Lois Meade 03: Weeping on Wednesday (1987) (7 page)

“How very kind,” said Rosie. “That would be most useful. Why don’t you come into the kitchen and tell us about buses and Women’s Institutes and things?”

“One thing,” said Sebastian. Lois looked at him. “What’s that heap in the garden there?” he said. “Looks like a funeral pyre.”

“Ah,” said Lois. “Well, it’s just a heap of rubbish that we turned out of the house.” She moved across to the window, blocking the view for the Charringtons. “I’m going to burn it up, as soon as it stops raining.” As she looked out at the heap, she was very glad they could no longer see it. A large rat put its head out from under the plastic cover and sniffed the air, scenting danger. It ran, a black streak through the grass, and disappeared into the old washhouse.

“Farmers are glad, though,” Lois said brightly. “It’s been a dry autumn, and now they need the rain.”

“Farmers,” said Rosie dreamily. “Of course. We shall be right in the middle of the changing seasons, Sebastian. I’m sure it’s wonderful on a crisp, frosty morning, Mrs Meade?”

“Oh, wonderful,” said Lois. They’d learn.

§

She got a call from Rosie much sooner than she expected, only a matter of weeks after this encounter. Apparently their smart house in Birmingham had sold immediately, and they planned to move into Bell’s Farm within days. Sebastian had got the job with the vet’s practice, and after Lois’s ministrations they could see that the farmhouse was habitable straight away. All the renovations they planned could be done whilst they were resident, and Sebastian had said this would be a good thing, as he could keep an eye on idle workmen. They had decided to give Waltonby village school a chance, and had talked to the headteacher.

“Everything’s organized,” Rosie burbled to Lois, “except the dog! If you know of any Labrador puppies, please let me know.”

Lois pondered on that one. She’d ask at the next Monday meeting. Enid Abraham might know of someone. She had started work several weeks ago, and all was going well. She turned up at her jobs on time, and so far had been reliable. Two or three clients had mentioned how pleased they were with her. So thorough and careful! And quiet as a mouse. One woman, a romantic novelist, who had stressed that the least interruption disturbed her muse, rang Lois specifically to say how wonderful Enid was…so sympathetic to the need for a cocoon of silence!

“Good,” Lois had said, and could think of nothing else to say. Blimey, you really saw it all in this job. Now she arranged with Rosie Charrington to send a cleaner in on Wednesday mornings, and said that very possibly it would be Enid Abraham from the mill just down the road. “I’ll have to look at my schedules, but it would make sense,” she said.

Then she remembered that the heap of junk was still there. It had been raining on and off for weeks, and the ground was waterlogged. The farmers had stopped being glad, and were on more familiar ground, happily grumbling that they couldn’t get on the land and the seed would be ruined. Lois decided to ask Derek to deal with the heap. He could pour petrol on it, or something, and make it tidy afterwards.

For about a week, the water from the mill stream had filled the ditches either side of the road with swirling, muddy water, and yesterday the banks by the bridge had burst and a deep torrent covered the road itself. Enid had reported that she’d had to go the long way round to get to Long Farnden this afternoon.

“Father’s quite worried,” she said to Lois. “He’s never seen the stream so high. And the mill pond’s dangerously full. We could be flooded in the house, he says. He’s been filling sandbags and piling them up at the ready.”

“Did your family ever work the mill?” Lois said. Gran had asked Enid to stay for a cup of tea and have a chat to Jamie, who was down with another sore throat. Tonsils, the doctor had said. Might have to do something about them, old chap. Jamie had made a face, but Lois was concerned that he was missing school and not his cheeky self at all.

Enid shook her head. “Oh no,” she said. “Father’s not a miller! Though he did all kinds of jobs in Edinburgh, school caretaker and so on, but really he’s happiest with just a few beasts and the hens. Reminds him of his childhood. He was injured, you know, at a factory in Scotland, and gets a small pension…just big enough to keep himself and Mother going. And then Edward brought a bit in…well, sometimes…” She tailed off and looked around the kitchen. “What a nice cosy room,” she said. “Are you looking forward to Christmas, Jamie? What’s Father Christmas bringing you?” Jamie winced, but obediently said he was hoping for a piano.

Lois stared at him. “A piano!?” she said. “Since when? You haven’t exactly shone on the violin at school. Why a piano? Which, by the way,” she added, “there’s no chance of your getting. Do you know how much they cost?”

