Village Gossip (16 page)
Authors: Rebecca Shaw
The ambulance man gently removed the clean towel
Caroline had put on Don’s head and examined the damage. ‘Cor, he’s bleeding like a stuck pig.’
‘Well, you know head injuries.’
‘I do. Certainly looks as if that’s what’s happened. Poor old fella.’ He bent down to sniff Don’s breath. ‘Not been drinking, ’as he?’
Caroline shook her head. ‘Only tea,’ she gestured towards the teapot, ‘he doesn’t drink alcohol. Well known for it.’
‘Wife, has he?’
‘Yes. She’s at her cousin’s. I’ll let her know, leave that with me.’
They expertly fixed a thick dressing to Don’s head to absorb the blood and carried him off to casualty, leaving Caroline feeling guilty and distressed. She’d interfered where she shouldn’t. She shouldn’t have done it. Rhett had gone with his grandad, so she locked up the cottage with the key Rhett had given her and went back to the Rectory to telephone Dottie with the news about Don.
‘I’ll drive her in, Dottie, if she would like.’ Caroline waited while Dottie explained her offer to Vera. But Vera wouldn’t go.
‘I’m sorry, Dr Harris, she doesn’t want to go.’ Dottie’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘She’s behaving real odd, I don’t know what’s the matter with her. Funny like, something about a fight with Terry Jones’ mother, and she won’t answer proper about Don. Insists on going to work tomorrow, says she’s got business to attend to and can’t have a day off.’
‘Look, Dottie, I’ll ring casualty and find out what’s going on, and let you know. I’ll make some excuse about Vera being ill in bed. OK? I’ll be in touch. Take care.’
Don came home after three days and had only Rhett to look after him because Vera refused to go home.
The general consensus was that Don had dropped asleep at the table and fallen off his chair. In the Store, heads close together by the tinned soups, they nodded wisely and agreed, ‘All that night work, can’t be good for a living soul that can’t, must upset yer body clock and it’s caught up with him at last’.
‘Drink isn’t to blame like it could be with some.’
‘Our Kev knows the ambulance chap who came for him, he said he hadn’t been drinking and he should know.’
‘Poor Vera. Taken real bad she is. Still ’asn’t come home from their Dottie’s. Going to work, though, she can’t be that bad.’
‘She’ll be having a bit livelier time there than she’s had for years with that Don!’
‘What I can’t understand is where Vera was. I saw her get off the bus when I was coming out of here – I’d been to collect one of Mrs Charter-Plackett’s birthday cakes for my old man – and I called out, “Hello, Vera”, she seemed real excited about something. So where was she between getting off the bus and beating up old Mrs Jones? Nobody’s answered that one, have they?’
‘One of life’s unsolved mysteries, that is.’ The gossip topped the list for days and even surpassed the talk about the play and the troubles Hugo Maude had brought upon the village.
‘Vera! Just a minute! Hold on!’
Reluctantly she turned back.
‘Vera! I’m sorry. Very, very sorry for what I did. Shouldn’t have tried to get back at yer. I never should. My Vince is blazing.’
Vera studied over the apology, turning it over in her mind, pondering on the effort it must have cost Mrs Jones to make it, her being a proud woman. ‘Not ’alf as sorry as me. However, I shall accept it. I owe you one too for going for you the other day. Perhaps you’ve learned a lesson from it. Barry and Pat don’t deserve all this trouble, yer know.’
‘I know they don’t. I’ve been up and told ’em. Greenwood had a lot to say.’
Mrs Jones had put down her bag and was twisting her hands together, looking down at them as though transfixed by their movement. ‘I did wonder … I ’ave to admit I’m getting nervous about the play. I don’t suppose … I mean, would you be free to …’
‘Yes?’
Taking a deep breath she said, ‘I could really do with another pair of hands on the night, well Friday
and
Saturday. Back up, kind of. Would you …?’
Masking her triumph as best she could, Vera replied graciously. ‘Why, of course … Greta … I’d be delighted to help. It’s more than one body can do, isn’t it?’
Mrs Jones, smarting under Vera’s use of her Christian name, agreed. No one ever called her by her Christian name except for Vince. ‘It is, it gets very fraught.’
‘I shall be moving into my new flat on Thursday but I’ll make it somehow.’
Mrs Jones’ eyebrows shot up in surprise. ‘Your new flat? What new flat?’
‘I’ve got the job of assistant housekeeper at the nursing home and a flat goes with it. When I’ve got straight you’ll have to come one afternoon for a cup of tea and have a look round it.’
‘My word, Vera, that’s a turn up for the book and not half. What does Don think? He must be pleased.’
‘He isn’t coming with me. Staying where he is, is Don.’
Shock registered in every bone in Mrs Jones’ body. ‘Not going? You mean you’re
leaving
him? Vera! After all these years. Yer can’t be!’
