Talk of the Village

by Rebecca Shaw

  'I must remember that. I didn't know they sold such . . . interesting clothes.' Sadie made her way through the guests. Sheila watched her go. The slim-fitting understated floor-length black dress Sadie wore proclaimed money and taste and Sheila felt sick. Harriet came to join Peter and Caroline. 'Good evening Caroline.' Caroline turned to answer her.

  'Hello Harriet. Isn't this a lovely party? I like this idea of having an evening "do" for everybody in the village. Especially for Ralph with his past history of being Lord of the Manor so to speak.'

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  'Definitely Lord of the Manor no more.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'Didn't you realise? They've already started work on turning the Big House into a health club. The lorries have been going in and out of the gates for weeks.'

  'A health club? I don't believe it!'

  'True. True. Some people called Venetia and Jeremy Mayer have bought it and are spending thousands on it. And I mean thousands. Entirely new decor, swimming pool, Jacuzzi, running track, gymnasium, aerobics classes.'

  Peter asked Harriet how anyone could get permission to make such radical changes to such an old house.

  'By dishing out backhanders to the Council, or so Neville Neal says and he should know shouldn't he? Considering the strings he pulled to get Glebe House built. Oh, of course that was before your time. Anyway now's your chance to get fit.'

  Caroline groaned. 'Fit? I haven't time for anything but keeping my head above water at the moment. I don't know how two such small human beings can cause so much work, to say nothing of the lack of sleep. Every three hours they need feeding. There's no time for anything. Does Ralph know about the health club?'

  'I don't know.'

  When everyone had circulated and eaten and examined the wedding presents which were on display in a small side room, it was announced that the happy couple would shortly be cutting the cake. As many as could gathered round, and cameras clicked and photographers jostled as Ralph and Muriel stood holding the silver knife and smiled first this way and then that. When they'd done the cutting Ralph took hold of Muriel and kissed her for rather longer than necessary. The guests clapped heartily and Muriel blushed, which made them all clap and laugh even more. Ralph took her hand and kissed it

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  with all the aplomb of an eighteenth-century suitor.

  'Ladies and gentlemen, thank you very much indeed for accepting our invitation to join us on this very special day. My wife and I . . .' cheers resounded through the room and Ralph laughed while Muriel blushed again, 'would like especially to thankJimbo and Harriet. Jimbo for giving Muriel away and both of them for providing such a splendid reception for us and decorating the room in what can only be described as a tasteful and exuberant manner. And thank you one and all for the lovely presents you have given us. We have been quite overwhelmed by your good wishes. We both look forward to coming home again to you and enjoying many more years sharing in the life of the village. The children's show has finished, so would you all care to come outside and watch the firework display? Thank you.'

  The guests just about allowed Ralph and Muriel to get outside first before they all stampeded onto the green. Jimbo's firework displays were renowned and they didn't want to miss one moment. Gwen and Beryl delayed leaving with the crowd, as they had designs on the food remaining on the table. The two of them wrapped sausage rolls and vol-au-vents, cakes and quiche in paper napkins and stuffed them into their handbags and pockets. Between them they had enough food for two or three days. Well satisfied with their haul they sauntered outside to see the last of the fireworks. There being no street lamps the fireworks showed up brilliantly from the first moment they escaped their containers. The children ooh'd and aah'd and the adults joined in. The grand finale consisted of a tableau made of Catherine wheels in the shape of the bridal couple's initials. They all clapped Jimbo's genius. Soon afterwards someone brought Ralph's Mercedes up close to the crowd. It was decorated all over with balloons and "Just Married" signs. Muriel was handed courteously

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  into the front passenger seat by Ralph, who then got into the driving seat and the Mercedes slid quietly away down Church Lane with the guests waving and cheering their goodbyes.

  Sheila had managed to prevent Ron from getting drunk and apart from her twinges of envy about Sadie Beauchamp had thoroughly enjoyed herself. She wouldn't half be glad to get these blasted sandals off though, they were cutting into her toes. She kicked them off as soon as she got in. Ron got the dogs' leads and set off for a sharp walk to exercise Pom and Pericles before he went to bed. He'd been lumbered with walking the dogs because Sheila always considered it a man's job to take the dogs out late at night. Come to think of it she thought it a man's job first thing in the morning and during the day. Ah well, it was a small price to pay for peace.

