(3/13) News from Thrush Green (21 page)

'Never!' said Harold stoutly. 'You'll never sink. You're far too brave for that.'

They climbed the steep hill to Thrush Green. It was dark, and the lighted windows looked welcoming to the tired girl. The lights were on at Tullivers, and she looked enquiringly at Harold.

'Betty Bell and Winnie between them have made you and Jeremy a little supper, I believe. We all thought you'd prefer to be alone the first night, but if you would sooner have company, then do, please, spend the evening with me.'

Phil shook her head, smiling.

'You've thought of everything. I'll never be able to thank you properly. I couldn't have got through this week of nightmare without you, Harold dear.'

He helped her in with her case. In the hall Jeremy and Winnie met her. After painful hugs from her son, Phil stood looking at the welcoming flowers, the fire, and the table set for two.

'Something smells delicious,' she said, sniffing the air.

'Chicken casserole,' said Winnie. 'Betty's left it all ready to serve.'

'I didn't know, until this minute, how hungry I was,' confessed Phil. 'Stop and share it, both of you.'

'No indeed,' said Winnie. 'I'm off to see to my two menfolk.'

'I'll call in the morning,' said Harold. 'Sleep well!'

Phil and Jeremy watched them depart down the path before returning to the firelit dining room.

'It's so lovely to come home,' said Phil. 'I've missed you so much.'

'Me too,' said Jeremy cheerfully, and began to tell her about the wonders of Paul Young's electric railway. The saga continued all through the meal, leaving Phil free to consider the terrible problem of when to break the news. She felt that she really could not face any more that day. It must wait until morning, she decided.

She took the boy upstairs to the bathroom and left him in the bath while she unpacked her case.

When she returned to give him a final inspection, she found him sitting very still, gazing into the distance.

'He's dead, isn't he?' he said softly.

There was no mistaking his meaning, and Phil made no pretence.

'Yes, Jeremy,' she answered. There was silence, broken only by the plopping of water dripping from a tap.

'Tell me, darling,' she said, very gently. 'How did you know?'

He looked up at her, wide-eyed and tearless.

'I saw it in your face.'

17 Richard Contemplates Matrimony

THE mild quiet weather continued over the Christmas season, and the inhabitants of Thrush Green were divided in their feelings towards the such unseasonably balmy weather.

The pessimists pulled long faces.

'A green Christmas means a full churchyard,' they pointed out. 'A nice sharp frost or two is what we want. Kills off the germs.'

'Kills off the old 'uns too,' retorted the warmth-lovers. 'Give us a nice mild winter - germs and all!'

The church had been lovingly decked by Winnie, Dimity, Ella and other Thrush Green ladies. Albert Piggott was still kept in bed for most of the day by Doctor Lovell, and his temper was fast deteriorating to its normal stage of moroseness. His condition was not improved by seeing fat Willie Bond, the postman, looking after St Andrew's, while he himself was laid up. There had never been any love lost between the two men since the time that Willie's vegetable marrow had beaten Albert's, by a bare inch in girth and length, at Lulling Flower Show two years earlier.

Molly was beginning to wonder how long she would have to stay with her trying old father. Ben came every weekend, but it was obvious that he was becoming impatient at the delay, and resentful of the old man's carping attitude to his poor hard-working Molly.

'It can't be helped,' Molly said, doing her best to pour oil on troubled waters. 'It won't be much longer, Ben. The minute the doctor says he can be left, I'm flying back to you and our caravan.'

And with such limited consolation Ben had to be content.

Christmas, for Phil Prior, was made less painful by the kindness of her neighbours. Jeremy's natural joy in the festivities found fulfilment at the Youngs' house, where a children's party and innumerable presents helped to put his father's tragedy into the background. The arrival of the long-awaited kitten added to his excitement. But inevitably, it was more difficult for his mother. Memories of past Christmases were inescapable.

She saw again John lighting the red candles on the Christmas tree, with wide-eyed two-year-old Jeremy gazing with wonder at each new flame. John pulling crackers, and showing Jeremy the small fireworks inside - setting fire to the 'serpent's egg', waving a minute sparkler, making a flaming paper balloon rise to the ceiling, whilst Jeremy applauded excitedly. John wrapping her in a scarlet cashmere dressing gown, which she considered madly extravagant, but adorable of him. John had always been at his best at Christmas, gay, funny, sweet, considerate. It was more than Phil could bear to think that he would never again be there to make Christmas sparkle for her.

