by Luna Snow
The two women had met through work and had been friends for the last 20 years. Rita was 15 years Pat’s junior, but they had hit it off from the start, sharing their mutual love of books and cooking. She was married, her two children now grown up, but both of them had attended the village school and Pat knew that it had a special place in her heart.
Rita was surprised and yet glad to see her friend waiting in reception.
“Hey, you look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders, what’s wrong?”
Pat hadn’t realised that she had been frowning, but the sight of her good friend caused her to smile. The two women embraced warmly.
“Well, what’ll it be, coffee or something stronger? Mind you, I’ve got a meeting this afternoon so I need to stay sober, but you look like you could do with a drink!”
Pat imagined a nice glass of red, a merlot perhaps or a spicy rioja? She could down a whole bottle right now.
“A tea would be good. I’ve already had three coffees today and I’m buzzing, another one and I’ll be flying!”
The two women laughed as they crossed the road and entered ‘The Daisy Chain Tea Rooms’, a dainty little cafe that served home-made cakes and pastries, and served all of their hot drinks out of flowery china cups. It was the kind of place that Pat liked, much better than the Costa’s or the Starbucks.
They ordered their drinks and two slices of cake and sat on a table in the corner, just by the window where they could watch the world go by.
“Well Pat, what’s on your mind? I can tell that something is the matter?”
Pat unfolded the events of the morning, only pausing for breath when the cafe owner brought over their orders of tea and cake. There was a saying that ‘little pigs have big ears’ and you could never be too sure who was listening and who wasn’t. She bent her head low across the table and spoke in a whisper.
“So you see Rita, I need to find out what is happening, why the sudden turnaround by the council, withdrawing its support for the school.”
Rita listened carefully, letting Pat finish before she chipped in.
“Well Pat, it’s funny you should say all this, but we have a planning meeting this afternoon, and the school is on the agenda. It’s the first I have heard of it, but I did hear rumblings about the village, something about planning permission –but I haven’t seen the details as yet, it’s been all hush hush to date. I’m hoping to find out more this afternoon. Pete Bateman has got the agenda item.”
Pat frowned. “That’s just what I’m afraid of!”
Finishing the last of her coffee, Rita glanced at her watch.
“I’m sorry Pat, I’m going to have to dash but I’ll phone you tonight, tell you what I can about the meeting. I’ll see you tomorrow night anyway at the WI meeting. I’ll take my cake back to eat in the office.”
Left with a large piece of chocolate cake for comfort, Pat gazed out of the window as she stuck her fork on the dark depths of the rich sponge and allowed the sweetness to restore her energy. Today was definitely not a good day for her diet; all the chocolate biscuits and coffee and now this.
Her mind was far away when the bell above the shop door jangled and two ladies, laden down with expensive looking carrier bags struggled through the door. At first Pat thought that she must be seeing things, and had to look twice to believe her eyes. For there stood Trish Jones, as large as life at the counter, eying up the cakes with a girlfriend and laughing.
Pat stared for a few seconds before hunching down in the corner, making herself inconspicuous behind a cardboard menu, which she propped up in the middle of the table. She could scarcely believe it, but there was no doubt that it was Trish Jones, without the aid of a wheelchair and managing to carry several heavy bags. Her feelings of bemusement were soon taken over by a horrible feeling that she had been duped, that the time spent with the Pemberton’s earlier that morning had all been a charade, a play enacted entirely for her benefit, and no doubt the vicar had received the same. But surely it was a bit of an elaborate hoax just to stop the church bells from ringing, although people would go to any lengths these days, just to get their own way.
Pat’s stomach lurched; she wasn’t sure if she had eaten too much cake, or if the anger that was starting to filter through to her brain was taking affect. She was just about to get up and confront Mrs Pemberton, when one of the young waitresses stopped by her table.
“Was everything alright?”
“Yes, yes, lovely, thank you.”
“Would you like anything else, a refill of tea perhaps?”
“No, just the bill please”
“It’s free, no extra charge for the top up?”
The girl was trying to be extremely pleasant, but it was putting Pat off her stride, and after all of the sugar, she was starting to feel a little irritable.
“No, just the bill, nothing else”
Pat’s tone was sharp and the poor girl wondered what on earth she had done wrong. She hated rudeness in anyone herself; it was all Trish Pemberton’s fault.
Leaving a generous tip to atone for her sins, Pat stood quickly. It was too late to confront the blasted woman now. The moment had passed and perhaps it was better to keep it under her proverbial hat for a while. It could be the only joker she had to play, and it might be worth sitting on the information until she knew how best to use it. Luckily the woman was sat facing in the opposite direction and she was able to sneak out without being noticed.
The day had started off oddly and had got steadily worse as the day progressed. On the way back home, she wracked her brain trying to make sense of it all, or even a small part of it – first the church bells and then the school, and then seeing Trish Pemberton out of her wheelchair and obviously not ill at all. What about the ‘accident’?
What could it all mean?
