‘They seem short-staffed tonight. They say Georgie’s gone off for a couple of days. And Dicky! Well, he’s nowhere to be seen, let’s put it like that. So I expect he’s gone with her. I don’t suppose you know anything about it, do you?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Have they gone together?’
‘Shouldn’t think so. How’s your … what was his name? … the one who works at the council offices. I know … your Kevin.’
So that was it. He was after some information from their Kev. Well, he’d have to pay for it.
‘He’s doing fine. Been promoted. He’s in media and communications now.’
‘He’ll need to know everything about everything then, won’t he. A good chap to know.’ Quite by chance his fingers strayed to his wallet, which now lay on the table beside his glass. He fingered it delicately and looked at our Kev’s mother with a single raised eyebrow.
‘He’s well informed, oh, yes.’ She emptied her glass and put it down in the middle of the table.
‘Fancy another one?’
‘That’s very kind of you, Bryn, very kind. I don’t mind if I do.’
At the bar he asked Trish where everyone was tonight. ‘Dicky’s not turned in and Georgie’s gone to the coast, last-minute thing.’
It hit him like a massive clout on the side of his head. Dicky missing! They hadn’t gone together, had they? Surely not! He’d ignored what Kev’s mother had said about Dicky, but she might be right after all. Perhaps they had gone together. But not after he and she had … he’d left his wallet on the table alongside Kevin’s mother. In his confusion he grabbed the wallet, tried to take a note from it and fumbled it so out spilled the whole wad of fifty-pound notes and twenties. Kevin’s mother eyed it with relish.
Bryn paid for the drinks, took them to the table and said, ‘Shan’t be a minute.’
He fled to the dining room and found Bel clearing a table. He caught hold of her elbow and spun her round. ‘Your Dicky, where is he?’
Bel looked at him, hating every bone in his body, and said, ‘Are you worried about him, then?’
‘No … well, yes, well, no, not really, just tell me where he is.’
‘That’s his business. After what you’ve done to him I wish I could crush the life out of you with the heel of my shoe. You’re scum.’ She picked up the loaded tray and stalked straight past him.
‘Don’t walk away when I’m speaking to you.’
Over her shoulder she said, ‘Well, I’m not speaking to you’ and pushed open the door into the kitchen.
Bryn ground his teeth with annoyance, remembered Kevin’s mother and hastened back to sit with her. ‘Sorry about that. Where were we? Oh, yes. Your Kevin’s promotion. I’m wanting to know why those council chaps were round the village this morning.’ Was it only this morning? ‘A chap with a theodolite and an assistant taking measurements. Surly, he was, and wouldn’t answer my questions.’
Kev’s mother eyed his wallet, still prominently displayed on the table. ‘I could ask him, of course, but I can’t guarantee he knows the answer.’
‘You bring me the answer and then …’ His own eyes deliberately wandered to his wallet. He picked it up. ‘I’ll make it worth his while to find out,’ he told her.
The small brown eyes sparked with an avaricious glint. ‘I see. He’s no fool, our Kev. Hope you’re not thinking small.’
Greedy woman. ‘Of course not. I just need to know. After all, in the interests of the village we don’t want changes, damn signs and things. No, definitely not, so we’ve to be prepared, haven’t we?’
‘D’yer think that might be it, then? By Jove the toffee-nosed around here won’t want that, will they? Spoiling their precious village. Eh?’ She grinned.
‘No. That was what I was thinking. Sir Ralph and the like won’t take kindly to it at all. We, you and I, we’d be doing them a good turn.’
Kev’s mother stood up. ‘Don’t make it sound as though you have the interests of the village at heart, the only thing in your heart is worrying that double yellow lines and road signs will spoil the village for your tourist scam. You can’t kid me. I’ll ring soon as I get home. I might be in here tomorrow night if I’ve got anything for you.’ She squeezed out from the settle, went to speak to a neighbour and left.
Bryn finished his drink while he applied his mind to finding out if Dicky had gone away with Georgie. His stomach churned with the thought that they might have gone together. But she had said she needed time to think away from them both, so she wouldn’t have written that if she didn’t mean it, though she might have if she didn’t want him to know Dicky had gone with her. Red-hot pokers seemed to burn their way into his guts at the thought of them together.
