day, she might end up drowning herself in that pool if she stayed any longer.

  Chapter 37

  Gladys put down the delicate china teacup, opened up her handbag, retrieved a tissue from it and then wiped her eyes.

  ‘I’m frightened, Raine,’ she said. ‘I’m frightened of that woman. He didn’t want me to plate a meal up for his supper. I know they’re going to have dinner together and he’ll be putty in her hands. He’s old and lonely and she’s a wily piece.’

  Raine’s hand came out to touch Gladys’s arm, but she knew her skin was cold and wouldn’t offer much comfort.

  ‘Gladys, I’ve only ever seen you cry once before in all the years I’ve known you.’

  ‘It’s since she came,’ said Gladys, blowing her nose on her tissue and reaching for another. ‘How can I have got it so wrong, Raine? She’s dangerous. I’m scared for us all. For Edwin, for the village, most of all for—’

  ‘Gladys.’ Raine leaned over to pat her friend’s shoulder, squashing Albert on her knee, though he didn’t seem to mind that much. ‘The world is a much smaller place these days. It could only ever have been a matter of time.’

  Gladys’s great shoulders were shaking as she sobbed, but she went on: ‘I bet there isn’t a drawer in that house she hasn’t looked in. She’s out to seduce Lord Carlton. She even wears her hair like Mary did. He’s asked her to look at the estate ledgers and I know she’s picked up that something is amiss. And she isn’t the type to leave a thread unpulled, that one. He thinks he can trust her but I know he can’t.’

  Raine nodded. Gladys wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t know already. She had tasted the bitter salt of betrayal in the wind.

  Clare reached for her towel, shoes and torch and, carrying them high over her head, she swam around to the other side of the cavern, where the second staircase was. She lifted herself out of the water and dried herself off before slipping on her shoes and draping her towel around her shoulders. She was going to find out where those steps went to. If nothing else, it would burn off some calories.

  Her calves were certainly feeling it as she made her ascent. Finally her torch picked out the last of the stairs and a door, but just as her hand reached out for the iron hoop she heard voices. Raine’s was one of them. The tower of steps led to her cottage.

  Gladys looked around her at Raine’s room and she felt more than a twinge of sadness. They were supposed to look after her and yet the place needed bottoming. She deserved better.

  ‘I’m going to come up on my next day off and give this cottage a really good clean for you, Raine. Tell me they’re bringing you food?’

  ‘Yes, my dear, they are,’ said Raine. ‘But the cleaning is too much for them. Dorothy needs a new hip and a new knee. It takes her over half an hour to walk through the woods. And Margaret isn’t up to bending or stretching. The others do the best they can too.’

  ‘Someone needs telling about this,’ said Gladys, filling up again and dabbing her eyes with her tissue. ‘We’ve all been under the impression that you’re being looked after. Properly.’

  ‘I am.’ Raine smiled. ‘I have everything I need. A bit of dust doesn’t bother me.’

  ‘Val Hathersage could come up here and sort this place out for you. He does nothing but sleep and eat, that one. David Hathersage would turn in his grave to see what a waster his son turned out. And to see all the trouble between the brothers.’

  ‘He isn’t much like them, it has to be said. Such hard-working, decent boys.’

  ‘That Colleen Landers led the poor boy a merry dance,’ said Gladys. ‘She smashed his heart to pieces. I bet she was less than useless when she was supposed to be helping you out.’

  ‘Well, cleaning after an old lady wasn’t where her passions lay, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘We all know where her passions lay,’ huffed Gladys. ‘Most of them in Spice Wood. I worried when she left the village. She was such a mercenary creature.’

  ‘She wouldn’t have said anything. I never doubted her,’ replied Raine. ‘For all her faults, she was one of ours. It would never be one of ours.’

  ‘That’s my point,’ Gladys insisted, her voice rising to a high pitch. ‘Mrs Hawk isn’t one of ours. And if she’s from Wellem, as she claims, I’m Ingrid Bergman. And Gene Hathersage has brought more strangers into the village. He’s rented his cottage out. I heard that Daisy Unwin gave Jenny a right blasting in the café for serving them. And not only serving them but serving them good food. Daisy thinks she should have done more to discourage them, not encourage them going in.’

