(6/13) Gossip from Thrush Green Read online

  'The final straw,' said Mary, 'was pinching the housekeeping money last week. I thought it had been vanishing for some time, a fiver here and there. You know how easy it is, especially when four people use the purse.'

  'What was your system?'

  'Oh, whoever went shopping for meat or eggs or groceries just took the purse. We all put in a fiver at the beginning, and then had a share out at the end of each week, and refurbished the funds again.'

  'It sounds a good idea.'

  'In theory, yes. In practice, particularly with half paying out for drugs, it was hopeless. My gold bangle's gone too. I may have lost it—the catch was loose—but I can't help feeling they pinched it. Jack refused to believe me - he's much more high-minded than I am. Anyway, I got some of that powder you can scatter in cash boxes and so on. It stains a thief's hands bright red. It certainly worked with Bill and Lottie last Thursday. We caught them literally red-handed. I've never seen Jack so furious. They were out within an hour.'

  'Where have they gone?'

  'I don't know. They can go back to their parents, but of course they don't want to. We had our last share out and they pushed off with about three pounds apiece. The motor bike's in good order. It's up to them now. Frankly, I hope I never clap eyes on them again. They've thoroughly spoiled our time here.'

  'Put them out of your mind,' advised Winnie. 'It's over and done with, and now you must look ahead to the baby and take care of yourself and Jack.'

  'You are quite right. We should be able to move into the new house next week, and we're both looking forward to making a fresh start.'

  She looked about her at the sunny garden, murmurous with bees among the wallflowers.

  'We shall miss Thrush Green. It would have been perfect if only we had been alone.'

  'You won't be far away,' said Winnie cheerfully. 'You'll be able to visit us, I hope, and see Thrush Green in a more favourable light.'

  'See Eden without its serpent? I'll look forward to that.'

  That same day, after the school children had raced home, Miss Watson and Miss Fogerty enjoyed a well-deserved rest in the school house garden.

  In common with the majority of Thrush Green residents, a modest tea was before them.

  A tray with two cups and saucers, milk jug, teapot and a plate bearing half a dozen delicious lemon curd tartlets, made a brave sight.

  The two friends were content to bask in the sun in silent companionship. An inquisitive blackbird made forays from the hedge, its bright eyes focused on the tea tray. Apart from its pattering claws upon the dead leaves, and the distant shouts of tardily departing children across the green, a blissful somnolence enwrapped them.

  Agnes allowed her mind to drift from school matters to the more personal needs of her modest wardrobe. Should she buy another cotton frock, suitable for school, or should she get Miss Crookshank to make up the length of blue checked gingham she had prudently bought before material became so expensive?

  The difficulty was that Miss Crookshank would probably need quite a month to get the frock made, pleading pressure of business, her mother's illness and other excuses, all probably quite genuine, Miss Fogerty told herself, but the result would be that the fine spell would probably be over by the time the garment was completed.

  And, of course, she must get a new pattern. That princess-style, button-through one which had done so well for so many years, had its drawbacks. Far too often the bottom button had burst off when showing the children how to be a really energetic galloping horse in the playground. And, on occasions, she had discovered that the bodice gaped, which was immodest to say the least. Perhaps something with a yoke? No zip, of course, and certainly not at the back. Far too difficult to reach.

  There was a lot to be said for buying a frock readymade. She had seen some attractive ones in two of the Lulling shops, but the prices had been excessive, and it was really a shocking waste not to have the gingham made up. On the other hand, was the gingham perhaps too light in colour for school wear? One must remember how quickly clothes grew grubby in contact with such things as coloured chalks, modelling clay, charcoal sticks, paste and poster paints, not to mention innumerable infants' fingers clutching at one's raiment.

  Agnes, juggling gently with this problem, was brought to earth by a squeak from her companion.

  'Oh dear, I didn't mean to wake you,' began Dorothy.

  'I wasn't asleep, dear, I assure you. Did something sting you?'

  'No, no. I was about to get up to carry in the tray, and my leg gave a twinge. All over now. I think I must have been sitting awkwardly.'

  'Should you see the doctor again?' asked Agnes, full of solicitude.

