‘I don’t believe there have been any complaints…’
‘What?’ she says, turning round again.
‘I think you made that up because you have an agenda. You want to join the parish council so you have to stir the pot a little and raise an issue or two. I understand that but I’d rather not have my husband dragged down with it. He was desperate to keep the library open and would do anything to promote the cause, including using his image. I’m not saying sorry for it or withdrawing it. In fact, I want Gillian to step up the campaign tomorrow because, on today’s evidence, it’s been a roaring success.’
Agnes looks flustered and is about to reply when Jessica walks in from the living room.
‘Are you all right, Frannie?’ she asks. ‘I just heard raised voices. I thought you knew this woman; that’s why I let her in.’
‘Yes, I do know her now. She’s just about to leave.’
There is a long silence between the three of us – and I’m surprised Agnes hasn’t left yet. She looks down at the carpet and I sense she feels apologetic about how this conversation has developed.
‘Will you be at the public meeting tomorrow, Mrs Hartford?’ she asks, finally breaking the silence. Her tone is more polite and measured. ‘I’ll be there so I hope this hasn’t got us off on the wrong foot.’
‘I do intend to go, yes, but I am also very tired as you can imagine…’
‘Yes, all that travelling to London for early starts must be punishing…’
Another moment of silence. I’m beginning to wonder if Agnes Vaughan is playing games with us.
‘It’s just that there was another reason for me highlighting that flyer with your husband’s image on it…’
‘Yes?’
Silence again. This time, with added fidgeting from Agnes and reduced eye contact.
‘Well, I did lose a brother 14 years ago after he’d had a seizure,’ she says, finally looking up at me. ‘He ran a tree surgery business deep in the Chilterns countryside but one extremely hot day he just fell about 30 feet and his head hit the ground. He began to shake violently and died before the ambulance got to him. The doctors said it might have been epilepsy but they never gave a firm diagnosis. His picture then appeared in all the local papers and TV because he’d once been a promising rugby player. I didn’t mind at first but then when they set up a local charity in his name I found it harder to relate to the brother I knew. He was no longer mine; he’d become someone else’s property…’ She pauses and sighs. ‘Do you see where I’m coming from? Donald is going into so many people’s homes right now. They might think they know him because his face and words are leaping out at them. Only you do…’
I look at Jessica and acknowledge that we might have misjudged Agnes Vaughan a little, although she didn’t help herself when she came bounding in. Perhaps, she uses that slight arrogance and pomposity to camouflage her vulnerabilities?
‘I’m very sorry about your brother, Agnes, and I’m happy you brought him up. I feel that’s the real reason you came. Is it?’
‘The other reasons are valid too – but I felt we shared something. Donald’s picture brought it all back again…’
I nod and there is another long silence. She didn’t know Donald and I didn’t know her brother so what is there to say?
‘Well, I’ll be going now?’ she says. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow at the public meeting if you can make it. I’ll see myself out…’
‘Goodbye Agnes…’
She walks down the hallway, opens the front door and leaves the house. I breathe an almighty sigh of relief.
‘At times, I felt I was on trial there,’ I say, looking at Jessica. ‘I feel for her but I’m not sure I want to talk to her too much tomorrow…’
‘What’s that in your hand?’
‘Oh this,’ I say, almost forgetting the defaced picture of Donald. ‘Some young idiot decided to give Donald a makeover.’
‘Let’s see…’ Jessica walks towards me and grabs hold of the flyer. She looks down at it and instantly takes a pen out of her tracksuit bottoms. She crosses out the word ‘Wanker’ and changes it to ‘Lawrence’. She smiles and hands it to me. ‘There, that’s better isn’t it? Much more of a resemblance.’
We both start laughing – and wonder what exactly has happened to Lawrence since the ‘incident’ in the Olympic Park.
‘He could use the glasses and beard as a disguise,’ says Jessica. ‘Add one of our uniforms and they’d never catch him…’
‘He’d have to wash it first!’
We laugh a bit more until Jessica realises she’s missing the hockey.
