Revenge in the Cotswolds (4 page)

The nameplate on the Fosters’ front wall, announcing ‘Galanthus House’ was not as welcoming as ‘Bide A While’ or ‘Journey’s End’ might have been, but she was glad to get back into its sheltering portals. She had forgotten to enquire as to the significance of the name – some sort of plant, she suspected.

It was half past four. Nearly time to feed the dogs and think of something for herself. It would be eight or so before she could phone Drew, as she was itching to do. The intervening hours would pass slowly, as she knew from past experience. Supervising dogs, taking Gwennie outside, unpacking, working out how to operate the various controls for the television – all these diversions and more only took her to six o’clock. Accustomed to similar spells of inactivity in the first days of a house-sit, she pottered in the kitchen, frying
herself two eggs and a fishcake, that came from her own grocery supplies. The Fosters had made it clear they expected her to see to her own catering requirements, only using condiments and sauces from their cupboards.

She elected to listen to the radio, rather than sit in front of the TV, with the news full of the usual extreme weather events and alarming economic figures. Nothing she need bother about, she decided.

Her mobile was fully charged and very much more central to her existence than it had been before things had started to happen between her and Drew. She sent him a steady stream of texts and even photos from time to time. But nothing came close to the pleasure she derived from a real conversation and hearing his voice, as far as satisfaction went. And that was a poor second to being in the same room with him, meeting his gaze and touching his skin.

There were other people she could contact, of course – first amongst them being Jessica, her police officer daughter. She had neglected Jess rather seriously in recent months, feeling guilty mainly because she didn’t feel guilty about it – which made Drew laugh. The girl was twenty-three, qualified, busy, sociable. She didn’t need her mother very much. But other women still hovered over their daughters well past that age, expecting to know every detail of their lives and to have their advice heeded. There was definitely a rule of some sort somewhere that Thea
suspected she was breaking. The breaking of rules was part of her nature, it seemed, especially in recent times of surveillance and interference and intolerance of differences. Every time she heard anybody talking about it as an age of individualism, she scoffed. As far as she could see, it was the exact opposite. To run counter to the prevailing tide of opinion was to attract the most extreme opprobrium and even the attention of the police, if they suspected you of hating someone.

When the mobile trilled at her, she leapt to grab it, thinking Drew had found a moment to call her earlier than usual. But it was a different number showing on the screen. ‘Hello?’ she said.

‘Thea. It’s Damien. Where are you?’

‘Damien? For heaven’s sake – what’s happened? Is it Mum?’

‘No, no. Don’t panic. It’s nothing like that. Where are you?’ he asked again.

‘A little place called Daglingworth. You won’t have heard of it. Why do you want to know?’

‘Just curious. I can never keep track of you these days, with that boyfriend and everything.’

Were older brothers meant to supervise their sisters, then, like a mother with a grown-up daughter, she wondered irritably. Damien had always been someone to avoid as much as possible, with his prissy judgements and tendency to over-control everyone. As older brother to three sisters, he had assumed responsibilities that nobody had ever actually accorded him.

‘So …?’ she prompted. She didn’t like to have the phone tied up for long, when all she wanted was to speak to Drew.

‘Listen. I’ve got some news.’ His voice was oddly unsure, even shy – which was highly unusual.

‘What?’ Already she had guessed that he was going to take holy orders, or sell all his goods and become a hermit. Damien had embraced religion some fifteen years ago and had become difficult to talk to ever since. Occasional attempts to convert one or other of his sisters never came to anything.

‘Judy’s pregnant.’

‘Good God!’ Despite repeated requests that everyone in the family refrain from such expletives, the habit was far too deep to change. And perhaps this time, he would deem it appropriate anyway. ‘That’s amazing.’

‘I know. We can hardly believe it. It’s due in August, which doesn’t seem very far off. We had no idea until last week.’

Thea tried to do the calculations. ‘She’s four months on, then?’

‘Sixteen weeks,’ he agreed.

