The Village Show (Tales from Turnham Malpas) Page 15

  He must remember to feed his roses before he went to bed. This year, his last year, he was determined he’d win something. He’d tried beans and marrows and won nothing, but this year he was trying roses. A Highly Commended would please him greatly – a final fanfare before he left. He sat up to turn the hot tap on for a while. As the comforting hot water passed his feet and began creeping up his legs, he thought about his new school. Three hundred children compared to thirty-eight. What a difference. What a decision. The most decisive step he’d taken in years. He turned off the tap and lay down again.

  He still had to tell Suzy. He should have told her before he accepted the job, but somehow he knew he couldn’t face a possible rebuff. The school was only fifteen miles from where she lived. Near enough, but far enough away, so if she didn’t want to see him any more then they wouldn’t be bumping into each other and it wouldn’t be embarrassing. On the other hand … he did love her. She brought joy with her and gave it to him, joy like he’d never known. The final chords of the symphony bombarded his ears, and as the notes died away he became aware of the telephone ringing. Michael got out of the bath, wrapped a towel round his waist and went to answer it.

  ‘Hello, School House, Michael Palmer speaking.’

  ‘It’s me – Suzy.’

  His heart leaped. ‘Hello, how are you?’

  ‘I’m fine, thanks. I’ve been thinking.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I haven’t seen you for a long time.’

  ‘Four weeks and five days.’

  ‘Is it? That’s a long time. I wondered if there might be a possibility you could come over. Next weekend perhaps?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I can’t. I’ve sold my car today.’

  ‘Oh, that’s good news. You didn’t think you would.’

  ‘No, well, I did and my new one won’t be delivered until a week on Tuesday, so I’ve no transport at the moment.’

  ‘Oh, I see. I am disappointed.’

  ‘So am I. But it can’t be helped. It would have been lovely to see you.’

  ‘Michael …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I could come to you, I suppose. No, of course I can’t, because I wouldn’t want to meet …’

  ‘Oh, but Caroline and Peter won’t be here. They’ll be on holiday. You could come. We don’t have to advertise the fact. Keep a low profile et cetera. It wouldn’t matter, would it?’ He’d begun to sound eager.

  ‘Really?’

  He controlled his eagerness. ‘I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I mean … what I wanted to say was, I’m not putting pressure on you …’

  ‘Oh no, I know you wouldn’t.’ He thought he heard Suzy sigh.

  Michael rushed on with what he had to say. ‘There’s the spare bedroom, you see. You could have that.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose I could. Shall I come then?’

  ‘Yes, please, I’d like that. That would be lovely.’

  ‘I’ll come Friday night after school and leave first thing Sunday. Can’t expect Mother to have the girls all weekend.’

  ‘I’m really looking forward to seeing you.’

  ‘Right, Friday night it is. What will the village say?’

  ‘Plenty. But I don’t care. After all, I’m—’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing. Nothing at all. I’ll see you Friday night then. I’ll give you a ring during the week to confirm. Good night, Suzy.’

  ‘Good night, you dear man.’

  Michael, now shivering from head to foot, put down the phone, and dashed back into the bath. He put the hot tap on and warmed up the water again. He felt as though he’d taken a big step. The second big step in the last few weeks. This coming weekend could be the one when he proposed. On the other hand, was he doing the right thing? Yes, he was. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. She did want to come. She was willing to risk a lot to see him, so she must be interested. Yes, definitely, this coming weekend could be one of those turning points.

  He was still joyful in school on Monday morning. He couldn’t keep the happiness from his face. Pat noticed it. As she slipped her feet into her old school shoes she said to him, ‘My word, Mr Palmer – you won the lottery? Million pounds, was it?’

  ‘No, of course not, Mrs Duckett.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know what’s caused it, Mr Palmer, but you’re like a cat who’s been at the cream.’

  Michael wagged his finger at her and said, ‘I’m not the only one. Since you moved to the Garden House, you’ve been on top of the world, and I don’t think it’s only the move that’s done it.’

  ‘Well, no, you could be right there.’

  ‘I’m glad for you, Pat.’

