Whispers in the Village (10 page)

Before she could stop him he’d disappeared into the mêlée. Too late he realized he’d left Anna to pay for his coffee. What an idiot he was. That loathsome Paddy wouldn’t pay, oh! no not he. He had sponger written all over him. And now he, Dean Jones, had foolishly volunteered to help with the youth club. He must be mad.

As he swung through the main gates of Turnham House, and up the drive to the Head Gardeners House, he had to smile. He’d got what he wanted, a chance to make contact with Anna, and his new clothes. So altogether it had been a successful morning.

Then he remembered Paddy. Just who was he? He couldn’t believe he was her lover. Heavens above, he knew she had better taste than to fall for such a loser. It puzzled him and the more he dwelt on the matter, the more mysterious Paddy became.

Paddy, of course, hadn’t given him a single thought once Dean had vacated the café. No, Paddy had more important matters on his mind, like where was he going to get some money. ‘Nice house you’ve got, Anna. I reckon we’ve fallen on our feet here. Well, in Turnham Malpas, that is. Nice little village and the kind of people I like. Generous, easy-going—’

‘I wouldn’t be too sure about that; they can be damned stubborn when they want, I understand. Now I’ve got to get back to the rectory. Are you coming with me? Is there anything you need? Look, let me give you this,’ she had a £20 note in her hand. ‘Toothbrush, whatever; you’ll be needing something, I’m sure.’

Paddy almost kissed that note in triumph, but he didn’t, not when he was trying to look grateful. ‘Thanks, Anna, that’s very kind of you. I just hope your parishioners appreciate what a kind heart you have. You’re a true friend. I’ll come back on the bus.’

They left together, Paddy hanging back to retie his shoe until Anna had paid the bill. She set off for the car park and Paddy to the shops.

The market in the main street was thronging with people laden with carriers or just simply browsing, and he was hustled from time to time as he tried to get close to the stalls. Once or twice he pushed them back and gave them a glare. He was good at glares, was Paddy, even better at looking appreciative and better still at looking in need of buckets of TLC. He decided to try his luck on the corner at the end of the market.

Paddy dug out his stock-in-trade, a fold-up ancient panama, put it down on the pavement with an inviting two or three coins in it, and dug in his pocket for his mouth organ. He ran up and down a few scales to get himself in the mood and then began to play some well-known tunes: ‘Abide With Me’, ‘Fast Falls the Eventide’, ‘The Lord’s My Shepherd’ and ‘Ave Maria’. After all, you had to play according to your clientele.

He could get really soulful with ‘Ave’, he could and, low and behold, he could hear coins dropping into his hat. By the time he’d rendered it twice with plenty of heartrending
vibrato
, he’d made himself feel really sad so he decided to play ‘Abide With Me’ once more, then pack up and count what he’d collected, which was £1.82. Not bad. They were generous, like he’d said to Anna. It bought him a drink in a local hostelry and after that he wandered off to find the bus station. He’d have a kip when he got in, and would wake up just in time to eat the nice meal Anna would have ready for them both, then he could visit the Royal Oak this evening and establish himself with the locals. Tonight would be his chance to make them feel sorry for him.

In his bedroom at the rectory he emptied his pockets. Bar of soap, toothbrush, bar of chocolate, three pairs of socks, cheap shampoo and the £20 note still intact – oh, and three white handkerchiefs. That was the way to shop. The stallholders in Culworth market hadn’t enough eyes in their heads to catch Paddy Cleary. Not nearly enough.

Saturday night was the big night of the week for the Royal Oak, if you wanted to meet someone. Take a perch in the bar and you’d meet most of the villagers and then some, because they came in from the outlying villages on Saturdays for their night out. Dean was there with Rhett, having a swift half before going into Culworth to the late-night film at the new multi-screen in the Rotunda. Dean had come in for some teasing about his new casual clothes, especially from Rhett. ‘What’s this, then? I reckon you’ve got a girl.’

‘I have not got a girl, as you so politely put it, just decided to improve my image.’

‘Oh yes, I’ve heard that one. I say, who’s that chap sitting with Jimmy? Haven’t seen him before.’

Dean turned … and saw Paddy. ‘He’s staying at the rectory.’

