Why Aren't They Screaming? (3 page)

‘Oh
hell,'
the man said in a slow voice which expressed perplexity more than annoyance. He stepped back into the
hall and Loretta followed. She found him staring at a large square box which was sitting in the middle of the hall floor. There were fingermarks all over its dusty mahogany surface and scuff marks on the tiled floor as though he had pushed it from the back door.

‘So what do I do with this?' he asked, running a hand through his hair – the picture of puzzlement, Loretta thought. ‘Wait a minute, do you have a car?' he asked, suddenly hopeful.

‘Yes, but–'

‘That's it then. You'll be going back there shortly, I suppose? I'll load it up and you can take it with you.'

‘To the peace camp? But I don't know where it is. Or what
that
is,' she added, taking a second look at the object he'd delivered.

The stranger ignored the second part of her remark.

‘You're not from the peace camp?'

Loretta admitted she wasn't.

‘I thought –' Her interlocutor began to laugh. ‘Sorry, it's just that you had me puzzled,' he explained. ‘When I saw you here I assumed you must be one of the peace women, but you didn't look quite – right. You know what I mean.' His gaze travelled down her fine grey wool jumper, her matching straight skirt, and hovered for a second at her grey suede high heels. Loretta took his meaning and bridled.

‘I've been to Greenham loads of times, as a matter of fact,' she said stiffly.

‘Look, I didn't mean –'

‘I was arrested at Christmas,' she continued, ignoring his attempt at an apology. She decided against revealing that she had later been released without charge. Bridget, to whom this had happened twice before, had been most put out when they hadn't been required to appear in court; Loretta had secretly been relieved. She realized that the stranger was waiting with amusement for her next remark and decided to change the subject.

‘I'm Clara's new tenant, by the way. I was supposed to move into the cottage today, but the chap who's there at the moment isn't going till tomorrow, apparently. So here I am.'

‘Oh, re-ally.' He had a way of drawing out short words
which invested them with a significance Loretta couldn't fathom. ‘Another sin to add to the catalogue. Clara must be furious.' He smiled absently, gazing into the middle distance. ‘It's Great-aunt Idena's commode. That thing.' He gestured towards the wooden box. ‘Hasn't been used for years. But it's all there.'

Obviously proud of this fact, he lifted the hinged lid to reveal the white porcelain chamberpot inside. Loretta giggled, suddenly assailed by a vision of full-skirted Victorian ladies emerging from benders to form a sedate queue in the bushes.

‘They want
that
at the peace camp?'

‘So Clara says –' He looked at her for a moment, puzzled, then joined in her laughter.

‘Robert?' It was Imo's voice, and a moment later she ran lightly down the stairs, dressed now in a denim mini-skirt. ‘What's the joke?' A smile hovered about her lips as she looked from Robert to Loretta, waiting for enlightenment.

‘It's all your mother's fault, as usual,' Robert explained. ‘She rang this morning to ask if I still had Idena's commode. I've spent half the afternoon crawling about in the loft looking for it. And now it's here your mother isn't. I don't know what to do. I can't take it up there, can I?'

‘Hardly,' Imo agreed. ‘It's women only,' she added, turning to Loretta. ‘And even if it hadn't been up to now, after last night...' She trailed off.

‘Last night?'

‘Haven't you heard? There was even something on the radio about this morning,' Imo said. ‘It happened about three o'clock this morning. A bunch of men appeared out of nowhere and started smashing up the camp, they even tried to set fire to the caravan.'

‘Was anyone hurt?' Loretta was horrified.

‘A couple of women had to go to hospital. Fortunately they ran off as soon as everyone started coming out of their tents. It's amazing no one was badly hurt, really.'

‘But why do they want a commode?' queried Loretta. ‘Haven't they dug, er, trenches?'

‘Yes, but Clara thought it would be safer if they didn't have to walk all the way to the trenches at night. She's been
ringing round all day trying to find people who've got those old things. With Robert's we've got three. She's a terrific organizer, my mother. Tell you what, Robert, why don't you lend me your car and I'll take it up there? I've passed my test, you know.' Robert seemed to be hesitating. ‘Oh, go on, Robert. It's not very far. And how else are you going to get it up there?'

