Weeping on Wednesday

“Oh, yes…that would be fine. Father is always up early…we have a few beasts in the barn. They’re in for the winter. Summer, of course, they’re in the field…Anyway,” she added swiftly, “I could certainly be available as early as you like.”

“Beasts?” said Lois incredulously, remembering The Creature from Cathanger Mill.

“Oh, that’s just the old country word for cattle,” said Enid Abraham. “Mother and Father were both country people. Father’s family had land in Norfolk, but he wanted to do something different. Neither were Scottish, of course, but he’d seen an advertisement for a business for sale in Edinburgh, and they went up there soon after they were married.”

She was silent for a moment, and Lois said, “So what happened?”

“Well, the first business failed…and the next. He lost heart then, and ended up a school caretaker. He was happier when we moved down here, back to farming in a small way. Until, of course, Mother…” All at once the smile was gone. Her mouth shut tight, and she looked down at her hands.

“Why didn’t you want me to come to the mill?” said Lois. She had forgotten this, in the unexpected pleasantness of talking to Miss Abraham. Now she waited. It was quite a wait, and Lois could hear Gran clattering about in the kitchen, offended that she’d been sent packing to the nether regions of the house.

Finally Enid Abraham looked up. “It’s Mother,” she said. “She’s a bit nervous about people coming to the house. Nothing serious, but we humour her if we can, you know. We’re a bit isolated at the mill, anyway, so it doesn’t make much difference to us.”

“Who is us?” said Lois. She had to ask. “We saw you on the telly…about your brother. You didn’t mention a brother in your letter.” She hesitated, seeing all traces of colour drain away from Enid Abraham’s face. “It’s no business of mine, of course,” Lois added quickly. “But it must be common knowledge now, after the news, an’ that…”

“Yes,” said Enid Abraham quietly. “I didn’t want them there. The television people came down to the mill, and I talked to them so they would go away quickly. Mother, you know…”

“And your brother? Are you worried about him?” This was chancing her arm, Lois knew, but then the private lives of her cleaners were her concern. She had learned that the hard way.

“I’d rather not talk about him, if you don’t mind, Mrs Meade,” was the reply. “He has always been difficult… though when we were children…Anyway,” she added quickly, “between you and me, Mrs Meade, it would be such a relief to me if he could make a life somewhere else.” Then she sat upright and the shutters came down, and she was the neat, remote, single woman of unblemished character once more.

There was a lot more to say about Edward Abraham, as Lois was to find out, but for the moment the subject was closed.

¦

“What a nice woman,” said Gran, when the visitor had gone. “Did you take her on?” Enid Abraham had smiled wistfully as Lois said she would let her know.

“Not without thinking about it,” said Lois abstractedly. It was going to be difficult, this one. She felt, like her mother, that Miss Abraham was a nice, gentle and clearly well-educated woman. She seemed completely without side, and her neat, clean appearance boded well for the job. There was no reason, on the face of it, why she shouldn’t hire her. But then, what about the brother, and the mother, and the gruff father, and the dark and dismal mill house…?

When Derek came in for his tea, she had made a decision, and was not at all sure whether Derek would agree with it. Not that it mattered, she told herself defensively, but another point of view was always useful.

“You must be mad,” he said. “I thought I told you – ”

“I know you did,” said Lois. “But she turned out to be a very good sort of woman, just right for us.”

“Huh!” said Derek. “Well, nothin’ I say’ll make any difference. I’m used to that. So it’s your affair, me duck. Don’t blame me if it goes wrong. And the minute that Cowgill puts in an appearance, she gets the chop. Agreed?”

“Right,” she said. She always agreed when Derek got masterful. He seldom held it against her when she did the opposite. “I’ve got no worries about Bill Stockbridge,” she continued, “except whether he’ll stick at it.”

“He’d be better sticking to farming,” said Derek, reaching for the teapot.

“Here!” said Gran. “Give me that! We don’t want ginger twins, do we?” She chuckled and poured him another cup. “Well,” she continued, “I didn’t get a chance to talk to Miss Abraham” – this with a meaningful look at Lois – “but she looked just the ticket to me. She’d get on with the others all right, too, if she’s used to handling a difficult family. I might be able to help her out,” she added briskly.

“No, Mum, you keep out of it!” said Lois firmly.

“So that’s all the thanks I get,” Gran said huffily, “for working my elbows to the bone – ”

“For God’s sake!” said Derek. “Can’t a man get a bit o’ peace in his own house? Women!”

¦

It was about an hour later that Derek picked up the paper, leafing idly through the property pages while Gran listened to The Archers, her favourite radio soap. Everything stopped for The Archers. Lois said Gran learned more about the country from The Archers than she did from living in the middle of it. Derek said that he was buggered if anybody could learn anything about the country from The Archers! Just like all the other soaps, he reckoned, with a few mouldy sheep baaing in the background.

“Hey,” he said now, “look at this.”

“Sshh!” said Gran.

Lois leaned over Derek’s shoulder and peered at the paper. It was a house-for-sale advertisement, with a small, smudgy picture. “That’s that farmhouse just up the road from Cathanger Mill,” he said. Her hair tickled his face, and in spite of himself he turned and kissed her cool cheek. “Bin empty for years,” he said, as she kissed him back. “Old Joe Bell used to live there, and let it go after his wife died. Mind you, it’s one of them old stone farmhouses that are solid as a rock. Wouldn’t take much to get it up to scratch. Still, look what they want for it!”

“Blimey!” said Lois, relieved that he’d cheered up. “Not worth five hundred the way it is now. Still, it’s got a few acres. Some townie with kids and a pony will buy it, you bet. Restore it to something it’s never bin, and move in with the four-by-four and a mother’s help. Beats me why they have kids, that sort, if they can’t even be bothered to look after them!”

“Well, we’ll see if anybody’s fool enough to buy it at that price,” said Derek.

Tumpty, tumpty, tumpty, turn, went The Archers’ tune, and Gran turned off the radio. “That Brian Aldridge,” she said. “A leopard never changes its spots. If I had my way, I’d put him up against a wall and shoot him.”

? Weeping on Wednesday ?

Six

In a newish estate of executive dwellings in a well-heeled suburb of Birmingham, Rosie Charrington sat at an elegant little writing table she had bought for a song at a car boot sale. She turned over a pile of newspapers, each time going straight to the property pages. Rosie and husband Sebastian, a local vet dealing mostly with dogs, cats and hamsters, had decided it was time to move out to the real country. It would be good for the children, Maria and Felix, to get some fresh air into their lungs. It would be a whole new social life for Rosie and Sebastian, and if they chose wisely Rosie could still be within reach of motorways that would take her swiftly back to civilization when required. And if Sebastian could get that job with a veterinary practice advertised in the area they had chosen, he could get back to the large and, to Rosie, fearsome farm animals he loved best.

Her moving finger stopped on a smudgy photograph. She peered more closely. “Bell’s Farm,” she read, “situated in one of the county’s most desirable areas, close to the M40 and M1, and maintaining its rural charm. Four acres of pasture, with delightful stream. Barns and stabling, many original features. In need of some restoration.”