Jamie looked crushed, and nobody said anything for a moment. Then Enid cleared her throat and said in her tentative way, “I might be able to help. The lady at Farnden Manor – you know, where I go on Tuesdays – said she wanted to get rid of one of their pianos. This one’s in the nursery, and never opened now the children are grown.”

“Oh, Enid,” groaned Lois. Why had she mentioned that? Now there’d be a campaign from Jamie until either she or Derek gave way. “And what about lessons?” she said. “We can’t afford that, Jamie.”

“I could probably help there, too,” Enid said treacherously. “I used to play a lot. I could give Jamie some lessons – free, of course – and that would be a pleasure, I assure you.”

“There you are!” said Jamie. “Thanks, Miss Abraham. Can I come to your house for lessons?” Enid’s face clouded, and her reply was instant. “No, dear. I’ll come here, if that’s convenient. We don’t have visitors at the mill.”

“Right,” said Jamie, “all settled then, Mum?”

Lois looked at the colour returning to his cheeks and sighed. “It’s very kind of you, Enid,” she said. “I’ll discuss it with your father, Jamie.”

Jamie grinned, knowing exactly what Dad would say at first. It was just a case of choosing the right moment, but he could rely on Mum for that.

B
ill as cleaner had been something of a surprise to Lois. She had been quite prepared for a longish period of training, of polishing up his skills with fine furniture and vulnerable porcelain. When she went with him on his first morning at the estate agent’s, he lifted with ease heavy filing cabinets so she could clean behind them, moved wobbly display units of houses for sale without collapsing the lot, and polished with gusto the blonde’s desktop, saying cheerfully that she could see herself in all her glory now. So far so good. Strong muscles obviously helpful. Next was a cantankerous old lady, whose drawing-room was like a museum, with a collection of priceless Royal Worcester china.

“Irreplaceable,” the old lady said, looking doubtfully at Bill. Lois crossed her fingers and said everything would be fine. She would see to it herself.

“Trust me, Mrs M,” Bill whispered.

She took a deep breath. “Right, Bill,” she said, crossing her fingers behind her back. “I’ll just empty the wastepaper basket, and you can make a start on the dresser over there. Be very, very careful.”

It was quiet in the house. The old lady had retreated to her bedroom to sit in an armchair giving her a view of the garden, where she planned to read
The Times
financial pages until Lois made her a cup of coffee mid-morning. Lois returned from the wheelie-bin ready to pick up the broken pieces and offer compensation. But Bill, with an expression of fierce concentration, was taking down one lovely ornament after another and treating each with a confident dexterity that was equal to anything she or the other girls could manage.

She moved about the room quietly, surreptitiously glancing across to see Bill at work. In the end, she relaxed. It was OK. His big hands were gentle. Well, farmers had to be gentle sometimes, she supposed, delivering lambs and all that. Lucky old Rebecca.

The old lady made a tour of inspection before they left, pronounced herself well satisfied, and came to the door with them as they left. She beamed at Bill and said she would look forward to seeing him next week.

“Well done,” Lois said. “Bit of a conquest there! I suppose you’re used to the effect you have on girls of all ages?”

“Yep,” said Bill cheerfully. “Can come in very useful.” He looked at Lois as they stood outside the garden gate. No chance of a conquest there. She was a tough one, and had made the boundaries quite clear.

“Where next, Mrs M?” he said.

“Dalling Hall,” she said. “It’s a hotel, and they’re expanding, converting stables into more accommodation. That means extra cleaning, and we’re off to make sure New Brooms gets the contract. You’d better follow me. Have to go in at the tradesmen’s entrance, of course,” she added.

Bill shrugged. “Well, you can’t blame them, not wanting that old banger out front…” He gestured at Lois’s car, and wondered if he’d gone too far.

Lois laughed. “You wait,” she said. “When my gleaming white van draws up one day outside Dalling Hall, the guests’ll know they’re getting a quality service. Anyway,” she added briskly, “we’re wasting time. See you there.”

“Yes, boss,” said Bill, getting into his own car and following meekly behind Lois until they reached Dalling Hall.

