Ann Purser - Threats At Three

“So you said no?” said Irene, frowning. He said that he had told Derek he would think about it, but he had made up his mind on the way home. He would refuse. “Too old and too busy,” he said, and turned off the boiling kettle to fill their hot-water bottles.

“Tony Dibson!” his wife said. “You’ll do no such thing. People rely on you to represent the real village people, like you and me. Families who’ve been here for years. Not the newcomers who buy up houses for weekending, nor them that say they love the village and then try to change it.”

“So you think I should do it?” She nodded, and after a couple of seconds added that if she could she would love to do more to help. Smitten by the suggestion he had been criticising her, he kissed her fondly on the top of her head. Flattening out the hot water bottles to release hot air, he screwed them up and trudged upstairs to warm up their bed. Then he returned to his wife and began the long and arduous business of getting her undressed, and carrying her upstairs.

“Good thing I’ve always been a little ’un,” she said.

“Light as a feather,” he said, as he always said every night, and picked her up in his arms, trying not to notice the stab of pain in his back.

JOHN THORNBULL GOT OUT OF HIS CAR IN THE YARD AT THE BACK of the farmhouse, and thought he should check that his wife Hazel’s bantams were shut up. If she had forgotten, as she often did, the stupid things flew up into a tall silver birch tree and roosted in the high branches. Sometimes he took the clothes line prop from the garden and tried bashing them down to go into their perfectly comfortable house. But they squawked like banshees and flew up even higher.

Tonight she had remembered, and he went into the farmhouse calling for her as he went.

“Here!” she said, and when he went into the sitting room where she was watching television with the sound turned down low, she put her finger to her lips. “Sssh! Lizzie is restless tonight,” she whispered. “Hope she’s not sickening for something.”

She did not ask him how the meeting went, knowing that he would tell her, all in good time. First things first, he would have said, as he poured himself a good-night snifter from the whisky bottle. Now he settled down beside her and watched the end of the news bulletin.

“Same old stories of death and disaster,” he said. “I don’t know why we bother to watch.”

“There was a nice one before you came in,” she said. “A jockey who’d entered every Gold Cup race since he was a lad, actually won for the first time today. You should’ve seen his face, John!”

“Hope for me yet, then,” he said, though he had never entered a race more important than the local hunt point-to-point every year.

There was a companionable silence, and then he said, “Meeting got a bit warm tonight. All about the village hall, believe it or not.”

“Tell all,” Hazel said, and switched off the television.

He gave her a colorful account, and said that he and Derek were setting up a committee to raise funds for renovating the old hall. Would she be willing to take care of the secretarial side of it? Write letters, put up posters, all that kind of thing?

Hazel groaned. “Blimey, John,” she said. “As if I haven’t got enough to do!”

“So you’ll do it, then?”

“On one condition,” she said. “I get a laptop for my birthday.”

John thought for a moment. “Reconditioned one?” he asked.

Hazel took his hand. “Done,” she answered. “But I’m not sure who’s got the best of the bargain.”

THE VILLAGE HALL RENOVATION FUND-RAISING SUBCOMMITTEE had been derided by Lois. “What a ridiculous name!” she had said to Derek. “Let’s call it the No Chance Committee.”

“Well, thanks for your support!” Derek had replied. “Anyway, it wasn’t my idea. Mrs. T-J coined it. I suppose she thought the longer the name the more authority it had, or summat.”

“Well, if you don’t like No Chance, why don’t you call the campaign Save Our Shed? It’s always been known as the Shed, ever since I can remember.”

“Quite right,” said Gran. “All the women at WI call it the Shed. Good idea, Lois.”

The three were sitting round the big kitchen table in the Meade’s solid Victorian house in the main street of Long Farnden. The Rayburn in the kitchen ticked over day and night, providing not only cooking, hot water and central heating, but also a warm heart for the family.

The Meades had not always lived in a big house. When the three children were small, Lois and Derek, with Douglas, Josie and Jamie, had squashed into a small council house on the Churchill Estate in Tresham, and Gran, a widow, had lived in a bungalow not far away.

When all the children had started school, and with Gran’s help taking and fetching them, Lois had fancied the idea of becoming a special constable in the police. The job involved working as a volunteer for the force, but not fully one of them. She had gone for an interview and been turned down because, they said, she seemed to have more than enough to occupy her time already, much to her disgust. After that, she had continued cleaning other people’s houses, and then set up the New Brooms business.

On the side, by way of revenge, she became a snoop for Inspector Cowgill, but on her terms. No pay, only cases that appealed to her, nobody locally to know what she did. No pressure. She had grown to love the snooping, discovering that she had a flair for deduction. It was like a hobby, but, as Derek frequently said, a dangerous one.

The move to Long Farnden had been a stroke of luck, in a way. The local doctor, one of Lois’s clients, had been involved in a murder and the scandal had caused him to move away. Because of the grim association, the house had not sold and the price continued to drop until Derek and Lois could just about afford it. Gran had moved in with them as volunteer housekeeper and dispenser of advice. For most of the time, it was an excellent solution, especially since Derek had won the lottery jackpot, when the family financial situation eased considerably.

The big kitchen in the house had become their favourite room, and now Derek had to agree that Lois’s suggestion was a good one. “SOS, Save Our Shed. Yeah, that’s good,” he said. “I’ll put it to the others at the first meeting tonight.”

“So are they definitely coming here?” said Gran. She was looking forwards to serving coffee to the five, and planned to make a batch of shortbread to go with it. She loved the idea of being at the centre of the new campaign, and if they wouldn’t include her in their meetings, she would hover and leave the door ajar and generally gather what was going on.

Lois had refused point blank to be co-opted to the committee, saying she had quite enough to do with New Brooms and a family to run. But seeing Derek’s face fall, she had hastily added that she would always help whenever help was wanted.

AT HALF PAST SEVEN THAT EVENING, THE FIVE WERE ASSEMBLED. Kate Adstone had spoken with Josie in the shop, and also talked to Derek about Gavin not agreeing with the proposal, but probably willing to change his mind if given a job to do. So Derek had put the request tactfully, stressing to Gavin the importance of his talents and potential contribution, and received an enthusiastic response.

“Evening all,” Gran said, coming into the sitting room with a laden tray. “What an exciting idea for the village! We shall all have lots of ideas, I’m sure. I know the WI will want to help, and you can always call on me…”

“Mum!” called Lois from her office on the opposite side of the passage. “Mum! Come in here-got something to show you!”