The Village Show (Tales from Turnham Malpas)

by Shaw, Rebecca

  The vestry was occupied when she got back. Gilbert Johns was there. He was kneeling down in front of the choir cupboard sorting through his sheet music.

  He looked up as she came in. ‘Hello, there. Will it be annoying if I look through my choir music while you do that?’

  ‘Of course it won’t. Just hope you’re warmly dressed for it, though. It doesn’t get any warmer in here.’

  ‘The sun never gets round to these windows, does it? I’ve put an extra sweater on under my jacket.’

  Still excited by her half-hour alone with Peter, Louise’s hand trembled as she set the copier zinging again; the sound of its rythmic pulsations filled the vestry. She stood silently watching the sheets filing steadily from the machine, trying to bring common sense to the situation in the rectory kitchen. It wasn’t the time for letting him know how she felt. Not yet. Instinct would tell her the right moment.

  Gilbert carried on sorting through his music without speaking. He had little social chitchat, she knew, but he could at least say something. Without any warning, just then a whole shelf-ful of music fell from the cupboard, scattering all over the floor as far as Louise’s feet and under the machine.

  ‘Damn and blast! Oh, sorry. I do beg your pardon.’

  ‘Here, let me help you pick it up. This lot could well do with cataloguing, couldn’t it?’

  ‘How right you are. It’s one of those jobs I’ve kept promising to do for almost five years and haven’t got round to.’

  ‘I can’t bear things not to be organised. Wouldn’t it make life easier if it was all put in order?’

  ‘Well, it would. I promise faithfully I shall do it this very next weekend.’

  ‘Look, Gilbert. As you know, I’m not working at the moment …’

  ‘So I heard.’

  ‘If I sorted it all out, would I be doing you a good turn?’

  He stood up, hands full of music, and looked intently at her. ‘Do you mean that?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.’

  ‘You must be one of life’s angels.’

  Taken aback by his compliment, Louise didn’t reply for a moment. Then: ‘Not really, just someone who can’t stand mess.’

  ‘I don’t wish to be impertinent, but would you know how to do it?’

  ‘Well, as you are aware, I am a singer,’ Gilbert looked embarrassed – and so he should, she thought, ‘so I would have some idea. Though there may be a query or two.’

  ‘I would be glad to advise.’ He bowed graciously. ‘I’ve never actually got to the bottom of all this music. One tends to have favourites, so I never have had all the stuff out. It could prove quite interesting.’

  The copier interrupted them. It had ground to a halt from lack of paper. Gilbert stacked the piles of music he and Louise had collected on to the shelf, brushed his hands together to get rid of the dust, and with a brief, ‘Thank you,’ and a quiet, ‘Good morning,’ he put a sheaf of music in his music case and left the vestry.

  She’d done it again; let her organising ability be made use of once more. If she kept on like this, when would anyone see her as anything other than a person obsessed by tidiness? She’d organised the rectory files, redesigned the quarterly magazine, put the parish directory together, revamped the weekly Parish News, done all the lists and the minutes for the Show, and now she’d be tackling a job someone had left undone for five years. After she’d completed cataloguing the music, that would be it. She wouldn’t volunteer ever again to organise anything at all. Then perhaps people would see her as she wanted to be seen. In fact, as she really was. Passionate, loving, spirited, artistic.

  She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, which for centuries rectors and choirmen had used to check their appearance before going into the church for a service. What she saw was strong, almost masculine features, with a straight, sharply cut hairstyle that did nothing to flatter her face. Though its colour was softer than it had been, she knew in her heart of hearts that Peter would prefer a more natural look. Even her grey sweater, neat and restrained, its polo neck covering her right up to her jaw, was merely serviceable but not alluring. There was nothing about her to tempt any man, least of all someone like Peter. Perhaps if she dressed more gently, in softer colours with more feminine styling, he would notice her. Yes, that was it! Forget the power dressing and the practical clothes. She’d re-vamp herself. That was it! She’d finish the copying and then she’d rush into Culworth and do something positive. This was where she’d been going wrong all these years, and like a stupid fool had never realised it. Yes, she’d dress more like …

  Willie came in, a huge bunch of keys in his hand. ‘Wanting to lock up if that’s possible. You nearly done?’

