Hattie's Story

 5

Hattie’s Story

    The reason for Hattie’s presence in Abbot’s Halt was, as Miriam Green pointed out, leaning on her counter, rather a long story!

    “Wouldn’t say that. Complicated, if yer like,” said the woman who had been introduced to Hill as Mrs Biggs, with a slight sniff.

    “Is it?” said Hill feebly. It was only too evident these worthies had spotted him. But who else was there to ask? The terrifying parakeet? “I see.”

    “Yeah, well, not so much Hattie’s bits. She’s not a complicated person, see?” said Mrs Biggs kindly. “But you may well ask why she’s got one half-Jap kid and one little Black kid living with ’er!”

    Eh? Indeed he might! “Oh, uh, her friend Joanna’s Black, isn’t she?”

    “Yes,” said the shopkeeper quickly, “but little Gordon was with her before she came!”

    “Go on, then, tell ’im,” said Mrs Biggs drily.

    In spite of his considerable feeling of urgency Hill experienced a strong desire to laugh as the unfortunate woman opened and closed her mouth and then gave Mrs Biggs a bitter glare.

    “Yeah,” that worthy said with a sniff. “Thing is, Hattie was living with ’er granddad in London before she come down ’ere.”

    “Oh, yes: she said!” he remembered.

    “Right. The gran died. Anyway, ’e’d done okay: bought a three-storeyed place that was in three flats—no, four, there was the basement as well.”

    “Yes, that’s where the two gays lived, and the, um, person,” said Miss Green on a lame note, “with the cats.”

    “Transsexual with the cats,” corrected Mrs Biggs very drily indeed. “Well, London: full of all sorts, innit?” she said tolerantly to Hill. “Kit, was the name.”

    “They all used to use the cottage for weekends. Kit was tall, with auburn hair,” said the shopkeeper, swallowing.

    “Loads of lipstick. Looked like a man in drag,” added Mrs Biggs on a sardonic note. “Hattie’s got the cats now: Kit went off to Birmingham with a feller—after the op, so I suppose yer could call ’er ‘she.’ Left the cats with Hattie ’cos she felt the feller ’ad enough to cope with, or so the story runs.”

    There was a slight hiatus while an overdressed woman whom Hill recalled vaguely from the social came in, greeted them all politely, bought a jar of Nescafé, a packet of Digestives, a small tin of toffees, and a pack of quilted pastel toilet paper, remarked on the pleasantness of the weather, and exited.

    “’Is legs,” noted Mrs Biggs, “don’t work. Though I dare say if she dropped dead he’d manage to haul ’imself in ’ere for his blessed toffees.”

    “Ignore her, Sir Hilliard,” said the shopkeeper feebly. “Mr Anderson isn’t a cripple, it’s just that he’s one of those men that don’t like shopping.”

    “I see! And please, not Sir Hilliard; won’t you both call me Hill?” he said nicely. “It’s only people like my solicitor who call me Sir Hilliard.”

    Beaming, Miriam and June assured him they would, and it was Miriam and June! The latter noting by the by: “People like your solicitor and Ma Everton,” and Miriam and, alas, Hill, both collapsing in wheezing fits.

    “Oh, Lor’!” he said, wiping his eyes. “So Hattie’s got some cats from a transsexual, plus a couple of little boys from other sources, has she?”

    Unexpectedly June collapsed in another fit at this one.

    “Yes,” said Miriam, looking pleased. “Kenny’s her half-brother: he’s thirteen. Well, I don’t think the mother ever married his dad, but from what Joanna said he’s sending his board, and he’s going to pay his fees at Ditterminster School—just a day-boy, he’ll be.”

    “Uh—oh! Kenny! Of course: the father was Japanese! My God, the bloody mother’s dumped him on her?”

    Miriam and June exchanged glances. “Pretty much,” said June drily. “Well, you see, old Perkins died and left the lot to Hattie—but all the same! Hattie came over all the way from Australia to stay with the old coot.”

    “Yes, she told me her mother elected her for the task,” he said with a smile.

    June and Miriam looked at the smile with undisguised interest. “That’d be right,” agreed June. “Thing is, Hattie wrote and asked them—”

    “No, that was later, June!”

    “Eh? Was it?”

    “Yes. First,” said Miriam impressively, leaning on her counter, “the house burnt down!”

    “Oh—right. Yes, that’s it, Hill, old Perkins’s house in London burnt down. It was Gordon’s mum—total loss, she is, too. Left the sun-bed on, think it was.”

    “I think it was faulty wiring,” Miriam corrected. “But it was the sun-bed: little Gordon told me that himself, just after they came down here to live. I can see him now, standing just where you are, Hill, making me promise not to tell anyone it was his mum’s fault, bless him!”

    “See, Amanda, what’s Gordon’s mum, she’s a big Black woman— Saw ’er once or twice, didn’t we, Miriam?” June interrupted herself.

    “Loads of times, she often did the shopping when they came for the weekend.”

    “Well, anyway, she run ’er own business in London, waxing and nails and stuff.”

    “They had the ground-floor flat in Hattie’s house, Hill,” elaborated Miriam kindly.

    “I see. Um, waxing?” he groped.

    Miriam shuddered.

    “Yeah. Wouldn’t let no-one near my legs with a load of ’ot wax, not to say points further north!” agreed June, also shuddering.