He leapt to his feet, called out ‘Goodnight’ to Alan and Trish, and left. As he approached Glebe Cottages he looked to see if there were any signs of life in there. He couldn’t tell. So he began cautiously creeping up Dicky’s path. He looked towards the front window and could see nothing. He crept closer, slowly, carefully, until his nose was inches from the window. Was that a figure lying on the sofa? He shaded his eyes and peered in with his nose now almost touching the glass. It was. It was Dicky! Staring into space, totally helpless and so, well, so lifeless. Relief flooded through his body. Thank God. They hadn’t gone together then. But there was something terribly defeated-looking in Dicky’s posture. He looked like a whipped dog, thrashed almost to death. Completely crushed.
Bryn slipped softly back down the path and went into the garden at Glebe House. He sat for a while on the seat in front of the summer house and lit a cigarette. It wasn’t often that he smoked but tonight he needed one. Bryn dragged on it, drawing the smoke into his lungs with relish. He rejoiced in his knowledge that Dicky wasn’t with Georgie, but underneath that came a sense of sorrow, a deep regret for Dicky’s plight. The poor chap was … was … destroyed, and it was all down to him, Bryn Fields, for wanting to satisfy his own selfish pleasure with Georgie. A small voice inside him argued and why not; after all, she was his wife. Then his conscience kicked in and he knew he’d no rights where Georgie was concerned; it was he who’d gladly exchanged her for that dreadful Elektra. He must have been mad, completely mad to have fancied that tart.
Someone called out from the open French windows, ‘Drink, Bryn?’ It was Neville. ‘Whisky?’
‘Thanks.’ Bryn stubbed out his cigarette, picked it up and took it to the outside bin, remembering even in his distress about Dicky, not to litter Neville’s immaculate garden.
‘Coming.’ Bryn realised that losing Georgie wouldn’t affect him nearly so badly as it had Dicky. He, Bryn, would bounce back far quicker, being a different kind of person from Dicky. The poor chap was in pieces. With a heavy heart he joined the family for a nightcap and hoped he’d be able to sleep tonight, but he was aware it wasn’t a certainty.
Chapter 11
He went to bed to think. He’d some e-mails to send off tomorrow, courtesy of Neville, to his lunch and coffee stops on the tour confirming numbers, and reconfirming the hotels en route. Check with Jimbo about the souvenirs. Check with Willie about the tour of the church. See Jimmy about the geese and rehearse what he had to say. Stroll round to Deadman’s Dell to see what progress was being made – if no one was there he’d ring the county offices and speak to Gilbert himself. See Bel about the dining room and the meal. Ring the coach company confirming times and dates et cetera; probably send them an e-mail to make sure they had no excuses for being late at the airport. Decide what to do about Georgie.
He turned over and thought about her in bed that afternoon in the bedroom which had always been theirs. She’d responded to his need for her so willingly, so wholeheartedly, he’d been overwhelmed. Much of the cherished feelings of their earlier years had returned to them both and he came close to worshipping her. Him, Bryn! Feeling like that about a woman. Surely not. It wasn’t part of his psyche to come even close to worshipping a woman. But he had. He shouldn’t have, though; seeing Di
cky so destroyed had cut right to his heart and taken most of the joy out of his encounter with Georgie.
If he took Dicky out of the equation then how did he feel? Pleased, elated, thrilled, triumphant even. But taking that peep at Dicky had affected him more deeply than Bryn cared to admit. That secret view of him lying on the sofa had made him realise he couldn’t play with other people’s feelings, couldn’t carelessly meddle in their lives without a qualm.
With Dicky in the equation he felt selfish, inconsiderate, thoughtless. If he truly loved Georgie he should want her happiness, so if that meant her marrying Dicky, so be it. He wouldn’t stand in their way. When she came back he’d tell her that. It would mean selling his share of the pub to Dicky. It would mean he had no permanent home. It would mean depending on his tours for income and that seemed exceedingly shaky. No, he’d have to get another pub. Settle for second best with someone else, a hard worker, and the two of them would make a success of it. He finally closed his mind to a reunion with Georgie. It would be so much easier to have that reunion with her, though: a ready-made business, settling back into the old routine, familiar faces. Just before he fell asleep he’d reverted to the idea of making a new start, for Dicky’s sake. Dicky obviously loved her and desperately needed her … for once in his life he’d do the right thing, no matter how hard it would be.
