Whispers in the Village (9 page)

‘Well, you know old Miss Gotobed, she was telling me the other day that she remembers there being ten children in this cottage when she was small.’

‘But they’d no standards then, had they, not like we have today. We all—’

‘I knew you weren’t pleased. But don’t make any suggestions about getting rid of it. I can’t. For me it already exists and it would be murder if I did, so don’t let’s mention it again.’

‘When is it due?’

‘Not quite sure. What with feeding the baby for such a long time, and being so busy, I never really noticed I was pregnant.’

‘It will be the last, will it? I don’t want you getting depressed and doing something silly.’

‘Silly? Is that a euphemism for killing myself?’

Sheila hesitated. ‘Well, yes, that’s what I mean. Yes.’

Louise looked up from the ironing. ‘Gilbert and I know what we are doing. He and I have complete understanding, he’s my rock. Believe me.’

‘I know I’ve never been very good at being frank with you, but I just have the feeling you’re not absolutely all right—’

‘That’s enough. It’s early days and I’m having morning sickness like I’ve never had it before, so I’m not into food at the moment and it’s a bit exhausting, but it will pass.’

‘You’ve never had that before, have you?’

Louise tut-tutted in exasperation. ‘What was it you came to see me about?’

‘Oh yes. How shall I set about organizing all these sponsorship things?’

‘When I’ve finished this ironing, I’ll have a think.’

‘Here, let me finish it and you sit down and think. I can iron where as I can’t think.’

They changed places and Sheila noticed how relieved Louise appeared to have the opportunity to sit down. She can’t pull the wool over my eyes, Sheila thought. She’s worried. She ironed away, admiring the little shirts and frocks, unravelling a bundle of tights, pressing the baby’s pram blanket, which had come out of the tumbler dryer looking too creased to use. She took a great pile of the boys’ socks and paired them up, and when she’d neatly lined them up on top of the pile of ironing, and admired yet again the little frocks on their tiny hangers, she looked up and saw Louise had gone to sleep.

The cup of tea she’d made for her had gone cold before she woke. When she did wake, Sheila made a fresh pot and they sat chatting over organization, lists, codes, coloured stickers and files until Sheila’s mind was awash with confusion.

‘I’ll think about it tomorrow. I’ll go home and you go to bed. It’s almost ten; Gilbert won’t be long. Or would you like me to stay till he gets home?’

Rather too hastily, Louise said no she needn’t. He would be home soon.

For once in her life Sheila said, ‘If there’s anything you need to confide, I shan’t tell Gilbert or your dad. Just between you and me, you know.’ She stood on tiptoe and kissed Louise’s cheek. ‘Don’t forget.’

As Sheila drove down Little Derehams High Street, she spotted Gilbert driving home. They both pulled up and wound down their windows.

Gilbert called out anxiously, ‘Everything all right, Sheila?’

‘Of course. I’ve been getting Louise to show me how to organize these events for the W.I.’

‘Right! They’ll be a success, I’m sure.’

‘Can I put your name down for the midnight skinny-dipping?’

‘Certainly,’ Gilbert laughed. ‘They’ll sponsor me at work, I’m sure.’

‘Good! Be seeing you. I’ll give you a sponsorship form very soon. Goodnight!’

‘Goodnight to you, Sheila. Ron OK?’

‘He’s fine.’

There, she proved she could keep a secret by not telling Gilbert she was worried about Louise. So, her first official volunteer for skinny-dipping. They’d made a start.

The very next name to go on the skinny-dipping list was Dean Jones. He’d met up with Sheila in the Store and asked her to include him. That was his first major decision about his change of lifestyle. Since his initial visit to church, when he’d attended simply to see Anna, he’d made a few more decisions, but these were to remain secret.

One: he couldn’t get her out of his mind.

Two: he might come from peasant stock, as his tutor would have said, but he had been to Cambridge and that meant something in this world; he couldn’t be kicked into touch as easily as a farm labourer could be.

Three: he needed another suit and some smart casual clothes.

