by Ann Purser
'Charlie! Get down at once!' scolded Olive, apologising profusely. Mandy smiled bravely, and smoothed down the snags in her jersey. She was well aware of how unsuitable she must seem to the Bates’s, and had made a private vow to be the best farmer's wife in the district. 'I'll show them snotty Young Farmers,' she had said to Robert, who said he didn't want her to change one bit, he loved her exactly the way she was.
'I thought we might settle a few things over tea, Mandy,' said Olive Bates. She had been delighted and flattered that the wedding was going to be in Ringford, and, whilst being very shy of offering help to Mandy's mother, she meant to have a reasonable hand in all the excitement of planning a village wedding. It would have been so much better if Mandy had been a village girl, but there it was. 'It is lovely for us,' she said. 'It was one of my sorrows at not having a little girl. Now we shall have a Ringford wedding after all.'
'Done something right, then,' Mandy said quietly to Robert, as his mother went to fill the pot. 'If I could dredge up some long-lost farmer cousin it would be almost perfect.'
But Robert saw only the lovely girl he had fancied since schooldays, who miraculously felt the same about him. All talk of townies and not knowing what hard work was passed over his besotted head.
'Reverend Brooks has booked the date in February, and we've to go and see him together,' said Robert, handing round the tea for his mother.
Mandy made a face. 'No embarrassing stuff about the facts of life, I hope!' she said.
'Bit late for that, I should say,' said Ted, and Olive frowned at him. Trust him to make a coarse remark, she thought. I hope Mandy won't be offended. Olive knew, of course, that young people all tried out what she would have had difficulty in finding words for. But that didn't mean you had to mention it, let alone make jokes about it. She changed the subject.
'I'm going to ask your mum and dad to come next Sunday,' she said, 'then we can have a real run through what's left to be done. A winter wedding is really unusual, isn't it?' It was another thing that didn't suit Olive. No Ringford girl would get married in mid-winter. Could be snowing, and none of the guests get through. And flowers will cost a fortune, and the Village Hall will have to be heated for hours before the reception. Still, thank God we're not paying for it, she thought. Ted had offered to buy the drink - typical of him, that - and the rest was up to the Butlers.
Ted went off into a deep, snoring sleep, and the evening advanced, Mandy helping Olive with the washing up and chatting desultorily about wedding plans. Olive found her future daughter-in-law difficult to talk to, having nothing in common with an attractive young hairdresser from town.
'We'll be off now, Mother,' Robert said, as soon as it was tactfully possible. 'See you later.' Olive nodded, and watched the lights of the car as they drove off towards Tresham.
'She'll not settle easily,' she said to Ted, who continued to snore. Olive sighed. Marriage to Ted had been hard work with few treats. He had expected her to carry on where his mother had left off, and she had done so unquestioningly. Now she saw in Robert and Mandy a different way altogether, more of a partnership, and in that partnership there was no room for her. She sniffed, and bent down to pick up the newspaper which had slid from Ted's lap.
He snuffled and choked, and surfaced enough to say something which Olive didn't catch. 'What did you say, Ted dear?'
He opened one eye and looked at her in surprise, the endearment having got through the barriers of sleep.
'You goin' deaf, Mother?' he muttered. 'I said to put another log on the fire, that's all.' And he rearranged the cushion behind his head and went back to sleep.
Robert and Mandy sat in silence for a few minutes, and then Mandy said, 'Your father and mine have one thing in common, anyway.' Robert looked sideways at her, his eyebrows raised.
'They both snore their horrible heads off,' said Mandy, all her pent-up resentment making it sound a deadly offence.
Robert laughed, and slowly cruised the car to a halt. He put his arm round her and kissed her until all the tension went out of her and she remembered it was Robert she was marrying, not his miserable father.
Unfortunately, Robert had stopped the car outside Barnstones, where the curtains were not yet drawn. Octavia Jones was standing morosely at the window, wishing some thing wonderful would happen, when she saw Robert's car draw up under the single street lamp at the bottom of Macmillan Gardens.
