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  Ben felt pretty sure that he would be offered a job if he decided to sell. But would he like working for a master after being his own for so long? And what about his fellow workers? He had little respect for some who had sold up and gone to work for Dick Hasler, and he had heard of some underhand transactions which disgusted him. No, if he had to make the break, it would be a clean one, and he would have a complete change. Surely, there must be something he could do to earn a living? His old grandmother always said he had the most useful pair of hands in the business. What honest living could he earn with them? Perhaps a job in a garage somewhere? He brooded silently, as windscreen wipers flashed to and fro hardly keeping pace with the torrent.

  'Soon be there,' cried Molly. 'Look out for the river, Georgie! Once we're over that we're nearly home.'

  Ben watched their excitement with a smile. So far he had said very little about the fair's diminishing profits, but Molly must have some inkling, and the time would soon come when they would be obliged to have a straight talk about the future.

  The steep hill to Thrush Green was just ahead. Ben sighed, and changed gear. Slowly they came abreast of St Andrew's church, and drew to a halt outside Albert Piggott's cottage. From the joy which lit Molly's face, you might think it was Buckingham Palace, thought Ben wryly.

  'Here we are,' she cried, 'home again!'

  Ella Bembridge saw the Curdles arrive from her bedroom window. She had gone upstairs to rummage through drawers and cupboards to find some contributions to the Lovelocks' Bring and Buy stall, and Dimity was with her.

  'They'll have to look slippy if they want the fair to be ready by the morning,' commented Ella. 'Don't envy them that job in this weather.'

  'What about this cushion cover?' enquired Dimity, holding up a square of hessian embroidered in thick wool.

  'It's a peg bag,' said Ella. 'Rather fine, isn't it? Bold, you know. Plenty of pure bright colour.'

  She looked at the enormous flowers of scarlet and gold with affection.

  'Too good for a Bring and Buy. Put it back, Dim. It'll do for a Christmas present.'

  'What are they, dear?' Dimity was studying the blossoms, with some distaste. 'Zinnia? Red hot pokers? I can't quite recognise them.'

  Ella gave her booming laugh.

  'They're no known species. I just made 'em up as I went along. You know, three threads up, four down, and all that. Effective, isn't it?'

  'Very,' said Dimity, folding the object carefully and returning it to the drawer.

  'Here, they can have this magnolia talcum powder. I'll never use that. Can't think who thought I'd relish magnolia scent. Do I look like magnolia?'

  'Well, no, Ella. Not really.'

  'And this useless handkerchief sachet, and this idiotic comb case. Here they come.'

  Ella was now ferreting in the drawer like some eager fox terrier in a rabbit hole. Objects flew from her towards the bed, and Dimity did her best to sort them out.

  'But Winnie said they wanted things you'd made,' she pointed out, fielding a crocheted bobble cap rather neatly.

  'They can have these as well,' replied Ella, head well down. A long string of plastic beads, pretending to be jet, swung through the air, Dimity added it to the motley collection.

  'Right,' said Ella, slamming the drawer back. 'Now let's look in the cupboard.'

  One turn of the handle burst open the door. Out from the depths sprang a snarl of cane and raffia, and a few objects made from similar material. Ella bent to retrieve them.

  'Two waste paper baskets, and three bread roll holders! What about that?'

  'Lovely,' said Dimity faintly.

  Ella looked at her handiwork approvingly.

  'I was thinking of decorating them with raffia flowers,' she mused. 'But what d'you think?'

  'They are just right as they are,' replied Dimity firmly. 'No need to gild the lily, you know.'

  'Yes, you're right. Somewhere at the back there are some teapot stands. Push over the chair, Dim, and I'll have a look.'

  She clambered up with surprising agility for one of her bulk, and began to scrabble at the back of a high shelf. Dimity drifted to the window and looked out at rain-washed Thrush Green.

  Ben Curdle was carrying a large suitcase into Albert Piggott's cottage, and young George was capering beside him, glorying in the puddles.

  'Got 'em!' came Ella's triumphant call. 'Catch!'

