(18/20) Changes at Fairacre (17 page)

We went into the house to arrange matters. As always, Bob had some practical advice.

'I've got a young lad in mind, nephew of Alice's over Springbourne way. He's a good worker, when he gets the chance. Just been stood off from one of those Caxley firms as has gone bust. Tip top gardener he is. Shall I get him over?'

'Yes, please. I suppose we could make a start on that border?'

'The sooner the better,' said my old friend forthrightly, as he rose to go home.

August seemed to hurry by at an alarming pace with so many things to do in both my abodes. Luckily there were no urgent maintenance jobs to be done at the school house, as the upstairs rooms were now in pristine condition and, apart from getting new mats for the kitchen floor sometime, I felt that I could sit back.

In any case, I did not propose to do any more to my present home. The outside maintenance was the responsibility of the school authorities, and I was only responsible for things inside; I felt that I had done my duty honourably throughout the years. With the possible closure of the school hanging over me, it seemed prudent to postpone any long-term decisions for my domestic arrangements at the school house.

My social life during the holidays was limited to a few outings to friends, a short trip to Dorset to see an aged aunt, and entertaining my cousin Ruth for three nights at the school house — 'probably,' I told her, 'for the last time.'

'It's sad. I shall miss it,' she said. 'Will you?'

'Naturally, but I should be far more upset if the school were to close. As it is, I have Dolly's house to enjoy, and all the fun of new neighbours at Beech Green with the continuing of life as the village school teacher here.'

I took her to see my new property. The work was well on the way to completion, and privately I reckoned to be in by the end of August.

Ruth was enchanted with it, and it was good to have her whole-hearted approval. She is a wise woman, and I have always respected her judgement.

'Well, the next time you come,' I told her, 'you will be sleeping under that thatched roof.'

We were blessed with warm sunshine while she was with me, and we had several picnics, and two visits to nearby National Trust properties. August is not my favourite month: there is an end-of-summer look about the countryside, shabby and worn, before the glory of autumn transforms it.

But the verges of our lanes were still bright with cranesbill, and the tall grass was dusted with minute purple flowers. The lime trees had shed their yellow bracts, but the remains of the flowers still fluttered moth-like among the foliage.

I was sorry when Ruth had to go. There are times when I realize how much I miss family ties. This was one of them as I drove her to Caxley station.

'Come again soon,' I urged her. 'Come for Christmas in the new house.'

'Nothing I'd like more, but I'll have to let you know,' she replied, and with that I had to be content.

That evening I was surprised to get a call on the telephone from Mr Salisbury. He is the representative from the local education office who attends our school governors' meetings, and acts as the line of communication between the local schools and the education authority. He performs his rôle admirably, being kind and tactful. I wondered why he should be tinging me personally, presumably on a school matter.

After polite inquiries about my state of health, he began to approach the purpose of his call.

'I happened to meet Gerald Partridge recently,' he said smoothly, 'and he mentioned the fact that there was a little disquiet in the village about Fairacre School.'

This is it, I thought, feeling slightly sick. He is going to warn me about closing the place before the next governors' meeting.

'I do want to put your mind at rest, Miss Read. There is no suggestion of closing the school in the near future.'

I sat down abruptly on the chair by the telephone. My legs did not seem capable of supporting me.

'That's good news,' I croaked. 'Naturally, I've been anxious as the numbers are so low.'

'They are indeed,' he agreed, 'but they may pick up before the next school year. In any case, that side of the matter will be kept under review, and you would be apprised of any official decision in good time.'

'I was sure of that,' I told him.

'No. The other matter was rather more personal.'

He cleared his throat while I thought, now what? Had I forgotten to return some vital forms? Had an angry parent complained about me? Was I about to get the sack for some unknown misdemeanour?

'It's really about your tenancy of the school house,' he went on. 'I gathered from Gerald Partridge's remarks that you were proposing to live at Beech Green sometime in the future. Is that correct?'