Her heartbeat quickened, but then she saw the two shadowy figures become one, and it was more than she could bear. 'I'm going out, might go to Tanya's,' she said to her parents who sat peacefully reading the Sunday papers. Before they could question her, Octavia had grabbed her jacket and disappeared, banging the front door as she went.
CHAPTER TWENTY -FOUR
Octavia shivered in the evening chill as she half ran out of her gate and turned into the dark street. The light outside the pub illuminated the pavement and road, and she made her way towards it without really thinking where she was going, or what she intended to do. A dog barked, frantically yapping from Macmillan Gardens as she passed, and she saw a white flash as the Jenkins terrier shot across the grass, in hot pursuit of something shadowy and terrified.
Hope it's not Mrs Palmer's cat, she thought, walking by the shop, closed off and unwelcoming with its white blind down over the big window.
A dark figure turned out of the Village Hall and approached. Octavia recognised the bulk of Mrs Jenkins, and immediately turned round and began to walk back towards home. 'Don't want that fat old cow asking questions,' she muttered.
She heard Mrs Jenkins's footsteps fade as she turned into the Gardens, and Octavia continued back along the main street. She had no intention of going to the Brights'. She knew Tanya was away, staying with her grandmother. Better go home, I suppose, she thought. They'll only give me another of their sympathy sessions if I don't.
But the thought of being smothered with parental concern was more than she could take, and she walked on, past Barnstones and Price's farm, and out of the village on the Tresham road. She just wanted to think about Robert, and without irritating distractions began to construct one of her favourite fantasies. In the darkness, walking steadily, she imagined the bathing pool, a wide stretch of the Ringle where children splashed and learned to swim by the shallow far bank. The sun shone from a clear blue sky, and she was alone in the pool, all by herself and naked. No need to be wearing a swimsuit if nobody was around.
She felt the thick mud beneath her feet as she tried to stand up in the deep part of the pool. Then her feet were sinking in, and she lost her balance. Fear made her shout, and, just as the water was closing over her head, Robert came dashing along the river bank. 'Hold on, Octavia, hold on, I'm coming!'
His strong arms were round her body, gently lifting her out of the water. She felt the warmth of his breath on her face, as she slowly opened her eyes. She saw her own slender, sun-tanned body stretched out on the warm grass, and Robert bending anxiously over her. 'Octavia! Are you all right?' She smiled at him, and saw the expression in his eyes change from concern to passion . . .
Dazzling lights jolted her back to the cold emptiness of the Tresham road, and she jumped on to the muddy verge for safety.
The car slowed and stopped, and Octavia could hardly believe that it was Robert's voice. 'Octavia! Are you all right?' he said; and came walking back towards her.
She smiled at him, but in the darkness he could see only the outline of a pale, young face. 'You silly girl,' he said, 'it isn't safe to be out here at night, walking along the edge of the road without a torch or anything. What are you doing, anyway? You ought to be back home with your mum and dad.'
'Give me a lift, then, Robert?' said Octavia, back in the real world. And without waiting for his answer, she climbed into the passenger seat of his car and fastened her seat belt.
They drove in silence for a minute, and then Robert said, 'Lucky I was coming back early. You never know who might have picked you up.'
'Nothing would have
happened to me,' said Octavia. 'I was going to turn back just about then.'
'You've caused enough trouble lately, young lady,' said Robert. 'You ought to think of your parents a bit more. They must be worried sick by now, wondering where you've got to.' He pulled up outside Barnstones, and Octavia got out, slamming the door shut and standing on the pavement looking resentfully at Robert's car. He wound down the window and shouted, 'Go on, I want to see you open that front door.'
Octavia shrugged and turned into her garden, slinking along the path and turning to blow Robert a mocking kiss as she opened the door and disappeared inside.
Greg, his overcoat buttoned up and scarf tied round his neck, stood by the fireplace, and Gabriella sat on the edge of her seat, rigid with tension. They were both listening to the door opening and the sound of a car starting off outside. Gabriella began to get up, but Greg motioned to her to sit down, and she sank back on to the sofa. They heard rustling sounds in the hall, and then after a few moments the sitting room door opened and Octavia came in.
'Octavia!' said Gabriella, shooting up from her seat. 'What on earth has happened to you!'
