Weeping on Wednesday lm-3 Read online

  Lois stared at him. “A piano!?” she said. “Since when? You haven’t exactly shone on the violin at school. Why a piano? Which, by the way,” she added, “there’s no chance of your getting. Do you know how much they cost?”

  Jamie looked crushed, and nobody said anything for a moment. Then Enid cleared her throat and said in her tentative way, “I might be able to help. The lady at Farnden Manor – you know, where I go on Tuesdays – said she wanted to get rid of one of their pianos. This one’s in the nursery, and never opened now the children are grown.”

  “Oh, Enid,” groaned Lois. Why had she mentioned that? Now there’d be a campaign from Jamie until either she or Derek gave way. “And what about lessons?” she said. “We can’t afford that, Jamie.”

  “I could probably help there, too,” Enid said treacherously. “I used to play a lot. I could give Jamie some lessons – free, of course – and that would be a pleasure, I assure you.”

  “There you are!” said Jamie. “Thanks, Miss Abraham. Can I come to your house for lessons?” Enid’s face clouded, and her reply was instant. “No, dear. I’ll come here, if that’s convenient. We don’t have visitors at the mill.”

  “Right,” said Jamie, “all settled then, Mum?”

  Lois looked at the colour returning to his cheeks and sighed. “It’s very kind of you, Enid,” she said. “I’ll discuss it with your father, Jamie.”

  Jamie grinned, knowing exactly what Dad would say at first. It was just a case of choosing the right moment, but he could rely on Mum for that.

  ∨ Weeping on Wednesday ∧

  Twelve

  Bill as cleaner had been something of a surprise to Lois. She had been quite prepared for a longish period of training, of polishing up his skills with fine furniture and vulnerable porcelain. When she went with him on his first morning at the estate agent’s, he lifted with ease heavy filing cabinets so she could clean behind them, moved wobbly display units of houses for sale without collapsing the lot, and polished with gusto the blonde’s desktop, saying cheerfully that she could see herself in all her glory now. So far so good. Strong muscles obviously helpful. Next was a cantankerous old lady, whose drawing-room was like a museum, with a collection of priceless Royal Worcester china.

  “Irreplaceable,” the old lady said, looking doubtfully at Bill. Lois crossed her fingers and said everything would be fine. She would see to it herself.

  “Trust me, Mrs M,” Bill whispered.

  She took a deep breath. “Right, Bill,” she said, crossing her fingers behind her back. “I’ll just empty the wastepaper basket, and you can make a start on the dresser over there. Be very, very careful.”

  It was quiet in the house. The old lady had retreated to her bedroom to sit in an armchair giving her a view of the garden, where she planned to read The Times financial pages until Lois made her a cup of coffee mid-morning. Lois returned from the wheelie-bin ready to pick up the broken pieces and offer compensation. But Bill, with an expression of fierce concentration, was taking down one lovely ornament after another and treating each with a confident dexterity that was equal to anything she or the other girls could manage.

  She moved about the room quietly, surreptitiously glancing across to see Bill at work. In the end, she relaxed. It was OK. His big hands were gentle. Well, farmers had to be gentle sometimes, she supposed, delivering lambs and all that. Lucky old Rebecca.

  The old lady made a tour of inspection before they left, pronounced herself well satisfied, and came to the door with them as they left. She beamed at Bill and said she would look forward to seeing him next week.

  “Well done,” Lois said. “Bit of a conquest there! I suppose you’re used to the effect you have on girls of all ages?”

  “Yep,” said Bill cheerfully. “Can come in very useful.” He looked at Lois as they stood outside the garden gate. No chance of a conquest there. She was a tough one, and had made the boundaries quite clear.

  “Where next, Mrs M?” he said.

  “Dalling Hall,” she said. “It’s a hotel, and they’re expanding, converting stables into more accommodation. That means extra cleaning, and we’re off to make sure New Brooms gets the contract. You’d better follow me. Have to go in at the tradesmen’s entrance, of course,” she added.

  Bill shrugged. “Well, you can’t blame them, not wanting that old banger out front…” He gestured at Lois’s car, and wondered if he’d gone too far.