Robert sighed. ‘All right. I suppose you want me to put it back in the car for you?'

‘Please. By the way, this is Loretta, she's staying with us tonight. Robert's one of our neighbours, he lives in Flitwell. He's coming to dinner this evening, you're not supposed to have met him yet.'

Robert was leaning over the commode, preparing to lift it. Loretta moved to help but he waved her away.

‘I can manage. See you later.'

Imo opened the back door, which was unlocked, and Robert trundled the commode out of it. Loretta returned to the kitchen where she was joined by Imo, who asked if she'd made some tea. Loretta explained she'd been interrupted by Robert's arrival, and Imo placed the kettle on the hob.

‘I'll just have a cup before I go back to the camp,' she said. ‘Robert's left me his keys.'

‘I had no idea there was a peace camp near here,' Loretta said. ‘Where is it exactly?'

‘About a mile along the road. You must have heard of Dunstow, RAF Dunstow? Though it's not really an RAF base at all, it's American. Just like Greenham. Except they don't have Cruise missiles here, they have F1-11s. Remember all the fuss last month when they bombed Libya? Well, some of the planes came from here. That's when the peace camp was set up, the first women arrived the day after.'

‘I
see,
that's why I hadn't heard of it.'

‘Oh yes, the camp's only been going about four weeks. But the fuss it's caused – you wouldn't believe it. When they first arrived, they put up tents outside the main gate. But the council evicted them – it turned out they'd passed some by-law ages ago in case a peace camp was set up here, and no one had noticed. Milk? Sugar?'

Loretta shook her head.

‘That's when Clara got involved. She was so cross when the Americans attacked Libya – I rang her up that night and she was ... well, I've never heard her so angry. When the peace camp got evicted, she offered them a site on her land. She owns part of the wood along the side of the base, you see. And everyone's furious with her. She's been banned from the Green Man in Flitwell, and half the village isn't speaking to her. Mind you, a lot of people are on her side – the vicar got up a petition and took it to the base, but the man in charge refused to meet him. So he's written an absolute diatribe in the parish magazine. You can imagine the ructions that's caused.'

‘But the attack last night – is this the first time it's happened?'

‘More or less. I mean, it's not the first time people have turned up at the camp and yelled abuse, that sort of thing. Some of the Americans from the base, they come down at night and throw the odd stone, apparently. You'll have to ask Clara, this is the first time I've been home when anything's happened. But last night was really vicious. They wore masks, the sort you get in joke shops. The women woke up and found these men with horrible faces trying to set fire to the caravan.'

‘What about the police?' Loretta asked the question without much hope.

Imo shrugged. They say there's nothing they can do.' She leaned back against the Aga and sipped her tea. ‘I suppose they're right. The women can't identify anyone ‘cause of the masks. And they say they haven't enough men to put a guard on the camp at night. Gosh, is that the time?' A clock was chiming six somewhere in the house. ‘I hope Clara comes back soon.'

‘What time is everyone coming?'

‘Eight,' said Imo. ‘I should have asked her what needed doing. But I expect she'll manage. There's bound to be something in the freezer.' She pulled a face.

‘Shouldn't I be doing something?' Loretta was becoming anxious on Clara's behalf. Her own dinner parties were always carefully planned to give her plenty of time to shop and cook. The idea that there were only two hours to go
before the arrival of Clara's guests appalled her. At that moment a door slammed and a woman's voice sounded in the hall.

‘Imo? Are you there, darling?'

‘In here, Clara.'

The kitchen door opened and a striking figure strode in.

‘Is Robert here? I saw his car in the lane. Ah, you must be Loretta.'

Loretta stood up and took Clara's extended hand, feeling much like a schoolgirl meeting her new headmistress.

‘Sorry I wasn't here when you arrived. I see Imo's made some tea, good. I gather you're supposed to be having
complete
rest. Where
is
Robert? Has he brought the commode?'

She moved across the kitchen to the sink and dried a mug on a rather scruffy tea-cloth. Imo explained that she was about to take the commode up to the peace camp in Robert's car, and Loretta had time to study her hostess.