    “Oh! Waxing! –Oh, good God, the place would have gone up like an incendiary bomb,” he croaked.

    “Think it did,” agreed June with satisfaction. “Mind you, the little boy was pretty shocked. Well, enjoyed it, kids always enjoy a fire, don’t they? But shocked as well.”

    “Little Gordon,” explained Miriam. “He’s nine.”

    “Yeah. The place was a write-off.”

    “Um, yes. Well, Hattie had the insurance, you see, Hill, it wasn’t a total disaster, and then she was offered a very good price for the site,” Miriam continued.

    “Yeah, and if only the air ’ostesses from upstairs and that pair of gays from the basement ’ad stuck by ’er, she could’ve rebuilt and ’ad a nice steady income!” said June fiercely.

    “Mm. Well, that was more or less why she didn’t bother, I think,” said Miriam, smiling at Hill. “–Brad White,” she said grimly to a small tee-shirted object who had just come in and was looking thoughtfully at a tin of peas, “I know exactly what you’re up to! Buy something or get out!”

    Scowling, Master White got out.

    “Kids,” said Miriam with a sigh. “Well, that’s how Hattie ended up with Gordon, you see, Hill.”

    “His mother was killed in the fire?” he said in horror.

    “No!” cried June scornfully. “Honestly, Miriam! No-one was hurt, Hill: it was a Sunday afternoon, most of ’em were out. No, the cow took off for America with a man, about a month back. Known ’im for about two seconds, too.”

    “He sounds really nice, actually,” said Miriam on a weak note. “But she hadn’t known him very long, no. He’s from New York: he was over here on one of those tours where they give you the option of going on with the tour or staying put.”

    “Welsh castles,” noted June neutrally. “’E stayed in London. Met ’er in a record shop, sorted that ruddy Shelby out—the woman couldn’t control ’im when they were down ’ere, either, you couldn’t leave yer kitchen window open, and I’d swear blind that funny chair of Hattie’s is one the little sod nicked from—” She broke off hurriedly.

    “Hullo, Mr Hutton,” said Miriam on a weak note to the florid elderly man who’d just come in. “The usual, is it?”

    Mr Hutton greeted her politely, accepted the usual—a loaf of sliced white bread—and asked if she had minted peas in. No: she’d run out and the delivery wasn’t due until Friday. The plain ones were nice, though! Or there were some lovely frozen beans! Mr Hutton hated frozen beans, and moved off slowly to inspect the tinned vegetables, Miriam meanwhile tidying her perfectly neat counter top and June looking closely at a display of Smarties and lollipops on sticks. Mr Hutton’s purchases were finalised as the loaf of bread, a small tin of beans, a jar of Nescafé, a packet of Digestives and a pack of quilted pastel toilet paper. Remarking by the by on the pleasantness of the weather, he bade the company a polite good-day, and exited.

    “Nicked from him?” said Hill eagerly.

    June winked. “Heart-shaped things, they are: horrible. Think ’is late wife chose ’em. Used to sit out on ’is front path getting the sun of a morning and leave the chair out while he got ’is lunch. Doesn’t do that any more.”

    Abruptly Miriam collapsed in agonised splutters, so Hill give in and joined her.

    “Anyway, that was Shelby Broadbent,” said June with satisfaction. “Right little tearaway: New York’s welcome to ’im.”

    “Oh, I see: you mean she’s taken the family, June?”

    “Yeah. Well, what’s left of them—yeah. Joanna had already left home, there was only Shelby and little Diana besides Gordon. See, the mum’s not short of a few bob, because she got the insurance from her business.”

    “That’s right,” agreed Miriam eagerly. “And originally the plan was to go to California, because the oldest boy’s working over there. Um, or is he studying, still, June?”

    “Working at a university, I think, though I wouldn’t stake me life on it. Well, the kid doesn’t know what a university is, for a start.”

    “No, well, he’s only ni—” Miriam broke off with a gasp, as with the curious muffled tinkle Hill had already noticed, the shop door swung open and a small, bullet-headed, very dark-skinned boy entered. Yes, he looked about nine. A shortish nine.

    “Hullo, Gordon, lovey,” said June insouciantly.

    “Wotcher, June!” he replied in macho accents.

    Miriam smiled feebly. “Hullo, Gordon, dear, how are you?”

    “In the pink, ta, Miriam, ’ow’s yerself?”

    “Fine, thank you, dear. What can I get you today?”

    “Pound o’ sausages, please!” piped Gordon.

    There were some in the fridge and more in the freezer. Gordon investigated the fridge before Miriam could. “Ooh, bacon!” he reported.

    “Hattie told you to get bacon, did she?” said June.

    “No: wot’s it to yer?” he retorted aggressively.

    “I’m thinking of her purse, Mister Stomach. It ain’t bottomless. And if you wanna keep on coming over to my place, don’t you take that tone with me,” replied the elderly June with remarkable calmness.

    “All right, keep yer ’air on, I didn’t mean nuffink by it. Only she does sausages good, wrapped up in bacon,” he said on a wistful note.

    “That’s more of a winter dish, dear,” said Miriam kindly. “Anything else?”

    “Loaf o’ bread, ta,” he said on an airy note.

    “Gordon,” said Miriam firmly, “it won’t be white bread, I’m not that silly.”

    “We sometimes ’ave it! And it’s ’olidays!”

