(3/13) News from Thrush Green (18 page)

'Bin
cut
, 'ave I?' yelped Albert, outraged.

'Our Mr Pedder-Bennett performed the operation,' said the girl reverently. 'A beautiful bit of work, the theatre sister said.'

'That ol' butcher?' cried Albert indignantly. 'I'll have the law on the lot of you! Letting that ol' saw-bones loose on a chap as is unconscious. I'll—'

'You'll eat your supper,' said the nurse, deftly thrusting a spoonful into Albert's protesting mouth. 'And stop talking nonsense.'

She lodged the bowl in front of him and bustled out of the ward.

Albert removed the spoon from his mouth and pushed it about in the bowl gloomily. He became conscious of other people eating in the ward, and looked at his companions with some interest.

Ted Allen kept his eyes sedulously upon his tray. His expression was lofty. He wasn't going to waste his time being pleasant to an old misery like Albert Piggott. Let him stew in his own juice!

'What've they given you?' asked Albert, trying to make amends. Ted Allen, good-hearted, quickly forgave his neighbour.

'Some sort of mince,' said Ted. 'Could be anything from rat to rabbit. You name it - this is it!'

'Looks a sight better than this muck,' said Albert, with considerable self-pity.

'You wants to take things careful,' advised Ted. 'You was pretty bad when you come in. And a proper ghastly colour when they brought you back from the operation. Lay there groaning, you did, and snoring horrible.'

'Did I now?' said Albert, brightening. 'Bet you thought I wouldn't come round.'

'That never worried us,' said Ted ambiguously. 'But you kep' us all awake.'

Albert tried another spoonful tentatively and pondered Ted's last remark.

'What you in for?' he asked at length.

'Appendix. Caught me while I was lifting the crates. Good thing Bessie was nearby. She got Doctor Lovell double quick and here we are. I goes out sometime this week.'

'You're lucky,' growled Albert.

Ted Allen looked about him reflectively.

'I don't know. I've quite enjoyed meself, being waited on. Makes a nice change. And people comin' to see you with fruit and papers. I'll be quite sorry to go, what with one thing and another.'

'Don't suppose anyone'll come and see me,' said Albert.

'What about Nelly? She'll be down with a steak-and-kidney pud hidden in her pocket, I'll bet.'

'That she won't,' replied Albert, putting the spoon and bowl on the locker top. 'She's cleared off!' No point in trying to keep secrets in Lulling, he told himself.

'You don't say!' gasped Ted, registering acute surprise. Bessie had told him the news twenty-four hours earlier. She had also told him about the oilman. 'What did she do that for?'

'Gone off her chump over some fellow that's no better than he should be,' replied Albert austerely. 'That's why.'

'She's a fool then,' said Ted. 'Throwing over a steady chap like you.'

Albert looked mollified. There was one thing about Ted Allen, blab-mouth though he was. He was a good judge of character, thought Albert.

The nurse came scurrying down to his bed, and peered into his bowl.

'That's better. Next time you must finish it all up, but we'll let you off tonight. Feeling happier now, are we?'

'No,' said Albert.

'Well, you will when I tell you the news,' said the girl, undeterred. 'Your daughter's here to see you.'

'What? Molly?'

'Yes, and her husband. Now, you be nice to them. They've come a long way.'

She beckoned to two figures at the end of the ward. They advanced shyly. For one terrible minute, Albert thought that the tears would come again. Weakness it was, just weakness, he told himself, fighting for control.

'Dad,' said Molly. 'How are you feeling now?'

'Middlin',' said Albert huskily. She put a small posy of anemones on the bed.

'They must have cost a pretty penny,' commented Albert ungratefully.

'Never mind that,' said Ben. 'You look better than I thought you would.'

'Been at death's door, I have,' Albert said with pride. 'Ain't I, Ted?'

'Mr Allen!' cried Molly, turning round. 'And how's your wife, and "The Drovers' Arms"? Those were happy times!'

They talked for a minute or two, for they were old friends. Molly had worked there as barmaid before her marriage, and the Aliens had always been good to her.

'You heard about Nelly?' asked Albert.

'Yes, dad. Miss Dimity told me when we got here. I'm sorry. What'll you do?'

