Authors: Rebecca Shaw

Tags: #Fiction, #General

The Village Newcomers (2 page)

BOOK: The Village Newcomers

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‘He’d only be secretive because he didn’t want to cause you any pain.’

‘I know that. What worries me is what the hell does she want after all this time? No birthday cards, no Christmas cards, nothing. Then a letter each. And not one to both of them but one
each
.’

‘In their own good time they’ll tell us.’

‘They’ll tell you and then ask if they should tell
me
.’

‘They are both very sensitive about . . . well, about me being their biological parent and you not. They’re so careful not to hurt you, and it’s right they should feel like that. I wouldn’t have it any other way.’

‘You see, Peter, when they’re newborn and completely helpless, and needing love and tenderness and caring, one forgets about them growing up into separate people, actual individuals, and the problems that will bring.’

‘You don’t regret adopting them? Of course you don’t. I’m being ridiculous even to ask.’

‘I don’t, not for a single second, but this . . . They’re
ours
, not hers. She has no rights. What’s she doing writing to them? What does she want? Sending them letters, right out of the blue . . .’ Caroline put her finger to her lips then called out, ‘Hello, Dottie. Good morning!’

Dottie Foskett stood in the doorway. Now she was not only doing cleaning jobs but also working with Pat Jones, helping her manage the catering events at the Old Barn, Dottie had put on weight these last two years, having more money for food. But putting on weight had not dulled her hearing, and as she’d walked down the hall into the kitchen she’d caught Caroline’s last two sentences.

‘Good morning, Reverend. Good morning, Doctor. Wish I’d put a warmer coat on.’

‘I think autumn’s on the way.’

‘Exactly, Doctor. The usual Monday things? Not nothing extra?’

‘The usual. Oh! Except the bed linen in Alex’s old room needs changing. We had a visitor over the weekend.’

‘Righteo. No sooner said . . .’

Dottie had strict rules about information at the Rectory. Not a word crossed her lips, much as she was dying to tell people what she knew, because if ever Caroline found out she’d been telling confidential tales that she could have known only through the Rectory, that would be the end of the best job she’d ever had in all her life.

She liked best the days when the Doctor was doctoring all day so she had the Reverend’s lunch to make before she left. She loved knocking on his door and calling out ‘Lunch, sir’ and taking it in, finding a place for the tray on his desk, and him looking up so lovely at her to thank her and her heart melting at his sincerity. And dusting all his books, them she wouldn’t understand if she spent a month trying, but she loved the idea of all that learning and sometimes wished she’d paid more attention at school. And that photo of him at Oxford in his cap and gown, looking so handsome and head and shoulders above most of the other students, and him such a lovely man in spite of all that hobnobbing with those toffs.

She began her morning’s work by stripping the bed in Alex’s old room.

Beth put her head round the door. ‘Morning, Dottie. How are you?’

‘I’m fine, thanks, Beth. And you? You don’t look too chipper today. Not looking forward to going back to school?’

Beth hesitated and then blamed it on the weather. ‘We’re going into Culworth this morning, she added. ‘Anything you need?’

‘No thanks, dear.’

So she was right. The twins had got letters from someone, and it had upset Beth and the Doctor, so therefore the Reverend too.

The children didn’t have an opportunity to discuss their letters until the two of them were in Culworth in the Abbey coffee shop.

Beth had chosen hot chocolate with foaming stuff on the top. Alex refused to call it cream because it wasn’t, he said, not when it came out of a tin. But Beth persisted in choosing it despite his scorn. Alex had chosen espresso, which Beth declared tasted like lavatory cleaner, not that she’d ever tasted lavatory cleaner. Having sorted out their differences, both of them brought out their letters and compared them.

Apparently Suzy Meadows’ second husband had died of cancer, and she now lived by herself with time to spare as all three of her girls - Pansy, Daisy and Rosie - lived away from home. This drove a dagger through Beth’s heart. Was loneliness a good enough reason for wanting to see them both? Alex’s letter told him how like herself Beth was. ‘
That time when I saw you both at the reunion for the village school’s 150th Anniversary, I couldn’t believe how like me she was
.’

Beth rapidly folded her own letter and pushed it into her bag.

Alex said, ‘I haven’t finished reading yours yet. Let me see it.’

‘I shall throw it in the first bin I can find.’

‘Beth! That’s not fair. At least read it and let me read it, please.’

She spooned some of the cream into her mouth. ‘All right, then.’ She gave him back the letter.

Alex smoothed it out and read on. ‘Now we’re sixteen going on seventeen, she wants us to stay with her at half-term when she isn’t teaching.’

‘I read that bit at home. You can go. I’m not. Ever. Ever. Never.’

‘She did give birth to us.’

‘Yes, and then handed us to Dad as though we were a couple of parcels. We’re not, we’re real people, not fantasy figures, which is what this letter makes me feel like.’

‘Yes, it does feel like that.’ He stirred his espresso, now thick with sugar. With his head down he said, ‘You and I have Mum and Dad to think about. She doesn’t mention their feelings, does she?’

‘Typical. Only hers, not even ours.’ Beth drank steadily from her glass, and waited for Alex’s answer. She knew he’d see both sides of the argument, just as their dad always did. Well, he could do as he liked. She was
not
going. She’d said so and she meant it. She did not want complications in her life which would screw up everything she held most dear. Beth had never forgotten that day when they met this Suzy at the school’s 150th anniversary, how she’d been utterly, utterly unable to speak to her. Nor that smooth, softly-spoken man, whom she’d disliked immediately. Everyone had said he had been headmaster at the school for years, which she couldn’t believe. Even if he was dead she still wasn’t going, and no amount of persuasion could make her. Though she had to agree, she, Elizabeth Harris, looked very much like her, but that still wasn’t a reason . . .