The silky blonde hair was wild, tangled and falling over Octavia's face, and her jacket had been twisted round, revealing one shoulder where her shirt was open down to her waist, her bra showing alarmingly white and exposed.
She rushed to her mother and began to cry, sobbing louder as she got going.
'Sit down, child,' said Greg, and then, to Gabriella, 'Don'tpanic, Gabbie, let's calm her down and hear what she has to say.'
He had an odd feeling. He had seen dramatic outbursts many times in his career as a teacher, and had grown to recognise the genuine from the carefully calculated. There was something about the speculative look in Octavia's eyes as she came into the room ... but maybe he was wrong.
He got up and made a pot of tea, while Gabriella quietened down Octavia, straightened her hair and clothes. She held the smooth hands in a protective grasp. 'Hush, 'Tavie, Mother's here, you are quite safe now,' she crooned.
'It was a man, gave mt' a lift back into the village,' said Octavia, when she had emptied the mug of sweet tea and settled back among the cushions. 'I went to the Brights', but Tanya wasn't there, so I thought I'd go for a walk. I went up the Tresham road, but it was cold, and I'd just turned back when this car stopped and the driver offered me a lift. I got in, and he started off, but then he stopped again and began to pull me about, and then I screamed . . .' She stopped, her lips trembling, and put her hands to her face.
'Take it steady, girlie,' said Greg. 'Take your time.'
'Then I got out of the car and ran, ran and ran, until I was home and safe.'
'Thank God,' said Gabriella. 'And nothing else happened?
‘He didn't try to ...' She dried up, and Greg took over.
'That's all he did, just pulled your clothes about a bit?' said Greg, frowning.
Gabriella scowled at him. 'That must have been terrifying, darling,' she said to Octavia, and her voice began to rise, 'but why on earth did you accept a lift from a stranger in the dark? Did you recognise him, get a good look at him?'
Octavia was silent, staring at Gabriella with brimming eyes. 'Well?' said Greg. 'Who was it? Do you know who it was?'
Octavia answered in a muffled voice, and Gabriella reached out and put her arm round the girl's shoulders.
'What did you say, darling?' she said. 'It was Robert Bates.'
Tears began to fall again in the shocked silence, and Greg pulled a large handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to his daughter.
'Christ,' he said. 'What do we do now?'
CHAPTER TWENTY -FIVE
Half past ten, and the Stores was crowded with morning shoppers. It was a dull morning, and the children waiting at the bus stop for the school bus in the early autumn chill had been glad of anoraks. Most of them were still wearing their summer uniforms, except for Octavia, who ignored the rules and wore a mini-skirt and long sweater, so long that the skirt underneath looked like a frill round her bottom.
The harvest was safely gathered in, and a notice billing the Harvest Supper in the Village Hall flapped against its two remaining drawing pins on the noticeboard by the bus shelter. 'Did you see that wonderful sunset yesterday, Peggy?' Sophie Brooks said, as she packed her groceries into her basket. 'Thank God there's no more stubble-burning, now you can see the contours of the land.'
Sophie Brooks, standing chatting at the counter to Peggy, had for days been tramping round the footpaths, most of them overgrown from lack of use, and seen the few remaining stubble fields shining gold in the sun against nearby newly ploughed earth, had marvelled at great round bales of hay abandoned in a field where new grass was already thick. Some of the sweet-smelling hay hung in rebellious swathes from the end of the bales, like wisps of soft hair escaped from a plait.
'What's she on about?' said old Ellen to Ivy Beasley, as the two of them stood waiting to be served.
'Stuck up madam, if you ask me,' said Ivy, not bothering to lower her voice.
Peggy continued to wrap and add and count out change with efficient ease, asking the right questions and keeping an eye on Mark Jenkins, who was looking longingly at a display of boxed cars, brought from the warehouse by Bill.
'Had them when I was a lad,' he had said, holding them up in delight. 'My dad used to buy me a new one every birthday, and I kept them on the windowsill in my bedroom. Mum used to grumble about the dust, but she never put them away.'
'Have you still got them?' Peggy asked, remembering Frank's collection of cigarette cards, carefully stuck into an album and lovingly protected in a cardboard box.
