by Ann Purser
“Oh, I dunno,” said Hazel. “Mine certainly wasn’t, but some people are lucky. Look at Mrs. M’s husband, Derek. He’s a lovely man, and his kids can’t speak too highly of him. Have you met him?”
Jack shook his head. “Wouldn’t know him if I saw him,” he said. “But your Mrs. M seems all right. I suppose if you got a nice husband it makes a difference all round.”
Hazel glanced sideways at him. He sounded near to tears, and she was glad they were approaching the village. Paula might not be too pleased if she delivered her son back home looking as if she’d beaten him up.
“Here we are, then,” she said. “Might see you around. Do you go to Youth Club in the village hall? Meets every week, and they do some interesting things. I’ll give your mum the details. It’s tonight. They’re building a soap box and need as many willing hands as possible.”
He scuffed his way down the garden path, and as he turned to go round to the back of the house, he looked back and raised two fingers to her. This gave her a jolt, and she reflected that it was a salutary lesson. It was going to take more than a sympathetic ride home to sort out Jack Jr.’s problems.
FLOSS WAS WALKING HOME FROM THE SHOP, AND SAW HAZEL’S car stop outside the Hickson house. She watched Jack Jr. get out and disappear, and then she crossed the road to have a word with Hazel. The two were good friends, though Floss was younger, and they were both loyal members of the New Brooms team. Hazel had not expected Floss to last long, but she repeatedly said she loved the work and refused to move, in spite of pressure put on her by her parents. But they’d given up now that she was married, and dropped hints about the patter of tiny feet instead.
She greeted Hazel and asked if her John would be at Youth Club tonight, adding that the lads needed a strong leader like John Thornbull to keep them in order.
“Yes, he’ll be there,” Hazel said. “If you’re going, can you remind him to look out for young Jack Hickson? I gave him a lift home, and he showed no interest at all when I told him about building the soap box. I thought he might make a friend or two. He seems such a lonely, mixed-up kid. But sometimes his sort do the opposite of what you expect. He’ll need some encouragement if he does turn up. I’ll tell John myself, of course, but by the time he gets to the village hall, he’ll have forgotten!”
“ANYTHING HAPPEN TODAY?” JOHN SAID TO HAZEL AS THEY WERE having their tea. Lizzie had finished hers, and was tormenting the cat, trying to dress it up in doll’s clothes.
“What d’you mean?” Hazel said. “A lot happened. I got breakfast, took Lizzie to school, went into work at New Brooms, signed on new clients, reported back to Mrs. M, tidied up and did the filing—”
“Okay, okay! Just an idle question.”
“But not an idle day,” Hazel said huffily. “Oh, and yes, there was a small drama, when young Jack Hickson—you know, our new cleaner’s eldest—suddenly appeared in the shop looking hunted, asked to go to the loo, and disappeared into the back room. A minute later, a breathless man came in and asked if I’d seen a boy running past.”
“So what did you say?” said John, his attention caught.
“For some reason, I said no, I hadn’t seen anyone. Then I stood so he couldn’t see into the back room. I more or less had to shove him out, and then lock up. I gave young Jack a lift home. He gave me a cock-and-bull story about missing the bus.”
She got up to rescue the cat, and John said, “Who was the man? Did Jack Jr. talk about him on the way home?”
“Not at first,” Hazel replied. “Not a great talker, our Jack Jr., but when I asked about his father, I certainly hit a raw spot. He was vitriolic about his father and hoped never to see him again. Then he said something really important, if it was true. He told me about a man at the school gates, peddling drugs. Apparently he’s been pestering the lad, maybe because Jack had tried something once. Jack won’t say anything because of getting his mother involved. He’s probably regretting telling me by now.”
“You’d better keep it to yourself, then,” John said. “We don’t want our family having any truck with that world.”
“Hey, since when were you a nimby? And you a parish councillor, too. That Hickson woman has got enough to put up with, without her thirteen-year-old son being in that kind of trouble!”
John backtracked, saying he’d make some discreet enquiries.
