(3/13) News from Thrush Green (17 page)

'My dear Betty,' he said kindly, 'I'm going to Christmas dinner with the rector and his wife. I have invited them here for Boxing Day evening, as you know, and that delicious Christmas pudding will be ample.'

'You'd best have a trifle as well,' said Betty mutinously. 'Miss Dimity likes trifle.'

'Very well,' sighed Harold capitulating. '
One trifle
! And thank you.'

Across the green, Phil Prior wrapped a few presents for Jeremy and hid them among her clothes, but her heart was not in the coming festivities. The prospect for her was bleak, and any day now she must steel herself to break the news to Jeremy that his father would not be there at Christmas time. The boy would have to know the truth before long. If only she could get it over!

Meanwhile, she worked hard at her writing, and prepared a batch of stories, articles and ideas, which might interest Frank when she met him for the first time on the Wednesday.

The day dawned clear and bright. Phil watched Jeremy eat his breakfast egg, and felt surprisingly excited by the prospect of a day in London.

'And I go straight to Aunt Joan's, don't I?' he said, for the third time. 'She's having sausages because I told her I liked them. Paul said so.'

'Then you're very lucky,' said his mother. 'Don't forget to thank her when you go back to school.'

'And you'll be back to put me to bed?'

'Of course. Probably by tea time, but it just depends how long I have to spend with the editor, and how the trains run.'

'Can't you come back with Richard?'

'No. He's staying in London.'

'D'you like him?' Jeremy's gaze was fixed upon her intently.

'Of course.' Jeremy drained his cup of milky coffee, and wiped away his wet moustache.

'I don't.'

'Why not? He's very kind. He cleared our drain for us, you know.'

'He did that for
you
,' said Jeremy shrewdly. 'Not for me. He doesn't notice me.'

Children! thought Phil, clearing the table swiftly. Too quick by half!

'Why should you mind that?' she answered reasonably. 'Grown-up people have a lot to think about. They don't always take notice of children.'

Jeremy made no reply, but bent to tie his shoelaces. This was a new accomplishment, and gave him great satisfaction.

'Miss Fogerty gave me two sweets the first time I tied my laces,' he said, surveying his shoes proudly.

'Two? Why two?' asked Phil, glad to have the subject changed.

'Dolly mixture,' replied her son briefly.

She helped him on with his coat, and gave him a hug. His soft face smelt sweetly of Morny pink lilac soap, as he kissed her.

'Have a lovely time,' he said cheerfully.

'You too,' said Phil, opening the front door. 'Have a lovely time,' she echoed, when he reached the gate.

She watched him run across the grass and turned back to make her preparations, turning over in her mind the child's comments on their neighbour.

She enjoyed the drive with Richard. He was quick and competent in traffic, and quite unruffled by the antics of bad drivers around him.

They talked of Thrush Green, of books, and of music.

'There's a concert at Oxford just before Christmas,' said Richard. 'Will you come?'

'Thank you,' said Phil. 'If I can get someone to mind Jeremy, I should love to.'

'Aunt Winnie would sit-in, I'm sure,' said Richard. 'I'll ask her.'

'No, please don't. She's been so kind—'

'She's always kind. Looks after me too well,' said Richard, and began to tell her about his dietary difficulties.

For the first time, Phil began to see why Winnie Bailey found her nephew something of a trial. It seemed incredible that an intelligent grown man should be quite so worried about himself.

'But who is this Otto?' asked Phil, when the great man's name cropped up yet again.

'The wisest dietician of our time,' pronounced Richard solemnly, swerving to evade a cyclist bent on suicide. He went on to explain Otto's theories, his methods and his astounding successes. Phil did her best not to yawn.

'Where can I drop you?' asked Richard as they drove along Piccadilly. 'I have to go up Regent Street, if that's any help.'

'Yes, please. Somewhere near Hamley's if it's possible. I want to buy a gadget for Jeremy's train set.'

'Good luck with the editor,' called Richard, when she left the car. He gave her one of his disarming smiles, and Phil momentarily forgot the boredom of his digestive troubles as she thanked him and said goodbye.