  Pat looked up from the cupboard under the sink where she was searching for a duster. ‘My word, something’s up. This summer I shall have worked ’ere in this school seven years and that’s the first time you’ve called me Pat. It’s always been Mrs Duckett this and Mrs Duckett that. What’s up then?’

  ‘Nothing, nothing at all. It must be the weather.’

  ‘Weather my foot! I reckon I’m not the only one who’s courting. It’s not that Louise Bissett, is it?’

  ‘Good God, no!’ The words slipped out without thinking and he looked so appalled by his rapid, thoughtless answer to Pat’s question that she burst out laughing.

  ‘Gawd ’elp us, I ’ope not! Desperate she is for a man, so yer’d better watch-out.’

  ‘Mrs Duckett! That’s most unfair. Not at all kind.’

  ‘Well, just mind you’re not too kind to her yerself. She’s after anything in trousers, she is. The poor rector’s having a right time with her. Mind you, I’m not surprised – he is lovely. Wonder he’s not had trouble with women chasing him before this. Course, he did have, didn’t he?’ She glanced at him as she picked up the polish from the draining board, and saw he’d clamped down and gone back to how he used to be. Withdrawn and unapproachable. Gawd! That was it. The photo in the drawer. He was moving to be near her. Of course. She’d right put her foot in it this time.

  ‘The windows in the playgroup room – when you have a moment, they need cleaning, Mrs Duckett.’ He turned on his heel and left the kitchen. Mr Palmer deserved some happiness. You’d got to grab it while you could. In fact, no one in their right mind should turn down the chance of happiness. Life could be Gawd-awful lonely at times, even if yer ’ad kids, which he didn’t.

  He made Suzy a cup of tea as soon as she arrived. He’d boiled the kettle three times while he waited for her coming. His expectation was she’d be there by about eight, but it was nine before he saw her car. He watched as she slid it carefully into the narrow parking space by his house wall. In 1855 they didn’t build school premises to accommodate cars. He’d taken a deep breath and gone to open the door. Bag in hand, she stood there smiling. She was wearing a dress the colour of wild cornflowers, and with it a matching blue headband holding back her hair from her face. His photograph didn’t do justice to the blue of her eyes, nor to her silver-blonde hair, nor the delicate roundness of her cheeks. She seemed smaller than when he’d seen her over five weeks ago, more vulnerable, more hesitant. There was a tremor in her voice when she said, ‘I’ve come as I promised.’

  ‘Come in, come in.’ Michael was conscious of being hale and hearty to cover how he really felt. Was he never going to be able to speak the unspeakable? To ask the impossible? Why should this delightful creature want him? He was ten years her senior and not remotely good-looking. Even her husband for all his faults had had a certain air. But he, Michael Palmer, had nothing to offer. His heart sank and he wished this weekend had never begun.

  They talked the whole of the evening, Michael putting off the dreaded moment when he had to show her her bedroom and use the bathroom and … How would he get over the awkwardness of it all?

  He proposed over breakfast. Broke the news first about moving from the village, said how excited he was by the challenge of the bigger school, the urban environment, and mentioned that it was about fifteen m
iles from where she lived. He’d have to buy a house, though he’d rent first and give himself time to look around and …

  ‘Michael! What amazing news! I never thought you’d leave here.’

  ‘I should have left when Stella … when Stella died. But I didn’t, couldn’t face my daily life here, never mind moving away on top of it all. At least everything was familiar here.’

  ‘Something important must have made you decide to move away from here, something quite mind-blowing.’

  He put down his spoon, and stared at the remains of his Shredded Wheat. ‘Yes, something did. I unexpectedly fell in love.’

  Suzy picked up her cup, and before she drank from it, she looked at him over the rim. ‘Who’s the lucky woman?’

  Michael didn’t answer immediately. His eyes strayed to the kitchen window and then back to his Shredded Wheat. He picked up his spoon again, filled it with cereal, lifted the spoon halfway to his mouth, put it down again and said so softly she had to strain to hear, ‘You.’

  ‘So did I. Fall in love. Unexpectedly.’

  *

  He took her to his favourite high point. They sat close together bracing themselves against the strong breeze blowing briskly over the fields below.

  ‘I love this place. It’s mine. I come here when I’m unhappy.’

