knowing she’s giving it. That’s where you come in.” He put out a hand and touched her arm lightly. She backed away and he laughed. “Oh, for God’s sake, Lois!” he said.

She smiled faintly. “Sorry,” she said, and then added hesitantly, “Well, if it would really help, I could get around to it somehow. She’s offered to teach piano to Jamie, so there might be an opportunity. I’ll try, and give you a ring. Can I go now?”

He smiled at her, an unusually broad smile. “Don’t know why I bother with you, Lois Meade,” he said.

“I do,” she answered, and added that she thought it would be best if they went back to meeting in the woods, whatever the weather. She didn’t feel safe from prying eyes in the barn.

He replied that in that case he’d get some new Wellingtons, and they parted on more reasonable terms than usual.

¦

Derek was working on a new job, rewiring an old house being restored to life twenty miles the other side of Waltonby. Restoration jobs were a big part of Derek’s work these days. Young couples, with big salaries and even bigger expectations, were roaming the villages looking for old, decrepit properties to convert. It was a mystery to Derek why anyone would want to drive for a couple of hours each day before getting to work, but this is what a lot of the men did. It wasn’t like that with the new lot at Bell’s Farm, he knew that. Mr Charrington was the new vet, and, Derek had heard, was popular with the farmers.

This house had been empty for five years, but before that no money had been spent on it for fifty years. Derek took out his sandwiches and a flask of coffee. Too far to go home to dinner, and anyway, he quite liked to sit quietly and read the paper for half an hour or so. But today he couldn’t concentrate. He’d heard the telephone ringing in Lois’s office after breakfast, and she’d rushed to answer it, carefully shutting the door behind her. He had loitered around outside, pretending he was looking for a needle Gran had dropped and couldn’t find.

“Leave it, Derek,” Gran had said, passing by on her way upstairs. “It’ll turn up.”

But he’d continued to peer down at the floor, moving backwards and forwards outside Lois’s door. He had heard her voice, but not the words, until she said, louder, “Oh, all right, then, give me an hour and I’ll be there. But for God’s sake make sure we’re not seen.”

He’d gone cold all over, and felt sick again. Before she came out of her office, he was off in the van, going too fast on his way to work. Now he sat staring blindly at fuzzy newsprint in a cold, dismal house, and wondered what the hell he was going to do.

¦

Enid Abraham also sat miserably in a cold, dismal house, but now it was early evening, and the only light came from a dim overhead lamp in a frosted glass shade, a cold, unfriendly light. She looked around the dingy room, and said sadly to her father, “It’s years since we did any decorating, Dad. Do you think we could have this room freshened up? I’d be happy to contribute, now I’m earning.”

Walter Abraham had come in his old, darned socks, stamping his feet on the worn rug to warm them up. He looked across at his neat, pleasant-looking daughter and felt the familiar pang of guilt. Poor Enid. She’d have made somebody such a good wife…and mother…maybe given them some grandchildren…had a happy, normal life. But then, he thought, excusing himself, how was he to know that Mother was going to turn so difficult. It was an illness, he knew, an illness of the mind, and there were doctors for that sort of thing. But she would never see anybody, not even when she’d got bronchitis that time. Enid had looked after her so well that she’d recovered without needing medical help. No wonder Enid had been upset when she too was shut out.

The morning after the flood and storm, he’d had to tell Enid that Mother didn’t want anyone, not even Enid, to go in her room any more. They could leave her food and necessaries outside, and she’d pick them up them when they’d gone away. And her washing and contents of the commode…that was to be put out in the same way.

“But Father!” Enid had said. “How will she manage? And what have I done? I thought she’d got used to me going out to work. It hasn’t made any difference to the way I look after her. She’s not gone without, not at all.”

Walter had nodded and tried his best to placate Enid. “Let’s try it, dear,” he’d said, “just to keep her happy. Last night’s terrible storm seems to have made her worse. Give her time and she might forget about it, and we can get back to normal.”