  Dimity caught about half a dozen wooden teapot stands, edged with cane and beadwork, wrapped in a polythene bag, and added them to the pile.

  'There!' said Ella, stepping down heavily. 'That's a pretty good haul, isn't it? Do them a good turn, and me too, come to think of it. If I ever take a lodger I shall have to clear out all the shelves and drawers in this room. Made a start anyway.'

  'So you're still thinking about it?' said Dimity, following her old friend downstairs.

  'Oh, I honestly don't know,' replied Ella, settling in a chair and fishing in her pocket for the battered tobacco tin which contained her cigarette factory. She began to roll one of her deplorable cigarettes. She looked pensive.

  'It's like this,' she began, blowing out a cloud of acrid smoke. 'I can do with the money and I've got plenty of spare room, but I'm wondering if I should find a lodger congenial.'

  'Anyone in mind?'

  'Not really, although I believe Winnie Bailey's nephew Richard is looking for somewhere to stay, but no doubt Winnie would put him up.'

  'Are you going to advertise?'

  'I think not. I've decided to see if I hear of anyone—personal recommendation, that sort of thing. I don't want a stream of folk banging at the door.'

  'Well, I must say I'm relieved to know you are not doing anything too hastily. I know Charles has mentioned it in his prayers.'

  Ella patted Dimity's thin arm gratefully.

  'You're a good pair. It's plain to see your religion is the mainspring of your lives. Lucky old you!'

  'It could be yours too.'

  Ella shook her head sadly.

  'You know me, Dim. Full of honest doubts. Whenever I read "Thanks to St Jude" in the personal column I think: "How do they know St Jude reads this paper?" It's no good, I'm afraid. What I can't see I can't believe in. I suppose you find that pathetic?'

  'Not at all. Someone as honest as you are is never pathetic. But I grieve for all you are missing. If you are a believer then you have so much to look forward to.'

  'Bully for you,' said Ella cheerfully, 'but time alone will tell. Here, let's brew a cup of something, and let the future look after itself.'

  Within an hour of his arrival, Ben and his workmates were hard at it erecting the various attractions of Curdle's Fair. A knot of interested spectators had assembled, and at playtime the railings of the village school were thick with pupils eager to see what was afoot.

  Little Miss Fogerty, patrolling the wet playground, but thankful for a clearing sky at last, determined to make 'The Fair' a subject for the afternoon session, and only hoped that she had enough paper to supply the class with adequate artistic material.

  Joan Young, making up beds in the room intended for her parents, noted the preparations outside with approval. Still more encouraging were the patches of blue sky which were appearing over Lulling Woods, and the gentle movement of low clouds moving away to the east, and giving way to high ones from the west. It certainly looked as though the fair would have its usual fine weather.

  She smoothed the bedspreads and then went to the window. Leaning out she felt the soft breeze lift her hair. The avenue of chestnut trees still shed an occasional drop into the puddles below, and their stout trunks were striped with little rivulets of water, but there was a warmth in the air which spoke of better weather to come.

  The daffodils and narcissi, which had taken such a battering in the last few days, were beginning to lift their heads again, and the wallflowers, their velvety faces still wet, were giving out a heady fragrance.

  Tight buds beaded the cherry tree nearby, and soon would burst into dan
gling snow, and the lilac bushes, massed with pyramids of buds, would soon be adding their perfume.

  Tomorrow was May. Ever since she could remember, May the first had meant the coming of Curdle's Fair and the real beginning of summer. Her spirits always rose with the advent of May, 'loveliest of months', as the poet truly said.

  Even now, she thought, with a great many problems ahead, her heart leapt to greet the fair, the flowers, the coming of summer, and the knowledge that Thrush Green would soon be gilded with sunshine, and aflutter with birds and butterflies.

  It was good to know that her father would be with them at the most beautiful time of the year. Thrush Green could not fail to restore him to health. Of that she felt positive, as she ran downstairs full of hope.

  By the time the children ran home from school, a watery sun was shining, sparkling upon the drying roofs and the wet grass of Thrush Green.

