The Village Show (Tales from Turnham Malpas) Page 6

  ‘Come on then, Barry, if yer’ve finished yer drink. I’ve an early start in the morning, and it was already beginning to freeze when we left the meeting.’ Barry squeezed out from the settle followed by Pat. Behind Barry’s back Jimmy gave her the thumbs-up and Sylvia flashed her a wink.

  Barry shouted, ‘Night all,’ as they both left.

  As he helped her climb up into the van, he said, ‘Take no notice of what they were saying in there.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter to me. You’re only giving me a lift ’ome. Why should I worry?’

  ‘Oh I see.’ She was glad when he shut the doors. The air was freezing cold. In the short time they’d been outside her nose had gone cold and she was shivering.

  ‘No heater in this old wagon, I expect?’

  ‘No. I’m a hot-blooded man meself, don’t need no heating.’

  ‘Hot, are yer? So it is true?’

  ‘Look! They were only pulling yer leg. OK, I haven’t reached forty without having been around a bit. You wouldn’t have it otherwise, would you?’

  ‘No, I suppose not. I like a man to be a man. Anyway, it doesn’t matter to me.’ The slush of the last few days had now become treacherous ice. The wheels made crisp crunching sounds on the hardened ruts and ridges of the road surface. As they turned into the drive gates the van slewed across the road and almost slid into the stone pillars.

  ‘Mind out, Barry! Watch it!’

  ‘OK. OK. Keep yer hair on!’

  Barry parked the van close to the estate tractors and the two motor mowers. Across the yard Pat saw Grandad’s light was still on. She could pick out the pattern on his curtains. My, they were lovely. They were Michelle’s choice, she had a good eye for colour she had. She saw Dean’s light go off. Time she was in bed too.

  ‘Thanks for the lift, Barry. How d’yer open this door?’

  ‘Yer can’t from the inside. There’s something the matter with the lock.’

  ‘Is that your idea of a joke?’

  ‘Certainly not. Try it for yerself.’

  She did and it wouldn’t open.

  ‘There’s a price to pay. Give me a kiss and then I’ll open it.’

  ‘I should cocoa. I’m out of practice. Seven years since my Doug died, and I ’aven’t kissed a man since. Not that I kissed him all that much when he was here. He wasn’t the kissing kind.’

  ‘I am. There’s nothing like kissing a good woman, specially one who’s nicely rounded like you. I prefer something to get hold of. Don’t fancy stick-insect women. Come on, let’s have a go.’

  The idea was more tempting than he would ever know. Inside her, there welled up feelings she’d been ignoring for years. The touch of someone who appreciated her, her as she was, simply her. Pat. Pat Stubbs that was. ‘You are daft. Go on then. Just a little peck and then I’m off in.’

  ‘I’ve got you in my clutches and besides, I’ve also got yer bike. There’s no escape, Pat Duckett. Come ’ere.’

  Her handbag was in the way, and Jimbo’s file dug relentlessly into her thigh. It must have dug into Barry’s too because he thrust it impatiently onto the floor amongst the oily rags and toffee papers and the sawdusty bits around her feet. She opened her mouth to protest but he closed his lips on her open mouth and kissed her like she’d never been kissed before. She didn’t respond, didn’t eagerly give back what he was giving her, but she liked it. Oh yes, she liked it. She couldn’t release her feelings but they were there, they had surfaced. A few more tries and she might give as good as she got. His hands began wandering …

  ‘That’ll do, Barry Jones. You’ve had yer kiss now let me out.’

  As she waited for him to lift her bike out, she looked at the house and thought she saw Dean’s curtain flick back into place.

  ‘Good night, Pat. By jove, we could be good together, I can feel it. I’ll be round for coffee tomorrow morning. See yer.’

  Chapter 5

  Barry turned up for coffee the morning after the Show committee meeting, just as he’d promised. Pat hadn’t believed he would but she’d made sure when she got back from school that her hair was brushed – she was growing out her frizzled perm so it was difficult to make it look good, but she did her best. She’d changed from her school trousers and jumper and was wearing a skirt and sweater she’d spent a fortune on in M & S. It wasn’t really meant to be for every day, but just in case he meant what he said she’d put it on. There was a pile of ironing to do so that seemed to be the easiest rather than him finding her sweating over cleaning the windows or something.