‘And she’s forty-four – is that right?’

‘Not quite, but she will be when it’s born. A baby, Thea! At our age!’

‘Yes,’ she said faintly. ‘It’s hard to imagine.’ And it was. Judy had a PhD in numerology, which had apparently fitted quite readily into Damien’s
religious faith and practice. She worked as some sort of consultant to a perfectly mainstream financial institution, which supposedly did at least involve an understanding of numbers.

‘We never even
dreamt
…’ He was obviously trying to say something about how the creature had been conceived, but was too embarrassed. ‘We thought it was … you know, the menopause.’

At least he didn’t call it The Change, Thea thought. ‘I gather that happens a lot,’ she said, wondering with a distinct horror whether it could ever happen to her. ‘People seem to cope pretty well. You’re both in good health, at least.’

‘You are meant to offer congratulations,’ he said, sounding stiff and awfully old.

‘Take it as read. What does Mum think? Have you told Jocelyn? What about Emily?’

‘Mum’s delighted. She likes babies. And I’m calling Jocelyn next, after you.’ The question about their other sister was ignored.

‘You’re right about Mum. Well, thanks for telling me. I appreciate it. I’ll come and see you sometime. Maybe over Easter. I need to go now – sorry. You’ll be fine. Tell Judy from me, she’ll be a great mother.’

‘Thanks.’

She pressed the red button and sat back on the sofa where she’d gone from the first moments of the call, thinking a long relaxed chat with Drew was about to take place. How in the world had Damien’s God
made such a drastic mistake as to send them a child? Her brother and his wife were like a couple from the pages of Charles Dickens. She was tall and angular, he short and wide. Neither of them managed the details of daily life especially well. Their house was untidy and disorganised, with books, papers, unopened letters, empty CD cases and assorted accumulations on every surface. Damien earned a modest salary as a counsellor for a church charity, helping people through various crises. Thea had often wondered how good he was at listening or giving advice. Perhaps, she thought optimistically, he was much better with strangers than he was with his family.

At last it was time to call Drew. His children would be in bed and he would be sitting with his feet up, wondering how to pass his lonely evening, just as she was herself. One day, she promised herself, they would spend every remaining evening of their lives together.

He did not answer the phone immediately. When he did, it was breathlessly. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked him.

‘The usual,’ he said. ‘Body for removal and not enough of us to do it. For some reason, it won’t wait till the morning.’

‘Can’t Maggs and what’s-his-name do it?’ There was a new assistant, required to be on perpetual standby for just such contingencies. Thea had never met him, but he had sounded reliable.

‘Peter. He’s called Peter. And he’s in A&E according
to his wife, because he dropped a sledgehammer on his foot.’

‘Den, then.’

‘Leave it, love. It’s not your problem. I’m getting Hilary from the village to come and babysit. I’ve got twenty minutes to wait, before she can get here. Let’s talk about something else. What’s it like in sunny Daglingworth?’

‘It was sunny for a bit, and then it rained. Luckily I got a lift from an irascible red-haired farmer.’

‘You were out in the rain? Why?’

She gave him a quick account of the day, emphasising the delights of landscape and architecture, and remembering to report the Bythesea name in the church. ‘It’s a hotbed of revolution, surprisingly. I met three eco-warriors, or something of the sort. They object to practically everything – not least the red-haired farmer’s efforts to sell a very small field as a building plot.’

‘Don’t get involved,’ he warned her.

‘I wasn’t going to.’

‘I ought to heed my own advice, I suppose,’ he said, with a preoccupied tone. ‘I think I might have done something I’ll regret.’

‘Oh?’

‘There’s a nursing home not far from here. I’ve dealt with them since I started, on and off. But a year ago they were bought by a bigger outfit, with new management and a lot of staff changes. Well, in the
past four weeks I’ve done three funerals for them. And yesterday they called with another one.’

‘That’s good, isn’t it? They must like you. Is it them you’re going to this evening?’

