Village Secrets (22 page)

Simone pushed her long black hair away from the baby who was entangling her fingers in it. She stared at Kate with her large dark intense eyes. ‘You do. The venue.’

‘Tea?’

‘Thanks.’

Kate went to the kitchen for another cup and some biscuits for the children. She hadn’t any unbreakable cups and she wouldn’t risk Simone’s children getting their hands on her china.

She returned with the cup of tea for Simone, put it down on the table beside the futon and handed her the biscuits. ‘These are for the children.’

The children began to argue and fight over an ornament. Simone stood up, took it from them without a word, put it high up on the mantelshelf, and passed round their biscuits.

‘You haven’t answered.’

‘No.’ Kate took a sip of tea. ‘It’s getting too much.’

‘Oh! Is it? Just when we’re getting successful.’ Simone tickled Cat behind her ears and Cat reached her face upwards to encourage Simone to continue. She kneaded her claws into Simone’s leg, the pleasure of being caressed by her almost too much to bear. Kate felt a stab of jealousy. Cat was
her
pet.

‘Don’t you call it success?’ Simone pursued.

‘No, I don’t. You’ve been too successful.’

‘Can one be
too
successful?’

‘You can. It’s getting in too deep for me.’

‘What’s “deep”?’

Kate moved one of the children away from the fire. ‘I’ve no proper fireguard, not having children myself. Can you ask them to keep away?’

Simone ignored her and pressed home her question. ‘What’s “deep”?’

‘I prefer not to do harm.’

‘Harm? What harm have we done?’

‘You don’t need me to spell it out.’

‘Only their just deserts.’

‘No, not their just deserts. Punishment.’

‘Going moral, are we?’

‘Yes, if you like to call it that. I’ve a job to do here and I don’t want to jeopardise it.’

‘It won’t.’

‘It will if these last weeks are anything to go by.’

Simone accused her of backing out.

‘Perhaps.’

‘I’ll take Cat then.’

‘No, not Cat.’

‘I shall. I can.’

‘Simone! Leave Cat here with me.’

‘On loan.’

‘No, not even on loan.’

Simone smiled that slow, deep smile of hers. It was an all-knowing, threatening, wait-and-see smile and Kate didn’t like it.

Simone slid Cat off her knee and stood up. ‘I’ll leave then. I’ll let you know when and where. I’ve a place in mind.’

‘I shan’t come.’

‘You will, or I’ll have Cat.’

Kate stood up to emphasise her protest. ‘Not Cat; she won’t come.’

‘Won’t she?’ Simone raised an eyebrow at Kate and then stared deliberately into Cat’s bright green eyes. Cat was looking up at her adoringly.

The children followed their mother out of the house. She didn’t tell them she was going, didn’t gather them together ready to leave; they were simply expected to follow. Kate watched her crossing the playground. Cat scratched at the outside door wanting to be let out, but Kate ignored her. She had a strong feeling that Cat really would go with Simone and she wasn’t having that.

But, later that evening, Cat just had to go out.

‘Mummy! Mummy!’ Harriet heard the front door slam and the thud of eager footsteps into the kitchen. Why did her children always assume she was in the kitchen? It said something about her that she didn’t quite enjoy.

‘Flick! I’m upstairs changing Fran.’

The footsteps pounded up the stairs and she heard Flick saying breathlessly as she reached the landing, ‘Cat’s missing!’

‘They’re not – they’re in the house somewhere.’

‘No!’ Flick appeared in the bedroom, flung herself down on the bed next to Fran and gasped, ‘I mean
Cat
, Ms Pascoe’s cat.’

‘Oh dear!’

‘She’s said we must all keep our eyes open and check our sheds and things just in case she’s locked in somewhere. Have you checked our shed?’

‘No, I didn’t know to check it, did I? That’s it, Fran, there you are. Off you go.’ Fran sat up and began searching Flick’s pockets to see if she had brought any treasures home from school. Harriet sighed. ‘Can’t wait for the day she’s trained. Roll on the glorious day!’

‘She won’t be a baby sister any more then, will she?’

