Excitement rose. This was it, Rosie felt it in her bones. Sebastian had said the best thing was to get a property where they could rebuild and restore to get it exactly how they wanted it. She looked at the price. More or less within their limits, and Sebastian was good at bargaining. “Bell’s Farm,” she said aloud. It had a good, plain ring to it. They’d need to change her car, of course. Sebastian had a company Ford, but she’d need one of those off-road jobs. Pile in all the children, and Anna, and they’d have to get a dog…or two…
“Mrs Charrington?” It was Anna, a Polish girl who looked after the children and had failed to master much of the English language in six months’ stay. “I go for the children?” she said, looking up at the old shelf clock.
“No, no,” said Rosie. “It’s your free time. I’ll get them, and then nip into the supermarket for some food for tonight. I’ve got something exciting to show you later on,” she added, and never thought to wonder if Anna would like living in the country, where there would be no other Polish au pairs to befriend, and where there was only one bus per week to get her into town.
¦
Not many miles away, in the reception class of Waltonby village school, Rebecca Rogers was tidying up her classroom after her pupils had gone home. She’d been out in the freezing playground, making herself available for any worried mum whose child had not yet settled down, though it was two months since the start of the new school year. Most of her little ones soon accustomed themselves to the new, strange routines, especially those who had been to playschool already. There was really only one, whose parents were older than average and had clung overprotectively to this little girl, keeping her a precious baby until the law said she had to go and join the cruel outside world of Waltonby village school.
“Miss Rogers?”
Rebecca blinked. “Sorry, Mrs Stratford,” she said. “I was miles away. Can I help?”
Sheila Stratford, one of New Brooms’ cleaners and Waltonby grandmother, stood smiling at her. “I just wondered if you were carrying on with the milk bottle tops collection, like last year? My granddaughter’s just gone up a class, and I’ve got a bagful here. But I can take them away if you’re not…”
“Oh yes, of course! Here, I’ll put them in the cupboard. They’re getting scarce now, with everyone into cartons. These look nice and clean too – not like some.”
“Ah well,” pounced Sheila, spotting an opportunity to raise the subject she’d hoped would come up, “I’ve been well-trained. Working for Lois Meade, y’know. ‘We sweep cleaner’ and all that. Her standards are very high.”
Light dawned, and Rebecca smiled. “Ah, you mean the cleaning business my Bill has signed up with? Yes, he’s really looking forward to it. Mind you,” she added, perching on the edge of her table, “I was surprised. Thought he’d want to do farm work, like he always has. If I’d been asked – which I wasn’t! – ” she looked confidingly at the motherly figure in front of her – “
“Well,” said Sheila, “if it don’t work out, my Sam might be able to find him some work. Still,” she said, with a guilty look, “I probably shouldn’t say that, Lois havin’ decided, an’ that. Anyway, I mustn’t stand here gossiping! That’s one of Lois’s rules…”
Rebecca reckoned that Sheila Stratford rated gossip as one of the necessities of life, and before she could escape, said quickly, “This Mrs Meade – is she nice? Bill didn’t seem too sure. Not what he expected, he said.”
“Nice?” Sheila hesitated. “Well, not like your uncle, Rev Rogers, is nice and kind…not soft in any way, y’know. But you could trust her with your life. An’ she’s loyal to her cleaners…providing they’re loyal to her. She’s a good mother, too, in her way. And her husband, Derek,” Sheila added, brightening up, “he’s really nice. Lovely bloke. Puts up with quite a lot, one way and another…” Then she put her hand up to her mouth in a mock stifling gesture. “There I go again!” she said. “I must be off, before you get everybody’s life history at New Brooms!”
“Cheerio, Mrs Stratford,” said Rebecca, “I expect we’ll meet again.”
“Bound to,” said Sheila, and made for the door. Then she turned back. “Oh, by the way, did you see our Waltonby’s in the news? Cathanger Mill? That Abraham chap, seems he done a runner. Your Bill’d be interested, seein’ as Miss Abraham has applied for a cleanin’ job with Lois. I know one thing,” she added, in a final exit line, “I wouldn’t have nothing to do with that Abraham lot, not for all the tea in China!”
Later that evening, when Bill returned from the hospital, Rebecca mentioned the Abrahams. Neither she nor Bill had seen the news item, and had never heard of the Abraham family. “But I’ve driven past it,” said Rebecca, putting another log on the fire. “Spooky-looking place. Bloomin’ great dog came out barking its head off, and chased the car all the way up to the empty farmhouse.”
“That farmhouse is on the market,” said Bill, not much interested in spooks. “D’you fancy going for it? We could do the renovations ourselves.”
But Rebecca shook her head. That would be a commitment she was not ready for. This warm little cottage, rented from the church, suited her fine. There were too many uncertainties ahead to think of putting down roots with Bill just yet.
? Weeping on Wednesday ?
Seven
Enid Abraham drove her small, grey car slowly up the track to Cathanger Mill. It was growing dark, and the weak lights showed up the potholes and ruts. She could not use the headlights for fear of alarming Mother. Not that it mattered. She could have found her way through this obstacle course with her eyes shut.
In the summer, Enid would walk about the mill garden and field at dusk, often staying out until all the light had gone, but in winter the evenings were long and dreary. Mother would sit in one room with the door firmly shut, and Father and Edward stayed silently in the kitchen, the day’s newspaper shared between them, seldom exchanging a word. She was ignored by all of them. Novels saved her life. She went regularly to the library in Tresham, as she had today, taking out four new novels a week, and these she would read quietly in a chair by the kitchen range. Halfway through the evening, she would make a cup of tea for all of them, receiving no thanks from Mother, and a curt nod from Father and Edward.
Once or twice, she had suggested joining the WI in Waltonby, but this had been dismissed as unthinkable. Edward had been particularly sarcastic. “My God, Enid!” he’d sneered. “I never thought you’d come to that! Jam and Jerusalem? You’d be better employed straightening out our accounts…take a book-keeping course or something.”
But when she’d found an accounting course run by the WEA in Long Farnden village hall, Edward, the turncoat, had said it was ridiculous to be out in the car in the evenings when all she needed was to know how to add and subtract, and surely she could manage that with her past experience in the chemist’s?
So, she had acquiesced, as usual. Then one day recently, searching through a drawer in Mother’s room while she was asleep in the chair, she found an old bag full of lace-making things, and remembered how long ago in Edinburgh she had been to classes and learned the old skills. They’d praised her aptitude, and she’d made lovely lace and sewn it on to fine cotton handkerchiefs as gifts for the girls at work. After they’d moved, and everything changed, she’d forgotten about lace-making.
Now, fetching the bag, she began to sort the bobbins and cottons. The low wattage light in the kitchen was not good, but she moved her chair nearer to where Father sat reading, and as her fingers moved swiftly, sorting out the muddle, she began to hum softly. Perhaps it had been the reminder of happier days that encouraged her to apply for the job.
“What’re you making that noise for?” said Father, without looking up.
“Because I’m happy,” said Enid.
Now he looked up, frowning at her. “What’ve you got to be happy about?” he grunted.
“I’m happy because I’ve got a job, a cleaning job,” said Enid.
“A job? Did you say a cleaning job?” Walter was incredulous, and Enid had a moment’s pang of remorse at adding yet another worry to his burden.
“I’m wasting my life here,” she said quickly, “and this is a chance to do something. Not very challenging, I agree, but it’s a start.”
He stared at her, and knew from the set of her mouth that she would not be dissuaded. “You fixed it, then?”