Kev’s mother was, as she had promised, seated on the settle with an orange juice in front of her when Bryn entered the bar. He waved to her, mouthed ‘vodka’ and she gave him the thumbs up.
‘Thanks for this.’ Again Kev’s mother tossed back half her vodka in one gulp.
‘Have you any news for me from your Kevin?’
‘Ah, well. It’s not definite. What was the word he used? Yes, exploratory it was. There’s been complaints, yer see, about all the traffic round the school gate mornings and when they finish. Such a jumble, which it is, cars parked all over the place, on the green, in the road. So-o-o they’re thinking of double yellow lines and one-way traffic, street lighting and a zebra crossing across the top of Shepherds Hill.’
Bryn almost choked at the prospect. ‘Street lighting! Zebra crossing! My God, have they gone mad?’
‘It’s true, though, they need something at school time, or there’ll be an accident before long. They can’t help coming in cars from Little Derehams and Penny Fawcett, can they, since the education cancelled the school minibuses. Scandalous, that was. It’s too far for children their age to walk and there’s no footpaths neither, so they’d be walking in the road round all them blind bends. Dangerous. Spoil the village, though.’
Bryn sipped his whisky.
‘It’s Miss Pascoe what’s asked for the one way.’
Bryn took another sip of his whisky while he had a good think.
‘Loads o’ signs they’ll put up. Them postcards showing ye olde Englishe village won’t be no more. There’ll be bloody great one-way arrers all over the place.’
‘Not if I can help it. No, siree. They’re not riding roughshod all over Turnham Malpas. We’ve got some big guns, you know, to fight this. Mr Fitch for a start.’
Kev’s mother added the name of another big gun: ‘His nibs, Sir Ralph.’
‘Exactly. They neither of them will want the village spoiling. If the council want a fight, a fight they are going to get.’
‘Miss Pascoe at the school ’ull have a lot to say about that.’
‘Who else besides her will want it, then? I can’t think of a living soul.’
Kev’s mother sniffed derisively. ‘Nor me. Damned waste of time, the council. Don’t know why we bother to vote ’em in. Street lights might be a good idea, though, you know. Help people to get home safe who’ve had too much to drink.’ She said this with a sly smile on her face, which let Bryn know they were all talking behind his back about his night with Dicky and the double whiskies. He wished he hadn’t been reminded of Dicky, it only recalled his pledge to give Georgie back to him. Make amends to the poor chap.
Kev’s mother said, ‘Well?’
‘Well?’ Bryn saw her rubbing her thumb and forefinger together. ‘Oh! What I promised.’ He dug in his back pocket for his wallet, and slipped her a fifty-pound note. ‘Say thanks to Kevin for me. Much appreciated.’
‘That all?’
Bryn raised his eyebrows.
‘I went to a lot of trouble for you and I didn’t need to.’
Bryn thought about the cost of her vodkas and her delight at the news she had to impart, and weighed it against the cost of the local phone call she’d made and thought, stuff you. But his newly awakened conscience pricked and he took out a ten-pound note, folded it and put it into her hand as he patted it. ‘Pay for the phone call. Thanks for all you’ve done. Would you be on side if we started a campaign?’
‘Might, but then again …’ Kev’s mother picked up the ten-pound note and pushed it into her pocket. ‘Thanks, anyway. If I’ve any further news I’ll let you know.’
‘Good. I’ll be glad to hear. There’s more where that came from if it’s useful news.’
Kev’s mother tapped the side of her nose, slid out from the settle and went to join a neighbour over the other side of the bar.
Bryn looked at his watch. Still quite early. He eyed his empty glass, almost went to get another and thought this new Bryn with his spanking-new conscience is having only one tonight. Purposefully he marched to the bar with his glass, paused as though debating something in his mind, decided to leave and, calling a loud ‘Goodnight!’ to everyone, left and headed for Glebe House. As he approached the cottages he slowed his steps. There were no lights on at Dicky’s, though it was still only twilight, so maybe … Bryn went up the path, as he had the previous night but instead of peering in the window he tried the door handle. It wasn’t locked. He put a foot on the doormat and called softly, ‘Dicky! Dicky!’