  The air was filled with the clashing of hammers on metal, and the thump of mallets on wood, as the massive equipment of the fair was assembled.

  Ben walked purposefully from one site to the next, followed by the diminutive figure of young George clad in duffle coat and Wellingtons. He was a sensible child, and obedient to his father's directions. He knew that if he did not do as he was told, and keep out of harm's way, then he would be dispatched back to his mother without further ado.

  Back at the cottage, Molly was making a cup of tea for Albert. She had scrubbed the kitchen table, the draining-board and the cupboard tops, and thrown away several revolting remnants of food in various crocks and saucepans.

  After the teabreak she resolved that she would get her father to depart across the road to his church duties, while she had an energetic session with soap, hot water and the scrubbingbrush on the filthy kitchen floor.

  There was no doubt about it, Albert Piggott's standards of cleanliness grew lower and lower as the years passed.

  She looked across at him now, as he sat sipping his tea noisily. It was not just the house which he neglected. The man himself looked half-starved, sickly and dirty. Molly's kind heart was stirred. He had never been a good father, but after all, blood was thicker than water, and she wanted to see him in better shape than this.

  It was a pity that Nelly, her stepmother, had ever left him, although she could not blame her. Admittedly, Nelly was avaricious, flighty and coarse. Nevertheless, she was warm-hearted and lively, and the little cottage had never been so clean and wholesome as when Nelly had cared for it. And Albert had always looked spruce and well-fed, his linen spotless, his shoes polished. He looked now, thought Molly, as if he needed a thorough scrubbing and a completely new set of clothing from top to toe.

  'I'd best take me tablets with me tea,' said Albert, rising to run a hand along the mantelpiece. The movement triggered off a vicious bout of coughing.

  Molly watched with alarm as the old man rested his forehead on the shelf, his thin frame racked with the cough. It ended at last, and Albert sat down again, medicine phial in hand, and drew great noisy breaths.

  'You didn't ought to be about, Dad,' said Molly earnestly, 'with that chest of yours. What about havin' a day in bed? I could ask Doctor Lovell to come and see you.'

  'He's seen me,' retorted Albert, 'and a fat lot of good that be! If I takes these tablets it do seem to help a bit.'

  He rammed one in his mouth, and sent it down his throat with a mouthful of tea.

  'What you want,' went on Molly, 'is a good hot bath. The steam'd do them tubes good, you know. Then a day or two resting in bed. You're properly knocked up, and I don't believe you ever feed yourself, do you?'

  'I gets a hot pie next door when I'm clemmed,' muttered Albert.

  'And plenty of drink to go with it, I don't doubt,' remarked Molly with spirit. 'And that don't do you a ha'porth of good. You could do with a regular dosing of Nelly's cooking.'

  'And you could do with minding your own business,' said Albert nastily. 'I manages all right, and I won't have that trollop crossing my doorstep again.'

  He rose shakily, and took down his deplorable jacket and cap from the peg on the door.

  'Best see to the church, I suppose, while I've got me strength.'

  He slammed the door behind him. Molly shook her head sadly and filled the kettle again, ready for her onslaught on the kitchen floor.

  It was all very well for him to tell her to mind her own business. As a daughter, his welfare was her business. If he went on as he was at present, he would very soon find himself back in hospital, or in one of Lulling's almshouses. The thought of either filled Molly's mind with horror.

  She was half inclined to try to get in touch with Nelly. After all, legally she was his wife, even if she had left him for the charms of the oil man.

  On the other hand, Albert had every right to refuse to have her back. It was his house. She had treated him shabbily, and no doubt the two would fight like cat and dog, if they were ever brought together again.

  Lord, what a to-do it all was, thought Molly! She would have to see what Ben could do about it.

  Perhaps he could persuade her father to have at least one decent meal a day. Someone might come in to cook it, or the Two Pheasants might provide it regularly. They could leave the landlord some money in advance.

  Meanwhile, she determined that her father was going to be got into a bath, by hook or by crook, and she would burn those filthy clothes herself, and face the storm afterwards.