Chapter 4
It would be several hours before she would be any wiser. Rita would wait until she got home from work to phone her, council planning meetings were confidential and by rights, Rita shouldn’t be divulging council business. She would only tell her friend if she thought it essential for the benefit of the village.
To kill time, and to take her mind off things, Pat decided to go and look at her bees, do a little bit of ‘hive’ maintenance. Most people didn’t realise the work that went in to being a beekeeper, thought that bee’s just ‘got on with it’, but these complex little creatures needed tending. If they weren’t being infected by the veroa bug, then they were being invaded by ants or wasps, and even without these things they had a tendency to swarm if the queen became unhappy or the hive too crowded.
Putting on her gloves and veil she ventured outside. The afternoon was warm and the bee’s still busy. It wasn’t ideal to disturb them when they were busy, sometimes they could become quite feisty and she didn’t fancy being stung, not twice in one day.
Despite the buzzing around her, there was something calming about being around the bees; Pat thought that it might have something to do with the pheromones they emitted. It was a pleasant afternoon spent with nature’ and she hardly noticed the passage of time, or the fact that Joe was watching her, admiring her from over the hedge.
As she lifted the heavy lid and placed it snugly on the base of the last hive, he called gently over to her, so as not to make her jump.
“Lovely afternoon Pat old girl!”
She nodded and waved from beneath her veil. She had disturbed the bees and they would take some time to calm down.
“Less of the old!”
“How’s the honey coming on? I’m looking forward to buying a few jars to keep me going through the winter.”
Walking towards the hedge Pat started to take off her hood once she was at a safe distance from the bees. She shook her head.
“I’m afraid there won’t be any honey this year Joe. Sorry to disappoint you.”
The man looked puzzled.
“But I thought it had been a good summer? They certainly seem to have been busy enough?”
“Oh, there’s plenty of honey Joe, it’s just that...”
At that moment the shrill trill of a telephone could be heard coming from the inside of Pat’s cottage. Rushing for the gate she made her excuses.
“Sorry Joe, I’ve been waiting for this call all afternoon. I’ll catch you later.”
Hurrying indoors, the tranquillity of the afternoon, all but disappeared. The thoughts of the morning were soon clearly in her head as she picked up the phone in the hallway at the bottom of the stairs.
“Hello?”
“Pat. It’s me Rita. You were right. The Council are looking to close down the school, and I know why!”
It turned out that a property developer had been looking for land or buildings to renovate in the area to turn into prime housing developments. There had already been a lot of hoo-ha surrounding the recent building on green belt land, and now the greedy builders were looking for other ways to source their projects. The strapped cash councils were an easy target.
“But doesn’t it seem funny that the council should be approached at the very same time they are thinking about closing the school down? It smacks of inside information to me?”
There was a sigh down the phone as Rita listened to her friend.
“Well Pat, there is something else, something I only overheard, but you must keep it to yourself. Ok?”
Pat was all ears.
“Well I just happened to be in the stairwell at work, when I heard Pete Bateman on his mobile phone, just above me on the landing. He always goes there when he makes private calls. He was wearing his headset, so he didn’t hear me. I didn’t catch all of the conversation, but he was talking about executive apartments in an old school building. He mentioned the name of a company, I couldn’t hear too clearly but it sounded something like ‘Execuhome’”
The funny lurching feeling returned to her stomach, and Pat had to lean against the wall for balance. She hadn’t eaten a proper meal all day and suddenly felt faint.
A few moments of silence sat uneasily over the phone line.
“Pat, are you still there?”
“Sorry Rita, look thanks for the call. I have to go now. I’ve left a pan on in the kitchen. We can have a good chat about it all tomorrow at the WI when I have had time to think all this through. And don’t worry; I won’t say a word to anyone.”
Sitting on the bottom step of the stairs, Pat let her head fall into her hands. Something had been niggling at the back of her mind all day and she had suddenly realised what it was, the papers on the table at the Pemberton’s house that had been so hurriedly swept away and out of sight. Surely it wasn’t a co-incidence? Trish and Harvey Pemberton had already proved that they were not a couple who could be trusted.
Things weren’t looking at all hopeful.
What was the name of the company Rita mentioned on the call? She could look them up on the internet and she knew how to ‘Google’. During the ‘fracking’ campaign she had become a wizard on social media, undergoing a crash course from the local kids at school. She had been Tweeting and Facebooking with the best of them, but hadn’t used it much since then and had become decidedly rusty.
The only thing she used the computer for these days was to Skype an old friend in New Zealand, and look up new and interesting recipes. Even the good old ‘Bero’ book had its limitations when she fancied cooking up something a bit different.
The laptop whirred into life, and despite her worries, Pat realised she was quite excited to have a project to work on, something to stretch her mind once again. It was like being a detective, searching the internet for a company that may or not be called Execuhomes.
Typing the name into Google she quickly scanned the results. There were hundreds, and the top 10 related to a hypnotherapy business and an office equipment wholesaler. Now what had she been told about searching on the internet – narrow down your search wherever possible. Going back to the search box she typed again, this time adding the words housing developers.