He walked into the living room and saw Dicky lying on the sofa, just as he had been when he’d last seen him. ‘Dicky?’
Getting no response, Bryn went to sit in an easy chair, facing Dicky. There was such a terrible stillness about the chap he could almost have been dead. He hadn’t shaved, that was obvious, he hadn’t combed his hair and by the grey, drawn look on his face he hadn’t washed either. In front of him was the coffee table with sandwiches, a mug and a flask on it, which, as far as Bryn could see, were untouched. Presumably Bel knew, then, that at least he was alive.
I owe him a lot, he thought. I nearly murdered the fellow; would have done, too, for murder was in my heart at the time. The least I can do is put his life back together again, if he’ll let me. Bryn must have sat an hour while the twilight deepened into real darkness. With no street lights to illuminate the room it had become pitch-black and he could no longer see Dicky. He heard a stirring sound of cloth against cloth, a slight creak of bones, a small cough.
‘Don’t be alarmed, Dicky, it’s Bryn. I’ll put a light on.’
He drew the curtains and fumbled his way to the light switch. The bright light showed to what depths Dicky had sunk. It emphasised the shadows on his cheeks, the world-weary look of his eyes and the appalling fragility of the man. It had only taken him twenty-four hours to shrink to a shadow, his bustling energy completely gone.
‘I’ve been waiting for you to wake, Dicky. I’ve something to tell you. Will you listen?’
Dicky simply stared.
‘I want you to know that Georgie is for you. I’ve always known, but I wouldn’t acknowledge it. But I do now. She belongs to you. She hasn’t belonged to me for a long time.’
Dicky slowly raised a hand and gestured his acknowledgement of what Bryn had said.
‘When she comes back in a day or two I shall tell her I want a divorce.’
It was hard work telling someone life-changing things and getting no reaction. Bryn tried again. ‘Have you heard me? Do you understand what I mean?’
But Dicky didn’t respond.
‘Look here. Let me pour you a drink. What is it? Coffee? Get this down y
ou.’
Bryn opened up the thermos and poured some coffee into the mug. He put it within reach and waited. Dicky half rolled on to his side and looked at the steam coming off the top of the coffee.
‘Sit up. You’ll manage better.’
So Dicky did and drank from the mug. Slowly at first and then in great gulps. But he still wasn’t for speaking.
‘You see, Dicky, I’m a greedy beggar, always wanting more of whatever it is I can’t have. Well, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and I’m going to change. I have changed I should say. If marrying you makes Georgie happy then … so be it.’
‘I can’t. Marry her.’
Bryn cast him a startled look. ‘Why ever not? What do you mean?’
‘Not after what she’s done. She’s yours. She betrayed me.’
‘Damn it, man, it was me betrayed you. I persuaded her. I made it so she couldn’t say no.’
‘I wanted everything between us to be honourable, without stain. Perfect. Beautiful. After what you did, all that’s been destroyed. There’s nothing left between her and me.’
‘Without stain? Honourable? Destroyed. What are you talking about, man? She’s sure to come back and beg forgiveness and go ahead with the divorce, and then you and she can settle down at the pub to married life and a business partnership. I understand you can find the money to buy a half-share.’
Dicky shook his head.
‘Go for it, Dicky, please. Make her happy.’
‘No. It’s all too late now.’
Bryn saw him look with interest at the generously filled sandwiches, so he leant forward, took the cling film off them and handed him the plate. ‘Go on. You’ll feel better. You’ve nothing more to fear from me. I’ve treated you rotten and it’s all stopped. I’ve called you names that I shouldn’t have and I’m ashamed.’
‘Squirt. Dwarf. Tiddler. Stunted little specimen.’ Dicky stirred uncomfortably against the cushions as if saying the words brought back all his pain. ‘Well, I’m not setting foot ever again in that pub. Not for anything.’
A Village Dilemna (Turnham Malpas 09) Page 16