The sausages were splendid - crisp and very dark brown-exactly as Jeremy and Paul liked them. As an added attraction, Joan had tucked them into an oblong of mashed potato with only the ends showing.

'Sausages-in-bed,' she told them. Jeremy was entranced with this gastronomic refinement, and determined to tell his mother how much better sausages tasted when so served.

The Youngs' ginger kitten greeted the boys affectionately.

'We're having one too,' Jeremy told Paul, proudly. 'It's coming at the weekend and I'm making a bed for it out of a cardboard box. I've got a piece of a rug to put at the bottom. A car rug my Daddy bought.'

'What's he giving you for Christmas?' asked Paul, a direct child.

'My daddy? I'm not sure.'

'He'll probably bring you a surprise,' said Paul.

'Yes,' agreed Jeremy. There was a slight doubtfulness in his tone which did not escape Joan, who knew the sad circumstances. 'If he comes,' he added thoughtfully.

'Of course he'll come,' scoffed Paul robustly. 'Bound to at Christmas.'

The school bell began to ring, and Joan held up a finger.

'A quick wash, Jeremy, and then off you go. We'll see you after school, my dear.'

Truly saved by the bell, she thought!

She spent the afternoon engaged in her own Christmas preparations. Her sister Ruth Lovell and her husband and baby were coming for Christmas Day. Her parents were arriving on Christmas Eve and would spend several days at Thrush Green. Mr Bassett, father of Joan and Ruth, had now retired, and was always threatening - in the kindest possible way - to turn out the Youngs from their Thrush Green house. It had been left to him on the death of his parents, and one day, he promised himself, he would go there to live.

She busied herself in preparing their room and sorting out bed-linen and blankets. The time passed so quickly that she was surprised to hear the shouts of the school children as they emerged at half past three.

She hurried downstairs to meet young Jeremy who was rushing up the garden path, unbelievably grubby after two hours in school.

'Let me wash your face,' she said, 'and then we'll go down to Lulling to pick up Paul. And shall we buy some crumpets for tea ?'

Sitting beside his hostess in the car Jeremy spoke decidedly.

'Next to my house,' he told her 'I like yours best. If I hadn't got a home, could I live with you?'

'Anytime,' said Joan sincerely. 'Anytime, Jeremy.'

Travelling back alone, in the train, Phil closed her eyes and pondered on the day's happenings, well content.

She had liked Frank the moment she saw him. He was tall, heavily-built, with a beautiful deep voice and very bright eyes of that true brown which is so rare.

She found him remarkably easy to talk to, and found herself telling him far more about her circumstances than she intended, over a splendid lunch.

The work he had in mind, he told her, was similar to that which she already did for young girls. Would she be interested in writing a half page for a monthly for slightly younger children of both sexes? He told her the payment he had in mind, which was extremely generous.

'And more stories, please,' he said,'for the women. I like your touch. Tell me more about the one you want me to suppress.'

She told him the details.

'Harold is far nicer than I am', she admitted. 'I would have gone ahead, but it would have upset him, I'm sure.'

'He's a very fine chap,' said Frank. 'And most meticulous. But I can see no real reason why you should stand to lose your proper reward.'

He went on to tell her that his company owned two Scottish evening papers which printed a short story daily.

'No possible chance of Thrush Green eyes seeing them,' he told her. 'And we'll use a pseudonym. Think one up, and let me have it. I, liked that tale. You handled the two old ladies beautifully.'

After lunch, they returned to the office where he gave her a number of back copies of the young people's magazine to study at home. They discussed things very thoroughly, and Phil was surprised to find how quickly the time flew past.

'It's so good to be doing something again,' she said. 'You shall have the copy very quickly.'

'Tell Harold I will come and see him when Christmas is over. You will be spending it at home, I suppose?'

'Yes.'

'I'm going to my son's. He's farming in Wales and there are four children, under ten, so I shall be lively enough. It's rather flat being on one's own at Christmas. My boy Robert understands that.'