'Yes, indeed,' I replied, and went on to explain my plans as far as I knew them myself. 'I was going to bring this up at the next governors' meeting,' I added. 'I realize I have to give a month's notice.'

'There is absolutely no hurry on our side for you to leave the school house, you know. You have been a model tenant, and we should all be very sorry to see you go. I only rang so that I could get matters straight before anything official was put into writing.'

I said that I appreciated the courtesy, and felt that perhaps I should have mentioned my plans earlier.

'Indeed no! There's nothing to blame yourself for, but I am delighted to have had this little talk.'

He went on to more general subjects such as the traffic congestion that morning in Caxley, the early harvest this year, and ended up with his hopes for more children at Fairacre before long.

I agreed fervently, and with mutual compliments the conversation closed.

As the end of August approached, the school house began to look pathetically bare. My future abode, on the other hand, was in danger of getting seriously overcrowded, although I was happy and excited at the prospect of moving in.

Amy came over one morning to help me pack books, a formidable task, and a particularly dirty one as it happened. We swathed ourselves in overalls against the dust of years which was being blown off, or slapped off, the contents of my book shelves.

'I should have thought you could have got Mrs Pringle to dust these now and again,' observed Amy.

'Mrs Pringle,' I told her, 'doesn't hold with books. If I'd let her have her way, she would have had a bonfire of the lot in the garden. She maintains that
reading
keeps decent folk from
proper work
like polishing and scrubbing and dusting book shelves. By the way, Mrs Pringle insists on "doing me" at my new home on a Wednesday afternoon.'

'Well, I'm glad to hear it,' said Amy. 'Do you really want to keep this
Historic Houses and Gardens Guide for 1978?
'

She held it up by one corner, looking fastidious. Her usually well-kept hands were filthy, I noticed guiltily.

'Throw it in the junk box,' I said, 'and let's have some coffee.'

We washed our filthy hands at the kitchen sink, and sat down exhausted with our coffee cups.

I had switched on the television to catch the news on the hour, but we'd found ourselves confronted with an old black and white film. The heroine, wearing a black satin suit with aggressive shoulder pads, and a minute pill-box hat with sequins and an ostrich plume was sobbing noisily on a settee. At the other end sat Cary Grant, ebony-haired and looking greatly concerned.

'Aw, kid,' he said, 'don't take on so,' and produced a beautifully laundered handkerchief which he pressed upon his weeping companion.

She proceeded to mop her cheeks, being careful not to touch her mascara.

'Gee, you're so kind,' she gulped. 'I bin silly.'

I switched them off.

'I wonder,' said Amy meditatively, 'why weeping women in films never have a handkerchief? I don't know about you, my dear, but I can truthfully say that I
always
have a hanky on me, thanks to my mother's training. Although I did know two sisters who
shared
one when they went out to parties. I remember one saying to the other: "Have you got
the handkerchief
?" I was appalled.'

'And quite rightly so,' I said. 'D'you want more coffee or shall we get on?'

We returned to our labours, and later that day took the books, a box of china and some garden chairs over to Beech Green. Our load needed both cars, and Amy arrived before I did. I found her sunning herself on an old bench under the thatch at the back of Dolly's cottage.

'If ever you want to part with this,' she said dreamily, eyes still closed, 'let me know.'

'Not a hope,' I told her. 'I intend to stay here, like dear Dolly, until I'm summoned hence.'

I unlocked the door, and we manhandled our heavy loads into the house.

The books went into the new shelves without much bother, but it was quite apparent that cupboard space was beginning to run short. I could see that Wayne Richards would have to be prevailed upon again, but not until the Christmas holidays, I hoped.

When we had done all that we could, we sat down to recover. The sun was shining into the sitting-room, and I thought of the many times I had sat here with Dolly, enjoying her company and the peace of her home.

I looked at Amy with renewed affection. It was good to have an old friend under my new roof. I began to tell her about the telephone call from Mr Salisbury, and the relief I felt at knowing the closure of Fairacre School was not imminent.

