told you something that his young mum told him, about Enid Abraham, and it was really odd. That right?”
“No need to be so patronising, William Stockbridge! You’re only a old char, don’t forget!”
Bill began to get up, offended, and then saw her laughing and thought better of it.
“Sorry,” he said. “Go on.”
“Well, the young mum had called at the vicarage about the next family service, and Enid answered the door. Uncle had talked to the mum in the hall, which, as you know, is big enough to accommodate this entire cottage, and she had asked if he’d heard any more about that Edward Abraham who’d gone missing. Seems Rosie Charrington and some of the other mums are scared, wondering if he’d attack a child on its own, maybe. They’ve all got extra careful, apparently.”
“Really,” said Bill, with mock patience.
“And then, after she’d gone, Enid had asked to speak to him. He said it was very embarrassing, though he’s used to hearing all sorts of things. But he’s a nice old bloke, as you know, and he felt sorry for Enid. Seems she’d overheard what the mum said, and was really upset that her brother should be thought of as a child molester. Said the worst he’d ever done was get into debt and try to evade the money men.”
“What did he say?” Bill didn’t see what was odd about all this. Perfectly natural for a sister to stick up for her brother, he thought.
“He tried to cheer her up. Then the odd thing happened.” Rebecca fell silent.
“You’d make a good mystery writer,” said Bill. “Go on, for God’s sake.”
“Uncle heard a door slam at the back of the house. And then he swears he heard footsteps running down the gravel path that leads to Glebe Close behind the kitchen garden. Enid had opened all the windows while she was cleaning – one of her less appealing habits, as far as Uncle is concerned – and he could hear clearly, he says.”
“And?”
“So he asked Enid if anyone had called at the back door, and she said no. When he suggested she should go and look, she wouldn’t, said it was not necessary, it must be the draught had blown the door shut.”
“And the footsteps?”
“She laughed, and said Uncle’s hearing must be playing tricks on him. Annoyed him, actually. He hates being reminded of his age. Anyway, they didn’t say any more about it, but Uncle went out after she’d gone, and said he could swear some of the gooseberry bushes that hung over the gravel path had been broken off, little twiggy bits that stuck out.”
“Ah,” said Bill. “Now that is odd. What’s she up to, old Enid?” Time for another word with Lois, he reckoned. If Enid was upsetting the clients, that was serious.
“You don’t like her, do you, Bill?” Rebecca said, coming over to sit beside him on the floor.
He took her face in his hands. “Yum,” he said. “I like you best, my little duckie. Come on, let’s go to bed.” His conversation with Sebastian was still circling in his mind, and he hoped he wouldn’t dream of dead dogs. Still, dreaming wasn’t what he had in mind at the moment.
“If we get that long sofa at the sale,” said Rebecca, never one to miss an opportunity, “we’ll not need to go to bed, will we?” She kissed him long and sweetly, and he would at that moment have forked out for anything, three sofas if necessary.
? Weeping on Wednesday ?
Twenty-Five
“I don’t see any point in living in a village if you don’t join in things,” Gran said. A taste of spring had warmed up the village for a day or two, and Lois and Gran were strolling round the garden, looking at bulbs coming up and a drift of snowdrops under the silver birch.
“The doctor planted that tree. He told me. Very proud of it, he was,” Lois said.
“I expect he was sad to leave this place.” Gran spoke quietly, remembering the tragic circumstances. “Still, I bet he was pleased you lot were moving in. It’s a good family house.”
Lois nodded. “Funny, isn’t it though, how soon Derek has put his stamp on this garden,” she said. “It always used to be neat and tidy, o’course. Mrs Rix was like that. A place for everything and everything in its place. But there was never much in the garden, if you know what I mean. Now Derek’s got loads of veg and fruit, and rows of chrysanths for us to cut in autumn, and he’s got the greenhouse going again. It’s Derek’s garden now, isn’t it.”
Gran agreed. “He’s put his roots down here,” she said, and then laughed her hearty laugh.
“Very witty,” said Lois.
“I try,” said Gran. “Anyway, Lois, as I was saying” – Lois knew what was coming, and sighed – “Maybe you should come and join the Women’s Institute with me. I’m going along tonight. They’re a new branch, and trying to recruit members. Especially young ones…”
“No thanks!” said Lois. “I’ve got a few years yet before it comes to that!”
“Just showing your ignorance,” said Gran, unmoved. “They’ve got several young women, younger than you, actually. It’s not what it used to be.”
“Jam and Jerusalem, that’s all I know,” said Lois. “But anyway, I don’t want to put you off. Sounds just up your street.”
They were outside the kitchen door now, and Lois said she would nip down to the shop for a couple of things. “I might have a wander round,” she added, “see what’s happening. They’re putting a new mobile classroom in the school…might take a look.”
Lois was interested in the village school. She’d been a parent governor of the kids school in Tresham when they lived there, and enjoyed the contact with little ones. Sometimes she looked wistfully at five-year-olds going past the gate in their scarlet and grey uniforms. But Derek soon put a stop to any thoughts in that direction.
She would walk past and have a look, maybe have a chat to whoever was in the playground. Must be break time about now. She walked briskly down the street, collected a few purchases and items of gossip from the shop – nothing useful about the Abrahams – and strolled more slowly round to Farnden school. It was playtime, as she’d hoped, and the long-serving headmistress was in the playground, cup of coffee in hand, doing duty. She was rare among head teachers in wanting to watch the children at play as well as in the classroom. She was also wise, seeing useful pointers to the way they progressed in their schoolwork in the constantly shifting patterns of friendship and gang-warfare amongst the children in the playground. “Concentration on the whole child is not a philosophy invented yesterday,” she would say gently to her young staff.
“Morning, Miss Clitheroe!” Lois called, and the head teacher walked over to the school railings.
“How are you, my dear?”
“Very well thanks,” said Lois.
Miss Clitheroe was an old pro at public relations and said, “How’s your mother? Such a nice helpful person at our jumble sale!”
“Yeah, well, she likes nothing better,” said Lois. “Works in the Oxfam shop…a regular rag-and-bone-lady, we tell her.”
“Did I hear that you’ve acquired a piano? I’m sure that didn’t come from the Oxfam shop!”
Lois laughed. “News gets around pretty quickly, doesn’t it,” she said.
“Certainly does to me,” said Miss Clitheroe. “Some parents would be horrified if they knew what their offspring write in their newsbooks! Anyway, is the piano for your mother?”
“No, no, it’s for Jamie, my youngest,” Lois said, and then happily saw a way to get to the subject she’d had in mind all along. “He’s having lessons from Miss Abraham from Cathanger Mill. I expect you know her?”
“Oh, goodness, yes. We know Miss Abraham…Enid. She used to teach recorder – and piano, if required – round all the schools in the county. Very popular, too. Used to give little concerts with the children, singing and playing, for parents and friends. She was much missed when she had to give up.”
“Why did she stop?” Lois prayed that the end-of-break bell would not go yet.
“Family problems. Her mother became a recluse, and began to work on Enid to stay at home with her. Then there was the brother…”
“The brother? Edward?”
Miss Clitheroe gazed across the playground, where an impromptu game of Creeping Jinnie had got going with much screaming and shouting. “That man was one of the nastiest pieces of work I’ve come across,” she said flatly.