“And also,” said Hazel sternly, “I told Jack about the Youth Club and building a soap box, hoping it might give him something to do, somewhere to make friends. But he wasn’t interested, not on the surface, anyway. It is just possible he might turn up tonight, so could you make an effort with him? I’ve got this horrible feeling something bad is going to happen if nobody does nothing to help him.”
JOHN WAS PLEASED TO COUNT FULL ATTENDANCE AT THE YOUTH Club. The soap box idea had galvanised the usually indolent youths, and they were already in a huddle, discussing design and building plans. Apparently their tech teacher at school had got interested and was helping them.
“Right, girls,” Floss was saying, “let’s make sure we get in on this. Can’t have the boys taking all the credit.” As she herded the two groups together, she saw the door open and a face look round. Then the door shut again.
“Jack Hickson,” she said quickly to John, and dashed for the door. Jack was disappearing up the lane, and she yelled, “Jack! Come here a minute! Can you spare a minute?” Then John was following her, and the pair of them caught up with Jack, who looked fixedly at the ground and said nothing.
“Come on, boy,” John said. “We hoped you’d come. Another pair of hands needed, and I’ve heard you’re a handy lad. Come on, let’s go.” John’s man-to-man approach worked, and Floss was relieved to see the pair walk back to the village hall.
“When we packed up,” she said to her husband, Ben, later that evening, “Jack Hickson looked a different chap. Head up, laughing at John’s silly jokes. And he’d had some good suggestions for the vehicle, so John said.”
“Let’s hope it lasts,” said Ben, from behind the evening paper. “These things can be a one day wonder. Especially with kids. Any coffee going? I’ve been waiting ’til you came home to put the kettle on.”
THIRTY
ARE YOU GOING TO BE LATE TONIGHT?” KATE ADSTONE SAID. She had been asked if she would like to join the WI, and although Gavin had laughed scornfully and said he thought young wives would be more in her line, she had said yes, she would go along and see if she wanted to become a member. It had been that pleasant woman, grandmother of nice Josie at the shop, who’d asked her. Mrs. Weedon, her name was, had offered to call for Kate and take her along to the village hall. “It’s a special meeting,” she had said. “We’re entering a soap box, and hope to get most of the members involved. Some of us are a bit creaky, but there’ll be jobs for everyone.”
Now Gavin grabbed his document case, pecked Kate on the cheek, patted the top of Cecilia’s silky head, and said that he’d make sure he was back by six thirty.
After he’d gone, Kate stacked the dishes and tidied up. It was Cecilia’s first morning at the nursery on her own, and she wanted to get there a little early, so that she could stay and make sure she was settled. There had been a week when she had stayed with Cecilia for the whole morning, and now the idea of abandoning her was awful, She had been assured that it would be good for the child, and she would learn from the other children around her. Kate did not want her to learn some of the less charming ways of other children she had seen, but gave in, and now this important morning had arrived.
“Good morning, Kate! And here’s our Cecilia come to stay with us for a little while. Shall we go and see what Sarah is doing in the playhouse?” She took Cecilia’s hand, and the little girl toddled off obediently after the woman in charge. Kate stood watching them, wanting to burst into tears, grab her baby and run away forever. But she saw the woman motioning that she should leave and so she turned and made her way blindly out of the village hall and up the lane.
She occupied he
rself changing sheets and stuffing the washing machine, and then sat down to glance at the newspaper. Her attention was caught by a story about abduction and rape, when there was a loud knock at the door. She rushed to open it, convinced that something had happened to Cecilia, and found Tim Froot standing there, smiling broadly at her.
“Are you all right, Kate?” he said. “You look a little distraught! Gavin been beating you up again?” He laughed heartily, and said he was just passing and thought he would cadge a cup of coffee from her. He’d been meaning to have a chat about this and that for some time.
AT NURSERY, CECILIA HAD BEEN FINE FOR FIVE MINUTES, THEN looked around for her mother and realised she had gone. She was instantly heartbroken, and wept bitterly until Sarah, the young assistant, sat her on her lap and fed her teddy-bear biscuits. “Against the rules,” Martha, the woman in charge, had said crossly, but Sarah knew that it was a tried-and-tested remedy for heartbreak, adopted by all the assistants at the nursery.