Bill had shaken his head. 'Came home one day from work, and the bin men had just been. Joyce was crowing like an old cock, and pointed at the empty biscuit tin where I kept them.'
'What did you say?'
'Nothing. But it was another notch.'
Mark Jenkins made his way to the counter clutching one of the car boxes, and put it down, digging into his pocket and coming up with a handful of silver.
'That's it, Mrs Palmer,' he said. 'Mum said that was just right.'
Peggy counted the coins, and found that Mark was twenty pence short. She hesitated, then said, 'Quite right, Mark, well done. Which one did you choose?'
Mark read out the details of the car slowly and deliberately, then thanked Peggy politely and left the shop.
' 'E's a nice child,' said Ellen Biggs. 'All them Jenkinses is nice children, all credit to their mother. Jean's a good gel, always was.'
'You coming to me this afternoon, then, Ellen?' said Ivy. 'Don't know if I'll have time to bake, but I dare say I can find a biscuit or two.'
She only says it to annoy, thought Ellen. I shan't rise, shan't give 'er the satisfaction.
Peggy took Ivy Beasley's wire basket and added up the small number of purchases quickly. The sooner she goes the better I like it, she said to herself. I could do without her custom, but then she'd not pick up the gossip in here and that would limit her ammunition considerably.
'That will be exactly three pounds fifty,' she said, not smiling.
Ivy put down the money on the counter and turned to leave, scarcely acknowledging Peggy, and certainly not thanking her as she put the few items in her string bag.
'See you this afternoon, Ellen,' she said, and added tartly, 'and see if you can be on time for once.'
Ellen stuck her tongue out at the retreating back, and smiled at Peggy.
'God forbid I ever get as crabby as old Ivy,' she said. 'I 'ope you'll 'ave me put down at once, my dear.'
Peggy glanced out of the shop window as Ivy Beasley crossed the road in front of Greg Jones's car, which drew up outside the school. Greg got out, waving and shouting to Robert Bates, who was carefully negotiating his way through the village on a tractor with a lethal hedge-cutter attachment. Ivy stood at the bus stop, watching.
'Greg looks worried,' said Peggy, turning back to old Ellen. 'Wonder why he's not at school?'
>
'More trouble with that daughter of 'is, I shouldn't wonder,' said Ellen. 'What she needs is a good talking to.'
Peggy shrugged. 'There's some would say it's too late,' she said, 'and anyway. I thought she'd been out with Tim Bright a couple of times and given up her pursuit of poor Robert.'
'That sort never gives up,' said Ellen knowingly. 'Not till it suits them . . .'
Greg Jones stood on the pavement waving vigorously at Robert Bates, until the tractor stopped and Robert leaned out.
'Morning, Mr ]ones,' he said, 'you waving at me?'
Greg nodded and crossed the road. He looked up at the tractor cab, feeling immediately at a foolish disadvantage.
‘Just wondered if we could have a private word some time, Robert?' he said, shouting above the engine noise. Jean Jenkins, passing by on her way to the shop, heard what Greg said, and the word 'private' made her prick up her ears.
'What do he want a private word with Robert Bates for, Eddie my duck?' she said to her chubby son, already wriggling around in his pushchair ready to get out at the shop.
The rest of Greg's conversation with Robert was lost to Jean, as she could find no reason to hang about, and after a minute or two Robert drove off and turned down past the pub and into Bates's End.
'Morning, Jean,' said Peggy, as Eddie and his mother came slowly into the shop. Eddie's walking was still a little unsteady, and his rolling gait not quite up to climbing the shop steps without the aid of his mother. The large frame of Jean Jenkins beside her small son filled the narrow doorway and they eased themselves into the shop with much laughter and encouragement from old Ellen.
'That's it, Eddie Jenkins,' she said, 'what a clever boy!' 'Your Mark's been in already,' said Peggy. 'What can I get you, Jean?'
Jean Jenkins opened her purse and took out a twenty-pence piece. 'He was short, Peggy, and you never said. I saw the price ticket when he got home, and I come straight down. I must have seen it wrong when I was in yesterday.' She handed over the coin, and Peggy humbly took it, feeling somehow in the wrong.