‘No, no. A different one. But when we went one day last week, one of the inmates collared me – I know most of them, anyway. Quite a few have booked places in the field. The thing is, they’re all terrified of the new people. And the woman who died before this latest one – she was called Mrs Hepton – she was absolutely skin and bone. They said something about it being due to an infection, which made no sense at all. She must have died of starvation. And she was always quite a large lady. So – I made a call to the police about it.’

‘Blimey, Drew!’

‘Well, I didn’t see I had any choice. I can’t let that sort of thing go on and just turn a blind eye, can I? Even Maggs thinks it’s sinister, and she’s always on at me to leave sleeping dogs alone.’

‘Well …’

‘The thing is, there’s always been an understanding that undertakers don’t ask awkward questions, particularly where nursing homes are concerned. We need their business, after all. Daphne Plant would throw a fit if any of her team did such a thing.’

‘Yes, but you’re not Daphne Plant, are you.’ It wasn’t a question. Thea had heard something of the ambitious female undertaker who had originally introduced Drew to the business. He had left her
employ after a year or so, determined to create his own much more ethical concern. On the whole, he had succeeded handsomely.

‘No. And those poor old things in the home do need somebody on their side. It’s much too easy to make their remaining days a complete misery.’

‘And we can’t have that, can we?’

‘Thanks. I knew you’d understand.’ He still sounded worried. ‘I’m hoping the police won’t reveal the source of their information, but it’s bound to get out. Or they’ll figure it out for themselves. And if the place is closed down, that’s not going to help the inmates, is it?’

‘Too late to worry about it now, love. Listen, it must be nearly time for you to go. I’ll call you again tomorrow. But first I have two quick questions.’

‘Fire away.’

‘First – do you know what galanthus is?’

‘Um … snowdrops, isn’t it? I remember when Karen planted them all along our bank, she said that was their proper name.’

‘Great. Thanks. It’s the name of this house, you see. The other thing is – have you come across a newfangled type of washbasin – you know, in a fancy modern bathroom, where you push the plug in and then can’t get it out again?’

‘Not that I can recall.’

‘Well, there’s one in the other house I’m minding. I couldn’t for the life of me see how you do it.’

‘Try pushing it down further. It might be on some sort of spring.’

‘No, no. That can’t be it. It’s already right down.’

‘Just try it, okay. If everything else fails, try the counter-intuitive angle.’

‘That would never have occurred to me in a thousand years. I can’t wait to go back and see if you’re right.’

‘I think it’s called lateral thinking.’

There followed two minutes of sentimental exchanges along the lines of how greatly they approved of each other. Then Drew said, ‘Oh, I think that’s Hilary now. I’ll have to go.’

‘One last thing,’ she called, wondering how she could have left it so late. ‘My brother Damien’s wife is pregnant. She’s forty-four.’

‘Good for her. So is Maggs. She told me not to tell you, for reasons I don’t understand. Speak to you tomorrow, sweetheart. Sleep well.’

And he was gone.

She woke next morning, still thinking of the two new babies soon to force themselves into the world, neither of them ever even dreamt of in her own personal scheme of things. If Maggs had a baby, that would hugely impact on Drew’s business. She wouldn’t be able to drop everything and go on removals at all hours of the day and night. Well – perhaps she could do the nights, when her husband Den could mind the child. And perhaps she could take it with her at other times. Drew had looked after Stephanie at the same time as running Peaceful Repose, when Karen returned to teaching. Den, in his late thirties, was still not entirely settled to any proper career. He had gone into the police initially, but deemed himself a failure at it, in some way Thea had never grasped. He seemed like a man born out of his time, a sort of Dixon
of Dock Green set down in the wrong era. Even the uniform must have looked all wrong on him, with his extreme height. He and Maggs made a couple even more physically ill-matched than Damien and Judy. At roughly the time Thea met Drew, Den had found a job at Bristol Airport, as a security officer. As far as she could gather, he was enjoying it enough to generate some hope that he might stick with it for some time to come. The hours were regular, with overtime available, and the pay substantially more than he had earned for ages. He always had a new story to tell about some benighted passenger falling foul of the surveillance system.