    “You don’t have it every day. Wholemeal,” said Miriam, placing it on the counter.

    “Ugh!” cried Gordon.

    Ignoring this, Miriam enquired if that was all. Gordon admitted they needed Marmite, though Kenny reckoned it wasn’t as good as Vegemite. And more cat food—he’d look for it! He shot off down the shelves.

    “Well,” noted June, “that is where she keeps the cat food—yeah. Though mind you, first time ’e come in ’ere with ’is mum ’e nicked a tin-opener.”

    Hill looked at Miriam but she just swallowed.

    “I will say this for ’er, she turned out ’is pockets and give it back,” June conceded.

    “Uh-huh.” Casually Hill strolled down the shelves. The little boy was carefully studying the cat food, all right. “Finding what you want?”

    “Wot’s it to yer?” he retorted immediately.

    “Just that I know Hattie,” said Hill apologetically.

    Gordon eyed him suspiciously. “I never seen yer before!”

    “No; I know her from quite a few years back. Well, she’s probably never mentioned it, but I met her when she went on a war gaming course.”

    “That right? Wot she do in this so-called war gamink, then?”

    Hill opened his mouth. He shut it again. He looked at the shrewd little face and the bright black eyes. “She didn’t do anything, much, except cook some delicious meals for us all. What she was supposed to do was climb rocks and take part in mock battles with paint guns, but she wouldn’t.”

    He sniffed, but appeared satisfied. “Nah. She don’t like that sort of stuff. Did you shoot orf paint guns?”

    “Yes.”

    “And climb them rocks?”

    “A bit, yes.”

    Gordon sat back on his heels. “Hattie, she’s scared of heights. The man said she didn’t got no team spirit and they all said she was gonna make their team lose, only she still wouldn’t!”

    “That’s the way I remember it!” agreed Hill, smiling. “And I think I’m the man in question.”

    “Wot’s your name, then?” he demanded.

    “Hill Tarlington. I took the cour—“

    “’Ere!” he cried shrilly. “You’re ’Ill! The Army man!”

    Christ, had Hattie actually mentioned him, then? “Yes,” said Hill shakily. “That’s me.”

    His eyes narrowed. “’Ave you got a gun?”

    Several. Not with him, however, on a summer holiday with his nephews along. “No.” He picked up a tin of cat food rather blindly. “So, uh, how many cats has Hattie got?”

    “Two. They’re our cats now.”

    “Uh-huh. And is there a problem with the cat food?”

    “Nah. See, that there, that’s the brand they like. They don’t like them other brands, and that dry stuff, Meffie, ’e sicks it up. Mandy, ’e likes fish, though.”

    “Yes?” said Hill cautiously.

    “Hattie, she told me to see if there was somefink different that they might like.”

    Oh, Lor’. Nine. “Well, I’d try to find something that looks a bit like the one you know they do like. Let’s see.” He picked up another. “Have they had this?” Gordon shook his head hard. Hill inspected it narrowly, and then the tin of the preferred brand. “See this? And this?”

    “Um… Like lists. Yeah?”

    “Well, they seem to indicate that the contents—um, I mean, that they’ve got largely the same stuff in them.”

    Gordon took both tins and looked hard at the small print that Hill had indicated. “Numbers and stuff,” he said finally.

    “Those stupid lists are too hard for him, Hill,” said June from just behind them.

    “They are not!” he cried shrilly. “I can read all them words!”

    “Give ’em here. And stand up, Gordon, I can’t get down there!”

    Gordon stood up and handed June the tins. “They haven’t tried this one: right?” she said.

    He shook his head. “Nah, thass right.”

    “Good, that’s what Hattie’s looking for. See, she only wants to try it; if they don’t like it she won’t buy it again, goddit?”

    Nodding gratefully, he seized both tins and shot off to the counter.

    “No kids of yer own, eh, Hill?” said June genially.

    “No. I did realize that the analytical task was too hard for him, at his age,” he said humbly.

    “Analytical, eh?” she replied with relish. “See, you can look at them two daft lists—they’re all lies, mind you—and disregard them numbers and crap and anything that’s a micro-milligram, and just concentrate on the main ingredients, but a kid doesn’t know what ’e’s looking at! Got it?”

    “Yes, thank you very much, June!” said Hill with a laugh.

    “Any time. –Oy, Gordon: you tell Hattie from me that just in case the new tin’s got the same stuff in it as what the dry food’s got, ruddy Meffie had better try it outside, okay?”

    “Okay! Ta, June!”

    Miriam was packing his purchases into a plastic carrier bag. “Have you heard from your mum, Gordon?”

    “Yeah, they’re in bleedink New York and I don’t care, and now I won’t never get to see Disneyland!” he returned aggrievedly.

    “You can go over to California later to see your big brother,” said June on a firm note.

    “I’ll be too old for it then!”

    “Actually I don’t think anyone’s too old for Disneyland,” said Hill quickly.

    “That’s right!” agreed Miriam. “Mr and Mrs Bates, they went—their daughter’s settled over there, you see. Well, it’s his third marriage, but he seems to be what she wants, even if his oldest son’s older than she is— Anyway, they were sure they wouldn’t be interested, but they took the grandkids to it, you see, and they had a lovely time! They went on the teacups, and the Magic Mountain, and the monorail!”

