The Village Fate

by William Hadley

  Josie liked Claudilia straight away. She wasn’t what Josie’d expected, she thought she’d find a snooty piece in tweeds when she heard someone had turned up on horseback, a member of the county set, with a high voice, a plum in her mouth and an inherited overbite. She was pleasantly surprised by Claudilia’s openness, most people just clam up when the police ask them questions, and she’d always liked horses.

  “I assume the local gossip has started, has it?” she replied. “And we’ll be issuing a press release later this afternoon. For now all I can tell you is that Gus Barker was found here late yesterday evening by a member of the darts team. They’d been worried when he didn’t show up for a game. He seems to have had some sort of accident while working alone. His body’s been taken to the coroner’s office in Warwick and we’ll know more when the post mortem’s done.” Josie smiled. She was thinking that the PM might be delayed, first they had to chip him out of his accidental sarcophagus. “Now Mrs Belcher, is there anything on the local jungle drums that I haven’t covered, or perhaps something you can add to what we already know?”

  “Actually it’s Miss Belcher, I’ve never suffered the misfortune of marriage.” Claudilia replied. “And you’ve got it right about the village gossip. I haven’t heard any more than you’ve just told me. But give me a card and if I hear he’s been abducted by aliens or molested by a dragon I’ll let you know.”

  DS Robinson took a Warwickshire police business card from her pocket, wrote her mobile number on the back and passed it across. Claudilia took the card and slid it into the top of her calf length riding boot.

  “I live in Bindweed Cottage, opposite the green,” said Claudilia. “If you want any more information you can find me there, or at the Belcher estate office. One or the other, I’m seldom far away.” Claudilia put her left foot into the stirrup and heaved herself back onto Pumpkin.

  “Thank you for your time Miss Belcher, but can I ask who this is riding with you?” said DS Robinson looking at Helen.

  “That’s Helen, she’s a Miss Belcher too, and the dog is Max.”

  “Helen’s your daughter?”

  “No” said Claudilia and Helen in outraged harmony.

  Claudilia gave her reigns a twitch and Pumpkin responded, they trotted along the fence line with Max and Helen following. The teenager was laughing quietly as Merry broke into a lazy canter for a moment until she caught up with the older horse.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Back at the stable Claudilia and Helen gave their horses a rub down, before turning them out into the field. Both animals knew the routine and they waited by the gate for their reward, it came in the shape of a carrot.

  Claudilia and Helen went through the back door and into the kitchen of Bindweed Cottage. As suspected Max had let himself out through the window in the lounge. He rearranged the flowers across the floor in the process. Claudilia gathered the lilies and carnations and put them back into the vase, Helen sponged up the water. …You great big lolloping hound. I guess I could get a cat flap fitted. But he’s the size of a small pony. Tilly’d come through and join me for breakfast, or a bear! A flap that big’s bound to let a bear in, it happens all the time on television. I’d wake in the morning and there’d be a great big grizzly in my bed. Still, it’s gott’a be better than waking up with stinky Mr Crumble.

  “Tea Coffee or something stronger” said Claudilia.

  “Tea’s fine, peppermint if you have it” replied Helen. She’d have the occasional beer or glass of wine with her aunt but today she wanted tea.

  “Now, tell me about this boy,” said Claudilia really fast. She was gushing now like some sort of cartoon character on speed. “Mark is it? What’s he like? Is he clever, funny, good looking? Don’t tell me he’s all three! ‘Cos if he is, you need to keep away from him, he’s not human, he’s a visiting alien, it happens more often than you’d think, they do it for a joke, but they don’t always get the disguise right. Just look at Boris Johnson, he’s one. So out with it, what’s he like?”

  “Stop it.” Helen laughed, she was giggling like when she’d been a little girl and her aunt had blown raspberries on her bare tummy. “Stop it please. Just let me get a word in will you.” She took a breath, composed herself and carried on.

  “It’s not Mark, he’s my best friend’s brother, you know Emma, she’s been riding with us and they live over at Holsbury.”

  “Yes, yes I know Emma.” Replied Claudilia, anxious for her niece to continue. “If it’s not Mark then who.”

  “It’s not like that, he’s got no chance, he’s not my type.”

  Claudilia had been preparing a tray and now she brought the tea to the table, peppermint for Helen and an afternoon blend for herself. There were china cups for them both and a couple of the mini Victoria sponge cakes. “Not your type? And pray tell young miss, with your vast experience, what is your type?”

  Helen took a breath and looked at her tea, then the cake and last of all her aunt. “Well there’s someone I like and they’re just my type, and they like me too, a lot.”

  “So, is he tall or short? Fat or thin? Geek or athlete? Blond hair? Brown hair? Oh, please God don’t tell me he’s one of those who shaves his head? Or ginger; not ginger, I couldn’t have you matched with a ginger nut, all freckles and perpetual sunburn,” Said Claudilia all in a single burst before she gasped for breath.

  “Blond” said Helen. “Not thin but not fat. Likes games but doing well at school work too. We’re taking mostly the same courses. About my height.” Here Helen stopped and looked down before continuing more quietly. “And he’s not a He. She’s a She.”