  ‘Jenny has too much pride not to want to give the best on her menu.’

  ‘Agreed. She’s a wonderful cook. And Daisy gave Shirley in the pub the rough end of her tongue as well.’

  ‘Shirley can look after herself and Daisy Unwin will have to change her ways,’ said Raine softly. ‘She’s got problems, that young lady. The village has been a closed bud for too long, Gladys. It needs to open up and flower. Everyone is under so much pressure to do the right thing: Edwin, Jenny, the young people . . . And as for poor Milton – he’s spent his whole life in this village inventing things. I hear he’s working on an invisibility shield now.’ Raine laughed. ‘He should be resting, taking things easy at his age.’

  ‘He’s loved every minute of it, Raine. He’s more alive at ninety-three than half of the young men in the village. He’s still in love with you, of course. You gave his life meaning. Without you to inspire his projects he wouldn’t have found a place for himself in life.’

  ‘Dear Milton,’ said Raine. Clare heard the smile in her voice. ‘I can still see him as a boy, all lanky arms and legs and his mother’s ridiculous haircuts.’

  ‘He would die for you, Raine.’

  ‘I know the sacrifices they’ve all made, and would still make, Gladys. But it’s time to stop. There’s nothing here for the youth. Who can blame them for leaving? The village needs an infusion of new blood. Enough is enough. I’m tired, Gladys. I’m tired of being a curse.’

  ‘You’ve been a blessing to this village. So many of us wouldn’t have been born had it not been for you. Myself, for instance, and my five brothers.’

  ‘You might have had sisters had it not been for me.’

  ‘But I might not have done.’ Gladys’s voice was firm and brooked no nonsense. ‘I hate to hear you talking like this. Please think about my offer again. Move in with me, Raine. I’m rattling around in that house since Charles died. There’s plenty of room and you’d have company.’

  ‘I’ll make one more move in my lifetime,’ replied Raine. ‘And it won’t be to another house.’ She smiled. ‘You’re a good, kind woman, Gladys. Thank you. Let fate take its course. Let the village become part of the rest of the world again.’

  ‘That can’t happen whilst—’

  Raine finished off the severed sentence. ‘Whilst I am here. I know.’

  ‘Raine, I heard something about one of the women staying in Gene Hathersage’s cottage . . .’

  ‘I’ve met her. I saw her swimming in the sea and I waved at her to come up.’

  Gladys’s mouth fell open. ‘Oh, Raine, what were you thinking?’

  ‘Her name is Clare. She’s a lovely girl. She’s coming to see me tomorrow. She found my lagoon, Gladys. I trust her. We have a connection. When I heard about how she looked I thought she might be like me, but, no, that is just a happy coincidence.’

  ‘Oh, Raine, please be careful.’

  ‘I shall,’ said Raine, picking up on that.
‘Clare is no Mrs Hawk.’

  Clare padded carefully down the steps so she wouldn’t be heard through the door. So, Val was underplaying the aftermath of Colleen’s departure. Clare found herself guiltily pleased that Miss Perfect Colleen Landers wasn’t all that perfect after all. She had left his heart in little pieces. And what was all that about Daisy and Jenny? Who was Milton? Where had she heard that name before? And why did Raine have to be careful of Clare? What were they saying about Gladys not having sisters? Questions were flooding her brain. What the hell was going on in Ren Dullem?

  Chapter 38

  May was up and drinking tea when Lara arrived back at the cottage. Her legs were knackered from climbing all those stairs. A life in power heels had a detrimental effect on calf muscles, apparently.

  ‘Hello, missus,’ May greeted her. ‘One has been swimming, I see. How was it?’

  ‘Absolutely beautiful. You must go and have a swim. Anyway, how are you?’ Lara flicked her towel over the airer that hung from the kitchen ceiling. She thought that May looked very pale.

  ‘Better for a good sleep, thanks. I need to get the cobwebs blown out of my head so I’m going for a walk. Want to come?’

