As she swung round into the schoolyard, Mr Palmer was coming back from the Store with his newspaper.
‘Morning, Mrs Duckett. New bike, I see.’
‘Not for long. It’s going back.’
‘Why? It looks great.’
‘It is. It’s the giver who isn’t great. However, nice morning, isn’t it? See yer later.’
When she’d finished her morning efforts at the school she went to the Store to pick up a few things she needed. A card for Dad for his birthday, some meat for tonight, four pints of milk and a couple of nice bread rolls for Dad at lunch-time. She propped her bike in the stand Jimbo had provided and wandered in.
Linda was concentrating on her accounts behind the post-office grille and Harriet was by the till.
‘Hello, Pat. All right?’
‘Yes thanks, Harriet. Jimbo’s away at the conference today?’
‘That’s right. Back tomorrow night. Don’t let on but Fran’s in the back with Mother. Our part-timer’s got the flu so I’m having to fill in. Jimbo would explode if he knew.’ Pat tapped the side of her nose with her forefinger and promised not to tell.
She went between the shelves looking for the things she needed. She was just choosing her Dad’s card when the little brass bell jangled angrily and the door slammed shut with a loud bang. Pat heard Barry’s mother’s voice. ‘Would you mind telling me whose bike that is outside?’
Harriet said, ‘Well I don’t know really. Lots of people put their bikes there, sometimes even when they’re not coming in here.’
Pat popped her head round the end of the card display. ‘Someone wanting me?’
‘Me.’ Barry’s mother tapped the lapel of her old brown anorak with a sharp finger as she marched towards Pat. ‘Me, that’s who. It’s yours, is it?’
‘Well, in a manner of speaking, yes.’
‘I’ll have you know that was my bike. What are you doing with it?’
Pat fumbled in the bottom of her bag and brought out the luggage label Barry had tied to it. Barry’s mother snatched it from her but didn’t have her reading glasses.
‘I’ll read it for you.’ Pat took it back and read the words out loud. Harriet turned her back, to hide her laughter. Barry’s mother all but exploded.
‘He bought that bike from me for a song. I’d no idea he was giving it to you.’ She became red in the face and for once was speechless.
‘Don’t you worry, you’ll be able to give him his money back, if you haven’t already spent it, ’cos he’s getting it back tonight. I’m not having him giving me presents.’
‘Well, at least you’re showing more common sense than I gave you credit for; even so, our Barry’s too good for the likes of you.’ Harriet gasped. Linda pressed her handkerchief to her mouth in horror. But Barry’s mother didn’t realise she’d met her match.
Pat went white as a sheet. ‘Considering your Barry’s past history, I think it’s me who’s too good for him.’
‘Past history?’
‘Yes. If all I’ve heard is true, I’m the one who’s in the position to be picking and choosing, not Barry.’
‘Well, I never. Not one of my sons …’
It was Pat’s turn to tap the brown anorak. ‘Just a minute, what about your Kenny and that dodgy car? The police couldn’t prove it but we all knew. And what about your Barry and his trips up to Nightingale Farm, eh? Or your Terry and that barmaid from The Jug and Bottle – it was her husband who blacked his eyes and broke his nose that time, wasn’t it? Don’t start denying it or I might remember some more juicy bits about the three of ’em.’
Unable to deny what Pat had said, Mrs Jones tried another method of attack. ‘And what have you had to do to get that bike?’ she sneered.
At this Pat drew herself up, turned her back on her and stalked out of the store.
Harriet was appalled. So rude. So hurtful. She felt proud of Pat, though; she was the first person she’d ever heard stand up to Mrs Jones. Jimbo would have given his right arm to have been here and heard all that.
‘Anything I can get for you, Mrs Jones?’ Harriet asked in her sweetest tones.
‘No.’ And she marched from the store, earrings swinging, breathing fire and intending to give Pat further lashings with her tongue. But she was too late to catch Pat, she was already disappearing up Stocks Row, pedalling furiously. If Mrs Jones could have seen her face she would have seen tears – and Pat hadn’t cried in a long time.