  ‘But you’re not unhappy today of all days, surely?’

  ‘No, not today. Today I could be on the brink of happiness. Yes, the brink of a lifelong happiness.’ He turned his head to look at her, the second time that day he’d looked frankly and openly at her. He asked her bluntly a question he’d formulated a thousand ways in his mind but had never found the courage to ask.

  ‘Peter Harris. Where do we stand about him?’

  Suzy snatched her hand from his, and looked away.

  He persisted. ‘We must have it clear, quite clear, and then it won’t be mentioned again.’

  ‘My word, Michael, you’re coming right out from behind the parapet today, aren’t you?’

  ‘There are times when one must. I can’t hide any longer.’

  ‘Neither can I. Seeing as we’re being honest …’ Suzy pushed her hair away from her face and tied the long length of it with a ribbon she took from her shirt pocket. ‘I needed comfort and love the day they found Patrick dead. Peter was there, and for the moment he needed me. No, wanted me. To his dying day he will regret what happened. I shan’t, though. It was a momentary attraction, which by the grace of God, gave Peter and Caroline the children they wanted. Nothing more, nothing less. You need have no worries about regrets or anything, Michael. My only regret is that it’s taken me so long to come round to knowing how much you mean to me.’

  Michael recaptured her hand, put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her close. The sun went behind a cloud. Suzy shivered and rubbed her arms. She smiled at him. ‘It’s getting cold. Time to go back to your house. I’ll cook tonight, right?’

  ‘Right. Race you to the bottom.’

  Suzy laughed. ‘Honestly, who am I marrying – a man or a boy?’

  ‘A man, believe me – a man.’

  Peter slowed right down when they came to the sharp right-hand bend by the sign to Turnham Malpas. Caroline glanced at the children strapped in their safety seats. ‘It’s all right, they’re both still asleep. What a nightmare journey! I’m so sorry, darling, that we’ve had to come home. Who’d believe it – chickenpox! I really think the other guests believed they had the plague.’

  ‘We couldn’t have stayed. They’re much too ill and much better off in their own beds, safe at home. We’ll have another holiday later in the year, I promise. Only two more miles and we’ll be back.’ Peter patted Caroline’s leg. She took his hand and squeezed it. ‘Thanks for being so understanding,’ she said. ‘I really did wonder if I was being too “parenty” and worrying too much.’

  ‘Indeed not. Coming home was by far the best decision.’

  ‘Oh Peter, isn’t it lovely having children? We’d got very self-centred, you know, before they came. Debating about whether to go to South Africa or the Rockies or whatever. And here we’ve had one week making sandcastles on a Devon beach and I’ve loved every minute of it.’

  ‘Same here – every minute. But we mustn’t get too smug with ourselves, or we might become dull.’

  ‘You’d be more guilty of that than me. You can be very smug sometimes, Peter, to the point of being positively self-righteous.’

  ‘Oh right, I’ll have to watch myself then. I’ll park in Pipe and Nook because of the bolts on the front door. The twins are bound to wake up. Can’t help that. We’ll take out only the essentials. I’m not up to unpacking properly at this time of night. In any case, we’ll disturb the neighbours.’

  The twins spent a very restless night, asking for drinks and crying for their mother. Caroline hardly slept at all. Twice Peter got up to them to give her a chance to rest, but they cried for their mother and refused to allow him to help them.

  Caroline got up for good at six o’clock.

  ‘Look, my darling girl. You stay up till I get back from prayers. I won’t go for a run today, I can’t find the energy. You settle them back into bed again and you go to bed too and I’ll stay on duty while you sleep.’

  ‘Wonderful. Right, come along you two, Mummy get you drinkies and some porridge. You always love porridge when you’re not well, don’t you? Lovely swirly syrup too. How about that?’ Thumb in mouth Beth nodded, but Alex merely ignored what she said and demanded a cuddle.

  Caroline had expected Peter back again by seven ready for his breakfast, but he hadn’t come. At a quarter past seven the doorbell rang. ‘Oh, he’s forgotten his key. Coming, darling.’ But it wasn’t Peter it was Sylvia, worried because she’d seen the car parked in the lane and wondered what the matter was. Caroline explained.