‘Not a baby, no. So, about the cat. How long has she been missing?’

‘Since last night. We’ve searched everywhere. Ms Pascoe’s so upset she doesn’t know what she’s doing today, but she did say she’s going to get us computers for school. Though I shall have left by then, won’t I?

‘You will. Lady Wortley’s here you come!’

‘I’m glad I got in. Celebration night tonight, isn’t it? I wish Grandma could have been here. She would have been so pleased for me, wouldn’t she?’

‘She would indeed, darling. I’m sorry too.’

Flick changed the subject quickly; she didn’t want Mummy crying again. ‘Can I go round to the Store with my pocket money?’

‘Yes. Mind when you cross Shepherd’s Hill. Have your drink when you get back, eh?’

Flick marched purposefully to the store, her pound coin held tightly. As she pushed open the door she listened for the ping of the bell, a sound her daddy said he loved, which she knew meant he loved the idea that customers were coming in to spend; it really wasn’t just the
sound
. It being going-home-from-school time the Store was crowded. She loved it crowded. It felt like the shops she went to with Grandmama Charter-Plackett when she stayed with her in London in the holidays. It was good going out with her, but she still liked Grandma Sadie best. She was fun!
Had been
fun.

Flick pushed her way to the sweet counter. The Paradise children were there and she saw Dickon Paradise sneak a tube of Love Hearts into his pocket. ‘Dickon! I shall tell your mummy. You’ve to pay for that.’

In reply Dickon kicked her ankle hard, little Valentine added another for good measure, and so did Hansel. Flick hopped about complaining, ‘That hurt! Mrs Paradise, Dickon’s got sweets in his pocket. He’s nicking them!’

Simone gave Dickon a hard look and he pulled the sweets from his pocket and gave them to her. She put them back on the display.

Dickon poked his tongue out at Flick as far as it would go. She put hers out too and they stood within a hair’s breadth of each other grimacing fiercely. Flick pulled her very nastiest face at him and turned away.

Then she saw Ms Pascoe. ‘Ms Pascoe! Isn’t it busy in here?’

‘It certainly is. This is quite the wrong time to come, isn’t it? What are you here for?’

‘Spending my pocket money.’

Simone passed close by. Flick heard Ms Pascoe say quietly, ‘Well, where is she?’

Simone Paradise paused and, pretending to be choosing corned beef, said innocently to a tin from Brazil, ‘Who?’

‘Cat.’

‘I don’t know where your cat is. I know where
mine
is.’

‘You’ve enticed her away. She wouldn’t leave me otherwise.’

‘No?’

‘You’ve locked her up.’

‘Me? Do that to a defenceless animal? Tut tut!’

Flick stood looking up at the two of them, unable to understand. She could feel the sparks between them though. Almost touch them. How funny, feeling that. Mrs Paradise must have stolen Cat. She hadn’t got a cat, she knew that for a fact. Dickon longed for one and his mother said ‘no’. Another mouth to feed, she always said and she was right; she had six people to feed already and no daddy working for them. Flick wondered where their daddy was, though there’d be no room for one more in that tiny cottage; they must have to sleep head to toe already.

Ms Pascoe said, her lips tight with anger, ‘Let her go!’

‘At the next meeting.’

‘I’m not coming.’

‘You are. I’ll tell you when.’ Simone sailed to the till, the children struggling to keep up, and queued to pay.

Flick looked up at Ms Pascoe’s face. She wished she hadn’t. Ms Pascoe was sad and angry and fearful all at once. She bought herself some chocolate and went home, puzzled by the adult world and glad to get back to Mummy and Fran who made sense. Poor Cat. Perhaps Mrs Paradise was only teasing. That would be it, she was teasing and Ms Pascoe didn’t realise she was. She’d tell her in the morning.

But there was Cat asleep as usual on Ms Pascoe’s classroom windowsill when Flick got to school the next morning.

‘Oh, Ms Pascoe! Cat’s back again. I knew Mrs Paradise was teasing. Did she come back all by herself?’

‘Last night.’

‘I expect you’ll be relieved.’

