A Village Feud Read online

  Andy reckoned there was absolutely no one about, not even a loving couple in their car. He’d brought a powerful torch with him and plucked up the courage to swing its beam across the quarry in case he picked out someone moving about. It caught the glistening, shifty eyes of rats running about among the rubbish, which made him shudder. He smiled at his caution, then. After all, who would be wandering about the quarry this time of night? But absolute secrecy was essential if his plan was to work.

  Satisfied he was safe he opened the tailgate and began sliding her out. His hands caught hold of her feet and he remembered how particular she was about keeping her feet beautiful, how diligent she was about waxing her legs. As he grabbed her hip bones he recollected how determined she was not to ruin her admirable figure by having children. The part of the quarry with the biggest heap of rubbish was about three metres to the left of him, and it was best to drop her there, because she’d be covered over all the sooner. He easily carried her over the necessary three metres – she was light he had to agree, the dieting had been all to the good for Jenny – and he let her roll down there on the least steep side of the quarry.

  He followed her down slowly with only the light of his torch to guide him and made sure she was more than covered by the mattresses and the shopping trolleys and the filth of other people’s lives besides his own. The climb back up was not so easy but he managed it at last and told himself he’d done a good job.

  He drove home, carefully keeping his speed down so as not to attract attention to himself. With the car neatly parked in their back garden and locked up he wandered into the house and felt liberated. Andy punched the air the moment he got inside. ‘Hallelujah!’ he shouted. He’d got away with it. His master plan had worked. No one had seen him.

  He was completely safe.

  The perfect murder.

  But he couldn’t have been more wrong.

  Beth had seen him leave and come back.

  She was having one of her sleepless nightmare nights sitting at her bedroom window and was looking out at the deep black night with only the lights of the bypass far away across the valley. She had watched him but not realized what she was seeing.

  Her mother, determined to keep her company, had unintentionally fallen asleep on Beth’s bed so she went to sleep in her mother’s bed. Doing so brought her father vividly to mind. And she wished – oh, how she wished – that her father were home and she could sit on his knee with his strong arms around her and tell him why she daren’t go to school, and why Alex was too afraid to do sport at school because he feared being out in the open, and what her nightmares were all about. Then at last Alex could tell him what happened in the sticky, steaming heat of an African night when they were in hiding, and both of them could lay their burden of guilt on their father’s broad shoulders.

  Chapter 13

  As he had promised, Jimbo closed the Store on 31 January. He had a week-long sale of all his stock and, on 1 February, set about designing his internet site for selling Harriet’s Country Cousin products. He’d already visited all his suppliers, farmers’ wives, retired bakers, eager young housewives glad to be making money in their own homes, anyone and everyone who was prepared to work according to his strict rules of hygiene and quality. The result had been an increase in the number of workers and in the lines he could offer. His plaster was now off and hopefully the physiotherapy he was getting would finally put an end to his limping. As his working day no longer anchored him to stock and shelves and display he was beginning to feel at last that life was not the burden it had been previously.

  ‘Best day’s work I did closing the shop, you know, Harriet.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Yes, don’t you feel it is?’

  ‘No.’ She was quilting and needed to concentrate.

  ‘I thought you would love this new relaxed Jimbo.’

  ‘I do, but it’s a grievous blow to everyone else.’

  ‘They’ll get used to it. Thousands of villages have lost their Post Offices and convenience stores, they’ve all had to get used to it.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean to say it’s for the best, does it? Pension day they can hardly find a seat on the bus it’s so busy, all going to Culworth to spend their money instead of in the store.’ The corners of her mouth were turned down and she looked grim.

  ‘You really mean it, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes. I do. The only one who benefits is J.G. Charter-Plackett.’

  ‘Well, you’ll benefit this weekend when we all go to Chichester, Friday evening to Sunday.’

  ‘That’s right, but I can’t help but think we could have organized ourselves better than we did and kept the Store going.’

  ‘How? How to relieve ourselves of the six-day-a-week grind – well, seven if we really wanted to make a go of it?’