  Lois laughed. “You wait,” she said. “When my gleaming white van draws up one day outside Dalling Hall, the guests’ll know they’re getting a quality service. Anyway,” she added briskly, “we’re wasting time. See you there.”

  “Yes, boss,” said Bill, getting into his own car and following meekly behind Lois until they reached Dalling Hall.

  ♦

  The contract was secured, and Lois drove home in a good mood. Then she remembered what she had in her euphoria promised Bill. There was a special school concert at Waltonby tonight, very special, according to Bill, with Rebecca playing the flute, and a popular local singer, as well as wonderful contributions from the children. They were worried the floods might keep people away, and he asked if there was a chance Lois could come? Jamie might enjoy it too, he’d added hopefully.

  Lois said the children had too much homework but she would try to be there, and maybe bring Gran. She thought it was not quite Derek’s kind of thing…

  But when she got home and asked Gran, she was reminded that things were very tense in The Archers, which could not possibly be missed, and anyway, there was a huge pile of ironing which she planned to do whilst watching a good film on the telly.

  “Right,” said Lois. “It’s just me. Never mind about the terrible weather and floods and lightnin’ an’ thunder and…” Jamie looked up from the kitchen table. “I’ll come, Mum,” he said. “I could help, if you get stuck.”

  “No, no,” Lois said quickly. “Only joking, Jamie. I’ll set off in a while, and be there and back before you know it. These school concerts are usually quite short. The children can’t sit still for too long. No, you get the kettle on for when I get back. That’d be a real help.”

  ♦

  The rising water in the mill stream and pond had alarmed Enid, and she’d gone to bed before tea, saying she had a headache. She buried her head under the covers and willed herself to sleep. Downstairs, Walter sat with his newspaper, and although he rustled pages from time to time, he couldn’t read. The storm raged outside, and the sounds of crashing thunder and flapping bits of corrugated iron on the barns were joined by Mother’s protests from her room. He’d tried several times to calm her, but only seemed to make her worse.

  Walter put down his newspaper and closed his eyes. Poor Enid, she’d had a rotten time, with Mother having got so difficult. He felt ashamed and helpless, and wished he could put it right for them all. Edward had made a life for himself, of a sort, but Enid had tried to do her duty, staying at home and running the house, and had reaped no reward. The fault lay with himself, Walter thought. If he hadn’t been so weak and let Mother get away with it, they wouldn’t be in this mess. Still, at least my girl’s got herself a job that takes her into the outside world most days, he thought. She’d showed a strength over this, in the face of Mother’s violent opposition, that he had not seen before. If only he could follow her example.

  Now there was another bout of shouting and banging, and he put his hands over his ears. Then he got up, wiping tears from his face, and left the room.

  ♦

  The first half of the concert went on much longer than Lois expected. There was to be an interval, and this went on for half an hour. There were drinks and biscuits and a great deal of shouting and whooping from the children, with animated conversation from proud parents. Just as a bell was rung and they were returning to their seats, Lois felt a hand on her arm. “Evening, Mrs Meade.” It was Inspector Cow gill, smiling at her, with a sour-faced woman standing close beside him.

  “What are you doing
here?” Lois said, and realized that was not exactly polite. But she was taken by surprise, seeing him out of context.

  “Our grandchildren are performing,” said the woman in an icy voice. She was clearly Mrs Cowgill, though she was not introduced.

  “Ah,” said Lois, casting about for something friendly to say. “That’s nice.”

  “Oh, look, dear,” said Cowgill, turning his wife round to see a fracas at the other side of the room. “I think it’s our little ones, fighting for supremacy. Better go and sort them out. They take notice of you.” Mrs Cowgill gave him a basilisk stare and moved away.

  “Lois, we need to talk. About the Abrahams,” he said quickly. “I’ll ring you tomorrow morning, nine o’clock. Be there, won’t you.” Then he was gone, putting on a benign face, leaving her to resume her seat next to a large man who had an appalling cold and no handkerchief.