  For a moment all was silence, the only noise was the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. Helen looked at her aunt, afraid she’d made a terrible mistake. She’d not told any of her family she was gay and right now she just wanted to wind back time two minutes. She wanted to talk about horses and dogs, or even dead builders. Anything but this.

  Claudilia took a sip of tea, then a bite of cake and another sip of tea. She was playing for time. What she said now would make or break their relationship, she didn’t want to get it wrong. In the end she just got up walked around the table to where Helen sat. She pulled her niece onto her feet and wrapped her strong arms around the girl. As Claudilia embraced Helen she could feel the girl, no, the young woman, start to sob and she cried too. They stood like that for several minutes before either could let go.

  “I had to tell someone,” said Helen with her face buried in her aunt’s shoulder. “I’ve kissed a few boys, I tried to like it but it just didn’t feel right. It felt wrong, dirty and wrong. Then I was messing around with Emma a while ago, well it was months ago actually, and we kissed. It felt different, so nice and natural, we both wanted to do it some more. It just sort of snowballed from there. She’s told her parents, but you’re the first of our family I’ve said anything to. Is it wrong aunt Claudilia?”

  “It’s not wrong, and Emma’s a great girl,” said Claudilia. Now she came to think about it, Helen and Emma had been virtually inseparable recently. They were always doing things together or staying at each other’s homes. “The world’s come on a long way since I was your age Helen, and it’s more accepting, even in a little village like this. Just be yourself. You don’t have to flaunt it, but denying it can be toxic too.” Claudilia stepped back, and still holding her niece by the upper arms she looked into Helen’s eyes. “Relationships are a real bugger Helen. My advice, and I strongly suggest you don’t take it, is to stick to horses and dogs, and if you can find one, a cat that doesn’t fart all the time.”

  Helen laughed, she hugged her aunt tight and kissed her on the cheek. She felt so much better for telling Claudilia. She and Emma had talked about almost nothing else for weeks. Emma had already told her mum, who’d already guessed and was fine about it. She just wanted her daughter to be happy. They’d agreed the first person they should try it out on in Helen’s family would be her aunt, because they agreed, she was coolest and wo
uld be on their side, whatever the rest of the family said.

  “So what does your mum say about all this?” asked Claudilia, reaching across for her tea and cake.

  “We haven’t told her yet and you’ve got to promise not to say anything,” replied Helen with a slight panic in her voice. “I’ll tell her when I’m ready. I’m nearly ready, but for the moment you’re the only one I’ve told. Emm’s mum knows and she’s okay with it, but she’s much younger than you.”

  “Cheeky cow,” said Claudilia. “I may be just into my fifties, okay mid-fifties, but sex wasn’t invented by your generation. I can still have a good time if I choose to. I’m just very discreet and don’t wave it around like a flag.”

  Claudilia laughed. She thought about the last time she’d “chosen” to have a good time. A friend of Marie’s was visiting from Australia, a married man who liked to ride horses and was interested in farms, English villages and Shakespeare. They’d toured the area in her old Volvo, they visited Stratford on Avon and went to a couple of plays. They talked about wheat, sheep and alpaca farming. They’d stayed at a rural hotel for a couple of nights deep in the rolling Cotswolds, they’d enjoyed long walks and longer lunches. They’d visited formal gardens and houses older than his country; in the evening they’d dined at the hotel and gone to bed early. It had been nice, he’d been a considerate lover. His hands were rough, but he had a surprisingly tender touch. Claudilia had expected nothing more. It had been a bit of fun, that’s all. They’d kept in touch by occasional emails and Christmas cards.

  That had been some time ago. Two, or maybe three years back, and she realised she’d not missed it as much as she thought she was supposed to. …That’s the media for you, if you’re not screwing someone’s brains out three times a week you’re not normal. A load of bunkum if you ask me.

  With that out of the way they felt free to talk about other things. Claudilia wanted to know how her niece was getting on at school. Helen was in her final few weeks before A levels, Her chosen subjects were biology, geography, chemistry and drama. From an early age Helen had wanted to be a vet. Her grades were good, and as long as she did well in these exams, her teachers could see no reason why the Royal Veterinary College shouldn’t accept her.

  Family life in the Belcher home was okay. Her sister Maggie, was at the same secondary school as Helen and liked to “borrow” her clothes. They didn’t fit of course, but she still tried to squeeze into them. Maggie was a couple of years younger than Helen but had the more rounded Belcher body. Not the slim, athletic, antipodean shape Helen had inherited from Marie.

  Alan was Alan, he was happy if he had his toy tractors to play with and would spend hours making little farms for them on the sitting room floor. He would often ask what was happening on the estate so he could imitate it with his models. When he grew up he wanted to be just like his dad. Claudilia thought farming would be very different by the time her nephew joined the business.

  At five o’clock Helen said she had homework to do. She asked if it was okay to leave Merry in the field with Pumpkin, something they often did but it was always polite to ask.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Claudilia was washing up the tea things when she heard a light knock on the door. Thinking it was Helen she called out, “Come in, what have you forgotten? It would be your head if it wasn’t screwed on.”

  “I can be forgetful,” said DS Robinson walking into the kitchen.