'Same as I did before, of course. Look after meself. I ain't helpless, you know.'

'We know that,' said Ben diplomatically. 'But best see how you get over this operation. Maybe, Molly can look after you for a bit until you're on your legs again. I can spare her for a week or two.'

The two young people smiled at each other. It was plain to Albert that they had been making plans before they paid this visit.

Suddenly, he felt ineffably tired. It had been a long day. Seeing the look of exhaustion, Molly rose and nudged Ben.

'We'll be off now, Dad, and come and see you tomorrow before we go back home.'

She kissed his unresponsive face. Ben shook his hand gently, and they departed.

'She's a grand girl,' said Ted Allen, watching them go. 'Always bright and cheerful, as Bessie says.'

'Takes after her old dad,' said Albert drowsily, and fell into a deep sleep.

In the week that followed Phil's trip to town, she worked hard at the writing. It was always difficult to begin a new type of work, and she had never written for children of ten to fourteen for whom the new column was intended.

Nevertheless, she had experience with slightly older readers, and she was comforted by the thought that Frank was the sort of person who would say exactly what was right, or wrong, with a piece of work, and also give her sound advice.

She had passed on his message to Harold who looked pleased at the thought of entertaining his old friend.

'And I think I ought to tell you,' she added, after some hesitation, 'that the story about the two village ladies is to be published after all.'

She explained about the Scottish papers and the pen-name. Harold was elated.

'I'm so glad. I've felt rather wretched over the whole affair. I'm afraid you must have thought me unspeakably stuffy.'

'Well, I was horribly rude. I was so cross,' laughed Phil. 'Still, all's well that ends well, and I really am most terribly grateful to you for introducing me to Frank and all this lovely work. I shall be quite rich in the New Year.'

The next morning, while Phil was tapping busily at her typewriter, Harold appeared at the window, waving a pair of secateurs.

'Would you like me to prune those roses at the end of the garden? We missed them earlier, you remember. I've just finished mine, and thought I'd ask while it was in my mind.'

'I'd be very thankful,' said Phil, 'I'm particularly dim about pruning. I'll give you a call when I'm making coffee. I just want to finish some alterations.'

'Don't disturb yourself on my account,' said Harold cheerfully, departing down the garden.

It was a clear mild December day. Against the house, a flourishing winter jasmine was breaking into yellow stars. A robin eyed Harold speculatively from the top of the wall, hoping for upturned worms. Nearby, a fat thrush jabbed rhythmically at a rotting apple in the grass.

Harold got on with the job, humming happily to himself. It was a relief to know that all was well between himself and Phil, and an even greater relief to know that she was getting steady work which was decently rewarded.

He was making a neat job of the neglected bushes, and stacking the prickly shoots in a pile ready for burning, when he heard the gate click, and looked up.

Stepping up the path was the local policeman, Constable Potter. He hailed him gaily. The officer walked across the grass towards him.

'And what brings you here?' asked Harold lightly. 'Traffic offences?'

The constable remained unsmiling, and Harold felt a sudden constriction in his chest.

'Not bad news, I hope?'

'Afraid so, sir. But I must tell Mrs Prior first. Is she alone, d'you know?'

'Yes. The boy's at school. But can I help?'

'Not yet, sir. But will you be around?'

'Yes, of course. I'll be here, in the garden.'

He watched the burly blue back advance towards Tullivers' front door with heavy foreboding.

For Harold, there followed the longest ten minutes he could remember. Mechanically he snipped at the rose bushes, while the robin whistled to him. He collected handfuls of dried grass which were caught about the lower shoots like grey lace, and added them, unseeing, to his pile of rubbish. What could have happened? Was it something to do with the divorce? Wouldn't her solicitor cope with all that? Why on earth would young Potter want to call?

At length, the front door opened and the two emerged. Constable Potter replaced his cap, and made his farewells in a low voice. He gave one swift anxious look in Harold's direction, raised a hand, and stumped heavily down the path.

Phil, looking pale and stunned, walked across the grass to Harold who hurried towards her. She looked ready to faint, but when she reached him she held up her arms like a bewildered child and clung to him.