  As he passed The Royal Oak, Ron heard the sounds of loud laughter through the open door. Well why not? He tied Pom and Pericles to an ancient hitching post outside the saloon bar door and pushed his way into the crowd. As he neared the bar Ron remembered that the new landlord had taken over only this week. It seemed odd after all these years not having big Betty McDonald behind the bar pulling pints.

  'A double whisky please, landlord,' he shouted. The landlord's round shining face was dominated by a huge 'Flying Officer Kite' moustache which more than made up for the lack of hair on his head. For such a youngish man he was certainly very bald. In the shiny smiling face was a pair of twinkling grey eyes. By any standards he was a big man. 'Good evening sir, and welcome to The Royal Oak. I'm Bryn Fields and this is my wife Georgie. Come here Georgie and introduce yourself.'

  His wife was a petite and pretty blonde with a warm laugh. She reached over the bar to shake Ron's hand.

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  'Good evening, very pleased to meet you. And you are?'

  'Sir Ronald Bissett.'

  'Welcome to The Royal Oak. You know your first drink is on Sir Ralph with it being his wedding day?'

  'Yes, I did know. Thank you very much. I hope this week is the start of a long and happy time for you here in Turnham Malpas. I see you've got a new barman too.'

  Bryn called out 'Come here, Alan, and meet another customer. This is Alan Crimble, Sir Ronald, he's been with us for what is it ... fifteen years now. We couldn't manage without him.'

  Alan nodded a greeting to Ronald, who wasn't much impressed by Alan's weedy figure and ingratiating smile. 'Best cellarman in Britain is Alan.' Bryn clapped Alan on the back as he returned to serving drinks. 'Here you are then Sir Ronald, here's your whisky. Good health and a long life to Sir Ralph and his bride.'

  'Here's to that.'

  Ron downed his whisky and immediately asked for another. After all he had been nearly drowned today, he could be catching a severe chill. Pom and Pericles waited and waited. They were unaccustomed to being tied up for long and when boredom set in they began playfully snapping at each other. This rapidly became more than a game and before they knew it they were having a real fight. Neither could escape as both were firmly tied up. A passer-by unfastened their leads intending to pull them apart and then find their owner, but they took their chance and escaped. Their first thought was to continue the fight but having been released they changed their minds and raced for home. Pericles went to Muriel's house out of habit and Pom to Ron and Sheila's, where he sat yapping outside the front door.

  Sheila, already in bed, woke up with a start when she heard him. She popped on her neglige and went to the

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  window overlooking the front door. When she saw Pom sitting there with no sign of either Ron or Pericles she feared the worst. She went to bring in Pom, expecting that Pericles would be out there with him somewhere. He wasn't. She hung about nervously in the hall for a few minutes hoping Ron would return with Pericles. When he didn't Sheila went upstairs and got dressed with the intention of going over to Muriel's to see if Pericles had gone to his home by mistake. Sure enough she found Pericles shivering and cryin
g outside Muriel's front door. As she wearily put the key in her own door on her return, she heard a burst of laughter from The Royal Oak.

  'That'll be it,' she said out loud. 'He'll be in there drinking himself silly. Well, if he thinks I'm going to make a fool of myself dragging him out he's got another think coming.'

  Sheila had been asleep about half an hour when she was woken by a loud thumping at the door. She snuggled down under her goose down duvet and deliberately ignored him for a while. Eventually she relented and went down to let Ron in.

  Ron was standing unsteadily on the door step. 'Couldn't find the key, Tsheila. Tsorry.' He came over the threshold clinging to the door frame for support. He patted her arm, almost pulling her neglige from her shoulders as he slipped on the polished floor. 'You're a wonderful wife Tsheila. Best day's work I ever did marrying you. No one anywhere has a better wife than you. Blow Tsadie Beauchamp and that lot, I like something cuddly to get hold of. Give me a woman with curves I tsay. Come 'ere and give us a kissh.'