  Harriet put down her needle and applied herself instead to Jimbo. ‘I am entirely sure that Tom Nicholls, with a bit of instruction, could have taken over a great deal of your burden. Look how he took to doing the Post Office after all the fuss and palaver Linda made of it. Two hours of training and he’s hardly put a foot wrong since. Stock maintenance would be a doddle for him because he has an organized mind, and he’s very quick off the mark if he spots someone he thinks is stealing. You missed a great opportunity there, Jimbo.’

  ‘Think so?’ Jimbo immediately began worrying that she could be right. After all, he had enjoyed the cut and thrust of the daily input of customers, and he had to confess he’d lost his main source of gossip, which had left a yawning gap in his life. ‘He’d never manage the window-dressing though, he hasn’t an imaginative bone in his body.’

  ‘Ah! But Evie has. I bet with a bit of practice she’d be a wizard at window-dressing. With her eye for colour and design—’

  ‘All right. All right. Maybe. But all that capital tied up in stock? No, thank you. Chichester here I come.’

  Harriet grinned at him. ‘Aren’t you just a teeny-weeny bit sad that you’ve no Store to go to? Dozens of people are. All that gossip that used to go on behind the tinned soups? The chats over the coffee machine? Or that frequently asked question: “Is Jimbo in the back?” Or that time Muriel caught you hugging Venetia in your office? Remember?’

  Jimbo went to look out of the window while he weighed up how much truth there was in what Harriet had just said. ‘I remember. However, I still maintain I’ve made the right decision. The figures for February already prove that the catering and the mail order are holding up very well now they don’t have, in part, to support the Store.’ He turned away from the window and, looking Harriet straight in the eye, said firmly, ‘No, I’ve made the right decision.’

  Neither of them realized that Fran had been standing in the doorway listening to their conversation. ‘Yes, Daddy, but what about me?’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’ve always wanted to run the Store for you, ever since I was small, and without consulting me, you’ve left me with no career prospects.’

  Jimbo blustered his way through his answer. ‘I’d no idea that was how you felt. You should have said.’

  ‘Come on, Daddy, you never even consulted Mummy, never mind me. You just stuck up the notice and that was that.’

  ‘I did. But you’re much too clever to be running a Store.’

  Fran raised her eyebrows in disbelief. ‘And you’re not? Come on, Daddy, how many of your year at Cambridge are running a village store. Eh? None, I guess. But you do – well, did – and made a tremendous success of it and loved every minute.’

  ‘Well, that’s true.’

  ‘They’ll all be worn out by the time they’re fifty, working in the City. You got out of the City and you’ve loved life ever since.’

  Jimbo agreed. ‘True.’

  ‘A roaring success you’ve made, in fact.’

  Jimbo modestly agreed. ‘True.’

  ‘So, what have you thrown away in one mad moment?’

  ‘You tell me, Fran.’

  ‘Your opp
ortunity to be in the hurly-burly of life and my career.’ Fran gave both of them a broad grin. ‘Never mind, I’ll survive. But will you?’

  She disappeared as fast as she’d arrived, leaving the two of them stunned.

  Harriet picked up her needle and said nothing.

  Jimbo turned to the window again and watched Evie Nicholls walking by with her new little dog, Tatty. Of course she’d be excellent at dressing the windows. Which made him think about Tom. He’d be good at organizing the stock, he knew he would because he’d got that kind of mind, that was why he was so good in the Post Office. Everything following a set pattern. Rules to follow. Strict procedures to carry out.

  But Jimbo shook his head. No, he’d made the right decision. No one in their right mind ran a village shop. But Fran. Well, at thirteen she’d plenty of time to change her mind about her career. If he strained his neck he could just see the end of the queue of people waiting outside his Store for the morning bus into Culworth. A much longer queue than usual, and he realized that a lot of them would have been shopping in the Store if he hadn’t closed, so all their money would have been flowing into his tills. But he shut off his mind and instead dwelt on the freedom closing the Store had given him.

