He watched the tears begin to pour down Louise’s cheeks. When Caroline cried it broke his heart. Seeing Louise cry caused a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach: not pity, nor pain, nor distress, but revulsion. He strove to keep his feelings from his face, but it was his way to be truthful and to expect, and receive, the truth from others, so he was unsuccessful in hiding how he felt. She wiped her eyes and looked up at him again, intending to plead just one more time. He’d misunderstood, he didn’t realise she was offering herself to him, but she saw the look on his face and recognised the truth; her tears revolted him.
He handed her the file. She snatched it from him, flung wide the study door, and ran away. Out through the open front door and across the Green to home. If her mother spoke one word to her when she got in she’d kill her. But she did. And they had the row to end all rows. And her rather was home too, and said his piece. And Louise wept, desolate, unloved and thirty years old. At a quarter past eleven she remembered she still had Mr Fitch to see. When he saw how efficient she was, he’d appreciate her even if no one else did. She’d drag the last remnants of her self-respect together and get up there and show him what she was made of.
Chapter 14
Pat, still chuckling about Louise’s dilemma, didn’t bother to cycle between the school and the Store. She left her bike in the school-shed and walked round. Barry was coming tonight for a meal. Dean and Michelle had persuaded her to invite him. It was a thank you for Dean’s cupboards, a talk about arrangements for the holiday, and a chance to get to know each other better. Grandad had agreed to go on holiday with them so long as he had a room of his own, and Dean was so delighted to be going away he’d not complained about sharing with Barry.
What was she to cook? Jimbo might have some ideas. She pushed open the door and picked up a wire basket. Jimbo was behind the meat counter sharpening a large carving knife.
‘Morning, Jimbo. Can yer knock off for a minute and let me pick yer brains.’
‘Just the person I want to see. I’ll pick yours first. What on earth happened at the meeting last night? I’ve just seen Louise racing across the Green, crying buckets, clutching to her ample bosom that file she always takes to the meetings. Is there something I ought to know?’
‘Well …’ Pat told jimbo the details of the upset. ‘So this morning I told her to go to the rectory if she wanted it.’
‘I say, what can have happened?’
‘Crying, you said? Serves ’er right.’
‘Yes, and running like hell.’
‘Blimey! He must have told her straight. Only right he should. Anyway, I’m making a special meal tonight. For five. Can you give me any ideas? Not too expensive, but just a bit special.’
‘Special meal?’ Jimbo eyed her speculatively, his eyebrows raised, his head to one side.
‘Now look, Jimbo, I know you like to know everything that goes on, but this time it’s secret.’
‘Won’t stay secret for long, not in Turnham Malpas.’
‘Maybe not.’
They discussed the meal at length and when Jimbo had packed her shopping for her and she was paying him, he said, ‘He’s all right, is Barry, a nice chap. Does the noble parent like him?’ He grinned at her and she couldn’t be angry.
‘Old Mrs Thornton that ’ad this place before you was a gossip, but you’re ten times worse.’
‘Such fun though and quite harmless. Sorry! I didn’t mean to pry.’
Pat settled her forearms on the ledge in front of the till and didn’t notice the doorbell jingle. ‘Yes, I’m asking him as a thank you for putting up some cupboards in Dean’s bedroom. I might as well tell you the rest. He’s going on holiday with us to Devon …’Jimbo coughed significantly and winked. Pat turned round to find Barry’s mother breathing fire down her neck.
‘Is that my Barry you’re talking about?’
‘It is.’
‘You’re no better than you should be, Pat Duckett. Going on holiday with him when you’re not married. Disgusting! Wait till he gets home.’
‘And what do you propose to do about it? He’s a grown man, he can do as he likes.’
‘Not when he’s under my roof he can’t.’
‘Well, he is going on holiday with us, and that’s final. First holiday my kids have ever had, and nothing’s going to spoil it for ’em. Not you, not anybody.’
‘I don’t know who you think you are, speaking to me like that.’