It was awful of her, she realised, not to feel thrilled at the imminent new lives. She did try, but all she could think was that her brother’s life would be changed forever, and possibly not for the better. As for Maggs and Den, they would no doubt make excellent parents, and produce a lovely dark-eyed child. But the consequences for Drew were unlikely to be beneficial.

Gwennie was slow to rouse, curled in her basket in the kitchen and barely breathing. ‘Don’t you dare die on me,’ Thea told her. ‘Have a biscuit and come outside with Hepzie.’

The corgi slowly obeyed and plodded to the end of the garden and back. Hepzie zigzagged over the lawn, sniffing and wagging and generally showing off. The contrast gave Thea grounds to hope there were many
years yet to come in which her dog would be fit and active. One of the few aspects of her existence that found favour with Drew’s children was her spaniel.

Her first plan for the day was a brief return to Bagendon’s Upper End, by car, to check whether Drew’s theory about the plug was accurate. She would take Hepzie and Gwennie and give them a gentle stroll around the village at the same time. Then in the afternoon she might go and have a look at North Cerney, which was another little place she had heard of but never seen before.

At nine-thirty, she bundled the dogs onto the back seat and set off along the route taken by Farmer Handy in his Land Rover, the day before. Bagendon was comprehensively signposted, and she found the small road up to Upper End without difficulty. She even managed to identify the way onto the footpath back to Itlay and Daglingworth – admittedly made easier by the presence of a group of people standing just inside the field. They were staring in the direction of Itlay, where Thea could hear the whirring of a helicopter once she got out of her car.

She recognised Sophie and Tiffany immediately. They were dressed in the same resilient outdoor gear as before, perhaps even more so. Curious as ever, she called to them, ‘Hi! What’s going on?’

Sophie turned slowly, reluctantly, and simply shook her head. Tiffany was dancing from foot to foot. ‘We don’t
know
,’ she said. ‘Steve heard something on the
police radio about the quarry. It must be serious for them to call a helicopter out.’

A man in his mid twenties with very large ears and a scrappy beard looked up, evidently having heard his name. He gave Thea a long look, before nodding to her and going back to the phone in his hand.

‘He’s got an app that means you can eavesdrop on them,’ Tiffany explained cheerfully. ‘It comes in very useful when we’re … you know.’ Sophie had slapped her arm lightly, effectively stopping her chatter in mid flow.

Thea winced, still floundering in the ethical morass that every encounter with these protesters produced. She looked around again at the assorted individuals: nobody over thirty-five, most of them wearing sturdy wellingtons and waterproof jackets. Sophie carried an air of authority, with the big-eared Steve staying close to her, like a deputy. ‘Well,’ Thea muttered. ‘Better get on.’ It was all too obvious that the whole group wished her well away from them.

She retreated to the house she had inspected the previous day and concentrated – with an effort – on the burglar alarm and the removal of her shoes, which were sure to leave marks on the spotless carpets.

The little pool of water was still in the basin, cold and greasy and embarrassing. With a sceptical frown, she plunged a forefinger in and pressed the chromium plug down as hard as she could. Then she let go and miraculously it popped up. The water ran away,
leaving a grey smear on the porcelain. She ran hot water and swept around with her fingers until it was clean again. ‘Just fancy that,’ she murmured to herself. ‘What a barmy arrangement.’

Thank goodness for Drew’s good sense, she thought. Casting a final glance around the downstairs rooms to assure herself that all was well, she wondered again what the owner might have in common with her modest sister. Her taste in decor was dramatically different, but then sisters did vary a lot in that respect. Some took it seriously and others really didn’t. But this one definitely had an advantage financially, if the size and condition of the house were anything to go by.