    Gordon sniffed but allowed: “Kenny’s been on a monorail in Australia.”

    “Anyway, you’ve been on the London Eye, Gordon,” said June kindly. “I bet there isn’t another kid in Abbot’s Halt that’s been on it!”

    “Wild horses wouldn’t get me on it,” said Miriam with a shudder.

    Gordon brightened. “Hattie, she said that! She’s scared of heights, see.”

    “Well, there you are! I bet you weren’t scared!” replied Miriam cunningly.

    “Nah! It’s nuffink to me!” he said loftily. “See ya!”

    “See ya,” they all agreed as he marched out, gripping his shopping carrier firmly.

    A short silence fell. Then Miriam admitted weakly: “That was Gordon.”

    “Trick, isn’t ’e?” said June. “Not analytical, though. No, well, the Disneyland bit’s a real sore point, and that’s why he come to stay with Hattie!”

    Even though he did want to hear about Hattie Hill now had a strong feeling that if he didn’t escape from their clutches very, very soon he’d go barking mad. “What?”

    “That’s right,” said Miriam, nodding. “Like I say, originally the plan was to go to California, and join up with the oldest boy.”

    “Using ’er insurance money,” clarified June helpfully. “Only she changed ’er mind.”

    Miriam was now serving a small girl in a grimy tee-shirt who had come in with a list. “Ballet,” she prompted. “Did your mum say she wanted a big packet of frozen peas or a small one, Glenda?”

    “Dunno!” she piped.

    “Give ’er a small one. Unminted,” suggested June, poker-face. “Yes, that’s it, Hill: Gordon’s youngest sister, Diana, had started ballet lessons and the teacher thought she might be good enough to get into the Royal Ballet School if she worked, so the mum decided against California. But some nit—my money’d be on that Shelby—had told poor Gordon that Disneyland was in California. So ’e took a scunner against the entire family.”

    “He’s still not over it,” said Miriam, returning from the freezer with a small packet of frozen peas. “That’s it, dear. Tell your mum I’ve given her the posh carrots ’cos we’re out of the others but I’ve charged her for the ordinary ones, can you remember that?”

    Over Glenda’s scornful: “’Course! I’m not a ruddy baby!” Hill said to June: “I see. Er—but then she went to New York after all?”

    “That was New York and a new bloke as against staying put and possible Royal Ballet School,” returned June at her driest. “And by that time Gordon had told the family where to put it and decided to spend his summer holidays down ’ere with Hattie.”

    Miriam saw Glenda and her plastic carrier-bag off, smiling, and returned to the counter. “They have got good ballet schools in New York, though, and the new boyfriend’s granddaughter’s actually going to one: isn’t that a coincidence?”

    “Um, yes,” said Hill weakly. “Er—can carrots be posh as opposed to ordinary, Miriam?”

    “Eh? Oh! Frozen!” she said with a laugh.

    “Of course. So, um, Gordon isn’t with Hattie permanently?”

    June and Miriam exchanged glances. “Dunno what she thinks, and as far as we know the arrangement wasn’t permanent to start out with, but we’re not taking no bets,” explained June.

    “I see. But the brother’s definitely with her permanently?”

    “Kenny. Yes,” agreed Miriam. “Did she ring her mum, June? Well, I dunno,” she admitted, “but I do know that someone in London must of had their head screwed on right, because they told her—”

    “It was the neighbour that took ’er in after the fire. She come down ’ere once. Pushing eighty but all ’er wits about er. Didn’t like the country, though,” put in June.

    “Was that her? The one that’s got a plum tree?” June confirmed this and Miriam went on: “Well, she told Hattie not to let on to ’er mum that she had all this insurance money—”

    “And what she got when she sold the land,” put in June.

    “Was it after that? Yes, I think you’re right. Oh, yes, it was, because that was what decided her to come down here permanent!” beamed Miriam, not perceiving that her audience was now repressing a desire to clutch his head madly and rush screaming from her presence. “Yes, well, old—old Ma Andrews, that’s it! She warned her not to let on to her mum about the money because the woman’d think of some way of getting it off ’er for certain-sure, and just to say she was gonna live in her granddad’s old cottage and did any of the family fancy sharing with her and helping pay the rates.”

    June collapsed in a wheezing fit, nodding violently.

    “Yes,” said Miriam, grinning. “Cunning old bird, eh? The mum told Hattie where to get off, and none of them other brothers and sisters of hers fancied it, they’re all as selfish as their mother, but young Kenny was up for it!”

    “That’s right,” agreed June. She waited while an overdressed woman came in, greeting them all politely, bought a jar of Nescafé, a packet of Digestives, a small bag of unminted frozen peas, though she preferred the minted ones, and a pack of quilted pastel toilet paper, remarked on the pleasantness of the weather, and exited.

    “His legs don’t work?” suggested Hill with a wink.

    “No!” she choked, collapsing in hysterics. “No—widder,” she explained, mopping her eyes. “You got me there, Hill! Never saw that one coming!”

    “I did: from miles away,” said Miriam, grinning.

    “So the woman seized the chance to get rid of Kenny?” pursued Hill.

    “You said it,” June agreed.

    “We’re hoping we might see Kenny’s dad,” said Miriam, smiling.

    “Yeah, that’d be good,” June admitted. She flicked a glance at Hill. “Hattie seems real keen on the idea.”

