‘Believe me, whatever you do will be all right by her. She just loves working here.’
Caroline thanked him and then said, ‘I wouldn’t have survived without her.’
Willie knew she meant things other than housework. He bent to take hold of the wheelbarrow handles, to hide the fact there were tears in his eyes. ‘All the village love you both, the rector’s made such a difference to us all. Even those who don’t go to church of a Sunday, think the world of yer. There’s something about ’im that brings out the best in people. It’s that look he ’as. Yer can’t tell fibs to ’im. Remember what I said about the flowers.’ Willie set off to walk round by Pipe and Nook Lane.
‘Don’t do that, Willie. Let’s wipe the wheel and then you can take it through the house. It’s a ridiculously long way round otherwise.’
‘I’d carry it round, ’cept I don’t want to dump all the soil. It’s best to get rid of everything all round the roots, just in case.’
After he’d gone, Caroline put her idea of covering the surgeries to Sylvia.
‘It would be three mornings and the twins would be going to playgroup three mornings to start with, so I’d have to leave before they went and wouldn’t be back till roughly half-past one. What do you think?’
“That’s fine. I’d have nearly three hours to get done in, wouldn’t I? ’Cept in the holidays, that would be more difficult.’
‘Yes, I realise that. Think about it?’
‘Of course. You like the idea then?’
‘Once a doctor always a doctor, it’s in the blood!’ Caroline went back into the garden to study over Willie’s idea. She might, just might, do what he said. After all, it wasn’t the Royal Horticultural Society, was it? Only a village Show. Even so, she wouldn’t want to enter something which would make her look a fool. Yes, why not, she’d enter. What fun. She decided to go to the Store and announce her intentions; best find out the opposition.
Alex and Beth clamoured to go with her, so they wandered across the Green, hand-in-hand and into the Store.
Harriet was in there, behind the till and Linda was coping with a long queue at the post-office counter.
‘Cut flowers? You’re being ambitious, aren’t you?’
‘Harriet! Don’t put a damper on my enthusiasm!’
‘Sorry, but the competition’s stiff in the cut-flower department. Believe me.’ She leaned across the till and whispered, ‘Mrs Jones always wins.’ She nodded her head in the direction of the queue and Caroline saw that her main rival was next to be served.
‘Oh right. Got to give her some competition then.’ The two of them laughed and then Caroline’s attention was taken by the twins who were busy filling one of Jimbo’s wire baskets with all manner of sweets.
Beth’s voice could be heard saying, ‘Beth like choccy.’
‘Maybe, but we can’t possibly buy all these, we’ll have to put some back. Now, which shall we choose?’ But Caroline’s placatory approach didn’t please Beth, who promptly stamped her feet, and when Caroline attempted to put back some of the sweets, she flung herself down on the floor screaming, ‘No! No! No!’
Alex kicked at her thrashing legs to stop her screaming, which made her yell louder still. Sadie came out from the mail-order office to see what the commotion was, and everyone in the post-office queue craned their necks to see this magnificent display of temper. Caroline, unable to quieten Beth, picked her up and gripping her firmly under her arm marched out, with Alex holding her spare hand. Beth’s arms and legs were pumping vigorously as Caroline squeezed out through the door. The people in the queue could hear her screams fading away in the distance.
‘Well, really, and them the rector’s children!’
‘Never heard such a row.’
‘What an exhibition!’
‘You’d think she’d manage ’em better than that. Spoiled to death, they are.’
Barry’s mother turned contemptuously on her scandalised compatriots. ‘Never ’ad none of your children throw a paddy, then? Always been quiet and well-behaved, ’ave they? I like to see a bit of spirit. She handled it right, she did. She’s doing a good job there.’
‘Well, she does love them children, I’ll give yer that.’
‘Of course she loves ’em. Who couldn’t, they’re that lovely. And I reckon she did right by the rector. Must ’ave been hard but there we are. She’s a true Christian, she is; that’s what being a Christian is. I admire her.’
