The Village Green Affair (20 page)
Read The Village Green Affair Online
Authors: Rebecca Shaw
Just in time one of the girls heard Jimbo’s voice in the front of the Store and flapped her hands to hush everyone. Jimbo marched in and surveyed the scene. Apart from his mother, who was calmly finishing the last drop of her second glass of water, everyone in the kitchen was applying themselves to their work. Jimbo looked at each one in turn and eventually Harriet could not hold on to her laughter any longer.
‘I did warn you,’ she said, ‘but you wouldn’t listen. Who’s out there on the stall? You haven’t left it with no one guarding it, have you?’
With immense dignity Jimbo declared, ‘I’ve lent Vera my boater and apron, and she’s holding the fort.’
Further laughter erupted at the prospect of Vera Wright in Jimbo’s boater and apron.
‘Jimbo, darling! You need a plaster on your forehead. Look at the blood! I’ll get my first aid box and clean it up for you. At last I’ve found a use for one of my largest plasters. Here we are.’
Grandmama rose to her feet, checked her appearance in her hand mirror - tucking her hair in, tidying her scarf, running a finger over her lipstick - and then marched out saying, ‘Harriet, my dear, inform your husband I shall not be speaking to him ever again.’ She nodded towards the gash on Jimbo’s forehead. ‘He may need a stitch in that.’ Jimbo piped up, ‘Child abuse that’s what that is, there’s such a lot of it about.’
As there was no reason now for her to avoid the market for Jimbo’s sake she decided to have a meander between the stalls and see what she could see. She was agreeably surprised both by the quality of the food and the size of the crowd, and she spotted more than one person wandering along with a slice of Jimbo’s gateau in their hands, greedily eating it up with one of his plastic spoons. She had to smile . . . he’d done the right thing. Of course he had, but she . . . Grandmama dodged behind a particularly tall man to avoid being seen. There, bold as brass, was Old Peroxide from the Abbey coffee shop accompanied by Young Peroxide, their heads together examining the very tasteful homemade silver jewellery on the stall straight in front of her. The tall man taking exception to her hiding behind him, patted his pockets to check his wallet and walked away, casting a nasty glance at her as he went and leaving her completely exposed.
This could be her moment.
She approached them, her hand outstretched in greeting. ‘Hello! How lovely seeing you again. Isn’t it a marvellous market? Everything you need and more.’ Seeing they didn’t quite recognize her she reminded them where they’d seen her before.
‘Oh! of course. It’s your son who’s in jewellery, isn’t it?’
Grandmama pulled her brains together. ‘It certainly is. Are you thinking of buying something? May I see?’
Young Peroxide, holding a pair of beautifully worked peridot earrings in the palm of her hand, said, ‘Well, yes I am. These, look, for my daughter. What do you think?’
Grandmama laid on the charm with a trowel. ‘Your daughter! Did you say
your daughter
. You’re not old enough to have a daughter, I’m sure. You’re teasing me!’
your daughter
. You’re not old enough to have a daughter, I’m sure. You’re teasing me!’
Young Peroxide fell for her ruse and blushed with delight.
Grandmama turned to Old Peroxide. ‘You must be a grand-mother, then? Surely not?’
‘Well, I am!’
‘Wonderful! Look, let me introduce myself. I’m Katherine and you are . . .?’
‘I’m Flower and my daughter’s Petal. My dad always called me his Flower right from the day I was born, so it kind of stuck.’
Grandmama wanted to puke but said graciously, ‘What absolutely delightful names - they quite bring a tear to my eye. Now look, let’s get these earrings bought and then we’ll go to the Royal Oak and I’ll stand us each a drink. My treat. How about it? I’d love you to accept.’ She beamed so enthusiastically at them they simply couldn’t refuse.
Flower and Petal looked at each other and decided that yes, they would, and thank you.
With the earrings safely wrapped and in her handbag, Petal followed her mother and their new friend to the Royal Oak. It was busy but somehow Grandmama managed to secure a table. Admittedly it was one of the ones they’d started to bring out on Thursdays to cope with the crowds and it was squeezed into a very tight corner, but it did make things feel very friendly.
The drinks ordered and paid for by Grandmama, the peroxides clinked glasses and said, ‘
Bon chance
.’
Bon chance
.’
‘Oh, my word! You’ve obviously travelled abroad.’
‘We have indeed . . .’
Unwittingly they were cleverly trailed along by their new friend and, enjoying her charm and her offer of a second drink, they relaxed more and more. It was when she offered, and they’d accepted, a third drink, that Grandmama went in for the kill.
‘Drinking this early in the morning - we are naughty! But that’s what life’s about, isn’t it? Having fun? My son, you know the jeweller, he . . . well, he finds the jewellery trade very . . . shall we say . . . quiet at the moment. Confidentially, just between us, does your husband find it so?
Flower and Petal flicked a glance at each other.
‘Well,’ said Flower, ‘he’s doing rather well at the moment. Isn’t he, Petal?’
‘Yes, Dad’s doing very well.’
Triumphantly Grandmama said, ‘There you are, you see, I knew my son wasn’t getting it quite right. I wish you’d give me a few tips to pass on to him. I think he’s using the wrong ... shall we say ... wholesalers. They’re so expensive and then he can’t get a good margin because it makes his goods too dear for the general punter.’ Grandmama loathed the word ‘punter’ but it seemed appropriate for the present company.
‘I could ask him if he . . .’
‘Could I give you my phone number? He could phone me with some names, couldn’t he? I’ve got to be very circumspect with my son, he hates me interfering, but sometimes we women know we must.’
Flower hesitated and then agreed it would be a good idea. She was sure he wouldn’t mind. ‘I don’t promise anything, mind.’
