Little Woodford Page 11

  ‘Oh... Bex,’ she said as she opened the door.

  ‘Sorry to bother you. Is this a good time?’

  ‘Of course,’ lied Heather, thinking of the yet-to-be-made beds upstairs, and the minutes of the church restoration fund meeting that had to be typed up, to say nothing of proofreading the parish newsletter. ‘Come in.’ She opened the door wide. ‘Tea? Coffee?’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure... tea would be lovely. I’ve got the day to myself now the kids have gone back and I thought I needed to stop sorting out the house and start sorting out other stuff.’

  ‘Good plan.’ Heather led the way into the kitchen. ‘As you can see, a far cry from your lovely house.’

  ‘Nice view, though.’ Bex stood by the window and looked down the garden to the stunning house at the other end of it.

  ‘That’s the old vicarage.’

  ‘Oh. It’s probably a nightmare to heat.’

  Heather laughed wryly. ‘That’s what I tell myself.’ She filled the kettle with water and plugged it in. ‘So, what can I do for you?’

  ‘Amy.’

  ‘Amy?’

  ‘You said she cleans for you.’

  ‘Yup, that’s right.’

  ‘Do you think she’d be able to take me on too?’

  ‘She’s pretty busy but she used to clean for the previous owners of your house and when they moved I don’t think she got another job to fill the gap. Assuming that I’m right, I think she’d jump at the chance.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Mind you, if you’ve got any skeletons in the cupboard—’ Heather put her hand over her mouth. ‘Oh, damn – I didn’t mean...’

  Bex shook her head. ‘I know what you mean and it’s fine. Truly.’

  ‘Even so.’ Heather shook her head in disbelief at what she’d said.

  ‘You were saying...’ prompted Bex.

  ‘Oh yes... Amy isn’t the discreetest of souls. Actually, that’s far too much of an understatement. Amy is the town radio – she broadcasts everything. She’s an ace cleaner but never, ever tell her anything in confidence because it’ll be round Little Woodford in a heartbeat.’

  ‘Thanks for the tip.’

  The kettle clicked off and Heather made the tea by mashing the tea bags in a couple of mugs.

  ‘And what’s the best way to get hold of her?’ asked Bex.

  ‘As it’s Tuesday she’ll be doing a morning shift in the post office so you could catch her there.’ Heather looked vaguely around the kitchen. ‘I’ve got her mobile number somewhere but...’

  ‘Why don’t I go to the post office – it’ll save you having to hunt around.’

  ‘OK.’ Heather got the milk out and sloshed some in before passing Bex her drink. ‘How are you settling in?’

  ‘Getting there. I felt quite teary when I left little Alfie in the playground last week. It’s his first term of going all day. They grow up so fast.’

  Heather nodded. ‘They do indeed. I can hardly believe that my two are almost thirty. I’ve no idea where the years went.’

  ‘Exactly, but I have to admit that, much as I love the holidays and having them around, it is going to be easier to finish getting straight without two small boys underfoot.’

  ‘I can imagine.’

  Bex sipped her tea. ‘With all this free time on my hands I’m thinking about finding a job. I can’t sit at home all day, I’ll go spare.’

  ‘What did you do before?’

  ‘I was a nanny.’

  ‘How lovely. Well, I am sure there’s a call for a properly qualified childminder around here. All the young mums seem to have to go back to work these days so they can afford the mortgage. Mind you, given the price of houses in the area we have fewer and fewer young families around here – you might find you’ll have to travel over to Cattebury to get regular work.’

  ‘To be honest, I only want something part-time, something to fill a few hours while the kids are at school. Maybe shop work or something. I haven’t really thought, I just know I need to do something. Something that’ll get me out of the house, something that won’t be stressful, something that’ll mean I meet people, talk to people. I can’t type and I can’t do accounts or anything like that, so I’m quite limited.’

  ‘But surely you don’t need a job.’ Heather thought about what Bex’s house had cost.

  ‘No.’ Bex looked a tiny bit embarrassed. ‘No, I don’t, but I think it would set a good example to the kids if they see me go to work every day. Although I worry that I might be taking a job from someone who might need it more.’