It was a cold crisp night, and Pat was well wrapped up for her cycle-ride down the drive to the meeting. She’d debated all day as to whether she should keep the bike to spite Mrs Jones or hand it back like she’d first intended. Michelle was so upset. And Dean had put his pennyworth in, coming down on Michelle’s side. ‘Mum! He gave us a lovely day out, did Barry, he’s really kind. I liked him. Don’t be nasty to him.’
‘Look, our Dean. You’re old enough to understand about grown-ups. I don’t want to encourage him. When you get to my age you need to take things steady. It’s not like it is with these young things who hop into bed the first night they meet.’
‘They’re not all like that, Mum.’
‘Well, I know, but I need to go steady, and giving me a nearly new bike is rushing his fences.’
‘Tell yer what, Mum, I wish I’d seen his mother on it. That’d be a right laugh.’ Pat couldn’t help smiling at the thought.
By the time she reached the church hall she still hadn’t decided what to do, but left the bike in the dark behind the hall well locked up.
Louise was making the coffee tonight, and Pat was the first again.
‘Hello, Louise.’
‘Hello, Pat. You take sugar, don’t you?’
‘Yes, please, but only half. I’m trying to lose a bit of weight.’
‘It’s a slow process, isn’t it? I keep trying but it’s such hard work when you’ve got a sweet tooth.’
Pat covertly eyed Louise’s figure and secretly agreed she did need to lose weight. ‘Chocaholic, that’s me.’
‘Me too.’
Barry was the next to arrive, his face alight with the anticipation of hearing Pat’s gratitude.
‘Evening, Pat.’ He stood, legs apart, arms folded directly in front of her, waiting expectantly. ‘Well then, what d’yer think to it?’ His handsome vigorous face was so appealing in its childlike eagerness that Pat couldn’t ask him to take it back.
‘Well, Barry, I …’
‘Go on then.’
‘I owe you a big thank you. It’s the best present I’ve had in years.’
‘Aw Pat, that’s great. ’Ere, give us a kiss.’ He reached out with both arms, gave her a hug and kissed her cheek in front of the rest of the committee just arriving together.
‘Barry!’
‘Never mind them, they won’t mind. D’yer like it really?’
‘It’s lovely. It goes so fast. One turn of the pedals and I’m halfway down the drive. It’s wonderful. What have yer done with my old one?’
‘It’s still in the back of the van. Daren’t throw it away in case you wouldn’t keep yer new one.’
‘Our Michelle’s dead impressed.’
‘Does she need a new bike?’
‘No, no, I’ve bought her one already.’
Barry looked disappointed. ‘Anyway, so long as your bike pleases you, that’s what counts. Couldn’t let you go on any longer with that old thing of yours.’
Linda, sitting on a chair drinking her coffee, put down her cup and said, ‘After what went on in the Store today, I’m surprised Pat hasn’t thrown it in the beck.’ Barry spun round to face her. Pat tried to shut her up, but she was too intent on her story to notice. ‘The way your mother treated her, it’s a wonder Pat’s still speaking to you, Barry Jones. It was a disgrace.’
‘What’s this all about?’ Barry asked Pat.
‘Look, I’ll tell yer later, all right? Not now. Give me a lift ’ome and then.’
Louise called the meeting to order. ‘Can we begin, please? Are we all sea
ted? Right. You have the minutes of the last meeting; are we all agreed to take them as read?’ She looked round the circle and they all nodded their assent. ‘Right then, matters arising.’
‘I’m short of men for the tug-of-war team for The Royal Oak.’
‘I need help with the competitions in the flower tent. It’s impossible to do it all by myself, much as I try.’
‘What are we doing about prizes for the fancy dress?’
‘I’ve got far too many people wanting to have stalls. I’ll never get them made in time.’
‘Who’s going to find all the money for everything? We have no advance funds, only what comes in at the gate on the day.’
‘Who’s opening it – Sir Ralph?’
‘No, he’s away all that month.’
‘I’m planning for the children’s display to last ten minutes. Is that long enough, do you think?’
The problems and queries seemed to last an age and Barry, who was so upset that his lovely idea had apparently been spoiled, scarcely noticed the progress of the meeting.