“Another thoroughly spoiled toddler,” Martha said. “We shall soon lick her into shape.” Sarah winked at the woman who came in to prepare the morning snack. They both knew that Martha was as soft as grease with the children, in spite of her prickly exterior. The little ones seemed to know it, too, and always ran to Martha for comfort in times of distress.
“Mrs. Adstone seems a very pleasant mother,” Sarah said. “Have you met the father?”
Martha shook her head. “I’ve seen him outside, waiting for Kate. Works in Tresham, I believe, at the same place as Mrs. Meade’s son, Douglas. That’s another one who should expand his family as soon as possible! They have a little boy called Harry, I think, and the apple of everyone’s eye. Needs a little competition! The trouble is, you know, Sarah, it is too easy to plan the family these days.”
Uh-oh! Here we go again, thought Sarah.
“In some ways,” said Martha, looking nostalgically out of the high windows in the village hall, “it was better when the only family planning method was abstinence! Then children came along one after the other, and you got it all over when mother and father were still young. And grandparents, too, were still young enough to be a huge help bringing up the grandchildren.”
“Yeah, all ten of the little dears,” said Sarah, smiling. “Not sure I agree, Martha. Still, you can’t put the clock back. Most women wait for a bit, building up a career first.”
Cecilia was struggling to get down from Sarah’s lap and fixing her eyes on a small girl who was bathing a bedraggled doll; she toddled away to join in.
“NICE LITTLE PLACE YOU HAVE HERE, KATE,” SAID TIM FROOT, settling his large frame into the best armchair. “How’s Gavin liking his new job?”
Kate handed him his coffee, and perched on the edge of a chair opposite him. She was nervous. She had not liked him from the first time they met, which was when he interviewed her for a job in his company five years ago. She had not cared for the way his hot eyes looked at her, nor for the way he seemed to have a hold over Gavin, who worked in the same company. It was there she and Gavin had met, and subsequently became engaged.
The conversation limped along, and then he said, “Seems a long time ago that you fell for your Gavin. Why him, Kate, when you could have had the pick of my young executives?”
Mind your own business, thought Kate. But she didn’t answer his question, and changed the subject. “I don’t want to hurry you, Mr. Froot, but I have to pick up Cecilia from the nursery group.”
“Not Mr. Froot, please! Surely we know one another well enough for you to call me Tim?” He looked at his watch. “And I’m sure Cecilia will be there until lunchtime? I’d love to see round your little love nest, my dear.”
Kate felt panic rising, and stood up. “Oh, it’s all too much of a mess for the escorted tour,” she said, making a desperate effort to lighten the atmosphere. She edged towards the door, but he took hold of her arm. “Let me go!” she said, trying to shake him off.
“Oh, come on, Kate,” he said. “I’m sure Gavin would want you to be nice to me. He’s probably not told you, but he owes me a favour. I always collect,” he added, and bent down towards her.
“Get away from me!” she yelled, and managed to pull herself free. She dashed for the door and ran out in the garden, down the path and along the road, where she almost crashed into Tony Dibson, who was pushing his wife along in her wheelchair.
“Hey, hey! Look where you’re going, young lady!” said Tony. Then he realised who it was. “Are you all right?” he added, and put out his hand, as if to support Kate, who looked decidedly shaky.
“Just wasn’t thinking,” she gasped. “So sorry. I’ll just catch my breath. I’m really sorry, Mrs. Dibson.” She looked fearfully behind her, and saw the big car slowly move away and disappear round the corner.
“Who was that?” said Tony. He had no qualms about airing his village curiosity.
“Oh, just a friend of Gavin,” Kate said.
“Did he upset you?” Irene asked, leaning forwards and taking Kate’s hand. “Would you like to come back with us for a cup of tea? We’ll wait while you lock up. Go on, love. We like a bit of company, don’t we, Tony?”
Kate was about to refuse politely, but began to feel dizzy again, and said that she would really like that, if they could spare the time. Tony laughed. “That’s the one thing we got plenty of,” he said.