  ‘I think,’ said Heather, ‘the people around here who want to work have got jobs, and the ones who are happy to live on benefits won’t be persuaded otherwise.’

  ‘I don’t want people to think I’m being greedy or anything.’

  ‘I very much doubt that.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Then I suggest that, when you’re talking to Amy, you ought to ask her if anyone needs staff. There’s very little that goes on in Little Woodford that she doesn’t know about.’

  ‘I’ll do that, thank you.’

  *

  Fifteen minutes later Bex bade farewell from Heather Simmonds and headed up the road, past the cricket club and into the town. She hurried along the high street, head down against the bitter, damp spring wind that battered the hanging baskets and made the daffs in the tubs thrash around miserably. For the tail-end of April it was rotten weather and if it wasn’t for the spring flowers that brightened up the high street it could almost be January. It was with relief she pushed open the door into the warmth of the post office. She joined the end of the queue that snaked away from the counter. There was only one position open and it seemed to Bex that everyone in Little Woodford was either collecting their pension, or, if too young for that, sending a zillions things back to mail-order companies – all of which needed proof of posting. She waited patiently for her turn as a young blonde woman with a round face and a dimply smile dispensed cash, stamps and chit-chat. Less chit-chat, thought Bex, would make the queue move a lot faster but nobody else seemed to mind so she waited patiently and tried not to lose the will to live. Finally it was her turn. She approached the counter.

  ‘Yes?’ the blonde said.

  ‘Would you be Amy?’

  ‘Might be. Why?’

  ‘Heather Simmonds says you might be available to do a spot of cleaning.’

  ‘Mrs S said that, did she?’

  Bex nodded. She could sense the queue behind her getting impatient. Chit-chat was obviously OK if one was actually doing a transaction at the counter – and she wasn’t. She could almost hear the tutting.

  ‘Look, this isn’t the best place to talk and you’re busy. Could you come to The Beeches sometime?’

  ‘Of course. I finish here at twelve thirty. Will you be in then?’

  Bex nodded.

  ‘See you then. Next!’

  Bex left the post office rather wishing that everything in life could be as simple and as satisfactory as her morning had just been.

  *

  Lily sat at a table at the edge of the school canteen with her best friend, Summer. The two girls were like chalk and cheese: Lily, tall, elegant, beautiful and gazelle-like; and Summer, blonde, overweight and pasty-faced. On the plus-side, Summer’s dad was minted and she had a pony and her house boasted a swimming pool. Lily stared moodily across the room to where Megan sat with a group of other girls.

  ‘I don’t see why they’re all sucking up to her,’ she said as she picked some of the crust off her chicken salad baguette and nibbled it.

  ‘It’s cos she’s new.’

  Lily stared at Summer and sighed. ‘No shit, Sherlock.’

  ‘Don’t take it out on me – just because you’re jealous.’

  ‘Me? Jealous? I’m not jealous – let’s face it, I’m form captain.’ Lily’s voice went up half an octave. ‘Besides, you only have to look at her to know she’s some sort of foreign freak. I’m surprised she
can even speak English. I wonder where she comes from.’

  ‘London,’ said Summer.

  Lily rolled her eyes. ‘I mean, really comes from, you moron.’ She ate some more of her baguette. ‘And why’s she changed schools at Easter, that’s what I want to know? Don’t kids normally move in the summer?’

  Summer shrugged. ‘I dunno. Maybe her dad changed jobs or they’ve moved here to be nearer relations or... I dunno, Lily. Does it matter?’

  Lily put her baguette down on her plate. ‘Of course it matters. She’s swanked into our school and she’s taking my friends and I’m not having it.’

  ‘What you going to do, Lil?’

  ‘Not sure yet.’ Lily tossed her long brown hair over her shoulder. ‘But I’ll think of something.’

  *

  Amy felt pretty chipper when she handed over her shift at the post office and set off for The Beeches, hoping against hope that nothing would go wrong with this interview. Getting her old job back would help her finances out a fair bit. Besides, she hated taking handouts from her mum.