He only came to life when Louise gave them the date for the next meeting. He stood up. ‘Right, that it then? We’re off.’
He put Pat’s bike in the van alongside her old one, and helped her in. They drove to the Garden House without saying a word. He never even offered her a drink in the pub. When he’d switched off the ignition, he turned towards her and said, ‘Well?’
‘She was annoyed, very angry in fact, that you’d given her bike to me.’
‘I paid her for it.’
‘She said you’d got it “for a song”.’
‘That’s not true. I’ll tell you something, Pat. I’ve realised just lately that all I ever do is go after women who are already well-married. That way, you see, they’re unobtainable. That way, there’s no chance I shall be in a position to commit myself to anything at all. And do you know why?’
‘You don’t like the idea of being tied down?’
‘Well, I suppose it’s partly that, but in truth it’s because of my mother.’
Pat laughed. ‘Come on, Barry, if yer under her thumb that much you can drive off into the sunset right now. We’ll call it a day.’
‘Our Kenny and our Terry, we’re all the same. She rules our house with a rod of iron. Nobody would think we were grown men. Dad’s given up, he can’t fight any longer. She rules him too. She’s no intention of any of us getting married and leaving home. Good money coming in and a purpose in life, that’s what it is, and she thinks no one’s good enough for us. I’m sorry. I expect she was a complete bitch. But the reason is, you see, you’re available, aren’t you?’
‘Don’t know about that.’
‘Well, yer know, able to get married if you choose.’
‘Avril Nightingale and her at Home Farm certainly weren’t available.’
‘If you’ve heard tales about me and Avril you can forget it. Right?’
‘Right.’
‘Just a bit of fun. Livens up the day.’
‘Now we’ve got that straightened out, I’ll be off in.’
‘Friends again, then?’
‘OK.’
‘Take you out Saturday night. Just you and me?’
‘Not Saturday, I’m working for Jimbo.’
‘Give you a lift there and back?’
‘Jimbo takes me. Another night.’
‘OK. Coffee next week? Your kitchen?’
‘Yes, if yer want. Thanks again for the bike. It’s lovely. Good night.’
‘That’s all right, Pat. Glad I could be of service. I’ll get it out for you. Next time my mother picks on you, ignore her. She’s a jealous old bitch.’
‘Thanks. Good night.’
Dad was waiting up. ‘Did yer give him yer bike back then?’
Pat flung her coat and bag on a chair and flopped down beside her dad on the sofa.
‘No, I didn’t. He was so delighted with himself I couldn’t disappoint him.’
‘Michelle’ll be glad. A dad would be nice for her, and for Dean too.’
‘I know. I know. But yer don’t marry just to give yer kids a father, do yer?’
‘No, but it is a plus, isn’t it? And bringing up Dean isn’t easy. A good dad would be a help. He’d fit in here. Me with me own room and that.’
‘You wouldn’t mind then?’
‘No. We’re two of a kind, Barry and me. Craftsmen, who take pride in our work. Yer could do worse. He has a generous nature.’ Dad laughed.
‘That story about Avril Nightingale isn’t true, right?’
‘OK. OK. Right, I’m off to bed.’
‘Good night, Dad.’ She sat ten more minutes before the fire watching the dying embers. It was no good. She wasn’t having all that again. Bed and that. She’d got used to being on her own. No point in upsetting the applecart.
Chapter 8
The quarterly magazine had reached the stage when several hours had to be spent photocopying all the pages. The copier was squeezed into a spare corner of the choir vestry so Louise, having been forewarned by Peter, always so thoughtful, put on her warmest trousers and sweater and was getting organised for heading off to the vestry one cold Saturday morning.
‘Look, take a flask.’
‘Mother, please. I’m not a child. If I get cold or thirsty I’ll pop into the rectory for a drink. I don’t like Thermos coffee, as you well know.’
‘All right, dear, I’m only trying to help. You know your Dad’s sorry you haven’t been getting any interviews. Aren’t you beginning to worry?’
Louise put the finishing touches to her face powder before she replied. ‘No, not yet. A job will come in its own good time.’