I am in my bedroom, ironing some fresh clothes in preparation for tomorrow’s public meeting. That’s been the only drawback of these weeks: no desire to wear anything remotely smart or elegant; too much chopping and changing. It’s been tiring enough as it is. They should have given us overtime for washing and changing our clothes so often! There’s a lot of rubbish in my trouser pocket: receipts, old ticket stubs and sweet wrappers (not mine, picked up from the Olympic Park) and even a couple of earrings from a spectator who said she found them in the Aquatics Centre (I never did hand them in; I must remember to do that). But there is also a card from a gentleman I’d completely forgotten about: Richard Krystal of the Met Police; the man I met on the Tube on the day of the Opening Ceremony. It seemed so long ago it felt like another era. I look at the contact details on the card – and there is a work number, a mobile and an email address. I sit down on the bed and flick the card on my thigh for a few moments. Should I call Richard and ask him if he knows anything about Lawrence and the ‘incident’ at the Olympic Park? Has Lawrence been arrested? Who reported it anyway? I realised the Met was a massive organisation and it’s unlikely he knew anything about it but maybe he could point me in the right direction? Surely he’d be happy to hear from me? He did say any time. Just as I’m considering calling him (even though it’s late), I hear a shout from downstairs: one of annoyance and despair. It’s Jessica and I guess it’s probably the hockey coming to a conclusion. She’s been shouting at the TV all evening and I sense Great Britain have finally lost the semi-final to Argentina. A few minutes later, Jessica comes up the stairs with a glass of orange juice in her hand.
‘I promised myself I wouldn’t get involved,’ says Jessica, almost downing the whole glass in one go. ‘But once it starts, I can’t help it. I sometimes think I’m as bad as a football fan…’
‘You are…’
‘I don’t get involved in punch-ups though.’ She finishes off the drink and smiles. ‘Although Agnes could have pushed me in that direction, I suppose.’ She wipes the side of her mouth with her finger and sits down beside me on the bed. ‘What’s that you’ve got in your hand?’
‘It’s from a policeman I met a few hours before the Opening Ceremony. He just started talking to me on the Tube about a few things; like the riots last year…’
‘He was involved in those?’
‘Yes, he got injured and had to take sick leave…’
‘So why do you want to call him now?’
I pause and take the empty glass off Jessica, putting it on the dressing table.
‘Don’t you want to know about Lawrence?’ I ask.
‘Lawrence? No, not really. They’ve probably closed the matter already. It’s hardly a big deal now.’
‘I wonder if he’s going to be arrested…’
‘No, Miss Marple, he’s not,’ says Jessica, getting up from the bed. ‘What’s got into you? Thought you agreed with me that it was a nothing incident – and now you want to dig a bit further. What happened? Has Agnes put a spell on you or something?’
‘No, but there’s something I didn’t tell you about earlier in the evening,’ I say, slipping the card into my pocket. ‘One of the people who called me about the library leaflets said
there was a rumour going around the village that Lawrence wanted to be at the public meeting tomorrow night, to give Gillian his support, but that he’s actually been asked to report to a police station in London for questioning. I don’t know if it true and that’s why I didn’t tell you immediately.’
‘Well I can call William now,’ says Jessica, pulling out her mobile phone. ‘He’ll clear it up.’
‘No don’t do that. He might not know about it in the first place. I don’t want to cause even more trouble.’
‘I don’t understand why Lawrence would want to come to the public meeting in the first place. I thought he wasn’t supporting Gillian in anything he did. Sounds like your rumour-monger might be getting carried away.’
‘Maybe he’s realised he was in the wrong the other night and wants to make up for it…’
‘Doesn’t look like the sort to me. Stubborn as fuck.’
‘Do you have to swear?’
‘Yes, Great Britain lost to the Argies, what do you expect?’
‘You are a closet hooligan aren’t you?’
‘If I was, Lawrence wouldn’t have got away from the Olympic Park, scot free. I’d have called the hockey girls from the Olympic Park and we’d have sorted him there and then with a few hockey sticks. There’d have been no need to get the police involved.’
I offer Jessica a look of disapproval. ‘I sometimes do wonder about you people from the north. You do seem to enjoy the rough and tumble.’