  When she finally found her car in a totally blacked out village street, she was soaked to the skin. The rain fell in sheets, driven by a strong wind, and as Lois stepped into the road to unlock the door, her foot was submerged in an icy puddle. “Shit!” she said. She climbed into the car and took off her shoe. Halfway along the road to Long Farnden, she saw in front of her what looked like a broad lake, stretching from hedge to hedge. The ditches must have overflowed whilst she’d been in the school. Now what? Maybe they’d drained the swollen mill stream on the Fletcham road. She knew Enid was contacting the council. It was worth a try. She reversed into a gateway, had difficulty with skidding wheels, but finally retraced her way to Waltonby. This time she took the turn to Fletcham, going slowly and peering through the driving rain as she approached the tunnel of trees near Cathanger. Halfway through, her engine spluttered, juddered and finally died. She realized she was stuck in the middle of a rushing flood.

  “Oh, no!” Lois yelled to no one at all. “What the hell am I going to do?”

  She squelched her foot back into its shoe, and opened her door. Rain lashed into the car, and she retreated into her seat. Derek would have to come and rescue her. She reached for her bag and took out her mobile. No comforting little screen lit up. Dead as mutton. Then she remembered she’d meant to charge it up last night. She threw it on to the back seat and gritted her teeth. Nothing else for it. She’d have to go and get help. And the nearest habitation was Cathanger Mill, well-known for its warm welcome and ever-open hospitality…She could try to get to the Charringtons, but was pretty sure Rosie had said they’d be away all week. Skiing, or something stupid. Lois banged her fists on the steering wheel, heaped abuse on her unresponsive car, and got out into the storm.

  Everywhere, on every side, was the fearful sound of rushing water. She kept to the side by the verge, and as she approached the bridge, grabbed the handrail with relief. The flood in the road was deep, and flowing so fast that she felt as if her feet were about to be swept away any minute. She stopped to get her breath back, and turned to look down into the noisy stream. It was a torrent, and in the glimmer of light filtering through the overhanging trees, she could see it about to burst its banks further down stream. A natural dam had formed, made of twigs and detritus washed down from the fields, and in the urgency of finding a new pathway, the stream had divided into two channels.

  Something solid in the world of swirling water caught her eye. It appeared from under the bridge, rolling and bobbing in the current. She watched it, trying to see what it was, but in the almost complete darkness, she could make out only a dark shape. But it was big. Moving fast. When it reached the dam, it lurched into the mass of wood and stones and stuck. Lois tried hard to focus on some part of it that might give her a clue. Then, suddenly emerging above the waterline, she saw a white, face-shaped blur.

  Lois screamed. Everything swam around her, and she grabbed the rail with both hands, feeling herself falling. She was part of the watery world, her shoes full and heavy, her sodden hair conducting rivulets of water down her neck, her hands slippery and frozen. With a huge effort, she shook herself like an old, wet dog, and began to run as best she could, stumbling, sloshing and sliding, until she reached the entrance to Cathanger Mill.

  Halfway up the drive, she turned her ankle in a pothole, and cried out. But the wind carried her voice up and away. She limped on, until the dark outline of the house showed amongst the trees. They must be there, she thought desperately, although no lights showed. Thick curtains, probably, to keep out the draughts. Enid had told her about the difficulties with her mother. Darkness was one of her little ways, no doubt, to repel all boarders.

  Just as she approached the door, she saw it open and someone step out into the yard.

  “Mr Abraham?” she said loudly, and saw his head whip round and something gun-shaped raised in her direction. “Please!” she shouted. “It’s me, Lois Meade…your Enid works for me. Can you help? Please! There’s somebody in the stream!”

  After what seemed like hours to Lois, Mr Abraham went back into the house, and then reappeared with a big torch and an old, broken umbrella which he handed to Lois. “You’d better show me,” he said.

  “Too late for that,” Lois said, refusing the umbrella.

  “Follow me,” said Mr Abrahams. “You look as if you’ve hurt your leg. I know the way to avoid the potholes. Stay close behind.”