  ‘Oh no! Where are they? Alex, Beth, come to your Sylvie. Oh you poor sweethearts, oh my goodness me! Just look at your spots. Don’t scratch, Beth. Don’t they look dreadful? No wonder you had to come home.’

  ‘I’ve been up and down to them most of the night, so when Peter gets back from prayers he’s taking over. I shall put them back to bed and then I’ll go too.’

  ‘I’m so sorry about your holiday. What was the weather like?’

  ‘Well, it was lovely all the week. Sun shining every day, but then by Thursday the children began to droop, and that spoilt it for us, of course. Anything of any note happen while we’ve been away?’

  ‘No, nothing at all. Just the same sleepy village. You know what it’s like, one week runs into the next. You look tired, I must say. How about I dash home for breakfast and then come back to give you a hand?’

  ‘Certainly not, it’s your holiday and I insist we shall manage.’

  ‘If you’re sure?’

  ‘I am.’ She held open the rectory door and invited Sylvia to leave. As Caroline was about to shut the door, Alex popped under her arm and out into the road. He set off after Sylvia, his pyjama legs flapping furiously as he ran. Caroline stepped out to catch him. ‘Young man, you’ve had me up half the … night … and …’ As she caught hold of him she glanced up the lane. Coming out of the lych-gate was someone she had thought she would never see again. Surely not? It couldn’t be Suzy, could it? That silver-blonde hair of hers shining in the morning sun – there was no mistaking it. Oh, God! Caroline watched her pause for a moment, saw her turn back to face the church and give a slow gentle wave. There was obviously someone there returning her wave. Caroline snatched Alex back into the rectory, slammed the door shut and stood with her back pressed against it, breathing heavily. The shock of seeing Suzy again so unexpectedly made her heart pump frantically.

  What was Suzy doing here? Hoping to see the twins? She wasn’t. She wasn’t seeing them. Over her dead body would she see them. They were hers, not Suzy’s. She’d come to take Peter away from her and to get the twins – that was it. She’d come for Peter and therefore for the twins, they were theirs after all. Otherwise why
was she here? What else was there for her to return to in the village, if not for the twins and Peter? God in heaven, what was she to do? Caroline felt crushed by the weight of her distress. In her agitation she clutched Alex against her chest and when he protested and struggled to get down she felt desolate, because his hatred of being squeezed felt like a rejection of her. Had he recognised his mother? Was he running to her and not to Sylvia? Had some sixth sense told him who she was? She mocked her own foolishness. Of course not, he didn’t know her from Adam. She was being a stupid idiot. But Peter and Suzy had obviously met in the church. What had they said to each other?

  He hadn’t prayed at the main altar that morning but in the little side-chapel, converted to commemorate the men of the village killed in the First World War. Their surnames echoed those of the villagers of today.

  Albert Biggs, William Biggs, Arnold Glover, Cecil Glover, Harold Glover, Sidney Glover, Fred Senior, Major Sir Bernard Templeton, 2nd Lieut. Ralph Templeton.

  Dear Lord, what a loss. Four Glover boys. Four sons. How did their parents survive after that terrible blow? His own problems began to fade away, and he slipped into deep concentration and then to prayer.

  He didn’t hear Suzy’s footsteps, and she didn’t know he was there, hidden as he was by the oak screen carved in memory of so much horror. It was the sound of her accidentally sending a hymn-book spinning to the floor which disturbed Peter’s absorption. He stood up and found himself looking at her through the screen. His heart missed a beat. Convinced he must be dreaming, he watched her walking about the church. What on earth was she doing here? Her lovely round cheeks were thinner than he remembered, but they still had that innocent glow to them; her splendid blue eyes were just as beautiful, and her hair, that lovely silvery-blonde hair, gleamed in the shaft of sunlight coming through the window above the altar. She hadn’t changed much except she looked at peace now and not haunted.

  He’d feel a fool if she came into the chapel and caught him hiding, so he stepped out from behind the screen and stood by the pulpit. She caught sight of him and he heard the swift intake of her breath. They looked intensely at each other, spanning the years with their memories. It was Suzy who spoke first.