Threats At Three

You know that woman who’s moved into Pickerings’ house? Mother with four children. Tearaway teenager, lively twins, newish baby. Needs money.”

“Yep,” said Lois, checking her emails while she listened. She knew what was coming, anyway. “So have I got a job for her?” she said.

“Exactly. So have you?”

“I’ll certainly have a talk to her. She seems a nice woman, with a lot on her plate. I’ll call and see her. I presume she’s worked out some free hours?”

“When can you go?”

“Tomorrow afternoon? Say about two o’clock. Will that suit?”

“Yep. I’ll slip across and tell her. It’s half term, so all the kids will be there. Still, could be a good thing. You’ll see the real Paula!”

Lois smiled as she went back to her computer. Soft-hearted Josie! Who would’ve thought when she was a troublesome teenager that she would turn out to be a good businesswoman with a heart of gold. She was a captive audience for villagers who wanted a listening ear, and always had some words of advice or comfort, even when she was dog tired. Still, Lois thought as she returned to the week’s cleaning schedules, it was good business sense to be a cheerful, sympathetic village shopkeeper. Few people had the nerve to come in just for a chat. They almost always bought something, and although most of the village did their big weekly shop in Tresham supermarkets, if Josie had a welcoming smile and the right kind of stock, she could just about survive.

On the dot of twelve, a knock at the door heralded Hazel Thornbull, office manager of New Brooms in Sebastapol Street, Tresham. “How’s the family?” Lois asked. Hazel had been with her a long time, and would be difficult to replace. Only one child so far, and no talk of another.

“Fine,” Hazel said. “Has Derek told you I’ve been co-opted on to his village hall committee? I must be mad. A poisoned chalice if ever there was one.”

“What d’you mean?” said Lois.

“Well, you know these village committees. Most of the time spent arguing and not much achieved. There’s already a split in the ranks, with that Gavin chap trying to take over. Still, your Derek is a match for him. I’ve always thought Derek was a mild man, but apparently not!”

“Tell me more about Gavin Adstone,” Lois said, but there was another knock, and then all the others came at once and settled down for the meeting.

After the usual business had been dealt with, and before they got up to leave, Lois said she had something else to discuss with them. “There’s this single mum in the village,” she said, and explained about Paula Hickson. “Anybody know anything about her?”

They shook their heads and Sheila Stratford, one of the original members of the team, asked where she came from. When Lois told her, she said she supposed she’d be one of those girls who get themselves pregnant to avoid having to work for a living. Lois explained that Paula Hickson had had a husband who had done a bunk, and that with four children she was still keen to earn some money for herself and not rely wholly on the state.

“Anyway,” Lois added, “I’m going to see her this afternoon, but I’d be glad if you would ask around and see if there’s anything I should know. Thanks a lot. I’ll keep in touch, as usual.”

They left chattering to each other, but Floss lagged behind. “Mrs. M,” she said. “Have you got a minute?”

Lois pointed to a chair, and said she always had time for the team.

“I don’t know if I should say this,” Floss began, “but I was talking to Kate Adstone. You know she’s got that little toddler, and seems a bit lonely. I asked her round for coffee, just to be friendly, and she was pathetically grateful!”

“Very neighbourly of you,” Lois said, looking at her watch, “but what has this got to do with New Brooms?”

“Nothing,” Floss said. “But it has got something to do with Derek’s SOS committee. The subject came up, and I don’t think she connected me with you or Derek. She was saying that Gavin had come home laughing his head off at the committee. A load of no-hopers, was what he had said, apparently. Kate said he had big plans for the village hall, but they certainly weren’t those of Derek Meade’s committee. Then she looked a bit guilty, as if she shouldn’t have told me.” She looked anxiously at Lois. “I just thought you should know. Maybe tell Derek, so’s he can be prepared?”

Lois nodded wearily. “You did the right thing,” she said. “I reckon Save Our Shed is going to Blight Our Lives for a good while. Thanks, Floss. Anything else you hear, report back to me.”

NINE

NEXT MORNING DOUGLAS AND SUSIE WERE SITTING AT THE breakfast table, encouraging a reluctant Harry to eat his porridge. “What time did you say you were going?” Susie said, looking at the clock that had been presented to her old granddad when he retired from the railway station in Tresham. He’d been so proud of it, and of his medal pinned on him by the great cigar-smoking leader when he came by train to visit the town. Both house and medal were now Susie’s, left to her in old Clem’s will, and she and Douglas had “knocked through” to the house owned by Lois next door, making a good-sized home in Gordon Street for the newlyweds and their firstborn.

“Ten o’clockish,” Douglas said. “Check-in time is eleven, and the plane leaves about one. Should be there soon after three. I’ll ring you from the hotel.” He worked at an American company’s office in Tresham, and was off to Italy for a jolly bonding meeting in Venice. It was a bit of a waste of time, in his opinion, but he meant to enjoy himself and make the most of it.

“Think of me,” said Susie, “talking to this small person here and only ever getting a beaming smile and a load of rubbish in reply!”

“Mum said she’d call in later, to make sure you’re all right,” Douglas said, and Susie bridled. “Of course I’ll be all right,” she said. “What on earth could go wrong? And there’s always my mum and dad up on the estate.”

Susie’s dysfunctional parents lived on a run-down estate in the suburbs of Tresham, and were not much good in the way of support for their daughter. Still, she had managed to maintain reasonable relations with them, and they would be better than nothing in an emergency, she hoped.

What emergency, though? She dismissed the thought. “You’ll be back on Friday, won’t you?”

“Friday evening,” Douglas said. He was writing now on the back of an envelope.

“What’s that?” Susie asked.

“Just working something out. Nearly finished.” He wrote down a number with a flourish, and handed the envelope to her.

“So?” she said. “Maths for idiots? I can’t make any sense of it.”

“It’s just to show you I learned something from our visit to the National Space Centre,” he said with mock superiority. “You know it’s Mum’s birthday next week? Well, if she lived on Pluto, where a year is 246 earth years, she would be around two months old, and so not due for a Pluto first birthday for another ten months.”

“Wow! That’s worth knowing! Come in very handy, that will.” She made a face at him and said she was giving up on Harry’s porridge. “Time we got going,” she said.

IN THE BIG GENERAL OFFICE OF WORLDWIDE SOLUTIONS, GAVIN Adstone headed for the gents, or comfort station as some of his colleagues called it. As he stood washing his hands, a pimply youth came in. “Hi,” he said. “Settling in?”

Gavin recognized a very junior employee, and considered his question as overfamiliar. The lad seemed to think long service with Worldwide Solutions-a whole year-entitled him to take a definitely patronising air.

“Of course,” Gavin replied. “Nothing difficult about this job.”

“Worked in this kind of business before, then?”

“Yes. Back to work then,” he snapped, and headed for the door.

“Just wondered if you’d met Doug Meade,” the youth said, looking sly. “Higher up the ladder than us, o’ course, but a nice chap. No side, if you know what I mean.”