‘Same as you, ordinary. To put your suspicious mind at rest, your Barry’s sharing a room with our Dean, not me. Satisfied?’ Pat picked up her shopping and with a brief nod to Jimbo walked out.
It was after ten by the time she’d finally got Dean packed off to bed. Grandad had helped to wash up and then taken a cup of tea up to bed to watch the football in his room.
‘Do you want to watch the football, Barry?’
‘No, thanks, not tonight. Come and sit next to me here.’ He patted the cushion beside him and put his arm along the back of the sofa. He smiled up at her and her heart flipped.
Barry patted the cushion again. ‘Thanks for a lovely meal, it was smashing. You’re a good cook.’
‘Makes a difference when yer can afford the ingredients. Before Dad came, it was egg and chips, beefburger and chips, or jacket potatoes for ever and a day.’
‘Been hard for you then.’
‘Yer can say that again.’
‘I’d like to make life easier for you.’
Pat turned towards him and said, ‘You are doing that already by taking us all away. I need to sort out the money for that. Can’t let you pay for everything, petrol and that. I’ll bring plenty of food with us.’
‘There’s a supermarket on the site. As far as the money’s concerned, petrol’s my responsibility and the caravan’s free so there’s only the food and the entertainment to pay for. Yer dad said he wants to chip in with that so I reckon it won’t be that expensive.’
‘You been talking to Dad about it then? When?’
‘One day, when we met.’
‘He likes you.’
Barry asked, ‘D’you like me? That’s the big question.’
‘Yes, I do. You’re house-trained, clean, smart and healthy, and you’ve got all your own teeth.’ She grinned at him.
Deflated he said, ‘Make me sound like a dog, you do.’
Pat laughed. ‘What did you expect me to say? That you put me in mind of Clark Gable, or Rex Harrison or someone?’
‘I’d rather you said Harrison Ford or Kevin Costner.’
‘I couldn’t match up to them! No, they’d be no good.’
‘Give us a kiss. Come on.’
‘I’m not much good at kissing.’
‘I’ll teach you, I’m an expert.’
‘It is true then – you an’ all those girls?’
‘No, no. All talk. Kissing’s instinct really. All instinct.’
‘Is it?’
‘Go with the flow as they say.’ He hitched himself closer to her and taking her in his arms he vigorously set about kissing her cheeks, then her eyelids, and then several small kisses around her lips. It was Pat who opened her mouth and encouraged him to kiss her ‘for real’ as she called it. It was Pat who groaned her pleasure at his kisses, it was Pat who moved closer still and it was Pat who didn’t object when he opened the buttons at the neck of her dress and began touching her neck and her throat with rapid exciting kisses.
‘Oh Barry …’
‘God, Pat, we’d better stop.’ He sat upright and didn’t look at her, anywhere but at her. His hands were twisting together as though battling with themselves. She re-buttoned her dress, and sat rigidly upright away from him, not touching him, puzzled by his reaction and disappointed that he didn’t find her exciting.
Barry muttered quietly, ‘Sorry about that. Really sorry.’
‘Why?’
‘I’d better go.’
‘Go – why? Is it because … I didn’t do it right?’
‘No, no, you were g
reat. This time it’s …’ He took a deep breath. ‘Always before it’s been sex first and last. This time I’m getting it the right way round. This time it’s important to me. You’re important to me, that is. Don’t know why, but you are. I’ve always gone for the tarts before, all high heels and boobs. But this time it’s different. More real. I want to get it right.’
‘I see. I think that’s how I’d like it too.’
Barry stood up. Looking down at her, he said, ‘You mean you might take a liking to me?’
Pat nodded. ‘But there’s the kids. I come with baggage as yer might say. And there’s Dad.’
‘I know. But I like your kids. Really nice they are. Not at all cheeky and wanting things all the time. You’ve done a good job there.’
‘I’ve tried. They’re not always good.’
‘Wouldn’t want ’em to be. I’ll say good night. Take no notice of Mum, by the way.’
‘If you say so.’ She stood up and went to see him to the door. ‘Good night and thanks, Barry.’