    “Mm. I got the impression she liked him best of all the mother’s paramours,” he said on a grim note.

    June and Miriam exchanged glances, but merely agreed placidly that that was right: the rest of them seemed to be a load of no-hopers.

    And, as an overdressed woman whom Hill did remember vaguely from the social came in and greeted them all politely—oh, yes, Mrs Rushforth—he seized the chance to grab his bag of shopping, bid the ladies goodbye, and exit while Mrs Rushforth was explaining that she wanted a jar of Nescafé, a packet of Digestives…

    After a day of keeping it all to himself Hill was bursting to confide in someone. But Harriet would be all too sympathetic, and he didn’t want to confide in Allan because he didn’t want to encourage him over Joanna. So he fell back on Will.

    “No notion whether Gordon’s sister is also going to be a permanent fixture, though,” he ended.

    Will eyed him drily. “No? Well, I have: went for a stroll yesterday, got lost, ended up on the outskirts of the village somewhere, and had to ask for directions. Turned out the nice little cottage with the delphiniums blue and geraniums red—actually I think those ones were hollyhocks—turned out it didn’t belong to a rosy-cheeked cottager in a print apron ready to ply me with home-made buns and fresh creamy milk, it belonged to the terrifying parakeet.”

    Hill choked in spite of himself.

    “She pounced on me with all talons—I’d say she’s more like a vulture than anything psittacine,” he noted, “though come to think of it there are these horrible, carnivorous mountain parrots in New Zealand with huge, curved beaks fit for tearing lambs apart—”

    “Rubbish!”

    “No, true: edited a book on alpine birds, once.”

    “Is there a point to this story?” said Hill with a sigh.

    Will eyed him thoughtfully. “Depends on one’s interests, really.”

    “Look, tell me or not!”

    “Very well, but I strongly doubt you’ll like it. According to Ma Everton, Joanna is a very nice girl. Dunno how she managed to convey without saying it that it’s a pity she’s also Black, but it was clear as daylight.”

    “That sort of woman does,” said Hill grimly.

    “Mm. Do you think it’s a pity she’s also Black?”

    “What? No!” he said crossly.

    Will eyed him thoughtfully. “Mm. Well, Ma Everton was most intrigued to see that little Gordon had come down with Hattie and Kenny but without any of the rest of his family, and had to admit she was quite relieved when Joanna turned up several weeks later. And between you and me and the gatepost she thinks dear Hattie may not have realized that Gordon missed a couple of weeks of school.”

    “The kid’s house was burnt out from under him: I’d say he deserves a bit of leeway.”

    “I got the impression that was several months back—however. Kenny’s certainly missing school, the Australians don’t have giant holidays in midwinter. –She didn’t put it like that, but that was the semantic message,” he said kindly. “No, well, personally I’d put it down as a victory for scabby-kneed schoolboys everywhere, wouldn’t you?”

    “Mm,” said Hill, smiling a little. “So Joanna turned up later?”

    “Boy, I bet you never navigated your chaps over the wrong sand dune and ended up blowing up a friendly tank,” he said in admiration.

    “I had a compass,” replied Hill in a bored tone. “And in the episode to which I imagine you’re referring, it was the right sand dune according to what our chaps had been told, and Colin sorted it out before there was an actual disaster.”

    “Pity they didn’t put him in charge of the whole shebang, you’d have been in Baghdad for Christmas. Uh—blow, where was I?”

    “Wandering over sand dunes with a troop of carnivorous New Zealand alpine parrots under the command of the terrifying parakeet, apparently,” replied Hill with some satisfaction.

    “Hah, hah. Oh—right. Ma Everton reckons Joanna came down for the summer hols because after the mum pushed off to Yankland—You got that bit, did you? Right.—After that she could give up her flat, which she wanted to do anyway, because she’d landed a new job over at that poncy dump your lot own on the outskirts of Chipping Ditter. And please do me an immense favour and do not mention the words ‘lovely teas’ to Harriet!”

    “I won’t, but she’ll scent ’em out, y’know!” he said with a laugh.

    Will groaned. “How too horribly true… Gosh, wasn’t it good in Normandy? Absolutely nothing to do all day, and the Frogs have never heard of lovely teas. The cheese was good, too.”

    Oh, dear. Hill hadn’t realized poor old Will had actually enjoyed the dump in Normandy. He bit his lip.

    “No, not active enough for you, old boy, you don’t have to lie,” his brother-in-law said kindly. “The Everton hag gave me a cup of Earl Grey and one of those nasty biscuits with the dab of scented pink plastic on ’em— No? Lucky you. Um… Well, there was a lot of it, and I wasn’t listening all that hard,” he said apologetically. “Um… Yes. Originally Joanna only intended to come for a holiday, and look for a flat closer to work, but Hattie and the boys weren’t using one of the front rooms, so she’s decided to rent it and turn it into a bed-sit. Hattie’s reported to be thrilled, and Ma E. has to admit that without very much compatible company in our isolated little rural community, she was no doubt rather lonely.” He looked at Hill’s tight mouth. “Yeah. And as she isn’t working, and Ma E. doesn’t know all the details, she’ll doubtless be glad of the rent. And dear Joanna’s furniture has already come, which between you and me is just as well, because they had very little.”

    “Of course they had very little, everything she owned was burnt to a cinder!” he shouted.