It was strange, she thought, how the bitterness of the last year was so little remembered. The humiliation, the misery, the wretched effort of keeping things from Jeremy, were all submerged beneath the remembrances of earlier shared happiness. She marvelled at this phenomenon, but was humbly grateful that her mind worked in this way. When the subject of his father cropped up, which was not very often, Phil found that she could speak of him with true affection, keeping alive for the little boy his early memories of a loving father.

She was relieved when the New Year arrived and things returned to normal. Jeremy started school during the first week in January, and she was glad to see him engrossed in his own school affairs and friendships again. Meanwhile, she set herself to work with renewed determination.

It was plain that she must work doubly hard. John's affairs had been left tidily, with a will leaving his wife everything unconditionally. But when all had been settled, it seemed that Phil could expect a sum of only about six thousand pounds which included one or two insurances, and the sale of the furniture at the Chelsea flat. The flat itself was rented, and the firm for which he had worked had no pension schemes for dependants. There was no doubt about it - things were going to be tight if she decided to continue to live at Tullivers.

But she was determined to stay there. She loved the little house and she loved Thrush Green. The friends she had made were the dependable, kindly sort of people whose company would give her pleasure and support in the years to come, as their affection towards her, in these last few terrible weeks, had shown so clearly. She had settled in Thrush Green as snugly as a bird in its nest, and so had Jeremy. Whatever the cost, Tullivers must remain their home.

Winnie Bailey had grown particularly dear to Phil since John's death. Quiet and loving, unobtrusive, but always available, Phil found herself looking upon her as the mother she unconsciously missed. Winnie lived with anxieties herself. She knew, only too well, that her husband could not live much longer. Only constant care and rest had kept him alive so long, and the doctor himself was well aware of the fact.

'I'm living on "borrowed time", as dear old Mrs Curdle used to say,' he said matter-of-factly. 'And very lucky I am to have these few extra years.'

His complete absence of self-pity made things more bearable for Winnie, but the secret sadness was always there, and made her doubly sympathetic towards the young widow next door.

Richard, too, was unusually attentive, and made himself useful by mending a faulty lock, an electric kettle, and a pane of glass broken by Jeremy's football. He would like to have taken Phil to the theatre one evening in Oxford, but decided against it.

'The pantomime is at the New until heaven knows when,' he told his aunt impatiently, 'and the Playhouse have three weeks of something translated from the Czech, by a Frenchman, which is set in near darkness with long sessions of complete silence. I don't think Phil would find it very cheering, at the moment.'

'Take her out to lunch,' said Winnie. 'I think she'd prefer that. I know she likes to be at home when Jeremy gets back after school. He can come here for his lunch that day.'

Richard brightened.

'Kingham Mill, perhaps? "The Old Swan" at Minster Lovell? "The Shaven Crown" at Shipton-under-Wychwood?'

'Ask Phil,' advised Winnie. And so he did.

The day of their jaunt together was clear and cold. There had been a sharp frost, and the grass was still white in the shade when Phil went to the Baileys' for a drink before setting off. She found Winnie and the doctor alone, but sundry thumps overhead proclaimed that Richard was getting ready.

'He's becoming quite a Beau Brummel,' said Winnie. 'You are a good influence, Phil.'

'I don't know about that,' said her husband lightly. 'He's taking the day off for this spree.'

'Heavens!' exclaimed Phil. 'I hope I'm not taking him from his work!'

'Do him good to have a break,' said his aunt firmly.

There was a particularly heavy crash above, as though a drawer had been pulled out, too abruptly and too far, and had landed on the floor.

'It reminds me,' said the doctor ruminatively, 'of the remark made by Dr Thompson, of Cambridge, sometime in the last century. He said of Richard Jebb: "The time that Mr Jebb can spare from the adornment of his person, he devotes to the neglect of his duties." I hope that our Richard will appear as elegantly turned out as his namesake, when he
does
appear.'