Normal! That was a joke, thought Enid now, as she waited for her father to answer her plea for brightening up the place. Normal at Cathanger Mill was getting through the day without storms and tantrums from her mother – though it was true she’d been better under her new regime – and coping with household tasks with an ancient old vacuum cleaner and an even older Calor gas cooker. None of this would have mattered so much to Enid if there’d been occasional cheerfulness, a few jokes and maybe even a visitor or two, well chosen, who would dispel the awful gloom for an hour or two.

“We can think about it, Enid,” her father said now. “Perhaps in the spring, when the lighter evenings come. I could get some paint and have a go. Wouldn’t take much. And maybe you could make some new curtains.” His heart twisted as he saw her face lighten. Such a small thing needed to cheer her up. And worst of all, he knew he’d never do it. If only things had been different, Edward could’ve helped them such a lot…

“Come on, Father,” said Enid, drawing him nearer to the fire. “I’ll get you some dry socks, and we can have a game of crib when you’ve warmed up.” He had taught her to play when she was a little girl, and she had always loved the game. They had an old pottery cribbage board, and used sharpened matches to peg up the scores. The dog-eared cards were familiar old friends, and when they found time to play their worries retreated and were kept at bay for a hour or so.

“Any news from Edward?” said Enid, taking a chance on her father being mellow enough to discuss the usually taboo subject. He certainly seemed to have changed lately, more inclined to listen. Sometimes, she thought, he even appeared…well, not exactly frightened, but wary of her.

He shook his head. “Heard nothing,” he said. “Best to forget him, Enid. I suppose he was never any good, but your mother couldn’t see it. If we’d been harder on him when he was a lad, he might’ve made something of his life. Now then,” he added, visibly shrugging off thoughts of his only son, “I’ll change m’ socks, and then we’ll have a game.”

? Weeping on Wednesday ?

Eighteen

Christmas Eve, and excitement in the Meade household was mounting. The kids had been on holiday for several days, and were plunged into a frenzy of shopping, wrapping and squabbling. Josie and Douglas claimed to be too old and mature for squabbling, but had frequent spats with Jamie to keep him happy. Or so they said. On the subject of the piano, both were sceptical.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jamie, of course you’re not getting a piano. D’you think Mum and Dad are made of money?” Josie was merciless. She knew Jamie had a sneaking hope that a piano would miraculously appear, and though she quite fancied having a go on the keyboard herself, she thought it her duty to save him from disappointment.

Gran knew, of course, that late that evening men would arrive and somehow hump a piano into the sitting- room without anyone waking up. She was to stand guard at the top of the stairs and steer any night-walkers back to bed with a well-rehearsed excuse for the noise. She had been looking forward to it, to being part of the fun and seeing Jamie’s face next morning. But she was increasingly aware that things were not right between Lois and Derek. There was a palpable chilliness in their conversations, which were not frequent, and she had noticed that Derek hadn’t once given Lois one of his usually frequent cuddles.

“Shall we keep the telly on?” Lois said now, as Derek brought his mates into the room to show them where to put the piano. “It would cover the bumps and bangs.”

“What bumps and bangs?” said the chief remover indignantly. “We’ve borrowed a proper trolley, and you’ll be amazed at our skill.”

He winked at the others, and Derek patted him on the back. “Very good of you, boy,” he said. “Let’s get movin’, then.”

A piano is a cumbersome and weighty thing, and the two steps up to the front door nearly defeated the removers. In the end, Derek improvised a strong ramp, and finally the piano was in place. “Looks really good there,”

Вы читаете Weeping on Wednesday
Добавить отзыв
ВСЕ ОТЗЫВЫ О КНИГЕ В ИЗБРАННОЕ

0

Вы можете отметить интересные вам фрагменты текста, которые будут доступны по уникальной ссылке в адресной строке браузера.

Отметить Добавить цитату