  Back to the computer and to checking his new website, which began:

  HARRIET’S COUNTRY COUSIN MAIL ORDER

  Taste country goodness in your own home. Send today for a free sample jar of fresh raspberry preserve. Our wholesome, country quality preserve has that special tang which only fresh homegrown raspberries, newly picked and in our jam pans that same day, can give …

  He spent the morning composing other equally tempting slogans for his chutneys, bottled fruits, marmalades, and other jams, and pushed to the back of his mind what Fran had said. But her words had left a thin trail of dissatisfaction in his mind and it niggled him all day.

  The irritation that closing the Store had caused was felt all over Turnham Malpas, Little Derehams and Penny Fawcett. The times they’d said to themselves, ‘I’ll call in the Store and get that …’ only to realize the Store no longer existed. It was not just irritating, it was maddening. There were few of them on Jimbo’s side. And quite a few who felt the pinch of unemployment – Tom, in particular and Bel, as well as the new assistants, who’d been dropped within weeks of having been taken on. Tom had thought about buying the Store from Jimbo, but the amount of capital he would need was beyond both his bank manager and himself. What a mess everything was becoming. Tom did find a job working in the large Post Office in Culworth, but it wasn’t a patch on the comfortable chatty job he’d made of working in the Turnham Malpas Store.

  But though the lack of the Store was on everyone’s lips they did have another piece of gossip to keep them busy: the disappearance of Jenny Sweetapple.

  ‘I swear,’ said Dottie to Beth one February morning, ‘I swear he’s done her in.’

  ‘Done her in?’

  ‘Killed her, you know. Polished her off.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘Well, he says she has flu, but within days he’s in the Store weeping and wailing and gnashing his teeth because Jenny’s left him. He says she’s gone to stay with her brother in Australia. It doesn’t make sense. He told me himself she had the flu, he said he’d had the doctor from Culworth to her, but in a week she’d buzzed off to Australia.’

  ‘Perhaps she’d already gone and at first he couldn’t bear to tell anyone. Perhaps she hadn’t had the flu at all.’

  ‘Mmm. Per’aps. Mind you, I couldn’t blame her if she did run off to Australia, or Tasmania – that’s even further away – just to escape from him. There’s something I don’t like about Mr Andy Moorhouse. He’s a kind of nasty kind of man. Real unpleasant. She was lovely. I really liked her. Very thoughtful, she was. Yer didn’t feel at all embarrassed, undressed and that. Lovely smile, too. I don’t agree with divorce, but in her case I would. Good at her job, she was.’

  ‘I never met him. But then I haven’t been out much. Now I can’t even go to the Store for some gateau.’

  ‘You could come down to see me.’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’ Beth shook her head. The thought of venturing right the way down Shepherds Hill was too painful to contemplate.

  ‘You could walk down with me after I finish here.’

  Beth said no even more emphatically.

  ‘But I would walk you back.’

  ‘No. No. I had thought I’d be back at school after Christmas and I still can’t manage it.’

  ‘Have you told your mum yet what’s upsetting you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Not about what happened with that man with the gun?’

  ‘No.’ Beth began clearing the table of her breakfast things to put an end to the questioning.

  Dottie started collecting her cleaning things saying, ‘The invite’s still there, when you want. My house isn’t as beautiful as this, I’ve never had the money, you see. But you’re welcome. Humble, but it’s home.’ Dottie set off to start on the sitting room and then turned back to say, ‘Will you promise me one thing? When your dad gets back you’ll tell him. Because if you don’t, I shall, and I mean that.’

  ‘No. Please don’t. Alex and I will.’

  Beth thought about telling her father and longed for the moment. She could tell him all about the guns and how terrified Alex and she had been, waiting for Elijah to come, when he dared, with food and water for them, and listening for the sounds of the rebels making their way through the bush to the town. They were always searching, for someone to rob, food to eat, and other insurgents to team up with. Every waking moment had been filled with fear. They heard murder being done on the cart track which led to the nearest little town, and to hear another human being screaming for mercy in the face of death was a sound she never wanted to hear again. At one time they’d contemplated walking along the cart track themselves to get some help, but how could they know whom they could trust? Still worse, being new to the area they had no idea which way to walk to get to the main road where they’d escaped being burnt to death. If they’d known they would have taken the risk and attempted to walk home. Home! If only.