  Lois was only too pleased. She’d never spoken to him before, not in the shop or round the village, but he sounded more nervous than angry at being disturbed. The rain was lighter now, and it was easier to see over the bridge and downstream to the dam. Mr Abraham shone his torch, but it was too weak to be much good.

  “Looks like it’s gone,” said Lois flatly.

  “If there was anything,” said Walter Abraham. “The shadows play funny tricks. Could’ve been an old sack or something caught in a whirlpool. This water’s running so fast it could do that. That’s what I reckon – a whirlpool. Shame it frightened you.”

  But Lois was not satisfied. She had seen more than a whirlpool. “Could it’ve moved on, got taken downstream, round the side of the dam?” she said.

  Mr Abraham shook his head. “Dunno,” he said. “Most of the water’s backing up. That’s why it’s flooding the road. Better get back now. I’ll get out there tomorrow and try to clear it.”

  Lois felt frustrated. She was quite sure she had seen a face, and from the helpless way it was tossed about by the water, there was not much life in it. But there was nothing more she could do. “Could you keep a good lookout for anything that might have been…well, you know…?” she said, but was not encouraged by his blank expression.

  The sound of a car distracted them. Lights approached the flood, and a Land Rover loomed into sight. The door opened and a tall figure got out. “Hi! Need any help?”

  “Bill!” shouted Lois, and sloshed quickly towards him. She’d seen him at the conceit, talking to a pleasant-looking girl by the stage. His Rebecca, no doubt.

  “Mrs M? What the…?”

  She explained, and asked if he would take a look at the dam.

  But Bill came to the same conclusion as Mr Abraham. It must have been a sack, or an old cardboard box in the whirlpool. Between them they pushed her car out of the water and got it going again.

  “Lucky I was around,” said Bill. “Had to take someone home to Farnden. I’ll turn around and follow you,” he added, “just to make sure.”

  Mr Abraham disappeared into the darkness without another word.

  ∨ Weeping on Wednesday ∧

  Thirteen

  “Lois? Good morning, how are you after that stimulating theatrical experience at the school?”

  “Ha ha,” said Lois. She had finished breakfast, and was sitting in her office staring into space. Last night, when she had appeared, soaked to the skin and dripping pools of icy water on the kitchen floor, they had greeted her with silence.

  Finally Derek had spoken. “I’m not goin’ to say nothing,” he said, “but if you come home looking like that again, I am imposing a curfew. Not allowed out after six thirty on your
own. That’s all.” He had turned off the alarm clock, and warned Gran to let her sleep in.

  Before she’d gone to bed, she had looked in on Jamie. He’d been complaining about a sore throat again, but had insisted on waiting up for her until Derek sent him to bed. He had looked peaceful enough, and she’d bent to kiss his warm cheek. She’d let him down again.

  “Lois? Are you there?”

  “Yes, Inspector Cowgill,” she sighed. “I’m here. What d’you want to talk about?”

  It would be much better if she’d never heard from Cowgill again, but nagging away at her was that tossing body in the torrent, the white face above the flood. If he needed her, she certainly needed him right now.

  “We have to find a new place to meet,” he said firmly. “The woods are impossible after all the rain. Any ideas?”

  Lois was tired, dispirited. “The police station?” she said.

  There was a pause. “Not feeling too well?” said Cowgill.

  “I’m all right,” Lois replied, and applied herself to finding a suitable place for a tryst with a policeman.

  “Well,” said Cowgill, after waiting a few seconds, “I was wondering if you still take the old lady’s dog for a walk? You do? Right, well, that would be the perfect cover. At the bottom of the recreation ground, there’s a gate and a footpath. It leads through the old allotments down a track to a barn. It’s not used at all now, but the track’s good. Nobody goes down there. Belongs to the parish council, but they don’t use it any more. They asked us to keep an eye on it, in case of vandals, and we locked it up. I’ve got a key.”

  “Who else has got one?” said Lois. She didn’t much like the sound of it.

  “Nobody,” said Cowgill. “At least, yes, Constable Simpson has one. The parish council are quite happy about that. Only too pleased to offload the responsibility. They can go to him if they want to get into it, and I’ve told him not to give anyone the key unless I OK it first.”