  ‘Oh yes, I have. In fact, I’ll stop now and do the rest on Monday morning.’

  ‘Sorry to rush yer but we can’t leave the vestry unlocked with the church open to the public. Me and my Sylvia are going out for a couple of hours, so I want to lock the vestry up. Specially with the copier being in ’ere. You’re doing a grand job with the Show and all this typing for the rector. You’re good at your job, Louise, I’ll give you that.’

  What Willie said put fire into Louise’s decision. She stopped only long enough to make everything tidy and then rushed away across the Green.

  ‘Mother! I’m off into town.’

  ‘Oh, good! Can I come too?’

  ‘Sorry. Another day. I shall be ages.’

  Sheila was disappointed. ‘Oh well, all right then, but collect your father’s suit from the cleaners. I’ll give you the ticket before you go.’

  ‘I might not have time.’

  ‘Take it just in case.’

  ‘I’ll not wait for lunch.’

  Curls, yes, restrained curls and waves. Not sculptured, like it was now. Yes, that’s what she’d have. Coloured brown like her hair really was, but curly.

  Chapter 9

  That Saturday night, Pat and Barry went for a drink in The Royal Oak. They’d taken Michelle to the cinema in Culworth earlier in the evening, dropped her off at the Garden House and left her sitting in Grandad’s room having a drink of tea and biscuits with him before she went to bed.

  ‘Nice kid is Michelle.’

  ‘She thinks you’re the best thing since sliced bread.’

  ‘Does she? That true?’

  ‘It’s true.’

  ‘And Dean?’

  ‘Oh, he’s quite keen ’cos he’d like some cupboards in his room and he thinks you’d build them for him if …’ She looked away, embarrassed by what she’d nearly said.

  ‘I’ll build them anyway.’

  ‘It’s not my house, you know. You’ll only be improving it for Mr Fitch.’

  ‘I dare say, but you’d have the use of ’em. I’ve plenty of wood I can scrounge. Nobody’ll miss it. Cost next to nothing. I’ll start next weekend.’

  ‘Barry! Your mother already thinks there’s something going on.’

  ‘She’ll be wrong then. Another gin?’

  ‘Oh thanks. Let me pay for this.’

  ‘When I need financial help I’ll let you know.’ He stood up and went across to the bar. Bryn was serving.

  ‘Evening, Bryn. Where’s that charming blonde bombshell of a wife of yours tonight then?’

  ‘Wedding bells. Alan and Linda got married this morning and Georgie’s been up there. We couldn’t both go, and Georgie does like a good wedding, so she’s representing The Royal Oak as yer might say.’

  ‘I’d forgotten that. Funny chap.’

  ‘He has his good points. First-rate cellarman.’

  ‘Well, that’s what you need in this business. Same again, please. You’ll have heard the news about the sewers?’

  ‘Sewers?’

  ‘Yes. They’ve got to put sewer pipes in at the Big House. Been using septic tanks all these years and they’re no longer adequate. All those people living there all week long’s causing havoc with the plumbing, and the health people say there’s to be a proper sewage sys
tem put in. Got to connect the house to the main system. And guess where they’re going? Straight across the front lawns and then across Home Farm field and into the main road. There’s been a long holdup because they’ve to be very careful where they dig, you see. County Hall has plans of the area all round here and there’s ancient sites that the trench for the sewers will have to avoid. So they’ve been backwards and forwards with detailed plans making sure nothing’s disturbed that shouldn’t be disturbed. Course, that’s what’s taken the time and made the starting date so late.’

  ‘God! How long will all that take?’

  ‘Old Fitch says it’s to be done like yesterday. Could be weeks, he’s blazing mad. The phone-lines and the fax have been buzzing like nobody’s business. He’s kept fending them off but the day of reckoning has arrived.’

  ‘But what about the Show? What are we going to do?’

  ‘Exactly. With a bit of luck and a following wind, if you get my meaning, they might be finished in time. They start on Monday. Let’s pray for fine weather, then they won’t get held up.’

  ‘All the effort we’ve put in … I can’t believe it.’