Vera studied this question for a moment and then said, ‘I suppose I am. Yes, I am leaving him. Yer right. In one way you did me a good turn refusing to let me help yer and then splitting on us. It made me take stock. Sometimes it does
yer good to take stock, yer know. What time shall I be there?’
‘Where? Oh, the play. Come to the dress rehearsal Thursday, if you can manage it, that is, I wouldn’t want to put you out. Six o’clock. Learn the ropes. Well, I never.’ She strode away down Jacks Lane shaking her head.
Vera became aware that the boost to her morale which her triumph over Mrs Jones had given her was steadily evaporating the closer she got to home. She prayed that Rhett would be in, he’d be glad to see her even if Don wasn’t. His reaction to her return to collect her things was a definite unknown quantity. Would he remember it was she who knocked him unconscious? Would he remember about the flat?
She didn’t need to use her key, the door stood open in the afternoon heat. Don was sitting at the kitchen table on the very same chair, the same teapot and cup and saucer in front of him, a newly opened carton of milk to hand. It was as though the whole incident had never happened. She glanced at the cooker and saw the pan stood on the top as before. It was just as it was. Every blessed thing in the same place, even Don. Nothing had changed. Her heart jerked. Had she been given a chance to retrieve herself, time having taken a queer turn? Had it all been a dream? Then through the gloom she saw the massive bruising on Don’s forehead, the shaved scalp and the stitched cut. So it was true, then.
‘You’re back.’
She put down her bags. ‘I am. Any tea left?’
Don picked up the pot and weighed it in his hand. ‘Enough for another one. Get yerself a cup.’
She sat at the table with him and poured herself some tea. It was stewed but for now it would do. In her mind’s eye she imagined herself in the kitchen in the flat. All light and
airy, the sun filtering through those lovely blinds framed by the matching curtains, all quiet and peaceful and glorious.
‘How’s things, then?’
She sipped her tea. ‘Fine! Fine!’ Didn’t he know what she’d done? The stupid pillock. The stupid, dull, boring, useless, hopeless
pillock
.
Don sat without speaking and then burst out with, ‘I’ve not been shopping. There’s nothing in for tea.’
‘I see.’
‘I’ll have to be off about seven. They want extra hours. Still, the money will be handy.’
‘It will.’
‘Rhett’ll be back soon. Been out for a job interview, he has.’
‘Right.’
His small brown eyes covertly watched her from beneath his thatch of grey disordered hair. ‘Well, then, are yer going shopping?’
‘When I’m good and ready.’
Don’s eyes focused on hers. They looked steadily at one another, saying nothing but meaning a lot. She realised he wasn’t going to mention what she’d done. He was going to ignore it. Shelve it. Pretend nothing had happened. Like always. Don’t mention it and it’ll go away, and Vera will carry on slaving in this tip like she’s always done.
‘I take over the flat on Thursday. Jimmy’s giving me a lift with all my things. Are you coming?’
‘I’m going nowhere, and neither are you.’
‘I am. Don’t say I didn’t ask.’ She stood up to put her cup in the sink, pouring away most of the stewed tea. There’d be no more stewed tea from now on. Rhett came in.
‘Gran! You’re back! Feeling better?’ Vera nodded. ‘Grandad tell you I’ve been for an interview for that garden job? Job’s mine if I want it. Said I’d let them know.’
Rhett nodded his head in his grandad’s direction and raised his eyebrows.
‘Grandad’s staying here.’
‘You’re going without ’im?’
Vera thought about her answer. ‘I am. Come with me tomorrow on the bus and have a look see. You’ll love it.’
‘I will. It’s very tempting.’ He looked round the depressing shambles that was his gran’s kitchen. ‘A real fresh start.’
‘Oh, it is. Mrs Jones has climbed down and asked me to help with the costumes. I tell yer, there’s a whole new life beginning for your gran right here and now. I’m off upstairs to sort some things out ready for moving. Here, take this ten pound note and go to the Store and get us something for our tea. There’s nothing in. Get something we can just bung in the oven.’
Amazed by his gran’s sudden generosity Rhett departed, his mind ranging over the selection of frozen meals Jimbo always kept in his freezer for emergencies.
Don sat impassively studying the design on the old teapot, his life being decided for him over his head.
As Vera went towards the stairs he said loudly, ‘It’ll be a different tale when they hear about your conviction. I’ll tell ’em about what yer did to me, too, that’ll put the frighteners on ’em. They’ll be thinking yer might do it to one of them old bats yer talk so much about.’