    “Mrs Everton and I know that, Hill,” said Will kindly.

    Hill grinned sheepishly. “Sorry.”

    “Yeah. And—this may surprise you—it isn’t Kenny but if anything it’s little Gordon who seems a lee-tle jealous that Joanna’s joined them.”

    Hill got up. “I dare say. No doubt he’s fixated on Hattie after the rest of his useless family shrugged him off onto her.”

    “Cor, psychology as well as compasses?” he gasped.

    “Shut up. Where are the boys?”

    Their progenitor looked round vaguely. “Dunno. Out?” he offered.

    “Mm. Well, if we can get downstairs unobserved of anything male between the ages of twelve and twenty and anything female over twenty or under twenty and blabbermouthed—”

    “That cuts out the lot,” he noted.

    “Exactly; if, do you want to explore the further reaches of old Tarlington’s wine cellar with me?”

    Will shot to his feet. “Do I! Lead on, Macduff!”

    They did that. During the course of the exploration Will noted drunkenly that it might be safe for Hill to risk venturing within fifty yards of Hattie’s place once the flowers he’d ordered for her arrived and if he was prepared to apologise for everything whether or not it was his fault, but Hill was able to overlook it, in view of the quality of old Mr Tarlington’s port.

    The flowers arrived from Ditterminster around lunchtime. Hattie was working in the front garden when the florist’s van drew up. At first she assumed they must be for Joanna. Then it became clear they weren’t.

    When Joanna and the boys came back from the shop with a fresh loaf of bread, a dozen eggs, a packet of what Gordon claimed was going to turn into pancakes, and the best Miriam Green could do in the way of maple syrup, the beautiful bunch of flowers was lying on the doorstep and Hattie was grimly weeding with her back to it.

    “What are these?” gasped Joanna.

    “You can have them,” said Hattie grimly, not looking up. “They’re too lovely to chuck out.”

    “Chuck out?” she echoed dazedly, looking for the card. “Who are they from?”

    “Him,” replied Hattie grimly. “He must think I’m a simpleton.”

    Joanna had found the card—though by this time she felt she scarcely needed to. It said: “Hattie, from Hill.” In very fat, over-ornate florist’s writing, the I’s both dotted with horrid little snails.

    “They’re from Hill Tarlington,” she discerned weakly.

    “Ooh, Hattie’s Army man?” gasped Gordon, jumping. “I seen ’im!”

    “Mm.” Joanna eyed Hattie cautiously. “Hattie, dear, it must mean—well, that he’s sorry.”

    “Whaffor?” asked Gordon in perplexity. “’E never made ’er climb no rocks nor shoot orf no paint guns, ’cos she wouldn’t.”

    “Mm. –What? Look, just shut up, Gordon, you’d’ve been about three when it happened!” retorted his big sister heatedly.

    Hattie’s Yorkshire saga had long since entered into Broadbent family folklore, so Gordon replied immediately: “I know all about it, though. –I’d of shot orf a paint gun,” he noted wistfully.

    Actually, Joanna had always sort of thought that that bit might’ve been fun. She cleared her throat. “Hattie, dear—”

    “I fail to see how anybody could read three words, two of which are proper names, as an apology,” replied Hattie grimly, wrenching out an inoffensive plant.

    “Um, didn’t you say before that that was a black-eyed Susan?” said Joanna limply.

    Angrily Hattie snatched it up and slammed it back in its hole.

    “You’ve probably killed it,” noted Kenny detachedly. “Did you say Tarlington? Is he one of the family from Chipping Abbas?”

    “Yes, um, go inside, boys,” said Joanna quickly, as Hattie’s ears and what was visible of the face she was determinedly hiding turned bright pink. “Wash your hands and then see if you can find something to mix the pancakes up in.”

    Gordon rushed inside immediately, with a cry of “Yay! Pancakes!” but Kenny paused to say to his sister: “Don’t you think you better tell her, in that case?” Hattie returned no answer; he shrugged slightly and went inside.

    “Tell me what?” said Joanna after a moment to the grimly gardening Hattie.

    “Nothing. Just something about the stupid Tarlingtons. –Not him,” she added quickly. “Ancient history.”

    “Oh,” said Joanna, assuming it must be some stupid piece of village gossip—there’d been enough of that circulating, since Tarlingtons had reappeared at Chipping Abbas. A favourite story, though not the silliest, was that if everybody had their rights it’d be Bob Prosser, Ted’s older brother, lording it at Chipping Abbas as of this moment: something about their great-grandmother. “I’d say a lovely bouquet like this does constitute an apology, actually.”

    “Then why doesn’t that card contain the word ‘sorry’?” enquired Hattie sourly.

    Joanna bit her lip. “I don’t think many men would fancy having to say that to a florist, Hattie. Well, you know the sort of girls that help out in those shops: that dim Shona White, she was doing the phone at The Flower Box at one stage!” she reminded her.

    “Who?” said Hattie dully.

    Joanna blinked. “Shona. Shona White, Tracy’s sister! She shared with the girls upstairs for three months or so until she took up with Micky Edgell.”

    “Oh,” said Hattie dully. “Her.”

    “So it is an apology,” said Joanna firmly. “I think it’s very thoughtful!” she approved.

    Hattie turned round slowly. “That or very calculated, yeah.”