AS THE CAR CRUISED SLOWLY ALONG, PURRING LIKE A SATISFIED cat, its driver was far from satisfied. Tim Froot did not like being thwarted. He was not used to it, and now he plotted his revenge. Up to now, he had handled Gavin very gently, he considered. He had allowed his former employee to think that this village hall scheme was very small beer to him. But he had bigger plans for Long Farnden. He had achieved a similar project in a number of other villages, and by using a careful building strategy he had made a financial killing without the hicks on their parish councils realising it. “ ‘Softly, softly, catchee monkee,’ ” he repeated his mantra to himself now. But not so softly as before, Gavin, my lad. Time to put on the squeeze.
THIRTY-ONE
AS GRAN WALKED UP THE LITTLE PATH TO THE ADSTONES’ front door, she heard raised voices, mostly a man’s voice. She stopped, wondering whether she should perhaps come back a few minutes later. But then the shouting stopped and the front door opened.
“Hi, Mrs. Weedon! Come in for a second. I’m nearly ready.”
Gran thought Kate looked flushed, but she was smiling and looked calm enough. “Don’t worry, dear,” she said. “I’ll wait in the garden. You’ve got some lovely smelly nicotiana over there.” Gavin appeared, and said what on earth was nicotiana? Not a member of the marijuana family, he hoped.
“No, no. We always call it the tobacco plant,” Gran said. “Go on, have a sniff.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” he said, beckoning her in. “Just come in and say hello to Cecilia. She’s all ready for bed and smells of baby powder. I must say I prefer it to anything called nicotiana!”
He seems jolly, Gran thought. Perhaps it was just a moment’s spat. But when she took Cecilia in her arms to give her a cuddle, she could see traces of tears on the toddler’s cheeks. Had her parents’ shouting match made her cry?
“Right, off we go then, Mrs. Weedon,” Kate said, and then reminded Gavin to make sure Cecilia had her favourite brown doggie in her cot. “Night-night precious,” she added, giving Cecilia a kiss.
The two walked off towards the village hall, and Gran chose her moment. As they passed the Dibson cottage, she said she hoped Irene would be at WI. “Her Tony usually pushes her down early to get her settled,” she said. “I saw them this afternoon, going for a stroll down to the shop. They said they’d seen you this morning. I did wonder if you’d make it this evening. They said you’d been a bit dizzy and upset. Nasty turn, was it, dear?” Gran had pretty well decided the girl must be pregnant again, but would not ask outright. There were other ways of finding out.
“Oh, I’m fine,” said Kate. “It was just that, well, yo
u know. It was just . . .” Her voice trailed off and Gran glanced across at her. Oh dear, the girl was nearly in tears. Not pregnant, then, unless they hadn’t planned it. But no, it must be something else.
“Had a disagreement, you two?” she said, and smiled. “It happens in the best of marriages, you know.”
Kate shook her head. “No, it wasn’t Gavin. I had an unpleasant caller. That’s all. He scared me a bit, and when I told Gavin he was pretty angry.”
“You should call the police,” Gran said firmly. “Was he trying to sell you something?” They were nearly at the door of the village hall now, and Kate blew her nose and shook her head. “No. I knew him, but hadn’t seen him for some time,” she said. “It was nothing, Mrs. Weedon. All over now. Come on, we might miss the floor show!”
Gran laughed delightedly, but did not forget what had happened. Something to report to Lois, she thought. Strange men calling on vulnerable young women, petty thieving from people’s sheds. What was going on? Sooner it was sorted out the better.
“Good evening, ladies,” said Mrs. T-J. “Now, first of all, welcome to Kate Adstone, who’s come to take a look at us. This is an extra meeting, of course, to discuss in detail our entry for the soap box grand prix, and Lois Meade is here, too, to direct operations. And for once, we have a man in our midst! Douglas Meade here has kindly agreed to help us, and we’ve established that this is within the rules. Well, what we have really established is that there are no rules, except that the soap boxes have to have brakes! So shall we get straight down to business?”
“Hi, everybody,” said Douglas, standing up and looking a little nervously at the assembled group. “Mum says, that is Lois Meade, as most of you know, she says that you have decided on your soap box being a jar of jam! I like it, but we’ll have to do quite a bit of design work. I have given it some thought, and reckon we could take a large barrel as our base. I thought if I did most of the construction, then you talented lot could decorate it, make it look like a jar of jam. By the way, will it be strawberry or raspberry?”
