Ann Purser - Threats At Three

“How’s the rest of it coming along?” Derek said.

Hazel looked at her notes. “We’ve got a lot going on in the playing field,” she said. “The big marquee is full now. Craft stalls, gardening and plants, homemade cakes and stuff, rugs and harness for ponies, and lots more. The school has got a stall, showing the extension they’re planning, and we’ve got a nice display of work to be done on the Shed, with a mock-up of how it will look when it’s finished. Oh yes, and the school is happy to select the soap box queen. Not necessarily the prettiest, said the head, but the one who is all-round hardest worker.”

“Sounds good,” said Derek. “I can tell you a bit more about Jam & Jerusalem . That’s what they’re calling the WI entry. They’re planning to have a player blasting out ‘Jerusalem’ as Mrs. T-J goes first past the post.”

“I hope somebody’s filming it,” said Gavin. “I could get my mother-in-law to come over and look after Cecilia, then Kate can have our cine-camera and make a film record. What d’you think?”

“Wonderful,” said John. “Good lad, Gavin.”

The door opened, and Father Rodney rushed in looking flustered. “So sorry, everybody! I was called away to give the last rites. Poor soul in the nursing home over at Waltonby. At least, they all thought she was a poor soul, but when I got there she was sitting up in bed drinking brandy and insulting the nurses. Dear me, I should have been pleased for her, but all I could think was that I was about to call on the Almighty for nothing. Still, I am sure he’s all forgiving.”

“As we are,” said Derek. “Sit down, Vicar. Hazel will fill you in quickly with what’s been decided. I’m glad to say everything’s going brilliantly, and all we shall need the Almighty for is to send us a fine day.”

“I shall do my best to intercede,” said Father Rodney, and smiled benignly round the rest.

“That’ll be a big help,” muttered Tony.

“Ssh!” said Floss, who was sitting next to him. “He’s doing his best.”

Tony grunted. His Irene was still a devout believer, but sometimes, his heart breaking as he watched her struggling to get into her clothes without bothering him, he had begun to doubt. But then he put it to the back of his mind. No point in wondering why, he had decided that long ago.

“Well, if there’s no other business, I shall close the meeting for tonight.”

“And reopen it in the pub, shall we?” said Gavin.

“That’s my boy,” said Tony Dibson.

GRAN SAT AT THE KITCHEN TABLE, WATCHING THE GOLD-FINCHES sitting neatly on the feeder in the garden, scarlet, black and white flashing brightly now as they flew away, startled by a large pigeon landing on the grass.

They don’t look British, she thought, more like something escaped from an exotic aviary. Now a group of chattering, quarrelling sparrows flew in. That was more like it! A football crowd at a big match. She laughed aloud and got up, taking her empty mug to the sink. Lois and Derek had both gone out, and she had a free morning for once. She looked again out of the window. It was a beautiful morning, and Jeems was standing by the door, looking hopefully at her lead.

“Right, dog,” she said. “We’ll go for a healthy walk. Up to the hall and back over the meadows. Will that do?” Jeems’s tail wagged ferociously, and in a couple of minutes they were off, heading along the road towards the hall.

Only two cars passed her, causing her to jump on to the verge, dragging Jeems up after her. For some reason, the dog hated walking on the verge, preferring the middle of the tarmac road. Lois said it was good for her claws. It saves having them cut at the vets, she’d said. The second car had been Paula Hickson’s old banger, and she saw it turn up the long drive to the hall. The woman was a good worker, so Lois reported. But Gran had overheard one or two conversations, and had come to the conclusion that the children were suffering from lack of a father. Certainly the eldest, young Jack, was not right, not right at all. There was trouble there, Gran was certain.

As she approached the big, wrought iron gates, operated automatically, she saw at the far end of the drive a figure on a bicycle. She stopped, pretending to adjust Jeems’s lead. It was a man, and he was going at quite a speed. Gran wondered if the gates would open up to a bicycle.

They didn’t, and the man dismounted, hauled his bike round the edge of the gates, and came towards her. He was neatly dressed in gardener’s overalls, and smiled at her. She thought he had a nice face, but reckoned he was too thin to be doing hard physical work. Didn’t look well. His hand, as he bent down to stroke Jeems, was bony and she could see the blue veins standing out.

His voice was cheerful as he wished her a good morning. “Just the morning for a walk,” he said. “And a nice little dog to keep you company. I might get myself a dog. What make is she?”

“Cairn crossed with farm terrier,” Gran said. “My son-in-law got her for my daughter. She’s thoroughly spoiled,” she added. “That’s what happens when children grow up. The parents get a dog instead. We all need something small to love, don’t we?” What am I rattling on about? she thought, and then was horrified to see the man wipe his eyes. For God’s sake, what had she said?

“I must get on,” the man said. “Just going to the shop to get a sandwich for my break.”

“I should’ve thought your wife would make you a sandwich,” Gran said sourly. Another of these working wives too busy to look after their husbands properly.

“Ah, if only,” said the man, and, mounting his bicycle, he rode off towards the village.

Gran walked on, past the farm where the farmer’s wife had started a small herd of llamas. More foreigners, thought Gran. They don’t look right in our fields, silly fluffy things. What’s wrong with sheep, anyway, if you want good wool for knitting? She’d seen some alpaca wool garments in the new fancy shop over at Waltonby. The farmer there had developed his old barns, now too small for huge modern machinery, into retail units, and one of them had this fine, hairy wool. Gran had looked at the price tickets and nearly exploded in front of a party of visiting tourists.

“Just as well we can still buy proper lamb’s wool at a decent price,” she said to Jeems, and added that even so, it would probably vanish from the shops soon, since no young folk these days knew how to knit.

She had taken off Jeems’s lead, as the road was quiet and the dog would come to heel obediently. At least, she usually did, but when a rabbit shot across the road and through the hedge into a field, Jeems followed. Gran called until she was hoarse, but with no response.

Damn! Just when she was enjoying the morning, this had to happen. Gran walked on until she came to a gate into the field, opened it and looked around. No sign of Jeems. At the far side of the field, the woods began, and if she had followed the rabbit in there, it would be impossible to find her. Lois would never forgive her!

Gran stepped out across the grass, fortunately grazed close by cattle, who were still in the field. Hoping there wasn’t a bull amongst them, she took the quickest route and reached a ditch dividing the wood from the field. Finding a rotten-looking plank stretching across the ditch, she stepped gingerly on to it and was quickly inside the trees, thanking her lucky stars she had found the footpath that led back to the village.

“Jeems! Jeems!” she yelled, but her voice had nearly given out, and she hoped to see the little white dog somewhere in the murky darkness of the trees. It was very quiet, until a sudden squawk from a frightened blackbird caused her to stop and look carefully into the undergrowth. There she was! Almost disguised by the surrounding thicket, Jeems’s wagging tail showed up clearly. Gran forced her way through, scratching her hands and legs and cursing all dogs, until she could grab the tail and haul Jeems out of the rabbit hole.