Clara Wolstonecroft was slightly above average height, and well built. Her most commanding feature was a matronly bosom whose prominence was not disguised by the loose flowered dress she was wearing. Her hair was an attractive iron-grey, cut, like Imo's, to chin length so that it framed her strong face.

‘I'm sorry about the cottage,' she said, joining Loretta at the kitchen table. The little rat swears he told me Sunday and I know he's lying. He's just changed his mind and didn't have the manners to tell me. But he'll be out tomorrow, no doubt about that. I told him – if you don't shift your belongings by lunch time, my lad, I'll move them myself.' She bestowed a satisfied smile on Loretta. ‘You don't mind sleeping in my study tonight? It's quite comfortable. I have a couch in there for when I'm working on a book – I tend to sleep odd hours.'

Loretta assured her that this arrangement suited her very well. Anything, she thought privately, rather than face the journey back to Islington. ‘Can I help with dinner?' she asked, aware of the moments ticking past.

‘Certainly not.' Clara was affronted. ‘You must be exhausted, driving all the way from London. I think the best thing is if I take you upstairs so you can have a nap before dinner.' It
was said in the tone of a matron packing off her charge to the sick bay. Suddenly suspecting that Bridget had greatly exaggerated the extent of her debility, Loretta summoned up the courage to defy her hostess.

‘I feel fine, honestly,' she said firmly. ‘I'd be much happier if I had something to do. I could scrub some potatoes,' she suggested, catching sight of the vegetable rack.

Clara's gaze slid across to the clock on the wall and back to Loretta.

‘Well, I suppose you don't look too bad,' she admitted. ‘If you insist...'

Loretta got up and busied herself finding a bowl in which to heap the potatoes. In the background, Clara was talking to herself.

‘Now where's my list?' She began to search through the heap of letters, bills and envelopes which lay at the window end of the table, finally drawing out a crumpled piece of paper.

‘Bridget can't come, so that's one less,' she murmured. That leaves me, Loretta, Imo – are you here for dinner, Imo?'

‘Certainly am!'

‘Plus Robert. Not the Etterbekes, silly old fools. Did I tell you, darling, Charles Etterbeke won't come to dinner because of the peace camp? Ellie and Here, that makes, um, six. And Gilbert. Oh, and one of the girls from the camp will be here,' she added, looking first at Imo and then at Loretta. ‘She only arrived yesterday, poor thing, and she got rather a bang on the head when they pulled her tent down. The hospital says she's all right but I want to keep her here for a couple of days just to make sure. Perhaps you can bring her back in Robert's car, darling? I said I'd collect her but as you're going up there anyway ... Her name's Peggy and she's got blonde hair. So that's how many?'

‘Eight,' supplied Loretta.

‘And can I leave pudding to you, my sweet? I thought we'd have hate cake. The biscuits are in the top cupboard.'

‘Oh, goody,' said Imo in a surprisingly childish voice.

‘Hate cake?' queried Loretta.

Clara smiled. ‘An old family recipe,' she said. ‘We call it
that because we love it so much. Biscuit crumbs and chocolate and honey. Delicious.'

Loretta wasn't so sure; it sounded just the sort of disgusting mess that children would have been expected to eat in the nursery eighty or a hundred years ago. But she maintained a tactful silence.

‘I think we'll have to have that
boeuf bourgignon
I put in the freezer last week,' Clara went on. ‘It's no good looking like that, darling, there isn't anything else. Are you sure you can cope with all those potatoes, Loretta?'

Loretta nodded vigorously, fearing that the potatoes might well turn out to be the most edible part of the meal. As the others got on with various tasks connected with the meal – Loretta watched in secret horror as Imo mixed together the ingredients of the hate cake – she began to wonder how Clara intended to fit eight people into such an awkwardly shaped room. The kitchen table was hardly big enough even for six and any attempt to move it into the centre would bring it into contact with the handsome oak dresser on the opposite wall. Her question was answered, however, when she finished the potatoes and Imo suggested taking her upstairs to the study.

‘I'll come too,' said Clara, wiping her hands. ‘We'll have to bring my work table down before anyone arrives – I thought we'd eat in the hall.'