'There, there,' Harold heard himself say, as he patted her back. 'Come into the house, my love, and tell me.'

They entered the house, hand in hand, and in silence. When he had settled her in an armchair, he stood waiting, his back to the fire.

'Brandy?' he asked gently.

She shook her head. At last she spoke.

'I can't believe it. He's dead.'

She raised her eyes slowly, and looked mutely at Harold.

'That policeman. He brought a message from Paris. John's been killed in his car.'

'Oh no!' whispered Harold. 'This is terrible news. Terrible!'

'I must go. I must get over there.' She rose unsteadily and leant against the mantelpiece.

'I told the policeman I must go. He left a piece of paper with the times of the flights.'

She began to wander distractedly about the room, searching in an aimless way. Harold saw a piece of paper protruding from her cardigan pocket. He took it out and studied it.

'The next one is at two o'clock,' he told her. 'Let me take you over this afternoon.'

'No, no!' The girl faced him more steadily.

'I'd sooner go alone. I must go alone on this journey.'

'Then let me take you up to Heathrow.'

'I'd be grateful for that. I'll go and get some things together.'

She stopped suddenly.

'But Jeremy? I must arrange something for Jeremy.'

'I'll take charge of that,' said Harold. 'I'll call and see Joan Young, and go and get the car, while you pack.'

He looked at her white face anxiously.

'Have that drop of brandy before you begin,' he said. She nodded, and he fetched her a tot in a glass, standing over her while she gulped it down, shuddering.

'I'll be back in a quarter of an hour,' he told her. 'Wrap up well, and don't forget your passport.'

She nodded again, dumbly, and he hurried across the green on his errands. Still dry-eyed, Phil went upstairs very slowly, like an old, old woman, to prepare for the saddest journey of her life.

***

She scarcely spoke on the way to the airport, but sat with her hands clenched tightly upon the handbag in her lap.

They had some time to wait and Harold fetched
coffee
and sandwiches as they sat in the crowded waiting room.

Beside Phil sat two women with the most clownish make-up that Harold had ever encountered. He found his eyes straying to the green eyelids, the black-rimmed eyes, and the curiously luminous lips. His father would have made no bones about labelling them 'strumpets', thought Harold, but apart from their outlandish faces, they seemed normal enough. Their dress was plain, their speech quiet, their apologies sincere when they accidentally jogged Phil's coffee-cup. Harold was baffled.

The food seemed to revive Phil. She smiled tremulously at him, as though she were seeing him for the first time.

'I can never thank you enough for today,' she told him softly. 'You understand how I feel about going to John alone, though?'

'Of course,' he told her.

'I don't really believe it's happened,' she said wonderingly. 'I don't want to cry, because I just don't believe it.'

She turned to him suddenly.

'Look after Jeremy, won't you? Tell Joan what's happened. I'll tell Jeremy later.'

He patted her arm comfortingly.

'Are you all right for money?' he asked.

'I've a cheque book, and about five pounds.'

He took out his wallet and gave her some notes.

'It's simpler to have ready money. You don't know what expenses you'll find. If you want me to come over, just ring. I'm absolutely free to come at any hour, as you know.'

'I'll remember.'

'And I'll meet you here, in any case.'

'Dear Harold,' said Phil softly.

A booming voice above, nasal and distorted, announced that passengers for the flight must now depart. Phil rose hurriedly, and went with Harold to the door.

'Don't wait, please,' she told him. 'You've done so much. Get back to dear Thrush Green.'

She was swallowed up in the crowd of travellers and vanished from his sight.

But Harold did not return to Thrush Green until he had gone to the roof of the building and watched the plane take off. He watched until its greyness merged into the greyness of the December sky, before turning to go home.

15 Harold Takes Charge

THE departure of Nelly Piggott from Thrush Green may not have upset her husband unduly, but it certainly distressed Miss Watson and Miss Fogerty.

Every morning and evening Nelly had cleaned Thrush Green school with all the vigour of her thirteen stone. The classrooms, lobbies, windows—even the dingy old map-cupboard - were kept spotless. Nor had Nelly chided the children for stepping in snow or mud.

'So good-hearted,' mourned Miss Watson. 'And so
thorough
.'

She lowered her voice.