He certainly looked uncommonly spruce, Phil thought, when at last he arrived, full of apologies.

'And so bad for the system, fussing and fuming,' he added. 'Otto's paper on the consequences of an overflow of adrenalin upon the digestive system is always present in my mind when I begin to get worked up. Truly horrifying, his findings were! Remind me to lend the pamphlet to you sometime.'

Ella was stumping up the path as the pair made their way to the car. They greeted each other, and Ella watched the car drive away.

'Where are they off?' asked Ella abruptly.

'They're having lunch at "The Swan",' replied Winnie. 'Come in, Ella.'

'They're not making a match of things, are they? "Going steady", as they say?'

'Really!' expostulated Winnie. 'How ridiculous you are, Ella! Richard is simply showing a little kindness to the poor girl.'

'That's a change for Richard,' observed Ella. 'What's he hoping to get out of it?'

Winnie drew a long breath, and then let it out slowly. She had known Ella long enough to forgive her behaviour.

'What can I do for you, dear?' she asked mildly. Winnie's self-control was admirable.

The departure of the two together had been observed by several other people on Thrush Green.

Little Miss Fogerty, taking a physical education period with the infants, noticed Jeremy's mother entering the car. The children were ostensibly playing in four groups with suitable apparatus. Jeremy's group was nearest the playground railings, each child struggling to ply a skipping rope. Most of the little girls were twirling theirs adroitly enough, with expressions of smug superiority on their infant faces.

The boys, including Jeremy, were bouncing energetically but becoming hopelessly entangled with their ropes. It was whilst he was engaged in extricating himself from the loops round his ankles that Jeremy noticed his mother, and rushed to the fence to wave enthusiastically. Miss Fogerty, following his gaze, noted that Mrs Prior was accompanied - and by a bachelor!

'And so soon,' thought Miss Fogerty, sadly shocked.

'There's my mummy!' shouted Jeremy excitedly. 'And Richard! They're going to Minster Lovell. And Mrs Bailey's giving me lunch.'

'Lovely, dear,' said Miss Fogerty primly. But there was something in her tone which made Jeremy look up quickly at her little button mouth.

He resumed his clumsy skipping thoughtfully.

Harold Shoosmith was equally thoughtful. He had waved his hat cheerfully at the distant pair, as he crossed the green on his way to see Charles Henstock, but he could not ignore the involuntary spasm of concern which gripped him. Damn that fellow, Richard! He was making a confounded nuisance of himself.

As for Betty Bell, strategically placed for observation by cleaning the inside of the bedroom windows, her reactions were as straightforward as Ella's.

'
She's
not losing much time!' said Betty tartly.

The keen-eyed watchers of Thrush Green would have been singularly disappointed if they could have witnessed the innocent happenings at Minster Lovell.

The village, peaceful in its winter emptiness, showed little movement. A few wisps of blue smoke curled from the honey-coloured stone chimneys. An aged cocker spaniel, white round the muzzle, ambled vaguely along the green verge, sniffing here at a gatepost, there at a dry-stone wall.

The river Windrush purled placidly along, dimpling under the bridge, the current criss-crossed by the willow branches trailing on its surface. The ancient inn drowsed in the winter sunlight, and welcomed them with a great log fire which whispered, rather than roared. A white-haired old lady, dozing in a leather chair, scarcely stirred as they entered.

The entire village seemed to be wrapped in dreams-an atmosphere which Phil found wholly in keeping with her present state of suspended animation. Since John's death, she had gone about her daily life automatically, as though she were enclosed in an invisible shell which cut her off from everything around her. Her senses were still numbed, her reactions slow, her thoughts, when she wrote or spoke, seemed to drop from her with deadly deliberation, as slowly and stickily as cold treacle from a spoon.

If Richard could have known he would have been surprised and hurt to realize that it was this apathy which had made Phil accept his invitation in the first place. It was easier to accept than to produce an excuse when the young man had pressed her, but in truth she would have been happier getting on with a story which she had in mind.

Nevertheless, she was grateful for Richard's kindness, and believed that Winnie was glad to see them both having a brief break. She would hate to hurt Winnie, after all her concern.