There was always enough spare for the things Bald Eagle wanted. Not a meal deal from the Co-op, though.
And it wasn’t just a case of money, either. She was a saver, and they could afford bits here and there. It was the lack of motivation that hindered her plans. And the excuses of course. Like his bad back – that meant decking was a no-no. The leaky windowsstill had a bit of life in them yet,andsorry love, there’s not enough room in the garden for a conservatory…
Babs had tuned out his excuses long ago then just gave up asking. It also saved having a row, so instead she enjoyed the moments she spent in other people’s lovely homes. Admiring their tasteful nick-nacks as she dusted, hoovered their plush carpets with the twinkly bits of glitter in, or loading their state-of-the-art washing machines that played a tune when the cycle finished.
Best of all, was sitting on classy rattan furniture on the woody deck and having a cup of tea with her favourite client, and friend Gina. Babs had a soft spot for the young mum who she’d known all her life because she hadn’t had an easy time growing up. It had all turned out fine when she found Jimmy, who was dedicated to giving Gina all the things she’d missed out on. And with a mum like hers, Gina had missed out on a lot, including love.
They often had a catch-up after work, in nice weather sitting on the lovely patio with a cup of tea and a biscuit, or otherwise in the beautiful kitchen that Babs coveted. Actually, it was mostly Babs who ate the biscuits, posh ones from M&S. To hell with her diet.
Gina didn’t eat biscuits. In fact, lately she looked like she hadn’t been eating much at all. Babs had intended having a tactful word with her because she didn’t want Gina falling back into her old ways. The little chat wouldn’t be happening any time soon, but there was always the phone. Babs would keep in touch that way, just in case.
Babs huffed loudly as she pootled onwards. It was that bloody lot in China that she blamed, especially after she’d seen the photos of the wet markets on the news. It had made her gag and put her right off takeaways. She wasn’t going to ban them though, but only because it meant she didn’t have to cook.
Babs was lost in thought as she left the quaint section of the village behind, mentally going through the menu at the Golden Bridge Chippy as she followed a short expanse of country road. And there, up ahead, set at an angle was the yellow sandstone edifice of St Mary’s Parish Church.
It loomed high over the village. The square clock tower and steeple could be seen from most locations and as far as Babs was concerned it was a blot on the landscape. It was nothing special, as churches go, the kind that little kids drew in crayon, simple in design, oblong, wide arched doors to the front, with a flagstone path to the porticoed gateway. It was surrounded on all sides by gravestones dating back to the 1800s when it was built and to the rear, the drystone walls separated consecrated land from the farmer’s fields. To the right, almost obscured by the mature trees that lined the perimeter stood the vicarage.
From the outside, parishioners had no reason to believe it was nothing more than their dear vicar’s family home. The sandstone façade was adorned by a yellow climbing rose that gracefully wound its way along the archway above the front door and in bloom, its beauty belied the ugly misery of what was going on behind it. And Babs knew who to blame for that.
Again, she felt a swell of rage, this time directed at one person in particular. The Reverend Edmund Hilyard, vicar of the parish. Babs despised him. As far as she was concerned he was a bigoted fake and if it hadn’t been for two things, she’d have told him where to stick his cleaning job. Not just that, she reckoned his boss, not the Archbishop of Canterbury, the one upstairs, would agree. But she needed the money.
And no way could she leave Robin, his lovely wife in the lurch, not under the circumstances when the poor woman needed all the support and friendship she could get. Which was why Babs bit her tongue, averted her eyes, and got on with her work whenever he was around.
Leaving the spectre of St Mary’s behind, Babs put her foot down and zoomed along the country road and then, after a gentle bend and another patch of greenery she passed the shops. The Golden Bridge chippy and the bus stop with the concrete bench that held the usual gaggle of bored youths.
Maybe lockdown will keep the little buggers on the straight and narrow for a while, thought Babs as she indicated left and took the narrow road which led to The Willows.
This thought led to another. That even though it had been a sobering moment when the PM made his announcement, money worries aside, there might actually be some benefits to her situation. For a start she wouldn’t be up at the crack of dawn to start her early shift, so for the first time in ages she’d have a big lie-in, every day if she wanted.
The forecast said it would be a scorcher of a week, so she’d get Isaac to cut the grass, unless it was Pete’s turn. Oh Lordy, another row was on the cards… Sod it, she’d do it herself, and then she could get the deckchairs out, sit in the sun and read, maybe get a bit of a tan.
Then another thought pinged, and this was the best… if they had to cancel the summer holiday that she was dreading, then the money they’d save could be used for some home improvements. And now Pete couldn’t go to the football, or pool, or the pub or anywhere apart from the cab of his bin-waggon, he’d have plenty of free time on his hands. Same as Isaac.
Chuckling at her own cunning, and with her mind still ticking, Babs smiled as she walked up the side path, ignoring the fact that nobody had bothered to bring in the washing she’d hung out at 5.30am that morning. It just made her even more determined.
Things needed to change at Finch Towers and while she had plenty of time on her hands, not only was she going to take some well-earned rest, she was also going to give them indoors a much-needed kick up the arse.
CHAPTERFIVE
ROBIN
Robin was makingher way along the flagstone path that skirted the church walls when she spotted the little blue Fiat as it sped by and even though she’d raised her arm and waved, Babs hadn’t noticed her. The sight of the car disappearing into the distance had made Robin sad and she knew why. It was the notion that had Babs stopped, it would have been Robin’s last chance to talk to someone on the outside, a cheeky catch-up, a cheery smile, a problem shared.
Never mind. Banishing the maudlin, she continued on her route to the sunny side of the church because today of all days she needed some light in her life. Robin checked her wristwatch, awarding herself thirty minutes of fresh air and solitude before heading back to the vicarage.
She’d been desperate to escape the confines of her home that since early morning had echoed with the monotonous sound of her husband’s droning. And it really did drone, like one of those flying camera things hovering above your head, the buzzy vibrations invading your ear and burrowing into your brain.
Edmund utilised the same tone for every conceivable situation and event where his colourless vocabulary was accompanied by the actual sound of tedium. It was bizarre but true. Edmund had canned the art of conveying misery, distorting words into uninspiring, flat sermons that he would project right to the back of the nave.
And it didn’t matter what the occasion. Sunday service, prize-giving at the summer fete. Even on happy occasions Edmund nailed it. A wedding would seem more like a death knell. A baptism an ominous portent of a life not yet lived. He was a bloody natural at funerals.
There was an exception. Because when he was angry, Edmund miraculously made full use of his range and vocal cords. He loved a good old rant and was in his element condemning the sinner to eternal damnation, advocating repentance, serving the threat of divine punishment as a side dish. Edmund was a natural and could put any fire-and-brimstone Methodist to shame.
It had happened many times, not necessarily in the pulpit. Most notably when someone stole the lead off the church roof – he was incandescent and actually drove to the traveller site in the next town to accuse them. Stupid move because a week later someone pinched the wheels off his car. Oh, that had really made Robin smile, seeing his Honda Civic on the drive, on bricks.
Then they’d had ‘the trouble’ with their son Cris and Tom, Babs’ younger brother. An awful time. Just thinking of it made Robin shudder. There was no mirth to be found in that situation but at least she and Babs had managed to stay friends, despite how Edmund had behaved.
She should be used to it by now, after thirty-three years, and realised that marriage, hers anyway, was merely a form of earthly torture that she’d just have to live with. A penance for a sin she had willingly committed.