‘Yer what? Are you sure?’

‘Absolutely. I saw him with her in the new coffee shop in Culworth this morning.’

‘Looks the wrong kind of chap for the rectory. Is it her brother or something?’

‘No, an old friend.’ Dean could have rushed across, dragged him to his feet and booted him out of the door and into the road, like he’d seen Bryn do with a disruptive punter in the old days. Willingly, gladly, with pleasure. But there was nothing disruptive about Paddy. He was quietly drinking his pint and talking animatedly to Jimmy, who was only half listening by the looks of it.

‘Well, I don’t reckon much to her friends if he’s a sample. Looks like a sponger to me. Well, he’d better not try to get a pint out of me, because he won’t.’

‘Nor me.’ Dean turned his back so Paddy wasn’t in full view and wouldn’t anger him quite so much. But his image was still there in his mind and Rhett wouldn’t let the matter drop.

‘He’s the sort who thinks the world owes him a living. He’ll think that I’m obliged to treat him because I’m in employment, even though I earn peanuts. He doesn’t look too ill to work, does he?’

Dean didn’t answer.

‘Does he? Have you gone deaf ?’

‘No, just thinking. I don’t believe Anna would give him shelter if he wasn’t a worthwhile person.’ Out of the corner of his mouth Dean muttered, ‘Aye! He’s coming across for another pint. Drink up, let’s be off.’

They skidaddled out as fast as they could, leaving Dicky to serve Paddy with no one available to pay for his second pint.

He asked for the same again, complimenting Dicky on the quality of his special brew. ‘Absolutely excellent, best pint I’ve had in years. Ah! Just a minute, would you believe it? I’ve left my wallet at home. Paid you with small change for the first one, didn’t realize I hadn’t picked up my wallet. Can you put it on the slate and I’ll pay what I owe next time I’m in?’

‘Of course. What name shall I put?’

‘Put it down to the rectory. That’s where I’m staying at the moment. I’m so sorry, really very sorry.’

‘Oh, that’s all right, easy done,’ said Dicky. ‘The rectory is as good a reference as any. There we are.’ He pointed at Paddy’s glass of beer. ‘We call it Georgie’s Special Brew after my dear wife.’

‘What a tribute! She’s called Georgina, is she?’

‘That’s right. ’cept she always gets Georgie.’

‘Pretty name. Pretty village, too, you know. Lovely people.’

‘Some is and some ain’t, as you might say.’ Paddy raised a surprised eyebrow. ‘Oh?’ Dicky laughed. ‘No names, no packdrill.’ Paddy shifted a little and put a foot comfortably on the footrail, resting his forearms on the bar. ‘Any casual work going anywhere, do you think?’

Dicky shook his head. ‘Not that I know of, though sometimes there’s casual work at the Big House, picking peaches, I shouldn’t wonder, this time of year. You could try there Monday. You’ll need to ask Michelle Jones – she’s head gardener now. But she won’t stand any nonsense. Nice as pie in here, but once she gets her overalls on and them secter things in her hand she’s a different woman, and she’s only a slip of a girl really.’

Paddy grinned. ‘Sounds too much like hard work for me. Anyway, I might give it a whirl. That chap I’ve been talking to sitting on the settle – what does he do for a living?’

‘Jimmy? He’s a taxi driver. Sorry, someone to serve.’ Dicky turned away, glad not to be free to give this chap a general run-down on the village and its inhabitants. He wondered why he didn’t quite take to him.

Someone sitting the far side of the bar beyond the fireplace was whispering very quietly, ‘See that chap at the bar? I saw him begging in the market this afternoon.’

‘Begging? You never. You must be mistaken.’

‘I’m not. It’s him. I’m certain. Playing a mouth organ and a hat down on the ground for your money. I wonder what he’s doing in here?’

That casual remark was overheard and it was round the bar in a moment. Several people patted their pockets or checked their bags to make sure they were still in possession of their money. A beggar, was he? At the rectory? Come on. It must have been someone else begging in the market, not him. Anna wouldn’t have a beggar living with her, well, not
living
with her in that sense, but living in the same house. What would Peter say? What indeed. All Caroline’s lovely things in there, too.