  “God, I’m sorry, Helen was just here and I thought you were her come back,” said Claudilia. “We’ve just had some tea, can I offer you a cup or would you prefer a beer? I’ve got some Harvest moon, it’s a Belcher brew and not at all strong, only three and a quarter percent so it’s hardly drinking on duty.” Then she stopped, she’d been gabbling on, if she didn’t draw breath she was going to pass out.

  Josie Robinson leaned against the kitchen table and looked around. “A small beer would be very nice thank you.”

  Claudilia and DS Robinson, “call me Josie please,” took their drinks into the back garden. The sun was still warm and they sat at the table on the small patio. Mr Crumble jumped up onto the police officers lap. “I hope you don’t mind cats,” said Claudilia, “just make sure you hold your breath and run for the hills if you feel him shudder then fart. The little bastard can clear a room in seconds.”

  “You’ve got a lovely spot here,” Said Josie. “Peter, my husband, and I have a much smaller place on an estate in Stratford. He is an architect and he’s always looking for the right plot of land, somewhere he can design and build our own home.”

  The two ladies took a drink and Josie continued. “We’ve pretty much finished at the development site. We’ll return it to the builders on Monday. I don’t think there’s much more to be learned up there. As far as I can see, and I’m sure the coroner will agree, this was an accident caused by Mr Barker doing a two man job on his own. He’d bypassed a safety device, and they’re there for a reason.”

  Claudilia sighed, “I’m afraid it’s the way of the world at the moment. Building contracts are won and lost on a few pounds here and a few pounds there. If Gus’s firm could save money by employing less people then they’ll get the work. Did you know there were thirty-eight fatal accidents on UK farms last year, and most of them were avoidable. They involved workers cutting corners to save a bit of time, or not stopping machinery when making adjustments. You’d be astonished by how many farmers get run over by their own tractor. Working alone can be very dangerous, and on farms we do it all the time.”

  The two ladies sat in silence for a moment before Josie asked another question. “Mr Barker was clearly very involved with village life, and your family’s been here forever. Are you related in any way?”

  God I hope not, thought Claudilia. But she considered the question. “There’s been Belchers in Wimplebridge for hundreds of years. We came over with the Normans, and we were knights on horseback I’m told. They did the whole ten sixty-six thing at Hastings then kept riding north till they found this village. At some point they changed their name to Belcher because it sounded less French, and we’ve been here ever since. I think the Butchers have been here since about the same time. If they were foot soldiers it might have taken a bit longer to get this far north. By then we’d bagged all the good sites.” she laughed. “Either way, there’s quite a few Butchers in the area, so there could easily have been some Belcher-Butcher bastards. But there’s been no legitimate offspring as far as I know.”

  “We know he lived alone, and he was often in the pub, he played in their darts team. What else do you know about Mr Butcher?”

  “He was on the fete committee, I saw him there on Wednesday evening, he was in charge of construction. There’s still a stage to build and stalls that’ll need patching up from last year. He was a builder, and that’s a handy man to have on a village committee. He could always put his hands on a piece of wood that was just right for the job, or some paint to brighten things up.”

  “What’ll the committee do now?”

  “Oh, we’ll manage. Someone will step in and take over his role. They may not do as good a job as Gus, but the jobs’ll get done. Once there’s a cloth on a table, or the stage is covered in rhubarb pickle and massive marrows, nobody’ll worry about who built it. The only thing missing will be a plaque with his phone number. Gus likes, liked, to get local trade. He used the fete to promote his work.”

  Claudilia gasped, jumped up and whipped her note book from her pocket. “I must take his advert out of the program, we can’t promote a dead builder can we?” She said writing a note to talk to the printer. “I don’t suppose your husband, the architect, would like a half page add at a knock down price would he?”

  DS Robinson said she’d ask him but she didn’t think so. She’d finished her drink and stood to go, dislodging Mr Crumble in the process. As he jumped to the ground there was a light but audible phuff, “Quick, hold your nose and lets get to the front of the house, before the smell lingers on your clothes.”
said Claudilia. “The little bastard’s let one rip and if it gets into the fabric you’ll have to burn it all.”

  By the time Josie reached the front garden her eyes were watering. “My God, whatever do you feed him? It’s lethal.” Claudilia’s response was drowned out by the noise of a tractor and trailer racing past. “I thought it was supposed to be quiet in the country,” said the detective. “There’s more noise and noxious smells here than a Saturday night at Kings Cross.”

  “That great big bugger’s going to the AD plant,” said Claudilia. “They come past here too fast, just a few days ago one knocked down my wall.” She turned and pointed at the pile of stones. “I’d skin the driver alive if I could find out who it was. Then I’d kill him, and skin him all over again,” …That may not have been the smartest thing to say in front of a police officer.

  DS Robinson said goodbye and got into her Mondeo. Claudilia went into the cottage and fed Mr Crumble and Max, then she prepared a light dinner for herself. By seven o’clock the washing machine was on and she’d settled down to an evening of rubbish television and laundry. Three hours later, with all her washing done and most things ironed, she turned off the TV and went to bed.

  Chapter Sixteen