‘Yer mightn’t be so keen if she wins the cut flowers. I’ve just heard her saying she’s entering. That right, Mrs Charter-Plackett?’
Harriet agreed it was.
‘I see. Well, all’s fair in love and war. May the best man win. My pension, Linda, please and this parcel to post, while yer at it.’
As she weighed the parcel Linda said, ‘How’s Barry nowadays?’
‘All right. Why?’
‘I heard he’d blotted his copy book with Pat and they weren’t seeing each other.’
‘There’s a sight too much gossip in this village. They’ve all got nothing better to do.’
The person behind her in the queue said, ‘Hark who’s talking!’
‘And you can keep yer trap shut. I’ve heard about the trick you’re getting up to with yer pot-plant entry.’
‘And what do you mean by that?’
‘You were seen sneaking round that new Garden Centre out on the by-pass last Sunday, eyeing their best begonias. We all know yer going to enter the pot-plant class.’
‘So, what if I am?’
‘You’re going to buy one from the Garden Centre and enter it as yer own – pretend you’ve grown it. I wasn’t born yesterday, even if the judges were.’
‘Well, I never! What an accusation! That’s libel!’
‘I shall be watching out, believe me. I’ll have my eye on them pot-plant classes.’
‘What about you putting weedkiller on them prize peas then, eh? What about that?’
‘I never.’
‘You did.’
‘I never.’
‘Oh no! I bet!’
‘Thanks, Linda. I’m off. Leave you to sort ’em all out.’
Barry’s mother sauntered out with as much dignity as she could muster. They were all a sickening lot and she was fed up with ’em. She’d go home, have a nice cup of tea and sit where she could see her flowers and contemplate which ones she’d enter. That was it, yes. Do her nerves a power of good. As she passed the new houses Sir Ralph had built, and had inspected the front gardens that the tenants were now licking into shape, Pat came out from Jacks Lane on her way to the Store. Mrs Jones waved. ‘Hello, Pat.’
‘Hello.’
‘Have you time for a word?’
Pat got off her bike and stood waiting.
‘Our Barry’s right upset, yer know.’
‘I daresay.’
‘He’s off his food.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘He can’t sleep.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘I don’t know what to say to him next.’
‘Neither do I.’
‘He says it isn’t his.’
‘Does he.’
‘Yes. ’Ow about it Pat?’
‘How about what?’
‘Letting bygones be bygones.’
‘No. I’ve enough on without asking for trouble.’
‘He’s different about you, yer know.’
‘So they say.’
‘I’d have liked some grandchildren.’
‘Well, there’s always your other two. They might turn up trumps sometime.’
‘I’ve been too good to ’em. Made life too comfortable. Barry’s me favourite, yer know.’
‘Is he?’
‘Yes. Always has been. He can twist me round his little finger.’
‘Well, there’s one thing for certain. He isn’t twisting me round his little finger.’
In a pleading tone Mrs Jones said, ‘All men who are men have a little fling now and then.’
<
br /> ‘There’s flings and flings. I’ll be off then.’
‘They say your Dean’s very clever, that the school says he’ll be doing ten GCSEs, and two of ’em a year early.’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Nice that, having a clever boy. None of mine were interested. Couldn’t wait to leave and get a job.’
‘Your Barry’s done all right.’
‘Oh yes, but the other two are a waste of time.’
‘I’m off then. I’ve a lot to do.’
‘Think about him will yer, Pat? He hardly ever goes out now. Stuck in mooning about. Miserable, he is.’
‘Can’t help that.’
Pat felt a certain degree of satisfaction that Barry was taking her rejection of him so hard. Serves him right. But at the same time, deep in her heart, she regretted the lost opportunity. She could have easily been persuaded to marry him, very easily, but there was no way she was marrying someone who could beetle off and be getting his rations with someone else when he was supposed to be courting her. Then she remembered his beautiful teeth and that kind of antiseptic smell they always had. His thick dark hair and his laughing eyes. His strong legs and his powerful workmanlike hands. Hands that could be so gentle and inviting. She’d better stop this before she began seriously to regret her decision.