  ‘Neither can Mr Fitch. The Show was one way for him to get back at Sir Ralph. Yer know, all this Lord of the Manor stuff. But they can’t put it off. Things is really serious, not to say disgusting, in the plumbing department up there.’

  ‘Does Louise know?’

  ‘Not yet. They only agreed it yesterday. Thought she might be in here tonight. Old Fitch is going mad about the damage to the lawns. They’re his pride and joy. Spent pounds on bringing ’em up to scratch. Like bowling greens they are. “Manicured” I think is the word. Anyways, they’ll be a right mess when they’ve finished digging. He tried to persuade them to take a different route and go out the other side of the estate, but that would be twice the distance and twice the cost so that’s not on.’

  ‘Serious for once, are you?’

  ‘I’m not pulling yer leg, it’s true.’

  ‘No-o-o-o, I mean …’ Bryn nodded his head in Pat’s direction.

  Barry looked across at Pat. She was wearing her new suit – a dark blue with a lovely soft flowered scarf in the neck. Her new haircut suited her, and the half-stone she’d lost had revealed the bone structure in her face. He liked what he saw. She caught him watching her, grinned and waved.

  ‘Could be, Bryn, could be.’

  ‘Since she started going out with you she’s knocked ten years off her age. Could be moving to the Garden House has helped too.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘You’re playing your cards close to your chest tonight.’

  Barry laid his hand on his heart, grinned from ear to ear and said, ‘There are some things lay too close to the heart for words. See yer.’

  As he handed Pat her drink she said, ‘What was Bryn saying?’

  ‘What a glamorous beauty I was escorting tonight.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. I’m no beauty.’

  ‘It’s amazing what love can do.’ He toasted her with his glass and then took a long drink of his beer.

  ‘Yes, like a good thump round the head, and that’s what you’ll be getting before you’re much older.’

  ‘Be serious, Pat.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘No, yer not. You pretend to be tough, but inside you’re all marshmallow. Being tough’s kept you going all this time – well, now you can stop the pretence.’

  ‘It isn’t a pretence. I am tough.’

  ‘I’m going to find the marshmallow bit in you.’ Barry took her hand in his and holding it firmly took it up to his lips, then he grinned and said, ‘Oh God, disinfectant. Pat – for goodness sake!’ He pushed her hand away and pretended to cough. Playfully she slapped him round his ear.

  ‘I’ll give you disinfectant! It’s my new handcream. I’m fed up having hands that look as if they’ve been scrubbing floors with carbolic all week. Anyways, it doesn’t look good to be serving food with chapped hands and broken nails.’

  ‘You like working for Jimbo, don’t you?’

  ‘I do. It’s like a new world opening up for me. For the first time in my life I’m becoming somebody. Not just a skivvy but somebody. I’ve never really thanked you for the bike. I do love it, Barry. Thanks ever so much. It’s made such a difference.’

  ‘I’m glad. Pat I’ve been thinking how about if … oh, there’s Louise.’ Barry waved to catch her eye, and beckoned her over. ‘Come here, Louise. Got something to tell you.’

  Louise gave him the thumbs-up and went to the bar to buy herself a dirnk.

  Pat whispered to Barry, ‘What in heaven’s name has she done with herself? She’s dyed her hair again. And she’s changed the style.’

  ‘Must say she looks different.’

  ‘Different! That’s to put it mildly. And new clothes. What the heck.’

  Louise came across to their table. She put her drink down and seated herself next to Pat.

  ‘Hello, thanks for asking me across. I’m supposed to be meeting someone but they haven’t turned up yet. You wanted to tell me something?’ The brown hair certainly suited her skin tone better, more like her own possibly, thought Pat, and the pale crushed-strawberry sweater with the soft neckline was certainly a more feminine style compared to the one she usually wore, but it was the cut of the black trousers which Pat had noticed as Louise walked across to them. They must have cost a bomb. Louise took a sip of her Cinzano and lemonade and looked enquiringly at Barry.

  ‘Yes. Bad news, I’m afraid. On Monday they’re starting digging to put the new sewer pipes in at the Big House. Right across the lawns, over Home Farm field and out into the main road.’