    Joanna goggled at her.

    “He’s extremely cunning,” she said grimly.

    “Hattie—!” she gasped.

    “But in any case I don’t care. Apologies won’t alter what he is.”

    “Did—did he say something that you haven’t told me about?” faltered Joanna.

    Hattie hadn’t told her that Hill had implied she wasn’t good enough for his brother. Not because she didn’t consider Hill didn’t fully deserve being told on, but because she didn’t want to hurt her feelings. “No,” she lied grimly. “He’s as up-himself as he was at that course and I don’t want anything to do with him. But the florist has chosen some lovely flowers and it’s not their fault the person who paid for them’s a pig. So have them, if you want them.” She turned back to her gardening.

    Feebly Joanna picked up the lovely flowers and took them inside.

    She was up quite early the next morning but Hattie had obviously already been up for ages: all the wooden kitchen furniture was out on the cracked patch of concrete outside the back door. Freshly painted luminous yellow.

    “Hattie, I—I thought we were going to discuss the colour scheme?” she croaked.

    “What’s to discuss? You said the table and chairs needed painting, and Miriam had all this paint going begging,” replied Hattie grimly.

    Of course she had had, it must have been a job lot that no shop owner had ever been able to sell, which was why the outside of the shop was painted in it! Joanna looked feebly at the luminous yellow table and the nice old chairs, not a set, all different shapes, they were really interesting—or they had been—and the new kitchen steps that hadn’t needed painting at all, she’d done them, too, and the funny little cabinet that Shelby had found, he claimed, on a verge, when they were on holiday down here, ages back, and the metal tea trolley that Helga from the upstairs flat at Granddad Perkins’s house had said her brother-in-law reckoned was gonna be chucked out from his work canteen—actually it looked a lot better, yellow—and, oh, dear, the two really nice bar stools that Lambie Heather from the village had given them when she did up her breakfast nook. Hattie had at least covered their padded tops with plastic film before painting them, but they had been in very good condition. And varnished; would the paint even take, on top of that?

    “The bar stools?” she faltered.

    “Those stupid things? They’re too high for me,” said Hattie with a shrug.

    “Y—Um, well, yes, I suppose they are. They boys like them, though,” she said weakly. “Um, will the paint take on top of the varnish?”

    “I sanded it off,” said Hattie grimly. She adjusted her mask over her nose and mouth and, picking up her spray-gun, headed for the kitchen.

    “What are you gonna do now?” gasped Joanna in horror, scrambling after her.

    “The fridge. You said yourself it could do with a lick of enamel.” Grimly she marched into the kitchen. “If you can’t stand the paint, stay out of the kitchen,” she said with a sort of grim humour. What was the expression? Oh, yes. Gallows humour, thought Joanna bleakly. She backed into the doorway.

    Hattie approached the fridge. She pointed the spray gun. Joanna shut her eyes. Hiss-sss!

    Wincing, Joanna retreated.

    She did make an attempt to talk to her, much later that day, when all the furniture had had two coats and Hattie had into the bargain washed the kitchen walls and cupboards. Preparatory to what Joanna hadn’t dared to think. Because really, one could cope with luminous yellow furniture, or at least envisage doing so, but not with luminous yellow everything! The boys had vanished, on discovering there was no lunch—very possibly in the direction of the obliging Lambie Heather’s cottage, but Joanna wasn’t thinking about that, either—and Hattie was right down the back of the veggie patch.

    “Hattie, don’t you think you ought to talk about this?”

    “No,” replied Hattie, digging.

    “A man doesn’t send a girl flowers for nothing.”

    “Look, what’s a bunch of flowers to a man that owns what he does?” she said impatiently. “And I dare say it wasn’t for nothing, I dare say it was Step One in a campaign to get me into bed, though why me, I’m blowed if know! Because no-one’s ever said no to him before and his pride’s injured, probably,” she hazarded, leaning on her spade.

    Unfortunately this seemed very, very likely, in Joanna’s experience of the other sex. She swallowed, and couldn’t think of anything to say.

    “You do know,” said Hattie grimly, “that they think themselves much too good for the likes of us, I suppose?”

    “Nuh— Um, what do you mean?” she croaked.

    “Going by what I overheard being said at their table when I was talking to old Mr Green,” said Hattie, reflecting that that certainly wasn’t incorrect, as far as it went.

    “Hattie,” said Joanna, taking a deep breath, “if you’re talking about that awful cousin of theirs, Allan told me himself that she’s a frightful snob!”

    “Gee, ya mean he’s noticed?”

    “Yes! He’s very nice!”

    “Okay, so where’s the invitation to go out with him to a very nice dinner in his very nice car?” retorted Hattie evilly.

    She swallowed. “Actually, he’s asked me out tomorrow. Not to dinner or—or anything like that. Just for a drive with him and his little girls. We thought we might have tea at the Solarium at the Boddiford Hall Park Royal. Well, just for once, since I haven’t actually started work yet. Being on the receiving end for a change, you know!” she said with an awkward laugh.

    “You’re as entitled as anyone to be served at the dump, it does call itself a hotel,” agreed Hattie grimly. She hesitated. “Look, Joanna, I thought he was nice, too. But his brother and them are horrid: what do you imagine the rest of the family’ll be like? Can you honestly see it going anywhere?”