  By the time Dottie had finished cleaning Beth was glad to accept her invitation, if only to take her mind off the memories …

  Caroline, thrilled that Beth felt able to go out, insisted she provided lunch. ‘Lunch, Dottie. I can’t expect you to provide lunch. Let me put some things in a basket, please, otherwise I shall feel guilty.’

  For which Dottie was glad, as there wasn’t much in her kitchen for making a lunch for Beth. That blasted Jimbo closing the Store.

  ‘Well, it’s very kind of you, Doctor Harris, I didn’t expect—’

  ‘Please accept with my thanks. Beth, you’ll need your coat.’

  She waved them off, sad inside that Beth seemed able to talk to Dottie about things but not to her. It made her extremely disappointed in herself. Where had she failed Beth and Alex that they couldn’t talk about their problems to their mother? She loved them as though they were her own and always had done, and she’d tried so hard.

  Dottie and Beth talked all the way down Shepherds Hill. They’d paused for a moment outside the school, listening to the chatter escaping through the windows and watching the dinner van unloading the containers, and for one moment Beth wished she were going into the hall for dinner like she used to.

  Dottie said, ‘I’ve often wished I worked in the school just to be with the children. It’s lonely having no children of your own. Very lonely.’

  Beth said, ‘Well, you could always pretend for a while that I’m yours.’

  Dottie smiled at her. ‘I could, couldn’t I? That will be lovely. We’ll do that.’

  They were so engrossed in their conversation that neither of them noticed Greta Jones going back to the Store after delivering a note to one of Jimbo’s mail order workers. She saw them standing outside the school, partially hidden by the dinner van.

  What possi
ble contribution could Dottie Foskett make to getting Beth back to normal? she thought. I ask yer. She remembered her from school as that smelly, unkempt girl at the bottom of the class, and look where she ended up, the local girl free with her favours. The times Greta’s mother had warned her of the perils Dottie Foskett would be facing in the years to come. But it didn’t seem as though it had worked out that way. She’d two or three comfortable cleaning jobs, a skill way above her other attributes, at the Rectory no less, and now she was adviser-in-chief to a distressed Beth. It took some understanding.

  But to Beth, Dottie was the most comfortable person to be with. She talked about ordinary things straight from the shoulder, and at the moment that was exactly what Beth needed; she was tired of people tiptoeing around her emotions.

  She had a surprise when she saw Dottie’s house. It was scrupulously clean, but plain, almost minimal, except her belongings weren’t as fashionably modern as they should have been for her house to be described as minimalist. It was lack of money which made her furnishings sparse and Beth could understand why Dottie enjoyed working at the Rectory, because to her it was beautiful.

  The kitchen was galley-shaped, with barely enough room for two thin people to pass. But it didn’t matter because Dottie insisted on unpacking Caroline’s bag all by herself. ‘My! Look at this. It’ll feed me for a week. This stand pie. Look at that! Delicious. And she’s even put in some salad and coleslaw to go with it. Fruit and cheese and biscuits, too. And some crisps! You are lucky to have a mum like yours. So lucky.’

  She kept up the commentary as she unwrapped everything, and by the time it was all ready for eating Beth was salivating and couldn’t wait to begin.

  ‘Carry it through. I’ll light the gas fire, it’s a bit nippy today.’

  The fire plopped into action as old gas fires do and they sat cosily in front of it with the food on a rickety bamboo table out of someone’s conservatory.

  Dottie didn’t speak while she enjoyed Caroline’s lunch. Neither did Beth, mainly because it was the very first meal since coming home from Africa which she could say she truly enjoyed. She cleared her plate, joined Dottie in a second helping of everything and then chose a big fat orange. Having quartered it with a centuries-old knife of Dottie’s, she relished pulling the flesh from the skin with her teeth. A messy way to eat it but she didn’t care about good manners at the moment.