(18/20) Changes at Fairacre (24 page)

I have heard this threat so often that I take it in my stride, but I felt sorry for my old adversary in her present afflictions, and simply said that I'd see Bob only
filled
and did not attempt to
polish
her two idols.

Unfortunately, Alice Willet had promised to go and stay with a sister who herself was just out of hospital, so it looked as though we should have to muddle along on our own.

'Of course, our Minnie could come,' said Mrs Pringle. She sounded doubtful, and with good reason. We both know Minnie's limitations. 'She's not a bad little cleaner - if watched.'

'Oh, I don't think it's as desperate as that,' I replied, wondering if that could not have been expressed more tactfully. 'I'll look around,' I added hastily.

But in the end, when Mrs Pringle had taken to her bed and sofa for the allotted time, it had to be Minnie who came to provide help and havoc in unequal portions to Fairacre School.

During Mrs Pringle's absence, I took to staying on after school to supervise Minnie's activities, and to protect the more vulnerable of the school's properties from her onslaught.

I discovered that she was comparatively safe with such things as desk tops, window sills and the floors. Anything horizontal presented little difficulty, and I felt she was really getting quite proficient with broom and duster. But vertical surfaces seemed to defeat her. She took to sweeping a broom down the partition between the two rooms, bringing down anything pinned thereon such as the children's artwork, pictures cut from magazines and the like.

'Well, look at that!' she cried in amazement, gazing at the fluttering papers on the floor. I helped to pick them up, and stopped her attacking another wall with her broom.

On one occasion, in my temporary absence, she tried her hand at window-cleaning. She had begun an energetic attack with a rather dirty wet rag, well coated with Vim, and was fast producing a frosted-glass effect when I arrived back.

She was anxious 'to have a good go', as she put it, 'at Auntie's stoves', but knowing what I should have to face on Auntie's return, I was adamant that she should not touch the stoves. In fact, I did my poor best to clean them myself, knowing the withering scorn which I should receive in due course from Mrs Pringle, but at least that was better than risking Minnie's ministrations with, possibly, more Vim, or even metal polish, which would be impossible to get off.

The fact that Minnie was unable to read complicated matters, as the directions for use on the cleaning packets meant nothing to her. Neither could she tell the time, so she relied on me to see her off the premises before I locked up.

Nevertheless, the hour after school which we spent together at our labours, had its compensations, and I grew daily more fascinated by Minnie's account of her love life which was considerably more interesting than my own.

I had not liked to ask about her marital affairs after Mrs Pringle had given me the account of Minnie's flight to Bert in Caxley, and his refusal to let her stay. But Minnie blithely rattled away as she dashed haphazardly about the schoolroom with her duster.

'Em was a bit nasty with me for a time,' she admitted. 'I s'pose he's jealous of Bert.' This was said with some satisfaction.

'Naturally,' I responded. 'You married him. He expects you to live with him.'

'Oh, I don't see why!' said Minnie, standing stock still in her surprise. A troubled look replaced her usual mad grin. 'I knew Bert long afore I met Ern. He bought me some lovely flowers when I was up The Caxley having my Salopians done.'

I decided against correcting Salopian to Fallopian, and to ignore the past use of the verb 'to buy' when it should have been the past tense of the verb 'to bring'. I get quite enough of that sort of thing in school hours, and I did not propose to do overtime.

'But Minnie,' I pointed out, concentrating on the moral issue, 'if you made a solemn contract at your marriage you should keep it. You are Ern's wife, after all. You married him because you wanted to, I take it.'

'Oh, no!' said Minnie, smiling at such a naive suggestion. 'I married Ern because he had a council house, and my Mum was that fed up with us under her feet, so that's
really
why.'

I must say, I found this honesty rather refreshing. Plenty of people with greater advantages, both mental and material, than Minnie, marry for the desire for property rather than passion, and who was I to criticize?

'Mind you,' went on Minnie, taking a swipe at the blackboard and nearly knocking it from the easel, 'that council house doesn't half take a bit of cleaning. I really like my Mum's better. Life don't always work out right, do it, Miss Read?'

And I agreed.

Now that the weather had returned to normal, the repairs to the school house went on apace.

Wayne Richards enjoyed visiting his two workmen, and also gave a hand himself. The fact that his wife was close at hand, and that he shared our school tea-breaks seemed to please the young man, and we found him good company.

'Take about three weeks,' he told us, standing with his back to us and looking out at the repair work through the schoolroom window. The mug steamed in his hand, and he did not appear to be in any great hurry to leave us. I began to find that, on the mornings he shared our refreshment, it was I who had to shoo him out so that I could get on with my work.

Every now and again the vicar called to note progress, and the children had to be discouraged from purloining pieces of putty, odd bits of wood and roof tile, and curly wood-shavings which the wags among them used as ringlets fixed over their ears. At least it made a change from the coke pile which was their usual illicit means of finding exercise.

There was a good deal of noise, not only from the workmen themselves, but from vans and lorries which drove up to deliver materials or to remove the vast amount of rubble that this comparatively small job seemed to engender.

I was glad that I could leave the scene of battle each day to seek the peace of my new home at Beech Green.

I grew fonder of the cottage as the time passed. It was full of memories for me, not only of dear Dolly herself, but of the people she had told me about, who had lived there before. Her parents, Mary and Francis Clare, her sister Ada whose daughter I had met, her friend Emily Davis who had visited this little house all her life, and had ended it under this roof, as Dolly had done later, all seemed to me to have left something intangible behind them: a sense of happiness, simplicity, courage and order. I am the least psychic of women, and am inclined to suspect those who lay claim to extra-sensory experiences, but there is no doubt about the general reaction most people have to the 'feel' of a house.