What, then, would the woman think, if anything, about the presence of a gang of anarchists – or whatever they were – on her doorstep? Had they crossed her path before? Did she quietly support or noisily oppose them?

She went back the way she had come, to find the little crowd outside had grown in the past ten minutes, and Thea’s car had been joined by two others. Intent on her original plan, she got the dogs out and firmly connected them to their leads. Whatever might be happening in the quarry was none of her concern and she told herself to stop being nosy and stick to her job. Gwennie needed exercise and attention. Gwennie was her prime responsibility. But Gwennie herself showed every sign of curiosity at the assembly of interesting people close by. Her pointed nose lifted and she made
enthusiastic little squeaks. It would be cruel to deny her the society, Thea decided, allowing herself to be drawn back to the people.

There were three or four newcomers. One was a blonde woman of fifty or so who stood close to Tiffany. Another was Nella, Sophie’s friend, who Thea hadn’t noticed earlier. One or two young men loitered on the edge of the group, with hands in their pockets and shoulders hunched, as if it were a much colder day. None of them greeted Thea or her dogs, all their attention fixed on Steve and his gadget. ‘Fatality,’ he announced loudly. ‘There must be a body in the quarry. Wow!’

Tiffany squealed and the woman beside her hushed her as if she were a small child. Must be her mother, Thea concluded.

‘We should go and see,’ said Sophie. ‘We’re not going to find out anything standing around here, are we?’

‘Tiffany’s not going anywhere,’ said the blonde. ‘She’s not meant to be associating with you people, anyway.’

‘Mum, for heaven’s sake,’ pleaded the girl. ‘I’m old enough to know what I’m doing. Why are
you
here, anyway?’

‘I saw Nella coming this way, and thought she’d lead me to you. I
told
you to stay in this morning. What about that essay?’

‘Come on, if you’re coming,’ repeated Sophie to
the group in general. ‘We can go through the woods and be there in ten minutes. It might be somebody we know.’

‘We won’t see anything,’ said Nella. ‘They won’t let us get close enough. Isn’t it rather ghoulish, anyway? It’s going to be one of the quarry workers, crushed under a digger or a rockfall.’

‘On a Sunday?’ queried Tiffany’s mother.

‘They work weekends sometimes, don’t they?’ Nella sounded vague, almost offhand. ‘But suit yourself. I can’t see much sense in standing around like this.’

The man with the phone looked up again. ‘They’re not saying anything new. It’s all going according to procedure, I guess. They’re never going to put a name out over this frequency.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t think there’s much we can usefully do.’

‘Why did you all come out here in the first place?’ Thea asked, mainly addressing Sophie, but sweeping the whole group in an invitation to reply.

‘Mind your own business,’ Nella snapped back. ‘Who
are
you, anyway? Why’ve you brought those dogs? The last thing we need is dogs drawing attention to us.’

‘You met me yesterday – don’t you remember?’ said Thea coldly. ‘And if this is private property, then you’re trespassing just as much as I am, wouldn’t you say?’

‘I know I met you. But I don’t get what you think you’re doing, barging in like this.’

‘I’m not “barging in”,’ Thea spluttered furiously, all the time thinking that actually, sort of, she was doing exactly that.

‘It’s something to do with badgers, love,’ said Tiffany’s mother, who appeared to think she was a fellow intruder. ‘They monitor all the local setts this time of year, so they can sabotage the culling when it comes.’ She gave her daughter a gentle cuff. ‘Getting themselves arrested, if they’re not careful.’

‘Not if Steve keeps a watch on where they are,’ said Sophie, not looking at Thea, but plainly addressing her. There was something rather dreamy about her delivery, as if events were taking place that she had no part in, but nonetheless found fascinating. At the same time, she could not resist asserting their aims, perhaps in the lingering hope that Thea would become a signed-up member, after all. ‘The cops, that is,’ she elaborated. ‘We’re always a few steps ahead of them, you see. Although we’ve had a few narrow escapes lately.’ She finally accorded Thea a long scrutiny, albeit with a strange lack of focus. ‘You’re not working for them, are you?’