  The short walk along the high street only took her a couple of minutes and it wasn’t long before she was ringing the bell. She hoped this wouldn’t take too long as she needed to be at Mrs Laithwaite’s place later. She’d sent a text through to warn her she might be a few minutes late but she didn’t want to push her luck.

  ‘Hello,’ she said as the door opened.

  ‘Amy. How nice. Come in, come in. I’ve just put the kettle on. Would you like a cuppa?’

  Amy glanced at her watch. ‘A quick one would be lovely. Got to be somewhere else in thirty minutes.’

  Her new boss led her into the kitchen. Amy looked at the new arrangement of furniture, the unfamiliar china and glasses in the glass-fronted units.

  ‘This is nice. And you’re almost straight.’

  ‘Well, we’ve been here almost three weeks now. It’s those last bits that seem to be the hardest to sort out. But we’re getting there. I’m Bex, Bex Millar.’

  Bex stuck out her hand and Amy shook it. ‘Nice to meet you.’ Bex took two mugs out of the cupboard. ‘Is builders’ tea OK?’

  ‘Lovely. And just milk, thanks. So, best we get the business done first; I can do Monday afternoon or Friday morning. Three hours at a time. I’ll get here about nine for a morning or one if it’s an afternoon.’

  ‘That sounds perfect and could you do both?’ The kettle clicked off and Bex sloshed the water into the mugs.

  ‘Don’t see why not, if that’s what you want.’

  ‘And ten pounds an hour is acceptable?’

  ‘It’s what the others pay. And I don’t do ironing – just saying. I hate doing my own so I won’t do other people’s.’

  ‘No, no, that’s fine.’ Bex fished the tea bags out and poured in the milk before she handed Amy a mug. ‘Take a pew.’

  The two women sat at the big kitchen table, facing each other.

  ‘Where did you move from?’

  ‘London.’

  ‘This place must be a bit of a culture shock then. I love Little Woodford, lived here all my life, but don’t people want to move to London, not away from it?’

  ‘My husband always wanted the family to live in the country.’ Bex stopped and looked over the rim of her mug at Amy. ‘He was killed in a traffic accident.’

  ‘Oh.’ Shit, what did you say to a statement like that? She made a stab at an appropriate response. ‘I’m really sorry, Bex. That’s a bummer.’ Bummer?! What a crass thing to say. It wasn’t a ‘bummer’ it was devastating. She slurped her tea to cover her embarrassment.

  Bex smiled at her. ‘It was certainly that. Still, I’m not the only one-parent family in the world and I’m not the only widow so I just have to make the best of the situation.’

  ‘My Ashley – my son – he doesn’t have a dad. Not that he’s dead, he just buggered off when he found out I was in the family way. It’s not easy, is it – being both parents?’

  Bex shook her head. ‘No, it isn’t.’ She sighed.

  ‘Yeah, OK. So... about references – do you want ones from my other ladies?’

  ‘I don’t think you’d have a job at the post office if you weren’t honest. And you were recommended to me by Heather. I should think that’s enough, isn’t it?’

  ‘If you say so. Just let me know if you change your mind. So, how you settling in?’

  ‘OK, I think. I’ve still got a bit to do and apart from you, Heather and Olivia—

  ‘You know Mrs L?’

  Bex nodded.

  ‘I do for her too.’

  Bex laughed. ‘So she told me. Would it be easier to list who you don’t clean for?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Anyway, beyond those two and you, I haven’t really met anyone yet.’

  ‘Well, you don’t want to rush into these things, do you? There’s some people in town who are proper bonkers – and I should know cos I work for a few of them. Take Mrs Rivers – Sylvia. I’m sure her husband beats her or something. She’s potty about cleaning her house. Now, I’m not saying I don’t like a tidy place but seriously – cleaning skirting boards with a toothbrush? Why would you do that?’

  Bex frowned. ‘It doesn’t mean her husband is a wife-beater though, does it?’

  ‘No, but she always seems scared of something. She has that look – know what I mean?’

  Bex shrugged.