  She snapped the board open, banged the iron on it and plugged it in. Now she’d two men to iron shirts for, the weekly ironing seemed to take an age. Barry didn’t seem to wear shirts – well, not proper shirts, just T-shirts and things under thick sweaters. She thought about his abundant black hair, nearly like an Arab’s, and those laughing brown eyes. Doug had been gloomy, Barry was jolly. Barry oozed sex; Doug had oozed sweat. When she thought about it, in her darker moments she’d often wondered why on earth she’d married him in the first place. Liked the idea of a wedding day, she supposed. The excitement of showing off an engagement ring. The thrill of walking arm in arm with a man, and it had seemed a good escape from that dreary job in the café … She was just finishing the last of her father’s handkerchiefs, when she heard Barry’s van skidding into the yard.

  Pat tried to remain unconcerned, but her heart skipped a beat and that strange feeling she’d experienced when he’d kissed her surfaced again.

  The back door shot open.

  ‘Morning, Pat. Got the kettle on? I’ve only got fifteen minutes.’ He was standing in the doorway laughing at her. Pat bent down to unplug the iron.

  ‘Not for you I haven’t, but I’m having one.’

  ‘Aw now, Pat. You promised.’

  ‘No, I didn’t. You said you were coming, I didn’t promise anything.’

  ‘Come on, Pat, do a fella a good turn. I’ve been working since just after seven, and it’s half-past ten, OK?’

  Pat grinned. ‘OK. Just this once, but don’t make a habit of it.’

  They sat at the kitchen table where Barry had already envisaged he’d be having his bowl of porridge one day. ‘Nice kitchen this. Very nice.’ He looked round appreciatively. ‘I told you this was the right spot for the table, didn’t I?’

  ‘You did.’

  ‘Pat!’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘There’s a new theme park opened, have the kids been to it?’

  ‘No. Got no transport.’

  ‘How about it then?’

  ‘Well, I can’t go, can I? There’s no bus, and what’s more I can’t afford it.’

  ‘I mean, shall I take you all?’

  Pat took a deep breath and said, ‘I don’t know about that.’

  ‘We’d go in my car, not the old van. Yer dad can come as well. I like yer dad. He’s a skilled craftsman and I’ve a lot of time for people like him.’

  ‘So are you. He’d never come. By the time he’s done a week’s hard graft gardening up at the Big House he’s ready for his chair and the racing weekends. I’ll ask the kids, see what they say. Dean’s getting a bit old for gallivanting with his mother.’

  Barry drank the last drops of his coffee, put down his cup and said, ‘There’s a chance, then?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Saturday, I thought. I’m a real kid at those sort of things. I have a go on everything that moves, every blessed thing there is.’

  ‘OK. We’ll see.’

  ‘I’ll call tomorrow and you can tell me what you think.’

  ‘OK.’ For the first time since he’d entered the house Pat looked directly at him. She’d never noticed how long his eyelashes were, nor how strong his hands looked, resting tensely on the table, locked tightly finger to finger. This morning there was a faint smell of aftershave. He stood up, leaned across and kissed her. He tasted of sweetness, and kindness, and security today.

  ‘Any coffee going, Pat?’ It was Dad call
ing from the back door, as he stopped to pull off his boots.

  ‘I’ll be off. Persuade Michelle to come. Morning, Greenwood.’

  ‘Morning, Barry. Jeremy’s looking for you. Old Fitch is on the warpath, been on the phone from London for nearly half an hour. If I were you I’d look busy and be quick about it.’

  ‘Right. Bye, Pat!’

  ‘Bye.’ Pat went to the cupboard to get a mug. ‘How’s things, Dad? You don’t usually come in for coffee.’

  ‘No, well, I saw his van, and I knew Jeremy was looking for ’im. They’re getting him a mobile then he won’t be able to sneak off. Got in the habit of calling to see ’er at Home Farm, before that the Nightingales.’

  ‘The Nightingales? God! As if she isn’t busy enough with that brood of hers.’

  Greenwood looked wise. ‘Ah, well. Yer’d better watch out, if he’s started calling here. My coffee ready? I ’aven’t got all day.’