§

The contract was secured, and Lois drove home in a good mood. Then she remembered what she had in her euphoria promised Bill. There was a special school concert at Waltonby tonight, very special, according to Bill, with Rebecca playing the flute, and a popular local singer, as well as wonderful contributions from the children. They were worried the floods might keep people away, and he asked if there was a chance Lois could come? Jamie might enjoy it too, he’d added hopefully.

Lois said the children had too much homework but she would try to be there, and maybe bring Gran. She thought it was not quite Derek’s kind of thing…

But when she got home and asked Gran, she was reminded that things were very tense in
The Archers
, which could not possibly be missed, and anyway, there was a huge pile of ironing which she planned to do whilst watching a good film on the telly.

“Right,” said Lois. “It’s just me. Never mind about the terrible weather and floods and lightnin’ an’ thunder and…” Jamie looked up from the kitchen table. “I’ll come, Mum,” he said. “I could help, if you get stuck.”

“No, no,” Lois said quickly. “Only joking, Jamie. I’ll set off in a while, and be there and back before you know it. These school concerts are usually quite short. The children can’t sit still for too long. No, you get the kettle on for when I get back. That’d be a real help.”

§

The rising water in the mill stream and pond had alarmed Enid, and she’d gone to bed before tea, saying she had a headache. She buried her head under the covers and willed herself to sleep. Downstairs, Walter sat with his newspaper, and although he rustled pages from time to time, he couldn’t read. The storm raged outside, and the sounds of crashing thunder and flapping bits of corrugated iron on the barns were joined by Mother’s protests from her room. He’d tried several times to calm her, but only seemed to make her worse.

Walter put down his newspaper and closed his eyes. Poor Enid, she’d had a rotten time, with Mother having got so difficult. He felt ashamed and helpless, and wished he could put it right for them all. Edward had made a life for himself, of a sort, but Enid had tried to do her duty, staying at home and running the house, and had reaped no reward. The fault lay with himself, Walter thought. If he hadn’t been so weak and let Mother get away with it, they wouldn’t be in this mess. Still, at least my girl’s got herself a job that takes her into the outside world most days, he thought. She’d showed a strength over this, in the face of Mother’s violent opposition, that he had not seen before. If only he could follow her example.

Now there was another bout of shouting and banging, and he put his hands over his ears. Then he got up, wiping tears from his face, and left the room.

§

The first half of the concert went on much longer than Lois expected. There was to be an interval, and this went on for half an hour. There were drinks and biscuits and a great deal of shouting and whooping from the children, with animated conversation from proud parents. Just as a bell was rung and they were returning to their seats, Lois felt a hand on her arm. “Evening, Mrs Meade.” It was Inspector Cow gill, smiling at her, with a sour-faced woman standing close beside him.

“What are you doing here?” Lois said, and realized that was not exactly polite. But she was taken by surprise, seeing him out of context.

“Our grandchildren are performing,” said the woman in an icy voice. She was clearly Mrs Cowgill, though she was not introduced.

“Ah,” said Lois, casting about for something friendly to say. “That’s nice.”

“Oh, look, dear,” said Cowgill, turning his wife round to see a fracas at the other side of the room. “I think it’s our little ones, fighting for supremacy. Better go and sort them out. They take notice of you.” Mrs Cowgill gave him a basilisk stare and moved away.

“Lois, we need to talk. About the Abrahams,” he said quickly. “I’ll ring you tomorrow morning, nine o’clock. Be there, won’t you.” Then he was gone, putting on a benign face, leaving her to resume her seat next to a large man who had an appalling cold and no handkerchief.

When she finally found her car in a totally blacked out village street, she was soaked to the skin. The rain fell in sheets, driven by a strong wind, and as Lois stepped into the road to unlock the door, her foot was submerged in an icy puddle. “Shit!” she said. She climbed into the car and took off her shoe. Halfway along the road to Long Farnden, she saw in front of her what looked like a broad lake, stretching from hedge to hedge. The ditches must have overflowed whilst she’d been in the school. Now what? Maybe they’d drained the swollen mill stream on the Fletcham road. She knew Enid was contacting the council. It was worth a try. She reversed into a gateway, had difficulty with skidding wheels, but finally retraced her way to Waltonby. This time she took the turn to Fletcham, going slowly and peering through the driving rain as she approached the tunnel of trees near Cathanger. Halfway through, her engine spluttered, juddered and finally died. She realized she was stuck in the middle of a rushing flood.