(8/13) At Home in Thrush Green

by Miss Read

  'No. I thought I'd see you first.'

  And worm your way into my affections again as well as finding a job, thought Nelly.

  'Before you set off,' said Nelly, 'you're going to have a good hot meal, and you can ring Nobby from here to say you are on your way. Where are you staying?'

  'With them, I take it.'

  'In that case, she'll need a bit of notice to make up a bed. You can use the phone in the office, and then go straight through to the restaurant. I've got to be getting back to my work. We're short-handed with the boss away ill.'

  Charlie nodded his agreement, and Nelly ushered him into the office while she bustled back to the kitchen.

  'That's an old acquaintance of mine,' she said to the girls. 'Down on his luck, and off to Birmingham this afternoon. Don't charge him, mind. Give the bill to me.'

  Within the hour, just as The Fuchsia Bush's regular customers were beginning to struggle in, shivering with cold, Charlie had finished his meal.

  He went through to the kitchen to fetch his clothes and to say goodbye to Nelly.

  He was looking all the better for his meal, she noted approvingly. There was a hint of the old chirpy Charlie who had first stolen her heart, but she had no intention of succumbing to his charms again.

  She was alone in the kitchen, and she took advantage of their privacy to enquire about the state of his immediate finances.

  He held open his wallet. It contained two five pound notes.

  'I've got a bit of loose change,' he said, rattling a trouser pocket.

  'That won't get you far,' said Nelly, opening her handbag. 'Here, take these two fivers. It'll go towards the fare. The bus to Oxford goes in ten minutes, and you'll have to get a train or bus on to Birmingham from there.'

  He put them with the other two notes in his wallet, and muttered his thanks, so brokenly, that Nelly looked at him in surprise. To her amazement she saw tears in his eyes for the first time.

  Much embarrassed, she hastened across the kitchen to the dresser where the remaining ham and tongue rolls lay in the wooden tray.

  She thrust two into a paper bag and held out the package.

  'Put those in your pocket, Charlie. It'll save you buying, and you can eat them on the journey.'

  'You're one in a thousand, Nelly. I won't forget all you've done today.'

  'That's all right. I'm glad to help, but take note, Charlie! It's the last time. Don't come trying your luck again. I hope you get on all right with the Clarks. Don't write, nor telephone. It's the end between us now, Charlie, and best that way.'

  He bent suddenly and kissed her cheek.

  'That's my old love,' he said warmly. 'Don't worry. I won't embarrass you.'

  'If you want to get that bus,' replied Nelly, more shaken than she cared to admit, 'you'd best get outside to the bus stop. Thank the Lord the snow's stopped.'

  She watched him cross the restaurant, humping his hold-all, and saw the door close. Much as she would have liked to see him board the bus, and perhaps give him a final wave, she was too upset to leave the haven of the kitchen.

  Gloria came in balancing a tray on one hip.

  'Your friend nearly missed the bus,' she said brightly. 'Got out there just in time.'

  'Good,' replied Nelly huskily. She blew her nose energetically.

  'Don't you go getting the flu now,' said Gloria, 'or we'll have to shut up shop.'

  She spoke with unaccustomed gentleness, but forbore to make any more enquiries.

  Later, she said to Rosa: 'The poor old duck was crying when that chap went away. I bet she was sweet on him once, though what anyone could see in an old fellow like that, beats me.'

  'One foot in the grave,' agreed Rosa. 'Must be nearer fifty than forty, poor old thing, and going bald.'

  'He ate pretty hearty though,' replied Gloria. 'Steak and kidney pie, mashed spud, broad beans, and then the Bakewell tart.'

  'Well, she said he was down on his luck,' Rosa reminded her. 'Maybe he didn't have no breakfast. Look out, she's coming back.'

  The two girls began to stack plates busily by the sink.

  Nelly, now in command of herself, bustled into the room.

  'Now, Rosa, you can cut the iced slab into squares ready for the tea tables, and there's some fresh shortbread to put out, Gloria. Look lively now, there's plenty to do.'

  The two girls exchanged glances. It was quite clear that things were back to normal.

  It was bitterly cold after dark. The wind had dropped, and the snow had not returned, but it was obvious that there would be a hard frost as the skies were clear.