  'No, I'm really quite fit. Well, as fit as I'm going to be, I suspect.'

  'But surely,' protested Agnes, 'you will go on getting stronger? It isn't all that long ago—'.

  'It's well over a year,' said Dorothy. 'It may improve, of course, but I seem to have been at this stage for months now. It doesn't worry me, Agnes dear, because I just face the fact that I'm slower and can't walk as far as I did. On the whole, I can do all I want to do.'

  'I sometimes think you do too much,' said Agnes loyally. 'You should let me help you more.'

  Dorothy laughed.

  'You spoil me as it is. Besides, you are quite a few years older than I am.'

  Agnes nodded, and silence engulfed them again. A bold robin now came to reconnoitre, and the blackbird rushed at it, scolding furiously. The robin stood its ground.

  'Agnes,' said Dorothy at last. 'Have you ever thought of retiring?'

  'Retiring?' cried Agnes. 'Why, do you think I should? I mean, am I working as you would wish? Do I do my duties satisfactorily - ?'

  Dorothy broke in upon this panic.

  'Of course, you do everything quite beautifully, Agnes. I've yet to meet a better teacher, as you should know. No, I only passed the remark because retirement is rather in my mind at the moment.'

  'You don't mean it!' gasped Agnes. 'Why, you are still in your fifties—and don't look it, I assure you! I thought you would want to stay at Thrush Green until you were sixty-five.'

  Dorothy nodded absently, her eyes upon the robin.

  'So did I. But since this fall, I've been thinking about things. Everything is much more of an effort. I'm beginning to wonder if I should go at sixty. I could give a year's notice when I get to fifty-nine next birthday. That should be ample time for a new head to be found.'

  Agnes's mind, so recently swinging indolently from readymade frocks to Miss Crookshank's versions, was now in a state of violent agitation. To think that dear Dorothy was even contemplating such a step! She had always looked upon her as so much younger and stronger than herself. After all, her own birthday would bring her to sixty-two, and she had quite resigned herself to the idea of staying until she was sixty-five. In any case, she hoped to put a little more in her Building Society account before she drew her pension. She had thought about returning to modest lodgings when the time came for Dorothy to give up the school house or even earlier. It was not a very exciting prospect, she knew, but she could hardly expect Dorothy to want her for the rest of her days, when the job they did together was over.

  In her bewilderment, she scarcely took in all that Dorothy was saying.

  'I should have thought about it long ago,' Dorothy was saying. 'Something really modest, a bungalow perhaps with a small garden and a view of the sea, of course. What do you think, Agnes?'

  'I don't quite follow you, Dorothy,' said little Miss Fogerty unhappily. Everything was awhirl in her mind.

  'If I decided to retire at sixty,' said her headmistress patiently, 'I should have to have a house. I was thinking aloud really—wondering about dear old Barton-on-sea. What do you think?'

  'You've always loved it there,' said Agnes carefully.

  'But would you love it too?'

  Agnes turned bemused eyes upon her.

  'Would I be there too?' she quavered.

  Miss Watson gave one of her famous sn
orts.

  'Of course you'd be there too! I hope you don't intend to desert me when we've both retired.'

  'Oh, Dorothy!' began Agnes, appalled at the idea of treachery.

  'Unless,' said Dorothy, suddenly and surprisingly unsure, 'you would rather not?'

  Rather not?' echoed Agnes. 'Just do let me get my breath, Dorothy dear, and I'll try to tell you how I feel.'

  I'll pour us both another cup while you're pondering,' said Miss Watson, lifting the teapot.

  11. A Sea-Side Interlude

  JUNE arrived, and Tullivers stood empty again awaiting the return of Phil and Frank Hurst.

  Jeremy grew more and more excited as the time drew nearer, and Winnie shared his joy. She admitted to herself that she was relieved at the departure of the young people next door, and she and Jenny were glad to be putting things to rights after their slapdash housekeeping.

  It did not take long to get Tullivers looking ship-shape, although there were one or two things which would need more specialised attention than Winnie and Jenny could give.

  A coffee table was badly stained, and someone appeared to have trodden tar or some equally viscous material into the sitting room carpet. The latter defied all their combined attempts to clean it. Obviously, the whole thing would need to go to professional cleaners.

