AFTER THE MEETING ANDREW YOUNG HAD SET OFF ON FOOT to find Gavin Adstone’s wife, Kate. There was nobody at home, and as he had not made an appointment he decided to wander about for a while. She couldn’t have gone far, as a car was parked in the open garage.
Andrew had met Gavin in the pub a couple of evenings ago, and in the course of conversation had mentioned his interior decor business. Gavin had said that his wife had been talking about giving the cottage a makeover. It was very dingy, he said, but as they’d been so busy with bringing up baby since they moved to the village, they hadn’t had time to think about what they would want to do about decorating.
Now he walked briskly around the village, turning back into Church Street, and if she had returned, he intended to say he had just been at a meeting in the village and thought he would look in as he was passing. There had obviously been some kind of family service in the church, and knots of young mothers with pushchairs and small hangers-on were grouped on the pavement. Andrew had no idea what Kate Adstone looked like, so kept going until he reached the cottage. He knocked at the door, and heard a shout from behind him. An attractive, dark-haired girl was running towards him, the pushchair bumping over the uneven pavement.
“Looking for me?” she gasped, out of breath as she approached.
“Are you Kate?” Andrew asked.
He didn’t look like a salesman, Kate thought. He was dressed casually, had curly dark hair, and an open smile. “Yes, I am. Can I help you?” she said.
Andrew explained that he had met Gavin in the pub, and that as well as cleaning for New Brooms he ran an interior decor business, and wondered if she would like to have a chat. Gavin had said they might be interested in brightening up their cottage.
“We had talked about it,” she said. “He mentioned meeting you in the pub. But I think it would be best if you came when he was at home. He hates being left out! How about this evening? He usually gets back around half six. Would that be any good?”
“Fine,” replied Andrew, abandoning his plan for an evening with a takeaway and a film. “I’ll come around seven, shall I? Or half-past, maybe? We men always think better on a full stomach.”
As he made his way back to his car, still parked outside Meade House, Andrew remembered Bridie Reading’s dramatic story, and wondered who the poor sod was who’d been looking for work. It was a downwards spiral, being homeless, as he knew from his work in the Tresham shelter just up the road from his flat. No permanent address, so no job. Stealing money to buy alcohol and drugs was all part of the sad decline.
Andrew had been through bad times himself after his parents were killed in a car crash, and remembered only too well the awful lethargy that overtook him when he should have been out looking for a job, starting a new life. At least he had had money to tide him over.
“COME IN, ANDREW.” GAVIN ADSTONE SAID HEARTILY. HE STOOD at the door of his cottage, authoritative and welcoming.
Aha, thought Andrew, he’s been on a self-assertion course. First rule: establish who is boss straightaway, especially when someone is trying to sell you something.
“Hello,” said Andrew. “Lovely evening. Nice of you to give up some time to see me. I am sure we shall have an enjoyable discussion, and if nothing comes of it, no matter. I shall have gained a couple of friends, I hope!”
Kate appeared with small Cecilia in her arms. Andrew made a clown face at the little one and raised a laugh. “Three new friends, I should say,” he said. He had been on a course or two himself.
EIGHTEEN
I SAW ANDREW YOUNG IN THE PUB,” DEREK SAID. HE OPENED yet another junk mail envelope and added it to an untidy heap on the floor. “Talking to Gavin Adstone like they was old mates.”
“Perhaps they are,” Gran said. “And don’t expect me to pick up them leaflets.”
“Oops! Who’s upset you this morning?”
“My darling daughter, if you must know.”
“Lois? What’s she done now?”
“Only offended my best friend, that’s what. Told Joan Pickering that she hoped she’d give that Hickson woman a warmer welcome than the last new member of WI got.”
“Paula Hickson? Is she joining the WI? Where’s she going to find time,
“No doubt New Brooms will subsidise her,” Gran said bitterly. “Lois always did like a lame duck or two.”
Derek looked at his watch. “Is Lois still upstairs? Time I went.”
He walked out of the kitchen and called up the stairs. Lois’s voice answered him from her office, and he stamped along the hallway to find her. “What the hell d’you think you’re doin’?” he said. “You’ve had no breakfast, haven’t said a word to me, and now it’s time I went. And,” he added angrily, “your mother is sulking in the kitchen. Seems you’ve upset her friend Joan.”
“Not a bad morning’s work so far, then,” said Lois, with a smile. “Sorry, love. We’ll talk at lunchtime. Something urgent I just had to see to. ‘New Brooms Sweeps Cleaner,’ as you know.”
Derek sighed. “Just as well I love you, Lois Meade,” he said, and disappeared off to work in his van, while Lois went to placate Gran in the kitchen.
“Mum,” she began, “would you do something for me?”
“I don’t feel much like it,” Gran said without looking at her.
“Yeah, well, it’s important,” Lois said. “And confidential.”
This did the trick, and Gran said she supposed she would help if she could.
“I need to find out where that rough bloke is. The one who frightened Bridie.”
“So?”
“So you’ve got friends in the village, and a sharp eye. Can you ask around?”
“Why d’you need to know? Is it him has been trying to burn down the village hall? Maybe breaking in to find shelter at night? Lighting a fire, like they do, and it getting out of hand?”
“Possibly,” said Lois. Maybe Gran was on to something here. The last case she worked on with Cowgill involved gypsies. Now tramps? She shook herself, as if to get rid of unwholesome thoughts, and changed the subject.
“Derek’s SOS meeting is tonight, so we’d better have supper early,” she said.
“I’d already thought of that,” Gran said. “And you’ll be pleased to know that Joan Pickering plans to sling a banner across the hall for WI tomorrow. ‘Welcome Paula Hickson,’ it says.”
Lois hooted with laughter. “All right, you win,” she said.
“I ain’t yer mother for nuthin,” Gran said. “Now leave me to get on. An’ pick up those leaflets off the floor. I’m too old to be bending down clearing up after your husband.”
THE SAVE OUR SHED COMMITTEE SAT IN A HALF CIRCLE IN THE Reading Room. Derek had drawn the blinds against a fierce low sun, and there was a feeling amongst them that some good progress had been made. Floss had been down to the Youth Club and talked to the kids. All had been strongly enthusiastic about the soap box racing, and had started thinking about what they would build.
“The rest of it, they said,” Floss reported, “could be left to the oldies. ‘Let them have their cake stalls and craft bits and pieces, and knittin’ an’ that.’ Those were their very words,” she added, with a sideways look at Gavin Adstone.
To the surprise of the rest of the committee, Gavin commented pleasantly that he was really pleased about that. It was so important to involve the young people in a village, otherwise it became a community of pensioners.
“And what’s wrong with pensioners?” grunted Tony Dibson.
“Nothing at all,” Gavin said hastily. He had worked out-and was keeping to himself for the moment-a major strategy for the SOS fund-raising day, and he needed to keep all persons on the committee on his side.
“How would we feel about a subcommittee dealing with the soap box side of it?” he said to Floss. “I would be