‘I am.’

Kate found it hard to lie outright. Cat had indeed come back last night, but only because Kate had gone to get her. She’d waited until half-past eleven and then driven to Little Derehams and parked her car just before she came to the first house in the village. Her torch had flashed onto the name on the first gate.
Keepers Cottage
. Who lived there? Oh, that was it, Gilbert Johns. There was a car parked outside – a little Fiesta. Visitors at this time of night, Gilbert? The village would be talking.

Unlike Turnham Malpas, Little Derehams was one of those spread-out villages. The cottages were dotted here and there along the entire length of what was known as the High Street. The shops and the smithy and the little school and the inn had all been converted into bijou residences and the village lay quietly sleeping, just as it did during the day. Here and there a light shone from a bedroom window but that was the only sign of life.

Kate, having checked the address in the school records, had easily recognised Simone’s cottage. The front garden, instead of having lawn and flowers like everyone else’s, had a children’s swing in one corner and the rest was given over to vegetables. It couldn’t be anyone else’s but hers. There were no lights showing at Simone’s windows, so she could perhaps safely assume they were all in bed, but even so not wishing to risk the gate squeaking Kate had climbed over the collapsing wire fence. She followed the little earth path which ran down the side of the cottage and found the shed. She was sure that was where Cat would be, locked in the shed. There was a padlock, but the door and the shed itself were so worn and rickety that she pulled the padlock off with the bracket with scarcely any effort at all. In a loud whisper she called, ‘Cat! Cat!’ But Cat wasn’t there. Simone must have shut her in the house. Unless she’d k—. Kate shuddered. No, she wouldn’t have, because then she’d have no further hold over her. No, Cat must be in the house.

Typical of Simone’s relaxed attitude to life, the back door was shut but unlocked. Kate very, very gently turned the knob and slowly opened it. Her heart was pounding and her hands were shaking. She stepped in and shone her torch round the room. At some time the two rooms of the cottage had been converted into one, so the room now ran from the back to the front of the cottage; it was long and narrow and so dreadfully disorganised and untidy that Kate shivered. She recognised that with five children in the house it would be difficult to keep tidy, but this! Heavens above. What a mess! Dried herbs interspersed with small garments belonging to the children hung to dry from a long pole suspended from the ceiling by old rope tied to each end. Dishes stood unattended in the sink. Shoes and socks and clothes lay on the threadbare carpet; discarded toys all over the table, along with a half-full milk bottle and the remains of a loaf of bread, roughly hewn as though one of the children had cut the last slice. Dust and clutter were everywhere.

Kate shuddered again. Cat living in this mess. There was a scratching sound. Kate panicked, someone was coming! Hang on – she knew that scratching sound. She opened the door which concealed the staircase. And there was Cat waiting on the bottom step. Kate picked her up and Cat purred intensely. Terrified that someone upstairs might hear the loud purring, Kate hugged Cat to her and headed for the back door. Just as she reached it she heard noises from the far end of the room. She swung round searching for the source of the noise and her torch shone on Dickon. The poor child must have been sleeping on the sofa. Now he was standing up on it wearing only a short, badly-torn vest, clutching a blanket in his hand. When he caught sight of her face in the beam of the torch he shouted, ‘Simone! It’s Ms Pascoe. She’s pinching Cat. Simone!’

But Kate was gone. Clutching Cat to her she fled down the earth path, stumbled over the wire fencing and set off down the High Street for the safety of her car. Quick! Quick! She wouldn’t put it past Simone to come racing after her in her nightgown – that was, if she ever wore anything so normal as a nightgown. There was a long gap between the last cottage and the one belonging to Gilbert Johns, and by the time Kate was nearing the latter she was gasping for breath; it was so awkward walking rapidly with a heavy cat in her arms. The beam of her torch shone directly onto Gilbert Johns. He was standing on the footpath close to the Fiesta, kissing Louise from the Big House. Then Kate tripped and couldn’t save herself. Cat leapt out of her arms, and Kate measured her length on the path. ‘Damn and blast! Cat! Cat! Come here.’