‘What else is there in life!’ She sits down again on the bed. ‘What about Gillian? You’re seeing her tomorrow so you might as well ask her then. No point in worrying about it tonight.’ She looks at the time on her mobile. ‘Some of us are unlucky to be working tomorrow so I better get a move on…’
‘What if he gets charged? And we have to face him in court?’
‘Frannie, what the hell are you on about? That’s not going to happen. He hardly touched us.’
I nod and cross my hands. ‘I know, but I keep thinking of Gillian. She’s got her sick father to think about, the divorce, the library campaign and God knows what else. If Lawrence were to end up in jail, I shudder to think what will happen to her. She works so hard.’
Jessica puts her hand on my thigh. ‘You’ll be the one locked up if you keep thinking like that.’
‘Maybe, but I’ve felt locked up for long enough for now,’ I say putting my hand on top of hers. ‘At least I’m thinking freely now.’
DAY FOURTEEN
I think of calling Richard Krystal throughout the morning but wonder how he’ll react. Will he even remember me? Does he still work for the Met? I remember the riots of last summer and compare them to this year and wonder if that was another country altogether. I didn’t recognise it for sure. I think he’ll be pleased the way these Olympics have gone. They might help banish some of the dark memories he experienced last year (although I admit if I’d been in the middle of that carnage I’m not sure I’d forget it for the rest of my life). I decide I’ll call him after lunch because the morning is taken up going through some of the souvenirs Locog have rewarded us with to thank us for our hard work during the Olympics. These include a series of pins and a souvenir relay baton to go along with a small London 2012 bag, an umbrella and Games Maker watch that were given to us at the start of the Games. Out of these, I really do like the baton as it’s the perfect symbol for the glorious fortnight we’ve had so far: a purple and red relay army obsessed with teamwork and togetherness. I fiddle with these items for longer than necessary and realise I may be experiencing the first signs of withdrawal symptoms in terms of not being at the Olympic Park, smiling at spectators, greeting them and pointing them in the right direction. I have only one shift left (on Saturday). What am I going to do after that? It’s as though the din of noise and melodic patter of the spectators will forever be in my head even though I won’t physically be part of that experience anymore. I fear the 18th day could be one of the most difficult of my life.
I have lunch and still put off calling Richard Krystal. I turn on the TV and see Charlotte Dujardin winning gold for Britain in the Dressage. Oh Lord, she hugs her mother and it’s one of those moments again. I am them and they are me. I’m nearly as emotional as I was on Super Saturday. I feel uplifted so I prepare to call Richard. I get his card out and decide to try his work number first. But just as I am about to tap in the keys, my own phone rings.
‘Hello Frannie,’ says Gillian. ‘When are you coming down? Have you had lunch yet? If not, we’ve got plenty of sandwiches down in here in the village hall. We could have a picnic out in the garden.’
‘No, I’m okay for food, Gillian, I’ve just had lunch. Er, I’m not sure when I’m coming down. How are you doing for arrangements? Did you get enough people to get everything ready for the meeting this evening?’
‘Yes, we’re way ahead of schedule now, hence the picnic! We’ve had an incredible response to the leafleting campaign and so many new people, who we don’t even know, have said they’ll turn up. It’s been wonderful, although I do know we’ve had the odd problem…’
‘…Like the boy who dumped his leaflets on the street corner?’
‘Craig Wilson, yes I’ve spoken to his mother. You can’t imagine how sorry I am about that Frannie. I apologise from the bottom of my heart that you had to see that picture of Donald. Agnes told me all about it.’
‘Is she there already?’
‘No, she’s coming after shutting her antique shop. I think she’ll be good for us in this campaign. She gets people worked up…’
‘Good at that isn’t she? She did a fine job turning up at my house with Donald looking like a deformed pirate. She seemed too eager to broadcast what she was doing.’
‘She wants to get on that’s all. I hope she wasn’t insensitive. Did she tell you about her brother?’
‘Yes, but only at the end when we were nearly sick of the sight of each other!’
‘I know Frannie, you’ve got to be a bit patient with her. She does have her peculiarities but I think her heart’s in the right place. She wants to make a difference.’