They wished each other goodbye and Phil set off for Paddington feeling happier than she had done for many a long day.

14 Sudden Death

WHEN Albert Piggott came round in hospital, he was bewildered and resentful. Where was his comfortable feather pillow, familiarly sour-smelling and crumpled? Where was the sides-to-middled sheet, soft with age? And worse still, where was the cane-bottomed chair beside the bed, with the glass for his teeth and his tin of extra strong peppermints?

Everything was wrong. The light was too bright. The ceiling was too clean and too far away. And now that he could focus his aching eyes, why were there other beds around him?

He tried to sit up, but a pain in his head felled him like a log. After a little while, he managed to turn his head on the hard starched pillow and surveyed the occupant of the next bed through half-shut eyes. Outlined against the bright window, the man appeared simply as a dark hulk to Albert, but he was aware that he was being watched closely.

'Comin' round then, Bert?' he said kindly, and Albert's heart sank still further. If it wasn't Ted Allen, who kept 'The Drovers' Arms' at Lulling Woods! And could he talk? Just his luck to be beside an old gas-bag like Ted Allen! Albert shut his eyes tightly.

'Nurse!' shouted Ted, in a bellow that set Albert's head throbbing. 'Mr Piggott's come round. Looks a bit poorly.'

He felt a cool hand on his hot forehead, and another hand holding his wrist. He opened one eye - the one furthest from Ted Allen - with extreme caution.

A fresh-faced young girl smiled down at him beneath her starched cap.

'Feeling better now?' she asked.

'No,' said Albert.

'Like a drink?'

'What of?' asked Albert, with a flicker of interest.

'Water? Cold milk?'

'No thanks,' said Albert disgustedly.

'He could do with a pint of bitter, nurse,' said Ted with hearty jocularity.

Albert winced.

'Now, Mr Allen,' said the nurse severely, 'don't be a tease. Mr Piggott needs his rest. I'm going to put a screen round his bed for an hour or two.'

'Thank God for that,' said Albert, and meant it.

Later, after some hours of fitful dozing, the nurse came back, removed the screen, and lifted him against the pillows.

'Like some supper?' she said brightly.

'What is it?' asked Albert suspiciously.

'You'll see,' said the nurse, with an archness that annoyed Albert.

She whisked away. Bet it wouldn't be anything as good as Nelly cooked him, he thought morosely.

Nelly! What was it about Nelly, that he ought to remember? Something to do with Christmas pudding and shouting and a row. He groaned with the effort of thinking.

'You all right, old chap? Anything I can do?' asked Ted solicitously.

'Shut yer gob,' said Albert rudely.

'Thanks, I'm sure,' said Ted, offended. Blessed silence fell, and Albert tried out his powers of memory again.

Nelly shouting at him. Banging down a suitcase on the table. The oilman! Now he'd got it!

She'd gone!

With horror, Albert found his eyes were wet. Within a minute two tears were rolling down his cheeks. What had come over him? He was damned if he was crying about Nelly, he told himself fiercely. Good riddance to bad rubbish, that was! Nothing but everlasting rows and nagging ever since she'd caught him!

Too proud to wipe the tears away with Ted's sharp eyes upon him, Albert watched the tears splash down upon the snowy sheet top, making neat round stains.

The nurse came back bearing a small bowl full of some milky substance.

'Now, now, now!' she scolded him. 'What are we getting upset about?'

She whisked a paper tissue from a box nearby and mopped Albert's face painfully.

'Upsadaisy now!' she said, heaving him a little higher in the bed. 'Cheer up, cheer up! Worse troubles at sea! Have some supper. That'll put new heart into us.'

Albert surveyed the contents of the bowl sourly.

'Don't eat slops,' he said flatly.

'It's all you're going to get for a bit,' said the nurse firmly, 'so you may as well get used to it.'

'Why?' asked Albert, with some spirit. 'What's up with me? What you been doin' to me while I was unconscious?'

'You've had an operation for a very nasty ulcer,' said the nurse primly.