  At Thrush Green, Nelly was content to sit alone by the fire and ruminate. She felt completely exhausted by this encounter, and still worried by the pathetic shabbiness of the once dapper Charlie.

  A pile of mending waited on the side table and the washing up remained on the draining board, but for the moment these jobs must wait, thought Nelly. Her head ached with thinking, her legs were heavy with standing all day, and her eyes were still sore from secret weeping.

  To her surprise, Albert came in at nine o'clock, well before closing time.

  'Perishing cold next door,' he told her. 'Got the fire smoking something awful. You're better off in here.'

  He bent towards the fire, rubbing his hands.

  Nelly stirred herself.

  'I'll just get the dishes washed, Albert, and make us a cup of tea.'

  'Good idea,' said Albert. 'Did I tell you Miss Harmer give me a pot of jam for you? It's in the cupboard.'

  'Thank her, won't you?' Not that we shall ever eat it, she thought privately, remembering 'Dotty's Collywobbles', a common Thrush Green complaint.

  'She's not a bad old trout,' went on Albert, now seating himself by the blaze while Nelly tackled the dishes. 'She's promised me a sitting of duck eggs this spring. She's got two broody hens already.'

  'But we've nowhere to keep ducks, Albert!'

  'I can keep 'em down her place, she says. I'll enjoy that. And I'm to take both the goats to be mated when the time comes. Remind me to get some bran sometime this week. We're getting short down there.'

  Nelly thought how much easier it was to live with Albert when he had animals to look after. It seemed to sweeten him somehow.

  She put the last plate on the rack and filled the kettle.

  'I'll take mine up to bed,' she said.

  'Why? You ain't getting flu, are you?'

  'No, just bone tired. There's a lot to do with Mrs Peters away.'

  'Ah! There must be. Here, you go on up, and I'll bring you a cup in bed. How's that?'

  Nelly could hardly believe her ears. She could not remember such a gesture from Albert in all their time together. In her present emotional state, it was too much, and the tears began to flow.

  'Here, 'ere, 'ere!' said Albert, much alarmed. 'You've got something coming, my girl. Get you up to bed and wrap up warm.'

  Weeping noisily, Nelly obeyed.

  ***

  She woke some hours later. The bedroom clock said half past three, and the room was bright with moonlight.

  She got out of bed and went to the window. Her back room looked across the fields towards Lulling Woods. The larger room, where Albert now snored rhythmically, looked towards Thrush Green.

  The whole world was white. The moonlight, reflected from the snowy fields, was intensified. In the garden of The Two Pheasants next door, the small cherry tree cast a circular tracery of shadows on the white lawn.

  It was a tree which gave Nelly joy all through the year, from its first tiny leaves, its dangling white flowers, its scarlet fruit so quickly ravished by the birds, and then its final blaze of gold in autumn which it dropped, like a bright skirt, to the ground in November.

  But tonight this rare beauty was a bonus. She gazed entranced at the tree's shadow. It looked like fine black lace cast around the foot of the trunk. Snow streaked the fragile branches, and lay like cake icing along the garden hedge. It was a magical night, calm and still, and Nelly, after her
stormy day, drew strength from its tranquillity.

  She shivered and padded back to bed, content to lie and watch the moonbeams moving across the ceiling.

  She hoped that Charlie was somewhere safely asleep, and that he would settle with the Clarks and find a useful job.

  Poor old Charlie! It would have been so easy to give way and to say: 'Come back, if things don't work out for you.' But it would never have done, she told herself.

  The time with Charlie was firmly in the past, and she did not want to see him again. She was now a settled woman, with a good responsible job and money in the bank.

  She thought of Albert, and his unexpected kindness that evening. If only he could always be as thoughtful! Perhaps, it occurred to her, he would be nicer if he had more interests, more animals, a better home. A lot of his moodiness came from too much drinking, she knew. Perhaps, one day, they could afford to move to a more cheerful house, well away from the pub, where Albert could keep ducks and hens, and a dog maybe, and be a happy man.

  Who knows? He might even make a habit of bringing his wife a cup of tea in bed!

  But at this flight of fancy Nelly's imagination baulked. With a sigh, she closed her eyes against the moonshine, and fell asleep again.