I pause and look down at Richard Krystal’s card in my hand, flicking it over nervously.
‘Are any of your family coming to the meeting?’ I ask. ‘What about your father, is he still with you?’
‘Jack and William say they’re too busy but Lawrence said he was coming. My father’s here with me now.’
‘Is he okay?’
‘Yes, he’s just sat down at a table eating his lunch. I’ll take him for a walk this afternoon…’
‘Isn’t this putting a strain on you?’
‘No, I like him by my side that’s all. He’ll give me strength when I have to make a speech this evening. And besides we’ve got plenty of volunteers to help now. All because of Donald and you, it’s as simple as that.’
‘You don’t need to flatter me, Gillian, it’s really you and Donald that have kept the library afloat. I’m just a latecomer.’ I pause and take a deep breath. ‘You said Lawrence was coming, did he tell you that?’
‘Yes, last night. Why?’
‘Well, I’m not sure this is the best time to discuss this…’
‘It’s as good a time as any – as I’m going to be ridiculously busy for the next ten hours or so. Has he spoken to you? He hasn’t threatened Jessica again, has he? I’ll swing for him if does that.’
‘No, it’s nothing like that, it’s just that one of the people who called me yesterday said he might have to report to the police station rather than be at the meeting…’
‘To be arrested? He never told me.’
‘I don’t know: questioned, cautioned, I’m not sure how it really works. So he hasn’t told you anything then?’
‘Nothing. He said he was leaving work an hour early and he’d be at the village hall at about e
ight, half an hour after we start. Honestly, Frannie if this is true it’s the last straw. I cannot put up with it any longer. He has humiliated me often enough and, if he’s lying about this, then I think I will leave tomorrow. I cannot take it anymore. I’ll drive Daddy back to Harrogate and we’ll take it from there.’
‘Don’t overreact Gillian, it might not even be true. And besides, if you left who’s going to save the library? I am sorry for bringing it up but I thought it was necessary because I don’t want you to get a shock later. This might help you to cushion it a bit if it’s true.’
‘I am grateful to you, Frannie, absolutely. If it’s only a rumour than I can’t see any harm done as it might actually make Lawrence behave better because people are gossiping about him. But if it’s true, why hide it from me? From what you’ve told me, it’s unlikely they’ll charge him so why keep it from us? I just don’t understand.’
‘I think I know the reason…’
‘Please say because I’ve given up on how his mind works…’
I pause and sigh. ‘He abused a widow of a friend he knows well. And he was drunk in a public place full of joy and enthusiasm. I think he feels so ashamed he wants to bury it.’
‘And I’ll bury him…’
‘No don’t do that – because you’ll end up at the police station.’
‘TAKE ME AWAY NOW!’
Gillian laughs and I’m so relieved our call ends on a jovial note. We agree on a time of 6.30pm for me to come to the village hall (she wants me to come much earlier but this is a day off for me and I’d rather relax my aching limbs at home). After our call, I consider calling Richard Krystal again but the Olympic action on TV draws me in once more. I pick up my souvenir relay baton and grip it tight. I wonder what Lawrence could have done with one of these in his hands on that crazy afternoon in the Olympic Park.
* * *
I use a bit of Blu-Tack to stick the defaced picture of Donald onto the fridge door. There’s something curiously uplifting about him having a beard, glasses and hippy-style long hair. As if that was the life he could have led had he not been in the army. I look at it for a few minutes and don’t feel insulted anymore. It’s as if Jessica’s follow-up graffiti – scrawling Lawrence’s name above Donald’s head – has made it into a twisted memento, something I want to keep and preserve. The two men did spend a lot of time together watching endless, boring games of cricket so I wonder if Lawrence’s current indiscretions are linked to Donald’s absence. Did Lawrence miss going to the match with Donald? If he were back would Lawrence’s behaviour be better? I may be getting carried away but one thing is certain: the leaflet is a symbol of Lawrence’s mind – and that’s why I’d like it to stay hung up until he cleans up his act.
Seventeen Gifts for Frannie and Jess Page 21