  After Dad had gone Pat went back to the ironing. She was in two minds. Furious with herself for not knowing what Barry got up to, but at the same time captivated by him. Well, blow it. So long as he didn’t get her into bed why shouldn’t she have a fling? Someone to take her out in his car, someone to laugh with – and heaven alone knew, there’d been little enough of that these last years. She’d browbeat Michelle into going to the theme park come Saturday – she’d pay her to go, anything so long as Barry took them out. Why shouldn’t she have some fun? Why-ever not? Right, Barry Jones, you’re on. Oh no! Half-past eleven. She unplugged the iron again, threw on her coat and wool hat, grabbed her bike and fled down the drive to the school.

  After the school dinner was finished and the children were out at play, Mr Palmer left Mrs Hardaker in charge and disappeared into his house for half an hour’s break. Pat, needing some more cleaning materials, went across to the schoolhouse to interrupt his rest and ask for some petty cash.

  ‘Hello-o-o, Mr Palmer! Hello! Anyone at home?’ She knocked on the door but getting no reply, pushed it open and called down the passage: ‘Hello! It’s only me!’ The sitting-room door was partly open so Pat pushed it wider and saw Mr Palmer standing by his sideboard with a silver photo frame in his hand and what appeared to her to be a daft expression on his face. She cleared her throat. ‘Excuse me – I did knock.’

  Mr Palmer jumped and hastily put away the frame in the open sideboard drawer and slammed it shut. ‘You made me jump, Mrs Duckett. What can I do for you?’

  ‘Well, Mr Palmer, I’m needing petty cash for cleaning materials. I’m a bit short this week otherwise I would have got them and then asked for a refund. Sorry to disturb you. I did shout but you didn’t hear me.’

  ‘No, no. Sorry. Right. I’ll get the petty cash out. Ten-pound note be enough?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I’ll bring the change back. It’s bleach for the lavatories and the kitchen sink, and polish and window cleaner.’

  Mr Palmer disappeared into the kitchen. Pat knew he’d be a few minutes, he kept the petty cash well locked up. She tiptoed across to the sideboard and after one quick check at the kitchen door, slipped the drawer open and found herself staring at Suzy Meadows. She swiftly shut the drawer and went back to where she’d been standing, her head racing with thoughts. He’d kept that quiet. Who’d have thought … Mr Palmer came back.

  ‘Oh thanks, Mr Palmer. I’ll be back with the bill and the change.’

  ‘I’ll be in school when you get back, so bring it to me in my office.’

  ‘Right-ho.’

  Suzy Meadows. Well! She wouldn’t believe it. No one had heard a thing about her since the rector and Dr Harris had adopted the twins. Just fancy if the rector knew! Or more so, if Dr Harris knew! The crafty monkey, he must have been in contact with her all this time. Over two years since she’d left. Must be, ’cos the twins were born beginning of December and they were over two now. Wait till she told Jimmy and them, they’d be amazed. Then she thought about how kind Mr Palmer had always been to her, and how much she’d liked Suzy Meadows when she’d lived in the village, and how lovely Suzy’s three girls had been. Stupid names – Daisy, Pansy and Rosie. Beautiful girls, though.

  The bell on the door of the Store pinged joyously as Pat pushed it open.

  ‘Hello, Jimbo! Am I glad to get inside. It’s still so cold. Hope this blessed slush will be gone soon. Can’t be soon enough for me. Cold better?’

  ‘Not much, but thanks for asking. Meeting go all right?’

  ‘Yes, thanks. Usual arguing and gossiping. I’ve brought you up to date in your file. Here it is.’

  ‘Oh good! Must press on. I’ll look at it later.’

  The Store was busy. People who’d put off coming out shopping while the snow was at its worst, had now decided they couldn’t wait any longer and were busy stocking up. Barry’s mother was the centre of a small group exchanging news, thankful of an outlet at last after being incarcerated by the snow.

  Barry’s mother had to move to allow Pat to reach for the bottle of bleach. Pat made a pretence of studying the different brands on offer to give herself an opportunity to find out what they were talking about.

  Barry’s mother put down her wire basket, and folding her arms said, ‘So, he’s been seen with ’er by our Terry and our Kenny when they went there to the races at New Year.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘True as I’m ’ere. With ’er and ’er girls. Course, I’m saying nothing. I’m drawing no conclusions.’ She drew herself up self-righteously and looked round the attentive group. ‘It doesn’t do to gossip, does it? But really! She’s third-hand and not half. Bet the rector, God bless him, ’ud be surprised if he knew!’