  18 A Hint of Spring

  AT Lulling Vicarage Charles and Dimity were congratulating themselves on the gradual improvement in their chilblains.

  'I'm quite sure it's the calcium tablets,' said Dimity, beating eggs energetically, i don't care what people say. We started to get better as soon as we began to take them.'

  'Egg custard for lunch?' asked Charles, watching his wife's efforts.

  'Yes, dear, and bottled plums.'

  Their little cat Tabitha appeared from nowhere, and gazed up expectantly at Dimity.

  'Isn't she clever?' cried her mistress. 'As soon as she hears me whisking up something she comes for her egg and milk.'

  She poured a little of the mixture into a saucer and put it on the floor. The cat licked delicately at this bounty.

  'Dear thing,' said Dimity indulgently. 'So good for her, all those lovely vitamins.'

  The telephone rang in Charles's study, and he hastened away to answer it.

  By the time he returned, the egg custard was in a slow oven, and the cat's saucer was immaculately clean.

  'Trouble?' asked Dimity, looking at his perplexed expression.

  'No, not really, although I can see I shall have to make a hospital visit very soon. That was Mrs Thurgood. You know she's president of the Lulling Operatic Society, and the wardrobe mistress, whose name I didn't catch unfortunately, has some lung trouble and will have to have an operation which will put her out of action. Mrs Thurgood wanted to know if I knew of anyone who could help.'

  'When is the performance?'

  'Don't they take the Corn Exchange for a week? Sometime in March or April, I think she said.'

  Charles appeared somewhat distracted. Dimity spoke reassuringly.

  'Oh, we'll think of someone, I'm sure. Can't her daughter Janet help?'

  'Not with a young child.'

  'We'll ask all our friends,' said Dimity, 'and something will turn up, you'll see. The only thing is, that our friends, like us, don't have much to do with the theatrical world. But don't worry, Charles, dear. Let's have our coffee early before you go down to the greenhouse.'

  The time for Kit and Connie's return had almost arrived, and Vi found herself feeling quite sad about leaving her new friend.

  Dotty too had found Vi's stay very stimulating. She had been able to indulge her love of television much more readily, for Vi was as much an addict, particularly of American serials, as Dotty was herself.

  Kit and Connie were somewhat scornful of most of the television programmes, so that Dotty did not always see as many programmes as she would have liked.

  She said as much to Vi, as they sat amicably gazing at the screen.

  'Why don't you have a little set of your own in your bedroom?' suggested Vi. 'You're up there quite a bit, and there are often very good programmes late at night, when you know you are often wakeful.'

  'I'll think about it,' said Dotty, watching a close embrace in vivid technicolour. i really don't care for this modern way of kissing, do you, Vi? I mean, it goes on so long, and must be very unhygienic. When I was a girl, one was kissed on the cheek or forehead by relatives and close friends. I can't recall being kissed on the mouth, and certainly not being eaten like that!'

  Dotty surveyed the couple with some distaste.

  'Modern custom, I suppose,' said Vi, busily counting stitches on her knitting needle.

  'Something to do with the Common Market, perhaps,' mused Dotty.' "Common" being the operative word. You know, even quite nice men, like dear Kit, have taken to this continental way of kissing on both cheeks! I find it excessive. One tends to bump noses too. I really prefer to be kissed in the English manner.'

  'Well, I'm sure Miss Bembridge will give you one of those when she comes,' said Vi. 'You remember she's coming to have tea with you while I call to see Jane and Bill?'

  'Yes, yes, of course. Have you put out my sloe jelly?'

  'I thought she might prefer the heather honey,' said Vi diplomatically, if you recall, you gave her a pot of the sloe jelly last time she came.'

  'Quite right. Yes, I'm sure the honey will be better. After all, she's probably been tucking into my sloe jelly all the week.'

  Vi forbore to comment on this hopeful remark, but directed Dotty's attention to the screen.

  'Oh look! The Indians are massing on the horizon!'

  'Good,' replied Dotty. 'Now we should get some good clean fun. Their horses always look in splendid condition, don't they?'