Four: he had to find ways of being in touch with her without making his feelings too obvious. He’d no actual experience in the ways of a lover but if he was in touch with her then surely opportunities would arise.

The final decision he had made was that neither his mother, nor Barry, should know how he was feeling. They would be horrified. So was he, come to that. But immediately the sensation was obliterated by his overwhelming fascination with her. He had always been one who could face the consequences of his actions, and he knew there would be serious consequences, if not downright scandal. The thought of it filled him with elation and terror all at the same time. Consequently Dean was either full of himself or wallowing in despair, and his swinging moods did not go unnoticed by his mother.

This particular Saturday he drove to Culworth. His mission? New clothes. Michelle had begged a lift but he’d refused; he did not want his bossy sister dictating what he should buy. Still less did he want her to have one of her renowned intuitive moments and realize he had a woman in mind.

His allowance from Mr Fitch’s education fund, paid to him while he was at Cambridge, had always been in excess of his requirements so besides his salary from Neville Neal he had a nest egg into which he would dip. The smartest man’s shop in Culworth was A.J.P. Tindales. Dean looked in the window for a while then opened the door and entered the hushed portals.

In a whirlwind buying frenzy in which purchases were made at the snap of a finger, he emerged an hour and a half later with two new business suits and several casual clothes. The cost was astronomical. But if he was to succeed he had to look the part. He raced for the multi-storey car park as fast as he could without appearing ridiculous, because meeting anyone he knew from Turnham Malpas would be a disaster. His clothes safely locked in his car boot, he sauntered off to find a coffee shop that would appeal to his new image.

There it was, the new one tucked alongside the cathedral. It was extremely busy, it being Saturday, and Dean had to squeeze his way between the tables to reach the only empty one right at the back. Café latte ordered, he sat back and waited its arrival. He glanced round and spent a few moments studying everyone. They were all quite heedless of his state of mind; how could they not know? He looked up at the waitress to thank her for his coffee and as she turned away to serve other people her space was filled by … Anna.

‘Hello, Rhett. May I join you? There doesn’t seem anywhere else free.’

‘Absolutely.’ He leaped to his feet and pulled out a chair for her. ‘It’s Dean, by the way.’

‘Of course, sorry. What do you recommend? Cappuccino? Latte? Espresso? Instant? Or maybe they don’t sell instant in here.’

Dean had to smile. ‘I don’t think they would. They consider themselves above a quick instant.’ He caught the waitress’s eye and she came across. ‘What would you like? The latte is good.’

‘Latte it shall be.’ Anna put down her bag, her elbows on the table, her head to one side and smiled at him. Her teeth were perfectly white and even. ‘So, Dean, why are you in Culworth on your own?’

‘Been shopping, then I’m going to the library.’

‘Do you know, I haven’t found the library. Where is it?’

‘You know the circular building at the far end of Kirkgate? It’s so big you can’t miss it. The one everyone says should never have been built? Well, there’s shops and the library in there, a health centre and a cinema; they’ve called it the Rotunda.’

‘Why don’t they like it?’

‘Too modern, too round, too big and the shops all sell things one could well do without.’

‘I see. Oh good, here’s my coffee. Thank you.’ She stirred it, took a sip, nodded her approval and then said, ‘I’ve been thinking: you know the Youth Club that Kate from the school and Venetia from the Big House run in the church hall?’

Dean nodded.

‘Well, I’m thinking of taking a larger role than Peter took. I’ve been to visit it and it occurred to me we need young men to help run it. How would you feel about that?’

‘Don’t know.’

‘I support it because it isn’t uniformed, you see, and I intend building up the numbers.’

‘Don’t you approve of uniforms then?’

‘Frankly, no, I don’t. Too regimented, too much like an army, and I’m a pacifist.’

‘So am I, but Dicky does a brilliant job with the cubs and scouts. Best pack in the county. They’re always winning cups and things, top of this, top of that. I don’t think the uniforms matter one jot. The boys love it.’