  Upstairs, there was a cracked hand basin and a peculiar stain down one wall in the back bedroom. But, at first sight, Tullivers gave its usual peaceful sunny welcome.

  'Well, we've done all we can,' said Winnie, shutting the front door. I'll put some flowers inside on the day they arrive. How good it will be to see them back!'

  They went next door, and Jenny filled the kettle for Winnie's tea tray. The children were already coming out of school, and Jeremy would be looking forward to a slice of her gingerbread.

  11

  'Leave that for a minute, Jenny,' said Winnie, 'and come and sit down.'

  She led the way into the sitting room and she and Jenny sighed with pleasure at being at rest after all their activities next door.

  'Now, Jenny,' began Winnie, 'I've something to put to you. Are you happy here?'

  'Happy?' exclaimed Jenny. 'You know I am! Never been happier. It's like a dream come true.'

  'Good,' said Winnie. 'And I'm equally happy, except for one thing.'

  She looked across at Jenny's bewildered expression.

  'And that's your health, Jenny. You have never really picked up after that wretched illness, and I'm going to see that you have a little holiday.'

  'But I don't need a little holiday'! wailed Jenny. 'I shouldn't know what to do! Honest, I wouldn't.'

  'Well, I should like a little break myself as soon as Jeremy's back at Tullivers, and I have made enquiries at a very quiet hotel in Torquay where I propose we go together. I shall stay for the weekend and leave you there for another week. The sea air will do you a world of good.'

  'But what - ' began Jenny, when Jeremy burst in.

  'I'm starving!' he cried.

  'Hear that?' said Winnie rising. 'We'll talk about this later on, Jenny, but meanwhile we must get the tea ready. We can't have the Hursts coming back to a boy skeleton.'

  And Jenny, her head awhirl with these holiday proposals, went to cut up the gingerbread.

  On the same afternoon, at the Youngs' splendid house, Joan and Molly were busy taking down the long and heavy velvet curtains which had kept out the bleak winter draughts of Thrush Green, and were replacing them with light chintz ones for the summer.

  'Do you know,' said Joan, 'that these windows are almost fifteen feet in height? I hope to goodness all these curtains last out our time. We should never be able to afford more.'

  Molly, perched on a kitchen chair was doing her best to reach the hooks at the top, and deciding that she must fetch the step ladder after all.

  'How many metres would you need, I wonder?'

  'Heaven alone knows, and I don't intend to try and work it out at my age. I'd have to tell the shop people in yards, and let them do the sums.'

  At that moment, Molly gave a little cry, swayed on her precarious chair and was caught by her alarmed mistress.

  She helped the fainting girl to an armchair, and pressed her head down upon her knees. She was much agitated. Molly never ailed.

  Should she send for her brother-in-law Doctor John Lovell? But then he would probably be out on his rounds at this time.

  She crouched on the floor gazing anxiously at her patient. To her relief, she saw the colour returning to Molly's cheeks, and the girl sat up.

  'Lean back,' advised Joan, 'and I'll get you a drink.'

  She hastened into the kitchen and collected a glass of water and some brandy. What could be the matter?

  'Only the water,' whispered Molly, 'that other stuff makes me sick.'

  Joan watched her as she sipped.

  'Have you felt faint before?'

  'Once or twice. Nothing much. Let's get on with the curtains.'

  'Not on your life! They can wait. You're going upstairs to lie down. I shan't be able to look Ben in the eye if he finds you ill.'

  'You know what I reckon it is?' said Molly.

  'Tell me.'

  'A baby on the way. To tell the truth, I thought it might be, and this seems to settle it.'

  'Well, I'm glad to hear it, Molly dear, and you're going to see Doctor Lovell first thing tomorrow. When do you think it's due?'

  'If I've reckoned aright, it should be late in December.'

  'A Christmas baby!' cried Joan. 'Now, isn't that good news? You were very naughty to clamber about on that chair. If only I'd known!'

  'No harm done,' said Molly cheerfully, getting up. 'You know, I'd much rather carry on here than go upstairs.'