  Jane and Bill Cartwright were sorry to be saying goodbye to Vi Ellis. Kit and Connie were due home at the weekend, and Vi was being fetched on the Sunday afternoon.

  Naturally enough, the conversation turned to the vagaries of old people.

  'I must say I've found Miss Harmer much easier than I first thought,' confessed Vi. 'She's so absolutely honest – embarrassingly so at times, but at least you know where you are with her.'

  'Takes after her old dad in that,' Jane told her. 'Matron at the hospital had some hair-raising tales about him. He was always very punctilious about visiting any of his boys in hospital, but evidently the patients were in a fine state of nerves when the visit was over.'

  'We had a headmaster like that when I was a boy in Yorkshire,' observed Bill, i believe he enjoyed caning us. Youngsters are lucky these days.'

  'Now tell me about this job,' said Vi. 'Would it be the sort of thing that Ted and I might take on later?'

  Jane looked thoughtful.

  'You've got to have an enormous amount of tact – and sympathy. I must say that at times I've wondered if we're doing the right thing. They can be very awkward indeed, and over such trifles.'

  She went on to describe the umbrage taken over Monty's deplorable sanitary habits, the petty upsets over neighbours' noises, and Carlotta Jermyn's irritating visits at the wrong times.

  'It all sounds so trivial, I know,' she went on, 'but that's life here, and we have to remind ourselves how different it all is from the life they've had before. Gradually, very gradually, I think they are coming to terms with things here at Thrush Green, and becoming integrated, I think is the word.'

  'It's a worthwhile job,' Vi said comfortingly. 'This fortnight with dear old Dotty has been quite hard work, but I've thoroughly enjoyed it, and I really would like to try my hand at something like this one day.'

  'Well, if ever you do think seriously about it,' said Bill, 'come and stay for a few days, both of you, and see what it involves. Which reminds me, I must be off to sand the paths before they freeze.'

  When Vi had made her farewells, Bill turned to his wife.

  'I wonder if she means it?'

  'Vi always meant what she said. I think they'd make a good pair of wardens, and heaven alone knows a great many are needed with so many in their seventies and e
ighties these days.'

  The telephone rang and she walked quite briskly, and without her stick, to answer it.

  Almost her old self, thought Bill with relief, setting about his sanding.

  The bitter spell of weather abated slightly. The icicles fringing the Cotswold roof tiles and thatch grew shorter. In the middle of the day the puddles, once iron-hard, melted a little, allowing the ice to float above muddy water.

  The winter days were beginning to lengthen. Now afternoon tea was enjoyed before the curtains were drawn at dusk, Betty Bell arrived in the light to sweep the school when the children had gone home, and Nelly Piggott found herself mounting the hill, on a good day, whilst the wintry sunset still glowed in the west.

  The bulbs had pushed stubby noses through the soil, and the forsythia was in bud. Brave snowdrops were beginning to flower under sheltered hedges, and the signs of spring to come heartened everybody.

  The invalids began to emerge, pale but hopeful. Tom Hardy, swathed in a woolly scarf over his overcoat, accompanied Polly and Johnny Enderby on a short stroll across the green. Young George Curdle, and other chickenpox victims, were allowed out for half an hour in the middle of the day to have a breath of fresh air, and very heady stuff they found it after being cooped up.

  Even Edward Young, still suffering with shingles, felt more hopeful of recovery as he pottered about the garden, noting the first small leaves of the honeysuckle, and the buds on the lilac bushes getting plumper.

  He was now much relieved to have made up the silly quarrel with John. Secretly, he knew that it was one cause of the tension which had helped to produce this most maddening and tormenting complaint ofhis. The Cirencester worry, annoying though it was, was all part and parcel of his professional life, and he had coped with far worse problems with officialdom in his time. He could overcome this one, he felt sure. But the rare upset with a relative, and one whom he respected as much as John, was something different. He did not mind admitting that it had shaken him.

  Another reason for its particular annoyance was the fact that he had a strong feeling that John was right about the steps. Something extra in the way of safety must be done. He had been turning this over in his mind ever since Jane's unfortunate accident, and much as he disliked altering the look of the shallow flight of steps which led the eye gently upward to the line of the building as a whole, he was forced to admit to himself that a central handrail would be an added precaution.