Michelle had not forgiven her yet, nor Dean. Pesky state of affairs when your children wanted you to marry someone that you didn’t. Still, she’d sorted the holiday. Nice cottage by the sea. Bit off the beaten track, but never mind. They’d have a good time without him. Then she remembered he’d promised to take Dean fishing, and she recollected the comfort of his arm around her shoulders and she weakened. Maybe she had been too hard … Next time she saw him she might, just might, speak to him. After all he and his mother had said that Simone was telling lies. Maybe she was.
Chapter 23
It was the Thursday before the Show, and Louise sat checking and rechecking her lists, determined that nothing and she meant nothing, could possibly have been overlooked. The telephone at the Big House had been in use nonstop almost all day. Mr Fitch had kept coming out of his office with yet another thought he’d had, and she’d had to check it all over again.
It was taking care of all the silly little things, like who was responsible for putting out the chairs on the platform and around the arena, which made for success. Had the Morris Dancers got the time right? Had Jeremy remembered he was in charge of collecting the money and putting it in the safe at regular intervals? Couldn’t leave it till the end of the Show, that was asking for trouble leaving money lying about. Where would they put the bouquets for presenting to Mr Fitch’s guests? Had they allocated sufficient parking space? With all the advertising Mr Fitch had insisted on, they’d probably have the entire county there. Small matters in themselves but so important on the day.
She let her mind drift off to eight o’clock that night. Her mother had already said she was an idiot to be going round with the soup and rolls so close to the Show. ‘You’ll need all the sleep you can get, you’ll be so busy on the day.’ But Louise had pooh-poohed the idea. She needed Gilbert just as much as Gilbert apparently needed her. She sucked the end of her pen and gazed out over the garden. Through her open window she could see her father watering the roses, and hear her mother supervising and criticising; an angry gesture here, hands-on-hips despair there. She wondered what made her father stay with her. What feeling they had left for each other … or didn’t it matter when you got older? Was it all habit? Or when love mellowed, maybe you each couldn’t live your life without the other. Or was it because there was nowhere else to go? Maybe that was it. You stayed simply because there was no choice.
And she and Gilbert? What had they got between them? Passion? Lust? Love? She decided yes to the first two questions, but no to the third. It wasn’t love like Jimbo and Harriet had. Their love was tough – a firm anchorage, a belt and braces love affair. It wasn’t love like Caroline and Peter’s; that was all-adoring, all-giving, all-enduring. Not one of them could leave each other and walk away for ever, they’d no choice but to stay. She still had choice. Choice to stay, choice to go and be glad. Muriel Templeton had said … what was it she’d said? ‘Find out who you truly are.’ Perhaps that was what she had to do, despite her hunger for Gilbert. And it was a hunger and no mistake. She craved him. Poor Muriel – her face when she’d confessed to her about Gilbert. They’d met outside the church one midweek morning. There’d been only herself and Muriel around and they’d sat side by side on a gravestone and talked.
Muriel had been appalled at first, then she’d wiped her face clean of shock and become sympathetic. ‘I have to tell you I can see the need. Before I married, I couldn’t have done. I would have thought you sinful, but somehow marriage and … and … love have adjusted my thinking. But it really isn’t right for it to be just… well, just wanting a man. It ought really to be for love. That’s the best.’
‘I know it is.’
‘Gilbert’s a lovely man. He deserves more than just wanting.’
‘Yes, he does. You see, the trouble is I don’t know what I am any more. This business with … Peter completely threw me. I thought I knew where I was going, but now I’m aware that I didn’t. One half of me is eager to organise things, pleased to be praised for my success at it, but somehow there’s another person emerging and I don’t know really what she is.’
Muriel stood up to go. ‘Then you need to sort her out, this new person you talk of, my dear. Think about finding who you truly are.’