‘Of course not, and on my part I wouldn’t breathe a word. It would be totally confidential. Here we are, that’s my number. I shall have pen and paper by the phone in preparation for his call. Just a thought, your husband’s called . . .?’
‘He’s Leonard, well, Lennie. Lennie Holt.’
Grandmama gushed. She thanked them so profusely she almost offered them a fourth drink but decided that frankly three were more than enough.
Preparing to leave, she said she hoped they’d meet another time. She’d so enjoyed their company. ‘I must go. I’m supposed to be having lunch at the Rectory and I need to call home first.’
‘We don’t know your name, for when Lenny rings you up?’
Alarm bells began to ring. She dropped her gloves to give herself time to think. ‘It’s Katherine Plackett, with a double “t”. See you again. Don’t forget to give Lennie my number! And tell him that I do appreciate his help. My son is one of those who needs a good kick up the . . .’ Backside seemed appropriate for present company but she baulked at using such a common word and remembered to say, ‘posterior.’ She twinkled her fingers at the two of them and departed, praying no one would call out, ‘Bye-bye, Mrs Charter-Plackett’ as she was leaving.
When she got home she took off her coat, phoned Mac with the name Leonard Holt, and then wrote herself a reminder that from now on when she answered the phone she had to say the number and not her name as she usually did. She propped the note on the phone and felt she’d done a good morning’s work.
Vera had to be back on duty at the nursing home by one o’clock, so she was glad to see Jimbo returning to the stall. She’d been so busy and had so enjoyed herself that she was on a high when he arrived. She unbuckled the leather money belt and handed it to him.
‘Jimbo! I’ve sold two of the big ones,
two
, and I’ve lost count of how many slices. You’ve hit on a good idea and not half. Don’t you think you need more stock?’
two
, and I’ve lost count of how many slices. You’ve hit on a good idea and not half. Don’t you think you need more stock?’
Jimbo slipped her a five-pound note. ‘Thanks ever so much, Vera.’
‘Thank
you
! I didn’t expect anything. Your mother, how’s she?’
you
! I didn’t expect anything. Your mother, how’s she?’
Jimbo grinned. ‘She’s never speaking to me again.’
‘Never mind. She’ll come round. She’s a feisty old bird, isn’t she? You have to admire her.’
‘Call at the Store while you wait for the bus and ask Harriet for some more stock. A couple of whole ones? Chocolate and lemon. Or whatever’s to hand. Here, look, take this slice for Don for his tea, with my thanks to him for lending me his wife.’
When Vera entered the Store she got a round of applause. Everyone seemed to know what she’d been up to, and she felt enormously elated. The boater had kept falling down her forehead, and the apron was at least three sizes too big, but she’d loved it. It was kind of like performing on the world’s stage for a while. She went in the back with her message for Harriet and emboldened herself to say, ‘If ever Jimbo can’t manage the stall one day, Thursday’s my morning off. I’d be delighted to give a hand. I enjoyed myself that much.’
Harriet saw the pleasure in her face and said, ‘Of course, yes, I’ll tell him. I’m sure he’d be glad for you to do it one day. Thanks, Vera.’
Vera heard the bus pulling up and fled.
Had she stayed ten minutes longer she would have been devastated. Everyone at the market was so busy doing what they were doing that the motorbikes were upon them before they knew it. Five huge motorbikes, 1000cc’s at least, roared into the village with horns blowing, loud music pouring out, and going at a speed that was asking for disaster.
First they charged round and round the green, scattering everyone, children coming out of nursery and adults still enjoying the market. The hullabaloo was tremendous and very upsetting, but it was when they decided to spin around between the stalls that the trouble really began. Stealing, they were, anything and everything from the stalls and, as the produce was all top quality, the cost to the stallholders was considerable. They revved and braked, braked and revved, stealing as they went, or throwing around what they couldn’t carry away.
Grandmama, about to make an early lunch, couldn’t help but hear and see what was happening, and was instantly on the phone to Mac.
He was in Culworth, which wasn’t much help, but he alerted the police cars in the area. In the meantime the bikers roared on to the pub, where they demanded a round of strong lagers. What had been a cheerful, pleasurable morning in the Royal Oak was damaged beyond repair. Georgie had her hand on the phone, ready to dial 999 at the first hint of trouble, and Dicky opened the doors wide so his customers could escape if things got dangerous. Which they did when Alan Crimble, feeling daring for once in his life, refused to serve them.
Georgie whispered, ‘
Serve
them, and get them out at the front where there’re some chairs. Do as I say.’
Serve
them, and get them out at the front where there’re some chairs. Do as I say.’
Dicky called out, ‘Plenty of chairs out the front, gentlemen. Take your drinks out there, if you please.’
But they didn’t offer to pay, and when Alan told them how much their bill was they simply laughed, and, weaving their way outside, pushed other customers to one side, angering the mildest of them by picking up their glasses and taking a drink as they squeezed by.
Georgie couldn’t remember a time when things had been so appalling in the bar. She simply did not know how to get it back under control. They were such rough, brash men, so enjoying the mayhem they were causing, and there appeared to be no way of getting rid of them and restoring harmony. Alan and Dicky were completely helpless. What was worse, it appeared they were doing it just for fun. Fun? Yes, that was it, just for fun. They’d heard about the market and thought it would be a real lark.
The bikers sat outside lounging about, laughing coarsely and mocking anyone who walked by. The market itself was in turmoil, and Titus, who’d been sitting in his car in the car park by Rector’s Meadow, counting money and keeping his books in order, was numb with shock. He hadn’t experienced anything like this at his other markets.
He got out of the car and marched across to the Royal Oak, painfully witnessing his stallholders trying to create organization out of chaos. He stood looking at the men throwing down their lagers in great gulps. They were contemplating going back inside to order more drinks, and that was when Titus asserted himself.
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