  'Certainly not. What would the union people think of you now Ron?'

  'They'd tsay good luck to yer Ron.'

  He went into the downstairs loo, pale green fitments

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  with pale yellow accessories and a spray of artificial flowers tastefully arranged in a vase the shape of a penguin. She could hear him vigorously splashing himself with water. Ron came out rubbing his head and face with the pale yellow towel. More dirty washing.

  'You're a big disappointment to me Ron. I try hard to turn you into a gentleman and you ruin it by coming home drunk as a lord.'

  'I am a lord or very nearly. But you've tsome room to talk. That blasted fur coat, I told you not to wear it. I hate the blessed thing.'

  'I don't know what it is that makes you think you know all there is to know about women's clothes.'

  'I have got eyesh Tsheila, I can see what Tsadie Beauchamp wearsh, what Dr Harrish wears and it's not like what you choose.'

  'Well, thanks very much. Been out having a good time without me and then come home criticising me and my clothes. Thanks very much Ron Bissett. I'm off to bed and think yourself lucky if I ever speak to you again.' Sheila stormed off to bed hurt almost beyond endurance by his cruel words, made worse by the fact that underneath all her bluster she knew he was right.

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  Chapter 4

  The Monday morning after the wedding Peter followed his usual habit of praying from six thirty until seven and then going for his half hour run. He'd been awake since five helping Caroline to feed the twins so it already felt like the middle of the morning to him. He went down Jacks Lane, crossed Shepherd's Hill and then onto the spare land behind the Methodist Chapel and set off along Turnham Beck. He had the steady economical action of the experienced runner and having followed this route for nearly a year now, he didn't need to take particular notice of his direction. Just past the footbridge he became aware of someone coming at speed towards him. Lifting his head he saw what appeared to be a large oriental butterfly winging it's way down the path. It began running on the spot. Peter stopped to speak. 'Good morning.' The gaudy creature was dressed in an electric pink plush tracksuit with a matching sweatband holding back jet-black hair, which seemed to spring in a dense mass out of her scalp. Round her ankles were purple slouch socks and on her feet a pair of expensive snow-white running shoes. Her wrists and fingers were covered in bright jewellery, the kind Caroline would never dream of wearing.

  'Hi! I'm Venetia Mayer from the new health club.' 'Oh right, I'm Peter Harris. Great day for a run isn't

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  'It certainly is. Be seeing you. Bye.' She carried on her way, leaving Peter shaking his head in amazement. He did a lot of thinking on his runs and this morning he was contemplating how he could best sort out Caroline's problems. Very soon she was going to be ill. The children being so small needed feeding frequently and were taking so much of her time both night and day that she was close to collapse. Much as he would have loved to stay in to help her he had his own commitments which she knew could not be ignored. What she really needed was another pair of hands all day long.

  He stopped to rest for a moment, leaning on the gate into Sykes Wood. That was it, another pair of hands. But whose hands? There was no one in the village who sprang immediately to mind. No doubt the answer would come to him. Today, Lord, for preference, he prayed.

  Mondays he tried to spend in Penny Fawcett, the first village travelling west from Turnham Malpas and one belonging to his parish. Its own church was long gone and the churchgoers from Penny Fawcett came to St Thomas' for their services. They still had their own village centre and there was always a mini market there on Mondays, so he knew he'd meet plenty of his parishioners. Peter parked his car and was about to go into the centre when a voice hailed him from across the road.

  'Mr Harris, isn't it? Good morning. You won't remember me but I met you at the Hospital Garden Party last summer. My name's Sylvia Bennett.' She held out her hand to shake his. Peter racked his brain trying hard to recollect her, then, as he walked across the road he remembered.

  'Oh. I know, you're a supervisor there. Yes, that's right, Caroline introduced us. How are you?'

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  'This is my cottage, come in and have a coffee before you go in the mini market. My coffee's a lot better than that stuff out of the paper cups they serve in there, their rubbish could rot your insides. I'll be glad for some company.'

  They took their coffee from her bright shining kitchen out on to a little bench by the back door and sat catching the best of the winter sun while they talked. Peter warmed to her lovely kindly face and her big candid grey eyes, which never seemed to stop twinkling.