Muriel was right. Perhaps she’d take her advice. She seemed so unworldly did Muriel, but somehow she’d hit the nail on the head. Louise felt quite exhilarated with the thought of finding out who she really was. The Show would be her one last brilliant administrative success, her swansong. She’d be relieved when it was over. Lists and highlighting pens and coloured stickers didn’t hold quite the fascination for her as before; Gilbert had changed all that. Now when she looked at the sky it was bluer than she’d ever realised, the flowers bloomed brighter, the crystal-clear water of the beck sparkled more enticingly, the houses round the Green looked more beautiful than she could have believed possible. She was even tempted to buy a pair of the dreaded green wellingtons and walk over the fields …
Louise rested her elbows on the windowsill and breathed in the country air. She recalled the thick smell of the air in the city when she’d worked at the bank. You didn’t open windows there, the fumes would have constituted a serious health hazard, but here in Turnham Malpas, opening a window was sheer joy.
A ladybird crawled busily along the sill. Before Gilbert she would have angrily flicked it off and to hell with it, but now, with her finger she eased it towards a stem of the climbing rose framing her window, and watched it meandering up till it went out of sight. This philosophising wouldn’t do. She’d check her lists one last time and then she’d get ready to go to Gilbert. Already in her nostrils she could smell his strange earthy scent; her insides churned with longing.
Sheila had begun to get cold feet. Decorating a church for a flower festival or organising a flower-arranging competition, she’d done that before, but this was scary. She’d begun to lose sleep over it. What she dreaded most was everything going wrong and having to face Mr Fitch and explain. She knew he was intimidating, in fact he must be because there were times when even Louise had been wary of him; she needed no more proof than that. The biggest worry was, did she have enough space for everyone who had entered? She’d just got home with the last of the entries when she heard Louise using the shower ready for going on the round with the soup and rolls. She found her reading glasses and sat down to try to make sense of it all. Why had she refused help from Caroline? She’d offered to help sort it all out, but Sheila had been too proud, and what’s more too embarrassed because of Louise’s behaviour, to accept.
She spread the entry forms out on the table and began to look through them. There were far more than she had anticipated
. Mr Fitch’s advertising campaign might well backfire if they got more people than they’d catered for. She had finally got everything into piles and was beginning to count the number of entries in the Victoria sponge section, when Louise came in to say she was off.
‘I must say I wouldn’t be wearing that if I was going out to help the homeless. It’s so flimsy.’
Louise looked down at her dress and realised she’d made a bloomer. ‘Well, we have to cheer them up, you know. It’s no good wearing old things. It looks insulting, as if they’re not worth bothering for.’
Sheila put down her pen. ‘Look here, Louise, I’m not stupid. You’re not going to see the homeless. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were going out with a man.’ She laughed at her little joke. Louise blushed bright red and glanced away from her mother’s scrutiny. ‘You’re not? You are! I can tell by your face, you are!’
‘What if I am? Don’t sound so surprised, it’s not very flattering.’
‘I’m sorry. Who is it – anyone I know?’
Louise debated what to do. Tell her and the entire village would know by Saturday night. Not tell her and she’d be hurt, especially if she found out from someone else. She would be hurt anyway, not to say appalled, if she, Louise, told her exactly what it was she was really doing.
‘Look, it’s very delicate. You know how these things are, at the beginning. Do you mind very much if I don’t tell you? Just till I’m more sure.’
‘So you haven’t been helping the homeless. You’ve been going out with someone.’
‘You could say that.’
Sheila stood up and went across to Louise. Their physical displays of affection were very limited but tonight Sheila put her arm round Louise and gave her a kiss. ‘I’m really pleased for you. Really pleased.’
‘Thanks. I’ll be off then.’
Sheila went to the door to watch her leave. She waved and smiled as Louise’s little car disappeared in the direction of Penny Fawcett … Now, who could it be? Who lived in Penny Fawcett …? In fact, Louise was going the long way round to Little Derehams. There was, after all, no point in telling her mother too much. She might be dim, but not that dim. And Mother must be pleased at her news; she didn’t often earn a kiss and a hug.
The Village Show (Tales from Turnham Malpas) Page 22