‘Yes, dear, but all your savings will be disappearing, won’t they?’
Louise patted her mother’s arm. ‘Don’t fret yourself, I’m all right. It’s not your problem.’
‘Well, I know, but Dad and I haven’t got a bottomless pit. He gets a generous pension from the union, and there’s his TV and speaking fees and that, but it’ll only stretch so far.’
‘Tell Dad not to worry. I know what I’m doing.’ She bundled some papers into her briefcase and hurried away across the Green.
She knew for a fact that Caroline and the children were visiting a friend’s house for the day, which left Peter in the rectory all by himself. Sylvia didn’t go in at the weekend, unless it was an emergency, and as it was supposed to be Peter’s day off, she had high hopes of a quiet hour with him all to herself.
The choir vestry was empty so Louise set about the copying. She needed to be methodical, because she was copying on both sides of the paper and she wanted it to be absolutely perfect. That was her way. Whatever she did had to be perfect. Sometimes she wished she wasn’t like that, wished she was more laid back, gender, more appealing – softer, more casual. But always people relied on her for perfection, always expected it of her and she’d come to want it herself more than anything.
The front cover had come out really well. That friend of Caroline’s had done an excellent design job on it. It was ten o’clock. She decided she needed coffee. She took a copy of the front cover to show Peter. He answered the door as she knew he would.
‘Oh, hello. How’s it going?’
‘Just fine. Look, I’ve brought you the front cover hot off the press, so to speak. What do you think?’
‘Come in. Why, it’s brilliant. Really good. Your idea of the yellow paper for the spring edition has worked out beautifully, hasn’t it? However did we manage before you came? I’m just making coffee – would you like some?’
‘Well, I didn’t really expect it, but yes I will. That’s most kind. It’s so cold in that vestry.’
‘Not for long. They start work next week on the central heating.’
‘Really? Where have you found the money for it?’
‘Mr Fitch at the Big House gave it to us.’
Louise whistled. ‘My word. How generous.’
‘It certainly was.’
&n
bsp; Louise spent a blissful half-hour sitting with Peter in the kitchen, talking about this and that. There were no interruptions, no children calling for Daddy, no wife looking askance at her, no housekeeper looking daggers, no telephone ringing. Just the meeting of two beautiful people.
He looked different in his casual clothes; jeans, the collar of a checked shirt showing at the neck of his black sweater. She admired his big strong hands wrapped round his mug of coffee. All of six feet five, but gentle and vulnerable. Broad-shouldered but needing support. Physically powerful but such a sensitive man. Louise swallowed hard. Her excitement at being alone with him almost overwhelmed the tight rein she had on her emotions; she mustn’t let her feelings ruin this wonderful opportunity.
‘You must be glad of a day by yourself. The children can be very trying, can’t they?’
‘I wouldn’t be without them for the world. Until one has children of one’s own, one doesn’t remotely understand how deep the bond between parent and child goes.’
‘Caroline does wonderfully with them, doesn’t she, considering they’re not … her … own.’ She could have bitten her tongue out. The moment he’d realised what she was going to say, a shutter had come down over his face and he’d immediately withdrawn to some place she couldn’t follow.
Desperate to retrieve the situation, she hastily added, ‘Please forgive me.’ She reached across the kitchen table and took his hand. ‘I’d no business to say that. I’m so sorry. I have such respect for her, and for you. If I’ve given offence, please forgive me.’
Still holding his hand, her feelings for him surfaced and her eyes glowed with love, which she quickly veiled when his eyes opened and he said, ‘You only spoke the truth. But never, never, ever mention the matter again.’ He smiled sadly at her as though apologising for his curtness. Her heart went out to him.
Peter stood up and said, ‘I promised myself some study-time today while the house is quiet. Would you mind if I got on with that now?’
Louise stood up also. ‘Of course. I’ll wash up the mugs and then I’ll be off. There’s still a lot to do.’
She might have overstepped the mark with her choice of subject, but she knew they’d moved closer together through having experienced that delicate moment. She’d certainly touched a raw spot.
The Village Show (Tales from Turnham Malpas) Page 8