  'Having a day off are you Mrs Bennett?'

  'Well, yes, except it's a long day off I'm afraid. Been made redundant after fifteen years.'

  'But you were a supervisor.'

  'Makes no difference sir, nowadays. Re-organisation and out went Sylvia and got replaced by a young manager barely out of nappies who couldn't supervise a chimpanzee's tea party let alone a work force of twenty cleaners. Added to which I'm soon to lose my cottage. Landlord's coming back from abroad and has nowhere else to live, so out goes me. In fact it's not like me but I do feel a bit low today.'

  Sylvia paused to put her cup down beside her on the path and then asked, 'How's Dr Harris? She was well liked at the hospital; we did miss her when she left. No edge you know sir, you'd as likely find her in the broom cupboard joking with the cleaners as find her perched on a desk in a consultant's office, explaining to him that he really shouldn't keep sick people waiting for hours while he played God with his private patients. Many's the one who's been hauled over the coals for it by Dr Harris. And what's more they did as they were told. And her so young compared to them.'

  'At the moment she feels very far from young. You know, I expect, that she isn't able to have children, well, we've been very privileged to be able to adopt twins . . .'

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  'I had heard. I bet she's thrilled, she'll make a lovely mother.'

  'Yes, she does, but she's exhausted. Living in the Rectory the phone is going continuously and she's trying so hard to do well by the twins, but they are tiny and they are much harder work than she'd anticipated. Well, no not that, we just didn't know what hard work such tiny babies are. There's lots of parish things she's involved with and she is a perfectionist as you know.'

  Sylvia asked him if he'd like more coffee.

  'No thanks, must be off. Lovely talking to you Sylvia, I'll tell Caroline I've met you. Thanks for the coffee. See you again sometime.' How could he introduce the idea of Sylvia helping out without giving Caroline the feeling that she wasn't coping. Lack of faith in her at the moment could cause serious damage to her already shaky confidence.

  'Guess who I met today in Penny Fawcett?'

  'Can't. I just want to get my dinner down before those two horrors of ours wake up. I'm sorry it's one of Jimbo's frozen dinners . . .'

&n
bsp; 'I don't think he'd appreciate the apologetic tone in your voice. He considers his frozen dinners are of gourmet standard.'

  'Well, they are, but you know what I mean. Who did you meet?'

  'Sylvia Bennett.'

  'Oh, from the hospital. How is she?'

  'Redundant.' Peter chose another roll and energetically buttered it while Caroline digested his news.

  'Redundant? Has she got another job?'

  'No, and another few weeks and the landlord wants her cottage back.'

  'I see. I always liked Sylvia. We got on very well.'

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  'She likes you, she gave my darling girl very good references.'

  'Did she? Jimbo's right, these dinners are good. Though I could eat a horse tonight. I got no time for lunch at all. Sylvia's a good cook you know.'

  'Is she?' Peter continued enjoying his dinner, leaving a silence for Caroline to fill with her own thoughts.

  'She doesn't know much about babies.'

  'Doesn't she?'

  As she finished the last morsel of her dinner Caroline said, 'She would be good for everything else though, wouldn't she?'

  'Are you thinking what I'm thinking?'

  'What's that?'

  'She might be able to help us a bit here, just occasionally, you know from time to time.'

  'Peter, you must be telepathic. Except I'd go one further than that.'

  'You mean have her here every day?'

  'Well, there are four big bedrooms here and ..."

  'So long as we always have one spare for visitors or the odd tramp in need of accommodation she could ..."

  Caroline triumphantly finished his sentence for him. 'Live in. Brilliant. We can afford it for a while, and she would save my life you know. She's very discreet, she wouldn't be a pest. Just till she found somewhere of her own you understand.'

  'Of course.' Peter silently thanked the Lord for his intervention.

  He came out of the church the following morning to find Jimbo limbering up outside as though he was about to take part in an Olympic marathon. He was wearing a pair of old rugger shorts from his university days and a sweat shirt with Support the Whales emblazoned across it. 'Good morning Jimbo.'