  ‘As long as it doesn’t involve any steps at all,’ replied Lara. ‘Just give me five to have a quick shower.’

  ‘Is Clare staying down there?’ asked May, unlooping her handbag from the chair back.

  ‘Yep. She’ll have grown gills by the end of the holiday. If she hasn’t already. Oh, and remind me to tell you about my latest embarrassing episode with our landlord. You’ll enjoy it lots.’

  The air was so beautifully warm outside. Lara cast a looks-could-kill glance at those stupid clouds that weren’t real clouds. There must be a chemical plant over the headland, she decided. They were probably all being poisoned by gas. She’d ask Jenny what caused them if they decided to call in for a coffee.

  May winced for Lara when she heard about the Tourette’s incident. Then she laughed heartily, picturing it all in her head. Her friend really had got off on the wrong footing with Mr Hathersage.

  Coming up the hill towards them was a skinny man in jeans and a muscle top with a Jack & Jones logo on the front. His arms were covered in tattoos, one a picture of Marilyn Monroe. He had bright-pink streaks in his hair and mock-croc shoes with long pointed toes. He was holding a North Yorkshire tourism guide. Behind him, travelling at a much slower pace, was another man, much taller and heavier and sporting a more traditional look: curly brown hair, conservative jeans and a plain white T-shirt.

  ‘Excuse me, girls,’ said the skinny man. His voice was light and effeminate. ‘Have you any idea where the abbey ruins are?’

  ‘Sorry,’ said May, ‘we aren’t from around here.’

  ‘Hallelujah,’ said the man. ‘A friendly voice. Gideon, hurry up. I’ve found some real people who aren’t inbred locals.’ He clasped his hands together with delight. ‘We haven’t had a sensible answer since we arrived here. One woman in a wheelchair ran over Gideon’s toe. She was like a bloody mad Dalek. Half expected her to start shouting, “Exterminate, exterminate” at us.’

  May and Lara exchanged amused glances. They obviously knew who that was.

  ‘Hi,’ said Gideon, finally catching up with his friend. ‘I’m Coco’s husband.’

  ‘Coco?’ said Lara.

  ‘That’s me.’ The pink-haired man showed off a ring on the third finger of his left hand. ‘I never get tired of showing it off. We thought we’d have a drive around the area. I’ve never been here before, and if this place is anything to go by I never will again.’ He shuddered. ‘I thought that butcher was going to fillet me.’

  Behind him Gideon raised his eyes skyward and puffed out his cheeks.

  ‘And we can’t get a bloody signal on our phones,’ Coco continued. ‘Gideon reckons there’s a jammer causing that. They obviously don’t like anyone having new-fangled ideas here.’

  ‘A jammer?’ asked May.

  ‘Oh, the satellite signals are definitely being interfered with somewhere around here,’ said Gideon, pushing his glasses back up his nose.

  ‘Why?’ said Coco flamboyantly. ‘And what the buggery bollocks is going on up there?’ He pointed to a puff of grey cloud floating over their heads.

  ‘We think there might be a chemical plant nearby,’ said Lara.

  ‘No, there’s no plant,’ Gideon answered. ‘For the want of a better explanation, I’d say they were coming from a crude attempt at a cloud machine.’

  ‘Jesus, has Kate Bush moved here with Donald Sutherland?’ Coco snorted, and broke into the first verse of ‘Cloudbusting’.

  May and Lara exchanged amused glances as Gideon studied the clouds above their heads and murmured, ‘Yes, definitely man-made clouds, those. The question is why, of course.’

  ‘Someone with a cloud fetish?’ suggested Coco. ‘God knows they’ve got perversions for everyone today: dry-humping buildings, sniffing old slippers, washing in pee. Okay, onwards and upwards, then,’ he said. ‘We might just skip looking for the old abbey and head off to Beirut. I hear the locals are friendlier there.’ He inhaled deeply near Lara. ‘Oh, you’re wearing Rain. Lovely. Not one of my faves usually, but on you it smells divine.’

  Gideon rolled his eyes. ‘Ignore him. He’s got a perfume shop,’ he explained. ‘He sniffs at everyone.’