Vera turned back and bent her head close to his unwashed, unshaven face. Her eyes only inches from his, through clenched teeth and with a steely purpose the like of which she had never known she possessed, she uttered a
desperate threat. ‘You’ll keep your bloody trap shut, Don Wright. ’Cos if you utter one single word about anything at all to anyone I’ll do for you once and for all. That blinking cut-throat razor of your grandad’s with the genuine ivory handle yer keep prattling on about will suddenly find itself, after years of idleness, being put to good use.’ She drew her finger across her throat. ‘Get my meaning? Nothing and nobody’s getting in my way. OK? Know why? Because something’ll turn up and put things right for me, because now is Vera’s moment. Not anyone else’s … Vera’s. See? And if I don’t take life by the throat right now, it’ll be the end of me.’ Her trembling legs carried her upstairs on the first step to freedom.
Not only Vera’s legs were trembling. Jeremy Mayer’s were too. Mr Fitch, having returned from abroad in the early hours and waking from a snatched and miserable sleep feeling totally disorientated, had come into his office wanting to catch up on the latest news about the estate.
‘This damned jet lag plays havoc with me. What time is it?’
‘Three o’clock.’
‘It feels like ten o’clock. Where’s my coffee?’
‘I’ll order some.’ Jeremy pressed the number for the kitchen on his telephone, anything at all to delay telling him the crucial news about the court case. When he’d put down the receiver he shuffled his papers about, cleared his throat, shot his cuffs …
‘Well? I’m waiting. What’s the news? Bring me up to date.’
‘The new crazy paving path is finished, and looks very good. It was a commendable idea of yours, sir. Greenwood Stubbs has brought in the flowers for the main rooms in readiness for tomorrow, and the girl’s arranging them. The
training staff want to have a conference with you, some new ideas they’ve got, think you ought to give your approval. I’ve had Jimbo in and confirmed the menus for the weekend, so he’s all set. The fencing is almost done. Home Farm is having staff problems, two cowmen ill, but they’re coping. The tickets are here for the play on Saturday night. First two rows centre. Everyone you invited has confirmed. Apart from that, nothing really.’
The girl came in from the kitchens with coffee for Mr Fitch. A nicely laid tray with silver coffee pot, cream and sugar and biscuits, just how he liked it. Jeremy thanked his lucky stars that Jimbo had well trained staff.
The girl carefully handed Mr Fitch his coffee and then said, ‘Don’t know if you need to know this, Mr Mayer, but the banners have arrived.’
His head shot up. ‘Banners?’
‘Yes, Barry’s just fixing them up. Thought you might need to know.’ There was a smirk on her face which boded no good.
Mr Fitch stopped sipping his coffee. ‘Banners? What kind of banners. I didn’t order banners.’ He waited for Jeremy’s explanation.
‘I don’t know what they’re about, Mr Fitch. I’d better go see. Obviously there’s been some mistake. You finish your coffee.’ He lumbered to his feet and stumbled out of the office, his heart leaden in his chest.
Strung from the first floor windows were pieces of sheeting with lettering, huge lettering from one end to the other. He didn’t read them because he couldn’t: his eyes had clouded over as a result of the tremendous explosion of temper he experienced at the sight of them. There was a mysterious pounding in his chest and his ears throbbed. Sweat began to run down his face, the hair on his neck grew wet, his knees, already trembling, began to shake. Had
he been able to see himself he would have seen that his whole body was shaking. Fear had him in its grip.
He roared at Greenwood Stubbs who was standing giving directions to someone in an upstairs window. ‘Stubbs!’
Nonchalantly, Greenwood swung round and innocently answered, ‘Yes?’
‘Remove those at once! At once, I say! At once!’ By now his face was beetroot red.
Greenwood’s response was to laugh. ‘Not likely! We’ve got to draw attention to the injustice of this prosecution you’ve brought. It’s not fair and you know it.’
‘Prosecution? What prosecution?’ Mr Fitch had come out to the front, cup in hand, he turned round and saw the banners. ‘What the hell’s going on? Mayer! Inside. Greenwood, take those banners down this instant.’
Greenwood Stubbs ignored him and carried on giving directions to the person at the upstairs window.
‘Do you hear me? I pay your wages, so I’m the one who calls the tune round here and I insist you remove them.’
‘Not for much longer you aren’t. Or so Mr Mayer gives me to understand.’
The coffee cup began to rattle against the saucer as Mr Fitch took on board what Greenwood had said. ‘Mayer! In!’ Jeremy stumbled after him, his heart pounding as never before.
Mr Fitch led the way to his own office, seated himself behind his desk, put down his cup and saucer, and waited.
Jeremy began to settle himself in the nearest chair, but a withering glance from Mr Fitch persuaded him it wouldn’t be a very good idea in the circumstances, so he stood like a small boy in the headmaster’s office.
Summoning all his strength Jeremy began, ‘Before you went away three weeks ago you stated quite categorically
that the next time any member of staff, either outdoor or in, was caught stealing from the estate they were to be prosecuted. The full works, police, the lot.’