Anna completely ignored his support of the Scouts and carried on speaking as though she hadn’t heard a word. ‘The Youth Club needs a young man or two about. Good for role models, you see. And you’re a role model and a half.’ She smiled again and Dean thought his heart must be out there pinned to his sleeve.

To give himself time to think, Dean sipped his coffee, offered her the sugar bowl and when she refused it he had nothing else with which to fill the silence, so he said, ‘I could help, I suppose. But I haven’t any particular talent to bring to it.’

‘That doesn’t matter, it’s you being there that counts. Think about it. The church needs people like you. Young, educated, full of ideas, confident, gregarious. Am I pleading my cause well?’

Again those beautiful teeth of hers, and he noted the very delicate pink lipstick that gleamed on her lips. ‘You are, none better. I might give it a whirl. Not done anything like it before so I shan’t know how to begin.’

‘Just be there. Friday. Seven-thirty. Great bunch of people.’

Dean agreed, feeling as though her proposal was the answer to a prayer. The rest of the café was a blur, except for Anna sitting opposite him offering him the chance to have contact with her. He was filled with joy, great heaps of it, and felt like springing up from his chair and dancing. Such bliss.

‘There you are, couldn’t see you at first, tucked away here at the back.’

The accent he couldn’t fix, but the blur had disappeared and, pulling out a chair and sitting down between Anna and himself, was a very tall thin man, meanly dressed, bearded, slightly unkempt. Anna introduced him. ‘This is Paddy. Friend of mine. Paddy, this is Rhett. No, sorry, Dean, from the church.’

Dean offered to shake hands but Paddy ignored his outstretched hand, so after a moment, Dean said, ‘Pleasure to meet you.’

Pleasure? A pleasure? Who was this man? Friend? Fellow priest? Lover? Dean cringed from head to foot. Surely not. He needed to know. ‘Are you in the church? You know, a member of the clergy?’

A wry smile crossed Paddy’s face. ‘Nothing. That’s what I am, nothing. Never met someone who’s nothing, have you?’

That seemed to be the end of the matter, and Paddy began to roll a cigarette.

‘Not in here. They don’t allow smoking.’ Dean was glad of an opportunity to put him down but it didn’t appear to affect Paddy in any way. He simply closed up his little tin box and stowed it away in his trouser pocket.

Anna asked, ‘Coffee, Paddy?’

Paddy nodded and, as Dean was facing the café and could catch the eye of the waitress, it was left to him to draw her attention.

‘What can I get you?’

Paddy replied, ‘Coffee regular, black as night.’

Anna explained. ‘I’ve known Paddy a long time. He’s staying with me at the rectory for a while.’

That gave nothing away at all. Dean finished his coffee and got to his feet. ‘I’ll leave you to it, then. Friday, seven-thirty. OK?’

‘Thanks, Dean, I do appreciate you deciding to help.’ She took his hand and gave it a squeeze, they smiled at one another, and Dean left, his heart racing, his face flushed with delight. As he strode away from the table he heard Paddy say, in an unpleasant, sneering tone, ‘What’s that little pipsqueak going to help you with?’

Boiling over with humiliation, Dean went out of the café door and bumped straight into Michelle as she was coming in. ‘What are you doing here?’ He stooped to pick up a carrier she’d dropped.

‘Coming in for a coffee. You’ve had yours, I assume? You look as if you’ve lost your wallet. Whatever’s up?’

Dean shook his head. ‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’

‘So, you’ve no shopping with you.’ She peered at him suspiciously. ‘Did you come to meet someone and she hasn’t turned up? That’s it, isn’t it?’

‘Leave it. Leave it. How did you get here?’

‘Bus, seeing as my darling brother wouldn’t give me a lift in. I wouldn’t have spoiled your assignation. You only needed to say.’

‘I didn’t have an
assignation
. I’m going home now. Want a lift?’

‘No, thanks. I’ve still got Grandad’s birthday present to buy, though I can’t think what to get him. What have you got him?’

‘Nothing.’ Dean studied the thronging High Street, rattling his small change in his pocket. ‘I’ll get something during the week at lunchtime. I’ll be off, then.’