Ron and Sheila came in then, Sheila armed with her clipboard, hoping to get some more names down on her lists. Just the right night for it, Sheila had said, and had dragged Ron out on the pretext that a real lady didn’t enter a bar unaccompanied, even in these enlightened times. They both went to order their drinks and found themselves innocently standing beside the subject of everyone’s conversation.

Paddy put down his empty glass and said, ‘Good evening. More delightful inhabitants of Turnham Malpas, I assume?’ He gave the impression of being about to tug his forelock, which impressed Sheila enormously.

She laughed as she said, ‘I don’t know about that, but I am here on a mission. Collecting names for the events the W.I. have organized for raising funds for Africa. Can I put you down? But maybe you’re a visitor and not here for long?’

Raising funds? Ah! ‘Well, I’ll be glad to do what I can. I’m here for quite a while.’

So together he and Sheila discussed the various options and he plumped for the midnight skinny-dipping. No, he wouldn’t do the race afternoon, no he didn’t think so, not gambling, he was a bit strict about that. Sheila, greatly impressed by his moral stance, hurriedly put him down for the swim.

‘I may not get many sponsors not knowing many people, but I will make a donation if I don’t.’

‘Well, that’s very kind. I’m going round asking people now.’ She surveyed the bar; there wasn’t an empty seat and plenty were having to stand by the vast inglenook fireplace, fortunately not lit, otherwise they’d have been burned to a crisp. ‘My word, I’ve chosen a good night. Here’s your sponsorship form. Just put your name and address here for me.’ She waited while he filled it out, then set off into the crowd, filled with zeal.

By the time she’d returned to Ron’s side, Sheila was almost delirious with excitement. ‘Look! Just look at these lists. We’re going to do so well, we are. I’ll have to print out more sponsorship forms and new sheets. Unbelievable. People are so supportive, aren’t they?’

She included Paddy in her glance at Ron, and Paddy nodded soulfully. ‘If you’re down it’s amazing how kind people can be.’

Sheila nudged Ron and pointed tactfully at Paddy’s empty glass. Ron dutifully rose to the occasion. ‘Same again, Paddy?’

‘How very thoughtful you are. Very thoughtful. I knew you were nice people the moment I saw you walk through the door.’ Conveniently forgetting he was facing the other way when they’d come in.

When Sheila got home she sat down to enjoy counting the names on her lists, and Ron went to make her a cup of tea.

‘Ron!’ Sheila shouted. ‘You’ll never guess – that Paddy Cleary is living at the rectory. I’d no idea, I just didn’t notice what he’d written down, I was so excited. That can’t be right, can it?’

‘Rent-free, I’ve no doubt, judging by his inability to pay for his own drink. You do realize I bought him three pints tonight?’

‘Really, and didn’t he offer to buy you one?’

Ron shook his head. ‘He did not. Too fly by half is that one.’

‘That’s disgusting. We’ll avoid him in future.’

But in the bar there was no avoiding Paddy. Somehow, by what means they never quite knew, just before Dicky called time, Paddy had got a line of five customers going between the tables doing the conga. Before they knew it, the whole bar, including some of the customers eating late in the dining room, had joined on and the line went from the dining room round the bar and then some. They could hardly sing for laughing. Paddy led them all outside as Dicky rang the bell for time and they did one turn right the way around the Green before they dispersed. Windows were opened, curtains drawn back, cheerful shouts were heard – what fun they were all having. It was years and years since they’d had such a laugh. Fancy! All round the Green as well. What a night! All because of Paddy.

That Paddy, he was a laugh, he really was. Good old Paddy. Goodnight!

But no one saw the very satisfied smile on Paddy’s face as he got into his bed in the rectory attic. He’d move down to the big bedroom tomorrow, give himself more space. After all, the bathroom up here was very basic, not his style at all.

Michelle Jones was in one of the hot houses at the Big House examining the peaches to see if they were ready for picking when she heard a voice calling, ‘Miss Jones? Miss Jones?’ She carefully closed the door behind her and went to find who was looking for her.

‘Ah! You’re Miss Jones.’

‘Indeed I am. Head gardener. What can I do for you?’

‘My name’s Paddy Cleary. I’m wondering if there’s any chance of casual work in the gardens? Haven’t done it before but I’m a quick learner.’