He waved good night and then turned back. ‘I just want to say this. Men yer know, at work, talk about the women they’ve been with the night before. Their girlfriends and their wives too – go into all the detail, for a laugh and to boast, yer know how it is. I did it too. I want you to know I don’t talk about you. OK?’
‘Right, thanks.’
Pat felt a million dollars. Yes, a million dollars. Beneath all his flirty talk he was a decent bloke. She locked the back door and began to make herself a drink to take to bed.
The kitchen door opened and Michelle was there. ‘Mum, I’m thirsty, can I have a drink?’
‘You not been to sleep yet then?’
‘For a bit, but then I woke up feeling funny.’
‘Sit there and we’ll ’ave a cup of tea.’
‘Mum?’
‘Yes.’
‘I do like Barry.’
‘Good.’
‘Do you?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘You know L-O-V-E? Well …’
‘Yes, go on.’
Michelle stirred her tea. ‘Does Barry L-O-V-E you?’
‘Not yet, but perhaps he might.’
‘I thought there was a big bang and you knew you were in love.’
‘Sometimes there is, but when you get older sometimes it happens slowly.’
‘I hope you love him. I’d like him for a dad. Could I be a bridesmaid? I’ve never been one.’
Pat laughed. ‘We’ll see. He hasn’t asked me yet.’
‘No, but he will. I can tell the signs.’
‘Michelle!’
‘I’ve talked to Grandad. He says the same. He says Barry’s smitten, ’cos he’s different with you. I think he likes me too, don’t you? I should like him to like me. Could I call him Dad?’
‘Only if we married.’
‘Well, hurry up then. When he proposes will you tell me all about it? What went on and that. I need to know for when I grow up.’
‘Cheeky face!’ Pat kissed her and the two of them went off to bed.
When she got into her own bed, she stroked the pillow next to hers. She’d kept the bed her and Doug had bought when they first got married. Pat tried to imagine what it would be like to have Barry going to sleep there every night. Feel funny. Been alone for eight years she had. If, and it was a big if, they married she’d have a new bed – one of those big ones, the really big ones, then there’d be plenty of room. She wouldn’t want any more kids though. They’d have to have an understanding about that. Not when she was knocking on forty and the other two so old. No more kids. He’d have to understand. Pat took a last look around her bedroom before finally closing her eyes and going to sleep. She admired the flower pictures Dean had bought her to put on the wall over the radiator. She leaned out of bed and dug her fingers into the tufts of the carpet she’d chosen in that big carpet warehouse outside Culworth; she patted the bedspread, pretend patchwork quilt like them American quilts, and finally she switched off her bedside lamp – now that was a luxury. Before, she’d always had to get out of bed to turn off the light.
Yes, things were definitely looking up. One whole week beside the sea, like a real family, and to top it off she was determined she’d win the shortbread prize, because this year was her year.
Chapter 15
The bar in The Royal Oak was packed. Saturday evening, hot summer weather, and the world and his wife were there. The tables outside in Royal Oak Road were filled, and the overspill had taken their drinks out on to the Green and were sitting on the grass, enjoying themselves. Willie and Sylvia were at their favourite table in the saloon, with Jimmy and Vera.
‘Pat not coming then?’ Vera asked.
Jimmy shook his head and said, ‘No, Vera, she’s got other fish to fry. That Barry’s taking up a lot of ’er time.’
‘Good luck to her, I say. He’s a nice chap, all that flirting he does though, it’s scandalous. Cor, he’s had some girls in his time. Got caught in the hayloft at Home Farm few years back. Talk about a carry on, that was. There was mention of a shotgun, but he managed to escape.’
Sylvia put down her gin and tonic to say, ‘Well, he seems to have steadied down now. The whole lot’s going on holiday together after the Show.’
‘No! Grandad as well?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, that’s a turn-up for the book, that is. Wouldn’t ever have thought Barry would be taking two kids and a grandad with ’im. What a laugh. He must be serious! Any news from the church we ought to know, Willie?’