‘Thing is,’ said Alex, ‘do we tell Mum and Dad about these letters? Mum knows we got a letter each this morning but not who they were from.’

‘And she won’t ask. You know what she’s like about people’s privacy.’

‘Exactly.’ Alex downed the last of his espresso and wondered about ordering another.

‘So we could not tell her and save her a lot of heartache. You’re not having another of those gut-rot coffees, are you?’

‘I’m just wondering about having an early lunch. What do you think?’

Beth answered him with another question. ‘What would she mean by a few days? Is that all she can spare? Or is it a sop to our feelings? To make us feel more comfortable that it wouldn’t be for long?’

‘Both, I expect.’

‘Oh, help, there’s the Bishop’s wife. She’s spotted us. She’s coming across.’ Beth waved enthusiastically, remembering her good manners just in time.

The Bishop’s wife dashed towards them with her familiar overwhelming gusto.

‘How lovely it is to see you both! Last day of the holidays, eh? My word, Alex, you’re going to be taller than your dad. As for you, Beth, you get prettier by the day.’ She plumped down on the spare chair and, resting her elbows on the table, said in a low voice, ‘A little bird’s been telling me how wonderfully well you’ve both done in your GCSEs. Peter and Caroline must be so proud. What was it - ten As each? Brilliant! What are you hoping to do, Beth?’

Beth shrugged. ‘Don’t know, haven’t decided.’

‘Well, there’s plenty of time. And you, Alex, do you know yet?’

‘I’ve chosen sciences for my A-levels, so I might choose medicine or scientific research of some kind.’

‘Good luck to you both. Your dad’s coming in here for his lunch with the others after the meeting. Are you staying? I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you joined them.’

Both Alex and Beth promptly squashed that idea with an emphatic ‘no’.

‘Very well, then, I’ll leave you to it. Enjoy, my dears, enjoy.’ The Bishop’s wife saw someone else she knew and leapt away, determined they weren’t going to escape her.

‘I’m going before they get here,’ Beth said. ‘I can’t talk to Dad as if nothing’s happened. Let’s be off.’

They scuttled out of the coffee shop as fast as they could, ate a sandwich for lunch in a café by the river and then spent the afternoon in the cinema avoiding the issue. Two and a half hours not thinking about it resolved nothing, and with school tomorrow they wouldn’t have time. So that was that for the moment. But they promised each other that neither of them would mention it without the other being present.

Monday was a busy day for Dottie. In the morning she was at the Rectory and in the afternoon she was a fully paid-up member of the village embroidery group from 2 p.m. until 4 p.m. Then she called in the Village Store for any bits and pieces, and caught the late-afternoon bus back down Shepherd’s Hill - sometimes she walked down if there wasn’t much shopping to carry - and to add to the usual there was a business dinner tonight at the Old Barn and she was booked to help out. No need to cook at home tonight.

Dottie had joined the embroidery group more for the company than any particular artistic bent, but after a few weeks she’d found herself enjoying it so much she had become a keen member. At the moment they were all working on a tapestry as part of the refurbishment of a block of offices in Culworth. It was to be placed in the main entrance hall behind glass and its finished length would be eight feet. It was the biggest project they’d tackled and sometimes they got a case of en masse nerves and had to put it away for fear they would make terrible mistakes which couldn’t be rectified.

Dottie felt today had been a bad day, and she wasn’t entirely sure she was in the right frame of mind this afternoon with this worry about the twins and their upsetting letters. But there was nothing she could do about it, and she certainly couldn’t let on about the matter.

She was just on time. Their teacher, Evie Nicholls, had put everything out and Dottie’s spirits rose when she saw the wonderful colours of the wools they were using and the part-finished tapestry on its frame. It was a picture designed by Evie, illustrating the kind of work the company was involved in, so there were rivers, boats, cranes and quaysides, men working, men idling, chimneys and smoke. Dottie regarded it as her contribution to the beauty of the world and the only one that would outlast her.

‘Good afternoon, everybody! Still cold.’

‘It is. Glad you’ve come, Dottie. I want you to work on that background piece in the duck-egg blue you started last week. It’ll have to be done before we can do the next lot of fiddly bits.’

She grinned, did Dottie. ‘I always knew I had a place in life: Dottie, the specialist in backgrounds. It’ll look good on my epitaph.’

Evie looked crestfallen. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t . . .’

But Dottie was laughing and so Evie was relieved.

There were five of them working this particular afternoon: Evie, Dottie, Sheila Bissett, Bel Tutt and Barbara, one of the weekenders. They all worked together very well. The person most likely to cause friction was Sheila Bissett. She’d never been the same since her Louise and Gilbert had lost that premature baby. She’d always longed to be slender, had Sheila, and now she’d no worries for she was as slim as a wand and could wear anything she chose and look good in it, but it hadn’t improved her attitude.

‘They’ve moved in,’ she said.

‘Who?’

‘The new people in Glebe House, of course.’

There was a disappointed chorus of, ‘No! I never saw the van.’ Missing someone moving in? How had that happened?

BOOK: The Village Newcomers

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