    Joanna stuck her lovely oval chin in the air. “Why does it have to ‘go’ anywhere? We are both adults. And why shouldn’t I have a nice man, for a change?” she ended on a fierce note.

    “Well, anything’d be an improvement on Adrian Bottle or Jimmy Porter, I have to admit.”

    “Exactly,” said Joanna grimly. “And Hugh Forrest was a total write-off!”

    Her family and friends had sort of thought that was gonna go somewhere, actually, so Hattie replied cautiously: “I thought he was okay? And at least you had the hospitality industry in common.”

    “’E was looking for somethink that could look gracious on ’is arm at their bleeding functions and further ’is career!” snarled Joanna, getting rather loud.

    “Nobody could look more gracious on his arm than you, Joanna,” replied her friend loyally.

    “Um, ta,” she said weakly. “How do you imagine I was gonna further his career, though? I mean, me? If ya wanna know,”—Hattie by this time was feeling strongly she didn’t: she looked at her in sympathetic distress—“he took up with one of the daughters of the Area Manager for the whole of the South-East, and can we forget him, thanks?”

    “Oh, help, with one of the execs’ daught— Um, yeah. Sorry,” she said lamely.

    “That’s okay,” said Joanna on a tired note. “It was only my pride that suffered, really.”

    Maybe it was, but wasn’t that bad enough? Hattie scowled, and dug fiercely.

    “I dare say Allan doesn’t want anything more than a—a sort of holiday thing,” said Joanna at last. “Other people have them: why shouldn’t I?”

    “Mm. If you’re sure you’re not gonna end up worse off than when you started,” said Hattie in rather a small voice.

    “I started being dumped for something that drives a Saab and has a dress allowance and calls its mum ‘Mummy’ at the age of twenty-four, could I be worse off?” replied Joanna with a sudden laugh.

    Well, yes, but Hattie smiled feebly at her and didn’t say so.

    “Um, Hattie, couldn’t you give Hill a second chance?” she ventured. “I—I think you’re condemning him without a hearing.”

    “Look, getting mixed up with a shit like him would he a recipe for total disaster! Added to which I don’t LIKE him!” she shouted.

    “No,” said Joanna faintly, as it now became glaringly apparent, not that it pretty much hadn’t been, since the social—in fact ever since the war gaming—that on the contrary, she liked him too much. “I just—I just thought it might be rather nice, the both of us going out with the two brothers.”

    “Yeah, on Planet Mills and Boon, possibly!” she retorted with feeling.

    “Mm.” Joanna watched glumly as she dug. “Are you digging for potatoes?” she ventured at last.

    “Does this look like a potato patch?” replied Hattie, stopping out of sheer astonishment.

    “Um—dunno, really!” she admitted with a feeble laugh.

    “Evidently. I’m digging over the ground. I’m going to plant quick-growing salad greens.”

    “That’ll be nice. Um, Hattie, I was thinking: the kitchen could look really good with the yellow furniture if we did the cupboards bright white.”

    “Miriam hasn’t got any bright white.”

    “We could buy some in Ditterminster!” she said quickly. “And navy and white gingham: big checks, not the tiny ones, I thought would look smart.”

    “Navy and white gingham what?” demanded Hattie, staring.

    “Um, well, curtains and, um, seat cushions.”

    “Seat cushions? Are you mad? These are the seats two boys sit on to eat food!”

    “Yeah, hah, hah,” replied Joanna, grinning feebly. “Um, gingham’s washable, you see. Well, you must admit it’d look nicer in the kitchen than that orange brocade of Lambie’s!”

    “The bar stools as well? You are a glutton for punishment. Um, actually it sounds really lovely,” she admitted, breaking down and smiling at her. “But, um, how much is gingham?”

    “That’d be my contribution!” she said quickly. “It’s only cheap, anyway, so I’ll get the white paint as well.”

    Feebly Hattie gave in, let Joanna give her a hand with seeding her salad green bed and covering the result with bits of old chicken wire, of which the property featured plenty, even though Gordon had lugged a lot down into the remains of the jungle that had formed the original back garden to help build a hut, and let herself be bustled indoors to change for the drive to Ditterminster.

    What with a quick bite when they got there, and choosing the white paint and consulting the nice man in that shop about what might be done with the plastered walls the kitchen featured and being talked into a tinted whitewash, a faded denim shade that would set off the bright white, the yellow and the gingham, and looking at vinyls and deciding that navy and white vinyl squares might be too much and that a Spanish tile pattern might be nice but there wasn’t one with the right colours, and choosing the gingham and then finding a fat white china hen in that shop that could maybe sit on that cute little cabinet, and since Joanna’s salary had gone up with her new job— What with all this and more, it wasn’t until everything was unpacked and they’d got what was obviously going to have to be the first of at least two coats of faded denim onto the chipped plaster and had both had a wash and collapsed in front of the telly with big mugs of coffee, admitting that a chippy just down the road would be awfully, awfully handy and they sure missed that one back home in London—that it dawned on Joanna that really, she hadn’t managed to say half of what she’d meant to say to Hattie. Oh, dear. Because what if Hill Tarlington wasn’t an up-himself upper-class shit that fancied himself and only wanted her because she’d said no? She should at least have tried to persuade her to give him another chance and find out if he was.

Next chapter:

https://theprojectmanager-anovel.blogspot.com/2022/04/fete.html