  ‘Emporium, please,’ tutted Coco. ‘I’ll give you “shop”.’

  Lara laughed as he playfully slapped Gideon’s arm.

  ‘Anyway, lovely to have met you,’ Coco said, turning back to Lara and May. ‘Hope I don’t read about you becoming human sacrifices in the Mirror. Come on, Gideon.’

  And with that, the couple were off, rounding the corner in front of Gene Hathersage’s cottage and disappearing from view.

  ‘Ren Dullem is getting a stranger place to be by the second,’ said May.

  Lara said nothing. If life got any stranger, she thought she might spontaneously combust.

  They walked to the far end of the village, passing the church with its highly decorative stone-work, and gargoyles that reminded Lara of her letch of a boss. A cobbled lane at the side of the church curled up the hillside and there was an arrow-shaped sign at the bottom which read: Hathersage Farm. As they stood with their backs to the harbour and looked up the hill they could see a large butter-coloured building between the trees. So that was Frank’s farm. Nearby they discovered a pretty little park with a conical coffee kiosk next to the empty swings, but the window was abruptly pulled shut when May was three footsteps away from ordering drinks there. She turned to Lara and held her hands up in exasperation.

  ‘Let’s go to Jenny’s for a coffee,’ suggested Lara. She had to laugh. Life in Ren Dullem made less sense than her dream world.

  ‘Fancy an ice cream?’ asked May, spotting a darling little shop completely covered in ivy and honeysuckle. ‘I’m going to sprint over so they don’t have a chance to shut.’

  But the shop didn’t close in front of them. It was manned by a teenager with huge grey eyes. He looked terrified in their presence, and even dropped the first cornet that Lara ordered onto the floor.

  ‘I don’t know whether to be insulted or thrilled that he was so jittery serving us,’ whispered May when they left the shop. She licked her clotted-cream and raspberry ice to find it absolutely delicious. Immediately her brain started ticking on what she would do to improve that little ice-cream business. It needed tables and chairs outside, for a start.

  ‘Let’s pretend we are flattered and that he didn’t look at us as if we were dirty old predatory cougars,’ said Lara. She had chosen rum delight. There were big pieces of truffle chocolate in the mix. She mmm-ed with pleasure as they made their way to one of the seats facing the sea. It was obviously one of Gene Hathersage’s creations, with its back made of twisted branches. He had an incredible talent. She wondered if he sold them. He’d be a fool if he didn’t. He must do – or how else did he make his money? How did any of the locals make money if
no one ever came to Ren Dullem? Did the money just circulate from one business to another?

  ‘Isn’t it a strange place, Lars?’ said May at last. ‘I feel as if I’ve stumbled into a book.’

  ‘In the horror section?’

  Lara knew exactly what May meant. But this weird little place was better than the real life waiting for her back in Surrey. She was content to stay here, even if their holiday was marred by meeting some of the rudest people on the planet.

  After they had finished their cornets, and as they set off at a slow walk back to Well Cottage, a brown van came rumbling down the road. The gold lettering on the side read: Hathersage Farm, Fresh Meats. Lara noticed that the van had quite an effect on her friend. She could virtually hear May’s heart racing from a metre away. Interesting, she thought.

  The van pulled to a halt in front of them.

  ‘Hello, ladies!’ The jovial, kind face of Frank Hathersage appeared through the driver’s window. ‘Having a nice day?’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ replied Lara. May appeared to be struck dumb. ‘That your farm up there? The creamy-yellow one?’

  ‘Yep, that’s mine,’ said Frank, pride in his voice.

  ‘It must have a fabulous view of the harbour.’

  ‘It does. Especially when there’s a storm. It can be very dramatic. I should open up the farm when the weather is bad and charge for the view. Exploring the village, are you?’ He was looking at May but it was Lara who answered again.

  ‘Yes, we are.’

  ‘Well, there’s one place you should visit: the ice-cream shop over there,’ said Frank. He pointed through the window with a huge square hand – a farmer’s hand.

  ‘Just have done,’ Lara replied with a smile. ‘And we tried to buy a coffee from the kiosk but, strangely, it closed as we were about to order.’