It was there, listed as the second result, the name spelt slightly different than the one she had typed. Exec-U-Homes: Homes with Integrity.
“Well, that’s a laugh for a start”, Pat muttered under her breath.
Clicking on the link she was re-directed to the website and on the ‘home page’ clicked on the ‘About Us’ tab and read quickly through the notes. The company had been formed 5 years ago, dedicated to turning unused public buildings into ‘state of the art homes’. She was disappointed that it didn’t mention the owners of the business. ‘A partnership’ was all the brief information disclosed.
Pat wasn’t easily deterred. Going back to Google, she typed the company name back into the search engine, this time with the correct spelling and added the words – ‘Company Director’ before pressing enter.
The results came up, bingo – and she tapped on the first result.
She didn’t need to scroll far before she came to the Directors name Mr Harvey Pemberton, Bingo, there was a second Company Director just recently added, one Mr Peter Bateman and also listed was Company Secretary Mrs Patricia Pemberton. She had been right after all, and to think that she had taken pity on that woman, the conniving fraudster.
There was only one thing for it, this meant war!
Chapter 5
Pat lay awake all night wondering what to do for the best. It was no good confronting these people without hard evidence, but what evidence was she looking for? That Pete Bateman was crooked and getting a back hander for closing down the school and selling it to the highest bidder? How could she possibly do that without dropping her best friend Rita into trouble? The local government didn’t like whistle blowers, and Rita would find herself soon pensioned off – it would be too easy to make her the scapegoat as everyone knew that she was Pat’s best friend.
The next day she felt tired and irritable as she bit into her toast and contemplated the morning outside her kitchen window. The remnants of an early morning mist still clung to the cobwebs that laced the hedgerows and decorated the terracotta pots that lined her path. Normally she would savour such a sight, yet the beauty of the morning was soured by one thought, and one thought only- how to save the old school.
There was no doubt in her mind that the Pemberton’s were behind it all. She had a good mind to pay them another early visit and give them a piece of her mind, but what good would that do?
Nothing at all.
It was no use talking to people like that, all they could see were the pound notes, they wouldn’t care that the heart and soul were to be ripped out of the village. They would probably make their changes and move on after a couple of years anyway, leaving devastation behind them. No, she would have to think of another way, but what?
The kitchen wall clock chimed 8:30 a.m., she would have to get a move on to be at the school by 9. The air outside was crisp as Pat locked her door. There was a definite tinge of autumn in the air. There was something about September that always touched Pat with an air of melancholy, and she had felt it since a child. Whether it was sadness for the summer that had ended, or the sight of the tree’s changing from green to yellow to red, she did not know. Only that she felt a little tug on her heart at this time of year. Walking the short distance to the school almost became a pilgrimage, a nostalgic trip back to a time when life moved at a slower pace. Hearing the children’s voices in the playground brought a lump to her throat and she quickly wiped away a stray tear as she passed through the school gates. The small figures danced around her and called her name, “Miss Green, Miss Green”.
She couldn’t let the school close. It would never happen. Not whilst she had breath left in her body anyway.
She spent the afternoon baking for the WI meeting that night, although her heart wasn’t really in it. A dozen jam tarts, her own raspberry jam naturally, and a dozen chocolate muffins. At least she would be able to talk to Rita about the school, see if she had heard any further news.
Little Fannington WI was a close knit group
of 10 local middle aged women who liked to drink tea and bake cakes, with the odd flower arrangement thrown in for fun. They enjoyed raising money for various causes and were seen as pillars of the community. They met once a week in the village hall and once a month had a guest speaker.
Tonight they were discussing the final preparations for a fund-raising event for the church, to take place in a couple of weeks, although Pat wondered why they were bothering now the Revd. Eric had already received a significant amount of money to silence the bells.
The fund raiser would be the usual, successful format – a jumble sale in the hall followed by afternoon tea, all home baked goods served by the women themselves. There would be a raffle too, again usually home produced jams and pickles, donated by the good ladies.
Pat agreed to run the raffle, although she couldn’t have really cared less and sat wishing away the time until she could have a quiet chat with Rita in the ‘White Horse’.
After a long debate on whether they should serve ham or beef sandwiches with the tea (and eventually agreeing to both), Maureen, the chairwoman, finally closed the meeting and Pat grabbed her coat and waited by the door for Rita to catch up with her.
“You’ve time for a quick one Rita?”
It was a stupid question, and they both set off quickly before anyone else could join them.
The ‘White Horse’ was an old 17th century coaching Inn with plenty of character and real ales, and also a real fire now that the evenings were becoming decidedly chilly. Their favourite seats by the fireplace were vacant, and they quickly ordered their drinks and sat down.
“Any update on the school development?”
Pat was hoping that Rita would say the whole thing had been a big mistake, the contractors had changed their mind, or at least that the council had changed their allegiances and were now putting their energies into supporting the school, but it wasn’t to be.