  ‘And then there’s the doctor’s wife. She lost her daughter some years back and the kid’s room is like some sort of shrine. I mean, it was all very tragic and everything but she goes and sits in it every day. And then there’s the drink. You should see the number of bottles in their recycling bin. Not that I’d ever say anything to anyone—’

  Bex’s tea must have gone down the wrong way because she had a coughing fit. Amy paused till she got over it.

  ‘—but she’s obviously got a problem.’

  ‘Grief takes people different ways.’ Bex sounded a bit chilly and then Amy remembered what Bex had just told her about her husband croaking. Shit. Her and her big mouth.

  There was a lull in the conversation and both women sipped their tea. ‘One other thing, Amy.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m thinking of going back to work part-time. Heather said to ask you if you knew of anyone who needs someone to do a few hours a week; shop assistant, receptionist, that sort of thing.’

  Amy screwed up her face as she thought. ‘Not off hand, but I’ll keep my ears open.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I should be going, soon. Due at Mrs L’s in a bit.’ Amy gulped the last of her tea and stood up. ‘Thanks for the tea and I’ll see you Friday?’

  ‘Perfect.’ Blimey, thought Bex, Heather hadn’t been wrong about Amy and gossip.

  13

  Joan pinged open the door to Mags’s salon in time for her fortnightly shampoo and set. This week, she noticed, Janine’s hair was pink. What was wrong with blond... or even brunette?

  ‘Hiya, Joan,’ said Janine. ‘Here for your usual?’

  ‘Yes, ta.’ Joan took a seat and waited for Mags to finish with her previous customer. After about five minutes Mags finished and Janine offered Joan a gown to put over her clothes.

  ‘How have you been keeping?’ asked Mags as she settled Joan in front of the sink and got her to lean her head back.

  ‘Oh... you know, OK-ish.’

  ‘Haven’t you been well?’ Mags squirted on some shampoo.

  ‘Mustn’t grumble. Getting old, that’s my problem. Still better than the alternative, I always say.’

  It took Mags a second or two to understand Joan’s meaning. ‘I suppose.’

  ‘There was a break-in round our way yesterday.’

  ‘Get away.’

  Joan nodded as Mags’s fingers lathered up the suds.

  ‘There was one down our road too,’ chimed in Janine from by the reception desk. ‘Couple of days ago. The burglar got in through a vent that had been left open. Gives you the creeps, don’t it, to think of a s
tranger in your house when you’re asleep.’

  ‘It certainly does,’ said Mags. ‘Did your neighbours lose much, Joan?’

  ‘Don’t rightly know.’

  ‘My mum,’ said Janine, ‘says our neighbours lost a laptop, jewellery and cash. They said it could’ve been worse.’

  ‘Sounds bad enough to me,’ said Joan.

  ‘I suppose they could’ve been murdered in their beds,’ said Janine. ‘I mean, I watch Midsomer Murders and there’s always a stack of bodies in that. Nothing exciting ever happens here.’

  ‘And let’s hope it stays that way,’ said Joan with a shudder. ‘You be careful what you wish for, young lady.’

  *

  Later that afternoon, Olivia Laithwaite made her way up the hill to her house on her bike. At the top of her drive she got off and wheeled it over the gravel then let herself in.

  ‘Zac. Zac? I’m home.’ Silence. He was late, where was he? She shrugged her jacket off and hung it on the coat rack when she heard the clatter of the letter box and the thump of something landing on the mat. She went to get whatever had been delivered – the local paper, as it turned out. She took it back to her open-plan kitchen, hitched herself onto a stool by the breakfast bar and scanned the front page. There was nothing of import – a woman was going to do a run to raise money for a cancer charity and the local MP had reopened a café in the town centre after a major refurbishment. And why hadn’t she been invited to that last event? she wondered. As a member of the local council it would have been a courtesy at the very least. She sniffed. Of course, she wouldn’t have gone – she had far too many things in her diary as it stood without adding anything as trivial as that. Although, on second thoughts, she might have made an exception... after all, the MP had been there and it never hurt to press the flesh of those more influential than oneself. Still, water under the bridge.