‘Who?’

‘The cops, of course.’

‘No.’ Thea thought it diplomatic to avoid revealing that her daughter was a cop, as were others among her friends and relations. ‘Do I look like I am?’

‘They come in all shapes and sizes. Anyway, let’s get on with it. Tiffany – are you coming?’

The girl sighed and spoke to her mother. ‘Just an hour, Mum, okay? The essay’s nearly finished and I’ve got nothing else to do.’

‘How’re you getting home?’

‘Somebody’ll give me a lift.’ She looked round. ‘Sophie? Nella?’

The others all looked vague. ‘I walked,’ said Nella.

‘I’m going to be out here all day,’ said Sophie.

Nobody else appeared to be willing or able to volunteer. ‘I can’t leave you the car – I need to get back,’ said her mother.

Tiffany looked at Thea. ‘You’re that way, aren’t you? Could you take my mum home, do you think? She’s in Baunton. That’s pretty well on your way. Then I can have the car.’

Thea had no idea where Baunton was, but saw no reason to object. She was even quite gratified to be so readily included, merely by virtue of standing there with the objectionable dogs. She must, after all, inadvertently have ticked a box marked
One of us
, which gave her a small glow. The idea of joining a band of eco-warriors held some appeal, as she mentally ran through the list of hated targets that Sophie had produced the previous day. Wind farms – absolutely. She would quite cheerfully support any efforts to remove every one of them, onshore and off, for reasons that had evolved over recent years almost without her conscious awareness. But she was far less exercised about fracking. From the odd bits she’d gleaned, there seemed very little
reason to oppose it. If the land had recovered from coal mining, there could not be much lasting damage from extracting shale gas, as far as she could see. And as for shooting badgers in the thousands, on the basis of some very unfair and one-sided findings, she was wholeheartedly on the side of Sophie and her friends. But even there, she suspected she would never be quite certain enough to qualify as an activist. She had met a few dairy farmers in her time, and knew there was genuine distress every time a cow developed TB.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘My car’s just up there.’

With some final words to her daughter, the woman followed Thea and the dogs to the car. ‘My name’s Sheila,’ she said. ‘Sheila Whiteacre. It’s the early form of Whittaker,’ she added, as if answering an unspoken question.

‘Thea Osborne. I’m house-sitting in Daglingworth. I don’t know the area terribly well, but I’m good with a map.’

‘What’re you doing in Bagendon, then?’

‘They asked me to water some plants in a house here, as well as minding the other one. Just for a few days. I walked over yesterday and met your daughter. They seem to be up to a lot of exciting stuff.’

The woman made a tutting noise, seeming to want to downgrade the activities of her daughter and her friends. ‘Strictly weekends, pet. Most of the time, they’re just ordinary citizens. Reminds me of the eighties all the same, when I was their age and we
were fanatically CND. Well, Tiff’s dad was. Not me so much. It always seemed to be cold and wet when there was a march. I got out of it when I could. I did go to Greenham Common once.’

Thea had the faintest of memories of her father’s sister, Auntie Jen, giving an account of a week spent camping outside the American base. It felt romantic and very long ago.

‘They all seem to be very committed.’

‘I know. I can’t really complain, even though I’m scared they’ll get into serious trouble one day. It’s all on the side of the angels, isn’t it? Somebody has to speak out and put the brakes on, or where will it all end?’

‘Mm,’ said Thea. ‘I’m not sure. Was that the whole group? It seems mostly female.’

‘Danny wasn’t there. Nor Giles. I think he’s gone up to Yorkshire for some reason.’

‘You know them all by name, then?’

‘Mostly. Tiff brings them to the house for meetings. We’ve got more space than anyone else. I give them coffee and cake.’ She laughed. ‘And her brother’s involved, too, which adds to the pressure to use our facilities.’