  ‘What? Are you kidding me?’

  ‘God’s truth. Old Fitch has been trying to play for time, but the Health say do it now or we close you down. So he’s got no alternative.’

  ‘But they won’t be finished in time, will they?’

  ‘Good summer, let’s hope so.’

  ‘What a mess. All the work we’ve put in. The Morris Dancers, the police team, the hot-air balloon, the competitions.’ She took a sip of her drink and then something else occurred to her. She sat bolt upright and for once spoke without considering every word she said. ‘The printing – we’ve had the printing done! All that money. I’m expecting all the leaflets and posters to arrive this week. It’s far too far advanced to cancel that. What are we going to do?’ Some of the customers sitting close to their table heard Louise’s raised voice and the news passed round the bar in a trice.

  ‘Show cancelled, you say?’

  ‘Never!’

  ‘Well!’

  ‘New sewers? Not before time. Our Melanie works in the kitchens, says them lavatories is a disgrace. They gurgles and don’t flush properly, according to her.’

  ‘Health have too much power. Shut ’em down, indeed! What business is it of theirs, I say?’

  ‘Exactly. It’s like living in a police state.’

  ‘It is, yer right.’

  ‘Time this government got their comeuppance.’

  ‘Exactly. Give me yer glass, I’ll get ’em in this time.’

  Louise recovering from the first shock-waves, said, ‘Still, two and a half months … that’s a long time with these modern diggers and things, isn’t it? We shall be all right, shan’t we?’ There was a request for reassurance in the tone of her voice.

  ‘I expect so. Well, I hope so.’

  ‘I shall go up to the Big House on Monday and have a word with Mr Fitch in my capacity as Show secretary.’

  ‘Won’t do much good. He’s in Toronto and won’t be back till next weekend.’

  Pat, who hadn’t spoken a word since Louise joined them, said how much she liked Louise’s new hairstyle.

  Louise looked pleased. ‘Oh, thank you. I had it done this afternoon. Not had curly hair before.’

  ‘New clothes too.’

  ‘Yes. Not before time.’

  Pat was puzzled at the back of her mind. There seem
ed to be something familiar about the clothes, and she couldn’t think why.

  They talked for a while longer and then Pat pushed back the cuff of Barry’s jacket and looked at his watch. ‘Time I went home, Barry. We’ll love you and leave you, Louise. Hope yer friend turns up.’

  ‘Friend? Oh yes. Right. Good night. Let’s hope the sewers get done in time. I think I’ll still go up there on Monday and have a word with the men. Chivvy them along a bit.’

  ‘Good idea. Good night.’

  Barry and Pat left the saloon, and after they’d gone heads got together and they became the subject of speculation.

  ‘Just ’ope she knows what she be doin’.’

  ‘All alike, them Joneses. Sex mad.’

  ‘Talk about spreading it about.’

  ‘Remember that time …’

  ‘She wants to watch her step. Just got herself nicely sorted with that big house and that, and then he turns his sparkling eyes on her.’

  ‘Cor, he’s got something though, hasn’t he? Those thighs! Gawd! Wouldn’t mind a bit of it meself.’

  ‘You devil you.’

  ‘He’s a bit of all right, is Barry.’

  ‘Can’t think what he sees in ’er.’

  There was no friend coming to join Louise, and she sat alone until her drink was finished and then she left.

  ‘Before you go up to bed, Dean, I’ll have a look to see where you want your cupboards putting.’

  Dean leaped off the sofa. ‘Do yer mean that? Are you going to make me some?’

  ‘Your mother says I can. If that’s all right with you.’

  ‘Come up. I’ll be your apprentice if you like.’

  ‘OK.’

  Pat put the kettle on and got out the cups and saucers. She found a crumpled tray cloth at the back of the tablecloth drawer and smoothed it out on the tray, anchoring it with the teapot and the sugar basin. Somehow she wanted to give a good impression. She didn’t know why, but she did. She found some chocolate biscuits which Dean had missed and laid them out on a plate.

  Barry came down, he was scribbling on a piece of paper he’d torn from the pad Dean used for his essays.