  You'll do as you're told for once,' said Joan firmly. 'Edward will give me a hand with these curtains when he comes home. What are husbands for, I'd like to know?'

  The Hursts returned to an ecstatic welcome from Jeremy and a heartfelt one from all their old friends at Thrush Green.

  At first, they forbore to tell them of the shortcomings of Tullivers' temporary residents, but as Harold Shoosmith told Isobel: 'It is only a matter of time before all is revealed - and that much embellished, I have no doubt.' He was to be proved right within a week.

  But before these unwelcome comments were made, Winnie and Jennie had packed their bags and taken the train to Torquay.

  Jenny's agitation at first hearing of the plan had gradually changed to pleasurable anticipation. This was increased when she recalled that an old childhood friend, another inmate of the orphanage, had married a draper in the town. It was true that they only wrote to each other at Christmas time, exchanging handkerchiefs or bath salts, but they shared potent memories of their early home and had a strong affection for each other.

  Winnie was delighted to hear of this link, and an invitation to Harry and Bessie to have tea with them at the hotel on the Sunday was warmly accepted.

  The hotel itself gave Jenny confidence at once. She had secretly feared that everything would be over-poweringly grand. Certainly all in sight was harmonious and beautifully kept, a virtue which appealed to house-proud Jenny immediately. But besides this, the hotel staff were welcoming, the service unobtrusive and efficient, and the windows overlooked a well-kept garden with the sparkling sea beyond. Jenny's spirits rose as she unpacked in the bedroom next to Winnie's, stopping to gaze at the view on each trip to the wardrobe. Who would have thought she would ever be in such a lovely place? And so far from Thrush Green too?

  To her surprise she felt relief rather than sadness at the thought of the distance between her present bedroom and the one at home. Somehow it was good to get away from the old familiar view, the chestnut avenue, the children running to school, Mr Jones watering the hanging baskets outside The Two Pheasants.

  Above all, she had to admit, it was a relief to get away from Percy Hodge. Perhaps now she could see things more clearly without his presence to upset her.

  Ah well! Tomorrow s
he would see Bessie again, and her husband for the first time. It was good to be looking forward to new interests. She would forget Thrush Green for a while, and really make the most of this wonderful holiday.

  ***

  The sunshine which enhanced Jenny's first view of Torquay bathed the entire country.

  At Thrush Green, early roses graced the window sills of Miss Fogerty's classroom. Mr Jones's geraniums burst into exuberant bloom, and the sound of the lawn mower was heard in the land.

  The meadow leading to Lulling Woods was ablaze with buttercups. Daisies starred Thrush Green itself, and mothers watched their toddlers clutching bunches in their fat hands. The wooden seats were warm to sit upon, and young and old, eyes closed against the dazzling light, dreamt and dozed in perfect bliss.

  Even Albert Piggott appeared less malevolent and, bill hook in hand to show that he was mindful of his duties, sunned himself upon a flat tombstone by the churchyard wall.

  Along the lane to Nod and Nidden the cow parsley frothed and shed its lacy flowers in the breeze. Dotty Harmer admired its fragile beauty as she took Flossie for her afternoon walk. To tell the truth, the spaniel would have much preferred to spend the afternoon lying in the plum tree's shade in Dotty's garden but, obliging as ever, accompanied her beloved mistress with every appearance of pleasure. She was grateful to her owner, and had not forgotten how she had been rescued by her and given such a loving home. What if the melting tar did squeeze between her claws in this unpleasant way? It was a small price to pay for the pleasure of sharing a walk with Dotty and making her happy.

  The elder flowers were beginning to open, turning their creamy faces to the sun, and Dotty turned her mind to making elder-flower champgne if only she could remember where she put the recipe. Behind the kitchen clock? In the Coalport vegetable dish? In mother's secretaire? She would have a good look round when she returned home.

  She came within sight of Thrush Green, shimmering in the heat. Perhaps it would be a good idea to call at Ella's. The recipe had come from her in the first place.

  She crossed the green, a scraggy shabby figure topped by a frayed coolie straw hat, the object of mirth to two young mothers lolling on one of the seats. Flossie panted obediently behind her.