  By mistake, Pat knocked Barry’s mother’s arm as she reached for the bleach.

  ‘Oh sorry, Mrs Jones.’

  ‘Hello there, Pat. We’re just talking about your Mr Palmer. Right sly old fox he is, don’t yer think?’

  ‘It so happens I have the greatest respect for Mr Palmer. He’s a very nice person to work with. And if you’re gossiping about ’im then I don’t want to hear.’

  Barry’s mother gave her arm a nudge. ‘Oh come on, Pat, don’t tell us you don’t know. You must. He’s seeing Suzy Meadows. Thick as thieves they are. It’s all round the village. Bet you could tell us a thing or two.’

  ‘I couldn’t and I wouldn’t. You should watch your tongue. One day you’ll get sued for what you say, you will.’

  ‘Listen who’s talking! Whiter than white are we? Huh! You’ve passed on some rare bits of gossip in your time, Pat Duckett. Gone all hoity toity now, have yer, since yer’ve gone to live at the Garden House.’

  ‘No, I haven’t, but I don’t pass scandal on about someone who doesn’t deserve it.’

  ‘That’s cheek, that is, Pat. Accusing me of stirring it. Don’t come to me when you want to know the latest. Giving yerself airs!’

  Pat shrugged her shoulders and went to the till. ‘Give me a bill, will yer, Jimbo? It’s for the school.’

  Over the shelves Pat heard Barry’s mother say, ‘Listen to ’er! Jimbo this and Jimbo that! Who does she think she is?’

  Jimbo winked at her. Pat chuckled and left.

  Mr Palmer was in his little office when she got back to the school. Everyone called it his office but all it really consisted of was a desk, a chair, and a wash basin, with a curtain across one corner for the teachers to put their coats behind. If a parent came to see him, they sat in his chair and he propped himself on the wash basin.

  Pat put her head round the door. ‘There you are! Here’s the change and the bill. I’ll be off now. See yer later, Mr Palmer. Snow’ll soon be gone, thank goodness.’

  As she mounted her bike out in Jacks Lane, Barry passed in his van. He pulled up with a shriek of brakes and the slush in the road sprayed wildly about, catching Pat’s boots and bike wheels. She jumped to one side as best she could.

  ‘Eh, Barry! What yer doing? Watch out!’

  Barry leaned out of the window. ‘Sorry! It was the shock of seeing you – got
my blood racing. How’s things?’

  ‘Same as they were when I saw yer last. Middling!’

  ‘Don’t forget to ask your Michelle, will you? I’m looking forward to it. One whole day in your company!’

  ‘I’m looking forward to it as well.’ She put her hand on the edge of the open window. ‘I haven’t asked our Michelle, not in school-time. I’ll ask her tonight. I’m sure she’ll say yes.’

  He leaned out of the window and tried to kiss her, but Pat dodged away. Barry laughed, bunched his fingers, kissed them with a flourish, put the van into gear and drove away, taking the corner into Church Lane with more speed than sense. Neither Pat nor Barry had seen his mother standing at the corner of Shepherds Hill and Jacks Lane watching them. Neither of them saw her lips press firmly together in annoyance. As everyone in the village knew to their cost, Barry’s mother’s displeasure was something to be taken seriously.

  Chapter 6

  Peter took the children with him when he went to pick up Caroline from the station. They’d been awake since six. Having no one at home to care for them while he said his early-morning prayers in the church, Peter had had to abandon his half-hour prayers and his three-mile morning run with Jimbo until Caroline got back, so he’d been containing them and entertaining them that morning for what seemed like half a year. The need for re-establishing his life pattern was growing; his routine of having Caroline around him, of breathing her scent, of holding her, of knowing she was there picking up the pieces. God, he’d be glad to have her back. He’d taken to touching her coat in the hall cupboard whenever he had to open it and sometimes when he didn’t need to. He just deliberately held the door open and absorbed the feeling of Caroline by holding her coat. It was the longest time they’d been apart since their wedding day.

  At the very least her return would sort out the problems with Louise and Sylvia. What a fortnight it had been! Placating one, confiding in the other. He couldn’t manage without either of them, with Caroline away. But he had to finish with Louise, even if she did make his life easier and free him for the parish. Caroline would see to everything, that was for sure.