Lois was quiet for a minute or two, debating whether to tell Paula about her encounter with the man in the ruined cottage. She didn’t know for certain that he was Jack Sr. All she had was a suspicion based on a likeness to young Jack and his reaction when she used his name. No, for the moment she would keep quiet. This new crisis was more important.
“So what would you advise, Mrs. M?” Paula said.
Lois realised that Paula had nobody else to ask. She had been an only child, and apparently her parents were killed in a motorway pileup. She appeared to have no friends left from her working days at the building company in Tresham, and had not been in Farnden long enough to find a best friend. Reluctantly, Lois said that bearing in mind all the circumstances, Paula should break it to Jack Jr. that his father was working at the hall. It was bound to upset him, but it was entirely possible that the boy might meet him accidentally and that would be much worse.
“Has he been approached by his father, since you split?” Lois said.
Paula shook her head. “Not that I know,” she said. “Jackie hardly says a word to me from one week’s end to another. It’s not good for him, I know, but I’m so busy with the others I just hope it’s a phase and will pass.”
Stalemate, thought Lois. She tried to imagine what Cowgill’s reaction would be if she told him. After all, what was there to worry about? The Hickson family’s problems were their own, nothing to do with anybody else. The father needed a job desperately, that was clear. He had wanted Paula to keep quiet, and if he meant to stay clear of her and his family, then it was up to him and Paula to work it out, wasn’t it?
But there was Jack Jr., a young kid already seriously disturbed.
Paula’s next request was what Lois had been anticipating. “Mrs. M,” she said slowly, “I don’t suppose you could be around when I tell Jackie? You’re right. He must be told. But if it’s just me, he’ll be out of the door and gone before I get started. Please?”
TWENTY-SEVEN
TONY DIBSON HAD COOKED TEA FOR HIMSELF AND HIS WIFE, Irene, and now quietly whistled to himself in the kitchen as he washed up their crocks.
“You sound happy!” Irene shouted to him from the living room. “I thought you said these meetings-SOS did you call it?-were a waste of time, and you’d thought of not going tonight?”
Tony dried his hands, took his jacket off a hook in the hall, and came into the room to say goodbye. “And so I did,” he said, bending to kiss the top of her head. He winced, finding it increasingly difficult to bend down to be on a level with her, face-to-face. “So I did,” he repeated, “but now things seem to be moving. I met Derek in the street, and he said there’d been a good few entries for the soap box race, and Floss has got them going at the Youth Club with all kinds of extra plans for raising money. Should be an interesting meeting tonight.”
“How about that new chap, Gavin Whatsit?”
“Haven’t heard any more from him,” Tony said. “Maybe he’s one of those blow hot and cold types. Didn’t get his own way at first, so lost interest. I don’t know, Irene, but I’ll tell you more when I get back. Must go, love, else I’ll be late.”
As it happened, Tony caught up with Gavin Adstone halfway along the High Street. “Evenin’ squire,” Tony said. “Lovely evening. How’s the family?” In spite of his doubts about Gavin’s use to the committee, he was beginning to like the chap and there was room for a sleeper, so long as he woke up before the event.
“All well, thanks,” Gavin replied with a smile. “Bit of an emergency this morning, when Kate had to take Cecilia to the doc. But it was nothing much, thank goodness. This parent lark is quite a worry, isn’t it! Do you have children, Tony?”
“No, sadly,” Tony said, and changed the subject. It had been Irene’s greatest wish to have a family, and none had come along.
“Here we are then. Look, there’s Chairman Derek, looking out for us. Let’s hope we can make some sensible decisions tonight,” Gavin said, and stood back to allow Tony to go in first. It was polite things like that, thought Tony, that made you think maybe Gavin’s heart was in the right place.
Hazel was the last to arrive, and she stood for a moment, looking across the playing field, with its fenced-off swings and slides for the younger children. There were enough teenagers to make a football game tonight, and a group of giggling girls watched them from the sidelines. It was warm, the trees moved gently in the evening breeze, and a benevolent sun still lingered. She looked up at the village hall and thought of all it had seen in its long life. It was part of the village scene, and as she went through the door to join the others she felt a renewed determination to keep it going. How awful to see it razed to the ground and a ghastly new brick-built monstrosity in its place!
“Right,” said Derek. “We’re all here, so let’s make a start. Any apologies, Hazel?”
“Not if we’re all here,” muttered Gavin under his breath.
“No? Then let’s have the minutes of the last meeting.”
Hazel read them smoothly, aware that she had done a good job. Not too verbose, just the facts.
“Matters arising,” said Derek, looking around.
“I think the rest will come under that heading,” Hazel said. “Shall we have a progress report from each member?”
“Good idea,” said Derek. “We know about the Youth Club keen to enter a soap box, and getting help with its design an’ that. Now the others. Would you like to start, Floss?”
“Yep, thanks, Derek. Well, I braved the group of kids who lurk behind the village hall, and asked them if they had any ideas for the soap box day. Much to my surprise two or three were really keen, and after a bit of persuasion, the others began to join in. One of them had seen a bucking bronco at the church fete in Waltonby. People pay to have a ride, and if they can stay on the horse longer than three minutes they get a pound back. It’s not a real horse, of course, but it bucks mechanically and it’s difficult to stay put. Apparently it’s very popular with the pony girls in the village, as well as almost everybody else! They made a mint over at Waltonby. One of the kids knows where to hire the horse.”
“Well done, Floss,” Derek said.
“There’s more,” she said proudly. “Once they’d started thinking, they got fired up, and said they could recruit other friends and there’d be twenty or so. So I’ve divided up the kids into the various projects they’ve come up with, and there’s five teams, four or five in each, and I’ve said the most profitable team gets a day out at Alton Towers. My dad says he’ll sponsor that.”
“Brilliant, Floss! Thank him very kindly from us,” Derek said. “So what are the other projects, and how much space do they want in the playing field?”
“Well, as well as the bucking bronco, there’s the tug-of-war, always popular with Young Farmers, and then ‘pelt the vicar’ with a wet sponge.” Here she looked tentatively at Father Rodney, who gulped bravely and said it was fine by him.
“I’m not so sure about that,” Derek said. “Don’t want him getting pneumonia.”
“Oh, I’ve done it before, in my last parish,” the vicar said. “You have a big board in front of you, with a funny figure painted on it, and a hole for you to put your face through, then you shut your eyes and pray. Ritual mortification of the flesh, I suppose you’d call it!”