‘Not from the church, ’cept the rector’s away. Gone to Devon today for two weeks. Time they both had a holiday. That’s all really. But there is news from the school. Did you know Mr Palmer’s given his notice in?’
‘Mr Palmer given his notice in?’ Jimmy couldn’t believe it. ‘After all these years? Whatever for?’
‘Got a new job miles away. Head of a big primary school. Hundreds o’ kids.’
‘Bit different from ours then.’
Sylvia said she couldn’t think what on earth had made him move.
Vera agreed. ‘Neither can I. He’s been here nearly twenty years, must have been. Yes, twenty at least. He’s going on for forty-five or thereabouts. Wonder what’s made him do it? I’ve always thought of him as a permanent fixture, like the school boiler or something.’
‘It’ll be a big wrench for ’im anyways.’
‘Pat always thought him and Suzy Meadows would make it up. Very pally they were when she ran the playgroup at the school.’
‘That poor girl must have had enough of men one way and another.’ Sylvia felt Willie’s knee nudge her under the table as she spoke. She tried to change the subject. ‘Still, new fields to conquer and all that. You planned your holidays yet, Vera?’
Vera’s mind was still dwelling on Mr Palmer. ‘You know, it would have been great for Mr Palmer and her to get together. A readymade family with them three girls, and lovely girls they are too. He’s too old to start a family of his own, it would have been just right.’
Jimmy suggested he’d never have the guts to ask her in the first place. ‘When his wife killed herself he switched off. Good with the children but dead as a dodo otherwise. Don’t yer think?’
‘Well, he never does have much to say about anything except school. That’s the only time he comes alive. Sad, very sad.’ Vera gazed gloomily into her empty glass.
‘’Nother drink, Vera?’
‘Oh, thanks, Jimmy. What it is to have a wealthy neighbour.’ She giggled at him. ‘Same again, please. We’ll drink to Mr Palmer, wish him good luck in his new job. It takes some believing.’
When Jimmy got back with the drinks they toasted Mr Palmer and his big decision to move away from Turnham Malpas, and then had an in-depth discussion on the likely winners of the prizes at the Village Show.
Jimmy summed up the situation in a nutshell. ‘Well, yer can all say what yer like but I reckon when all’s said and done the Templeton
Cup for most points in the produce classes will be won by Willie.’ He paused to take a long drink from his glass and then volunteered a piece of information that none of them knew about. ‘There’s going to be another cup this year.’
‘Who says?’
‘Louise-know-it-all-Bissett. She’s persuaded old Fitch to present a cup for the most points in the flower classes. ’Spect it’ll be as big as the FA Cup knowing ’im. The Fitch Flowers Cup it’s to be called. The conditions’ll be on that amendment sheet they’re ’aving to put in ’cos of the classes that got left out by the printer – so Louise says, but we all know it was Sheila Bissett left ’em out on purpose. I’d ’ave ’ad something to say if there’d been no egg classes. My ’ens are laying like nobody’s business now they’re getting fed better. That new ’ouse of theirs suits ’em a treat.’ Jimmy downed the last of his beer and said he’d got to go. ‘I’m off to Culworth; there’s always plenty of business for a taxi on Saturday nights. I‘ve got a living to earn. Be seeing yer.’
‘You shouldn’t be drinking when yer driving.’
‘I’ve only ’ad two halves. I’ll suck a couple of mints on the way. Nobody’ll know.’
Vera shook her head. ‘He’ll never improve, he won’t. Right turn-up for the book about Mr Palmer though, isn’t it? Just wish he could find a right nice little wife, not too flighty, but quiet like ’im. Wonder if they’ve got a replacement? Poor fella, right upheaval it’ll be.’
Michael Palmer lay soaking in the bath in the schoolhouse, unaware that he was the subject of speculation in the bar. He’d left the bathroom door open so he could hear the sound of his CD player in the sitting room. There was no pleasure more enjoyable than lying in the bath, alone in the house, listening to good music.
The Village Show (Tales from Turnham Malpas) Page 14
