Even thinking of that place made Babs seethe. She cleaned there once a week, and the church, so seeing as both places brought in regular money, she had to grin and bear it. That vicarage had bad vibes and she knew exactly why.
This train of thought only added to her woes because thanks to the bloody virus they’d be down a wage and it’d cause problems at home. She was in great demand in and around Little Buddington so her small business helped pay the bills. But to Babs, it was more than the money. Even though it wasn’t rock and roll, her job was her independence. Her clients were mostly lovely and relied on her. She’d miss them.
The only saving grace was that Bald Eagle and their eldest, Isaac, were classed as key workers and thereforeshouldbe out all day. One driving a recycling truck for the local council, the other driving a bus in and out of the city. As for her two daughters, that would be interesting to say the least.
Demi, the youngest at fifteen, hated being off school. Babs understood her moody-mare’s hormonally-induced personality disorder but at least for a few hours a day she was the teacher’s problem child. Not hers. She was now!
Sometimes, nice Demi went to bed with a cup of tea and her latest book and then overnight, she’d be possessed by an eye-rolling she-devil. Nobody ever knew which version would come stomping down the stairs for breakfast and as the kitchen door opened, Babs hoped it wasn’t the girl who could chill the atmosphere with her presence and freeze your blood with a frosty glare.
For the most part though, Demi was a good kid, extremely bright and hard-working. A regular mother’s little helper and ally, which was why Babs often forgave the mood swings – after all, she knew exactly how it felt.
Then there was Sasha. What could Babs say about their middle child that didn’t make her sound like the most critical mother in the world? That she was lazy, scruffy, lacked direction, needed to get off her arse and get a proper job, was man-mad, and an all-round let-down.
Yes, that summed Sasha up nicely. She’d graduated from university with a 2:2 in Media and Journalism and had spent the last nine months going from one job disaster to another, none of them remotely to do with her chosen field of very costly expertise.
She’d started off at the garden centre until it got too cold. At Frankie & Benny’s the piped music sent her mad. At KFC the sight of raw chicken made her heave, as did the fumes at the petrol station, where to be fair, she lasted for a whole miraculous month. She endured one full day at Asda where unfortunately the check-out manager was Jodie, Sasha’s arch-enemy from school. It kicked off during training and Sasha was escorted from the building. And finally, a barmaid at the local pub, which, thanks to the bloody virus, was now closed.
Babs was convinced that Sasha’s student loan would never get paid off, unless the bank waited till she drew her state pension then they were in with a chance.
The sound of a bird chirping very loudly had Babs delving into her shopping bag and after a quick rummage, she located her phone and glanced at the screen, tutting as she swiped to accept the call.
It was Demi. ‘Mum, where are you? I’m starving and there’s nothing nice in.’
‘I’m in the check-out queue at the Co-op, love. Shouldn’t be too long now. Drink some water or make yourself a sarnie.’
An exasperated voice replied. ‘I can’t because Isaac’s had all the bread, the fat basta… greedy pig.’
Babs raised an eyebrow and uttered the words all her kids hated to hear. ‘Have an apple. I’ll be there soon, look, I have to go. It’s nearly my turn.’ Chuckling, Babs disconnected and imagined the look of disgust on Demi’s face as she sloped off to the fruit bowl.
Sighing, Babs got to her feet. There was no point in stalling, so she said goodbye to the ducks and made her way back to the car. After loading her bag onto the passenger seat, Babs sank behind the wheel and resignedly started the engine, nudged her way out of the car park and wished there was a long way home.
CHAPTERFOUR
Apart from a lone dog walker,Buddington was deserted, and it felt quite eerie. She’d lived there all her life and it hadn’t changed a bit. The tiny Cheshire village wasn’t affluent by any means, merely well cared for by the stalwarts. Apart from the retirees and the old guard who like herself, were born and bred there, most of the inhabitants commuted to the larger outlying towns to work, now that many of the farms in the area had scaled down or shut down.
Budders had only three main roads shooting off the roundabout, with the green and duck pond at the centre. On the imaginatively named Main Street, on the village’s periphery, stood the Co-op supermarket, taking up one third of the circumference. It had been built in the early twenties with a few face-lifts since then, and Babs had fond memories of shopping there with her mum and Nan.
In the next third was The Carters public house, a popular hostelry with a thatched roof and quirky, twisted walls held up from the inside by centuries-old timber. And then came the school which was slightly set back in the final section of the roundabout.
St Mary’s Primary was the true heart of the community. With its village hall, sports field, and tennis courts, it not only served the residents of Buddington, but pupils from the nearby village of Gawsworth. All of the Finch children had gone there, as had Babs and Pete before they headed off to the secondary modern on the outskirts of Macclesfield. That had been such an adventure. Catching the bus each morning, leaving the picturesque village behind and experiencing a few hours in a new school with new faces.
She hadn’t appreciated it back then, how perfect, and peaceful village life was, how fortunate she’d been to live there. Dotted along the three roads out, were thatched cottages, beautifully preserved with whitewashed walls and neat gardens, as were the quirky higgledy-piggledy rows of farm terraces that were once inhabited by land-workers.
Nestled safely amongst the lush, rolling Cheshire countryside, Buddington had a crime rate of almost zero. This was due perhaps to its isolated location – if a roaming burglar blinked, he might miss the turning – or perhaps it was the very zealous but mostly redundant neighbourhood watch? Anyway, the residents felt safe and secure in their rural idyll.
Taking the Gawsworth Road, Babs headed out of the village and towards home, which was in a less picturesque setting, behind a purpose-built row of shops on a small estate of houses. A five-minute walk from the chippy, off-licence, launderette and sub-post office, The Willows had been built in the late seventies. Community homes they were called back then; the countryside equivalent to social housing.
She had no idea how the local planners managed to swing the development or who designed the very average set of ten identical cul-de-sacs that held an assortment of properties to suit the nuclear family, one of them being her three-bedroomed detached.
Years later, they’d jumped at the chance to buy their house from the council but deep down, Babs had begun to hate her red-brick, bog-standard home with a passion. It was her prison, that’s how she saw it. No longer a cosy family home to put down roots in. It was tired, far too small for purpose, unless their Isaac finally got a place of his own with his girlfriend Fiona. Demi and Sasha needed a room of their own. Even better, if Sasha managed to keep a job long enough to pay rent and buggered off, Babs could nab the box room and escape Bald Eagle’s snores. Bliss.
She’d had big plans for their family home but none of them had come to fruition. Like new double-glazed windows. Some of that nice woody decking that Gina Morgan had, and a conservatory with one of those rattan furniture sets. There, she would sit and read, well away from the blare of the telly and endless squabbles about the bathroom or whose turn it was to wash the pots. That made her think of the dishwasher.
Don’t even get me started on the dishwasher.
Of course, none of it was going to happen, not while Pete had a hole in his arse because his agenda, his wants, his acceptable extravagances came first, always had.
Like his season ticket to Macclesfield Town –it’s a family tradition, love. Just like the pool team coach trips, and those sly little bets she knew he had at the bookies, not to mention the reason his beer belly looked like he was seven months gone.