  Much refreshed by these brave plans, she attacked the kitchen floor, and rejoiced in the shadowy pattern on the linoleum which gradually reappeared as the result of her energy.

  6. The First of May

  MAY the first fell on a Thursday, and it was Ben's intention to stay at Thrush Green until the middle of the following week. Most of his takings would come on Friday night and Saturday. He might pick up enough to cover expenses early in the following week, if the weather held, but he was not due at his next stand for a full week, and he wanted Molly to have time to see all her Thrush Green friends and to get her father's domestic arrangements straightened out.

  Not that they could do anything to satisfy that curmudgeonly old fellow, Ben realised. He was a real problem, and likely to become worse as the years passed. He disliked the idea of living near the old man, and yet he had begun to wonder if that might have to be, as his father-in-law's health failed. Of one thing he was quite positive—he would never live under the same roof with him. It was bad enough to watch Molly wearing herself out, once or twice a year. To see her slaving for that old tyrant, day in and day out, would be impossible, and he was not going to stand for that, whatever the future held.

  The day of the fair dawned with a respite from the rain, but no one could truthfully call it 'Mrs Curdle's weather'. The old lady had always seemed to bring sunshine and cloudless skies, but this particular morning was overcast, with only a few shreds of blue sky among the grey mass to give hope of better things to come.

  During the day, Ben completed the preparations to his satisfaction, and gave the men an hour or two off. The fair would open at four o'clock, and most of the trade would come from mothers with young children, for the first two or three hours.

  After that, with any luck, a good crowd of adults would arrive, willing to spend and out to enjoy some boisterous fun. At ten-thirty the fair must close, so that Ben earnestly hoped that the rain would hold off for the next few days, and particularly during those few vital hours each day when he hoped to recoup some of his outlay.

  He was determined to try and get Molly alone for an hour during the afternoon, out of earshot of her father, and to tell her a little about his fears for the future of the fair. Not that she was completely ignorant of its diminishing returns. It was she who kept the rudimentary accounts, and she who helped at one of the stalls whenever she could. It did not need a vast intelligence to see that the crowds were thinner than before, and that takings were down, but Ben feared that she did not realise how dangerously low their resources were. She knew nothing of the offer m
ade by Dick Hasler, and Ben wanted to know how she felt about it.

  A fine brown steak and kidney pie dominated the table at midday, and they all did justice to Molly's cooking. Even the old man, Ben noticed, tucked in, and grunted his appreciation in a grudging fashion.

  'Now, you go and have a lay down, Dad,' said kindly Molly 'while we wash up. Do you good to have a nap, and I'll wake you in time to go over to the church.'

  Albert departed aloft and the young couple went to the sink. George was busy with his bricks at the table before going for his own brief rest. Now, thought Ben, was the time to broach the delicate subject. But Molly forestalled him.

  'How d'you think dad seems?'

  'Not too bad. Ate two platefuls of pie, so he can't be at death's door yet. You worry overmuch about him, and he plays up to you.'

  'That's not wholly true. His breathing's that rattly it scares me. He'll be back in hospital if he don't take care, and he's no more likely to do that than young George there.'

  'He's a grown man. You can't expect to do everything for him.'

  'And that ain't all,' went on Molly. 'His underclothes is in rags. I've torn up most of 'em for dusters as I've washed 'em, and I've taken a set of yours for him to keep the old fellow going until I can get down to Lulling to set him up.'

  'Thanks,' said Ben laconically. 'And who pays for the new clobber?'

  'Well, he will. I'll see to that. He's got a bit put by in the Post Office, and it's time he took some out for a few decent warm clothes. He don't know yet, but I had a bonfire of some of the worst this morning.'

  Ben looked startled, and nearly dropped the pie-dish he was wiping.

  'Watch it, girl!' he cried. 'He can be real nasty when he's roused. Lord knows the sparks'll fly when he finds out.'

  'Then they must fly,' said Molly flatly, tipping away the washing-up water. 'I'm going to sort him out before we move on next week. And what's more, he's going to be given a good hot bath tonight, come what may!'