Some houses are forbidding, cheerless and indefinably hostile. Others seem to welcome the stranger who steps inside. Dolly Clare's was one such house. I felt that I was heir to a great deal of happiness, and I blessed the shades of those who had lived in and loved this little home, and who had now gone on before me.

One morning, Bob Willet accosted me as I arrived at school.

'Time I come up to do a bit of pruning up yours,' he told me.

'Sunday?' I suggested.

'Best not. My old woman's got these funny ideas about working on Sundays. Anyway, we've got some tricky anthem Mr Annett's trying out at morning church. What about Saturday afternoon? Alice is off to Caxley wasting her money on a new rig-out.'

I said that Saturday afternoon would suit me well.

'Gettin' on with the job all right,' he said, nodding towards the school house. 'Wonder when it'll be up for sale? Vicar tells me the diocese copes with all that business. Should make a bomb, nice little place like that. That is if it sells at all, the way things are.'

'Well, the new houses are still hanging fire, I gather. I don't see as much of Fairacre these days, but I haven't heard of anyone being interested.'

'There were two blokes looking at them the other day. Shouldn't think they were buyers though. No women folk with 'em. More likely council or summat. Got nice suits on, and clean shoes.'

'That sounds hopeful.'

'No telling. Maybe just looking to see there's no squatters got in. They was definitely
officials.
'

'How can you tell
officials?
'

Bob Willet ran a gnarled thumb round his chin. 'Don't know entirely. But there's a
look
about 'em. Sort of
bossy,
if you takes my meaning. The sort as carries a brief case and talks posh.'

'Well, I hope they don't come to live here,' I said. 'They don't sound very Fairacre-ish to me.'

As luck would have it, that Saturday afternoon was fine and mild. Over near Beech Green church the rooks were busy with their untidy nest-building. They cawed and clattered about, twigs in beaks, energetically thrusting each other away from disputed sites. The sun gleamed on their black satin feathers. Every now and again, one would swoop down into the garden to rescue one or two of Bob Willet's pieces of pruning.

'Dratted birds,' he exclaimed. 'Only fit for a pie.'

He looked at me suspiciously. 'D'you feed 'em?'

'Well,' I began guiltily, 'I put out a few things for the little birds. You know, the chaffinches and robins and so on, and sometimes the rooks come down.'

'You'll get rats,' said Bob flatly. '
Rats
not rooks, and I bet you don't know how to cope with
them
.'

'I should ask your advice,' I said, at an attempt to mollify him. 'In any case, I've probably got rats already. You can't live in the country and imagine you are free from all unpleasantness. I've learnt to take the rough with the smooth.'

'Well, if you wants my advice now, it's stop feeding the birds. Not that you'll take it, I'll lay. You women is all the same, stubborn as mules.'

I have heard this before from Bob, so could afford to laugh.

'That young Mrs Winter's another bird-feeder,' he went on. 'You should see her garden! Peanuts hanging up everywhere. Coconut halves, corn all over the grass. 'Tis no wonder their lawn's taking forever to get growing. The birds eat all the seed.'

'How are the Winters? Really settled in now?'

'She's not too pleased about this new baby on the way, but still sticking to her job until she durn well has to stop. My Alice worries a bit about her, but I tell her it's not her affair.'

He straightened up and looked over the rest of the garden.

'I'll make a start on them straggly roses after tea,' he said. 'That is,' he added, 'if there is any tea?'

'There's always tea,' I assured him, hurrying indoors to get it.

That evening I had a telephone call from Horace Umbleditch. He began by apologizing for disturbing me. 'You must be busy,' he added.

'I'm only looking through the telly programmes,' I told him, 'and wondering if I want a discussion on euthanasia, a film about the victims of famine in Africa, the increase of parasites in the human body, or one of those mindless games where you answer a lot of idiotic questions, and the audience goes berserk with delight when you win a dishwasher you don't want.'

'There's a nice Mozart piano concerto on the Third,' said Horace.

'Thanks for telling me. I'll listen to that and get on with my knitting. What can I do for you?'

'The grapevine has it that your house will soon be ready for the market. We're still interested. Do you know any more about it?'

'Not really. I've no doubt the diocese will be putting it into a local agent's hands before long. Why don't you ring Gerald Partridge and tell him that you are interested? No reason why you shouldn't get first chance at bidding for it.'

'D'you think we've a chance?'

'Definitely. Nothing seems to be moving much in the property market, and you're in the happy position of first-time buyers, not waiting about to sell your own before buying another.'

'That's true. There's another reason really. We're expecting our first. A bit late in the day, but better late than never.'

I expressed my great pleasure.

'So you see, it would be nice to have a home of our own before the baby arrives. How do you like the idea of an infant in your old home?'

'It gives me no end of delight,' I assured him. 'Now, do ring the vicar and tell him all. I know he will help you.'

We rang off, and I savoured this delicious piece of news as I pursued my knitting to the accompaniment of Mozart.

I hoped that my friends would one day live in my old house, and dwelt on the many teachers who had lived there before; Mr and Mrs Hope, Mr Wardle who had trained Dolly Clare for her teaching career, and his wife, Mrs Wardle, who had been such a stern martinet during needlework lessons.

It was, like Dolly's, a welcoming house, and I sincerely hoped that Horace and Eve would be able to live there, and be as happy as I had been for so many years.

The mild early spring weather continued and raised our spirits.

During this halcyon spell I invited the Bakers to tea one Sunday. Miriam's agency was doing well, and her chief problem at the moment, she told me, was to find a first-class secretary for her old boss, Sir Barnabas Hatch, when Jane Winter took time off for motherhood.