'That's marvellous,' agreed Amy, 'but what hopes are there of new pupils?'

'Not too bright immediately,' I told her, 'but we are waiting to see if two large families come to live in the new houses.'

'Or in your school house,' observed Amy. 'I take it that it will be on the market sometime?'

'I suppose so,' I said, and was surprised to find the idea distinctly upsetting. Somehow,
other people
in
my
house, was an unpleasant prospect.

Amy was studying me with some concern. 'You must worry,' she remarked.

I have no secrets from Amy. We have known each other too long for dissembling.

'I do,' I said truthfully. 'I worry about the school itself, that dear shabby old building which has seen generations of Fairacre folk under its roof. I worry about the children, and the parents, and grandparents.'

'But what
about you?
' pressed Amy.

'Funnily enough, not so desperately. I should probably be worrying far more if Dolly had not been so generous to me. But I'm pretty sure I would be offered another post locally, or I could contemplate early retirement, I suppose.'

'Would you like that?'

'Half of me fairly leaps at the idea, but the other half wonders if I should get restive after the first few months of euphoria. Like Miriam Baker,' I added, and began to tell her about Miriam's plans.

After this we parted, Amy driving off southwards to Bent, while I locked up the house and then drove in the opposite direction to Fairacre.

The village seemed deserted, and nothing stirred near St Patrick's and its churchyard. It was a golden evening of great calm, the kind of post-harvest lull when the stubble is still in the fields reflecting a warm September effulgence.

I remembered that I needed some of the children's readers to check an order list I was sending to the office, and went to the school before going home across the playground.

The brickwork threw out considerable warmth, and I could smell the drying paint round the window panes. Mrs Pringle had 'bottomed' the place at the end of the summer term, and would be up again in a day or two to see that all was ready for our opening again soon.

Meanwhile, the school had remained locked. A few dead leaves whispered on the porch floor, as I inserted the massive key into the Victorian lock. The woodwork was warm against my hand, and I suddenly noticed that the crack of the door was sealed with a criss-cross of gossamer threads, spun by a host of small creatures who had been undisturbed for weeks.

I stood numb with shock, the key motionless in my hand. This, I suddenly realized, would be the state of this well-loved school for ever, should its doors finally close. Dust, cobwebs, flaking paint, a few dead leaves, an overall acceptance of time's ravages and the onslaught of the seasons.

It must have been several minutes before I could find the strength to twist that key and return to the present. But as the gossamer threads broke, and the familiar scent of the old schoolroom assailed me, I found my eyes were wet.

13 Two Homes

I MADE the move into Dolly's cottage before the end of the summer holidays, as I had planned. But only by the skin of my teeth.

As everyone who has moved house knows, there are always
snags.
The day before the move, I returned to the school house from the Post Office to find a roll of stair carpet in the porch. This was supposed to have been delivered to Dolly's house where Mrs John was awaiting it. I rang the firm who expressed surprise and said: 'I'd better hang on to it, didn't I?' as the men could pick it up with my other 'bits and bobs' the next morning. And yes, yes, they'd certainly be at my place (School House wasn't it now, at Beech Green?) by nine o'clock prompt.

I straightened out that one, rang Mrs John to apologize for keeping her waiting all the afternoon, hauled the unwieldy package further into the porch in case it rained, and hoped for the best.

At ten o'clock the next morning, I rang the removal firm again. The same man answered. I recognized his adenoidal symptoms.

'That's funny! The chaps as left that stair carpet had a note for you.'

'It's not here.'

'Well, we're working you in with a party at Cirencester.'

'How do you mean? "Being worked in"?'

'Well, there's a full load going to Cirencester, see, and a half-load being picked up there, and the chaps will call at yours for your bits to fill up the space, see, and drop it off at Beech Green on the way home, see. Save you all a lot of trouble.'

'There's quite enough here to be getting on with,' I said tartly. 'So when can I expect this half-empty van from Cirencester?'