“Perhaps we should call for her?”
“No,” said Gran quickly. “She’ll be there already, I expect. Come on, else we’ll be too late for ‘Jerusalem.’” The two of them laughed, and quickened their pace until they reached the hall.
Mrs. Tollervey-Jones sat at a table covered with a green cloth decorated with the WI badge, rapped with her pen, and called the meeting to order. “Good evening, ladies,” she said benevolently.
“Good evening, Mrs. Tollervey-Jones,” chorused the women, for all the world like a bunch of infants in reception class.
“First of all,” Mrs. T-J continued, “I would like to welcome a new member, Mrs. Paula Hickson. Welcome, Paula. So glad you have decided to join us. Anything you would like to know about the WI, don’t hesitate to ask. And our treasurer will be after you later for your subscription!”
A flutter of laughter came from the semicircle of women. Their treasurer was known to be a terror for collecting the subs, and then was very loath to spend them.
The business of the meeting was then conducted, with only one or two interruptions. Paula got the impression that Mrs. T-J ran the whole thing, and did not welcome suggestions or objections. She glanced to her left, where her colleague Sheila Stratford, also on New Brooms’ team, sat comfortably looking out of the window, obviously listening to none of it.
Eventually, when a scratch rounders team had been raised, representatives for the County Scrabble Competition appointed, and a decision on who should go to the AGM at the Albert Hall in London once more postponed, Mrs. T-J got to her feet. She looked down at the patient policeman in uniform sitting next to her, his German Shepherd dog perfectly well behaved at his side, and said that she had great pleasure in introducing James Smith. “Dog handler extraordinary,” she added with a deep chuckle.
“I’LL SAY THIS FOR ’IM,” GRAN SAID, SIPPING HER WI TEA AND nibbling a slightly soft digestive biscuit, “he knew his stuff. I reckon everyone was riveted, didn’t you, Joan?”
“Well, I was,” Joan Pickering answered, but her attention was elsewhere. “Come on, Elsie,” she said. “That new woman’s all on her own, nobody talking to her. Come on,” she repeated. “You know what your Lois said.”
Paula smiled as they approached. “That was interesting,” she said, though Gran noticed her hands were tightly clenched.
“You haven’t got any tea,” Joan said. “I’ll get you a cup.”
“No thanks,” Paula said. “I don’t drink tea. Doesn’t suit me. Thanks, anyway.”
“Did you like the video?” Gran said slyly. “Specially that bit where the dog caught the tramp stealing food from a garden bird-table! That was exciting, wasn’t it! What a nerve! Deserves all he got.”
“What would he’ve got, Mrs. Weedon?” Paula said. “Maybe a night banged up in a cell would have been better than sleeping in a smelly doorway?” Her voice was shaky, and Joan Pickering intervened.
“Tell us about your boys, Paula,” she said. “That little tot is a real charmer! I help out some mornings at the playgroup, and he’s bright as a button.”
And so Gran’s unpleasant remarks passed, and Paula relaxed. As she walked home afterwards with the two of them-Joan Pickering had insisted-she wondered if Mrs. Weedon knew about Jack Sr. Would Mrs. M have told her? She doubted it, but this nasty old woman would be quite capable of picking up bits of info from here and there. She was always hanging about outside Mrs. M’s office door when Paula had been in there.
“How was it for you?” Josie said with a grin, as Paula arrived home.
“Not bad,” Paula said. “Thanks a lot for looking after the boys. No trouble, I hope?”
“Little lambs,” Josie said. “Makes me think children are not such a bad idea after all.”
Paula laughed. “Maybe you should try it,” she said. “Now, how much do I owe you?”
“Don’t be daft,” said Josie. “Just keep shopping at my shop,” she said. “That’ll do well.”
“Any messages?” Paula said, trying to sound casual.
“Oh, yes-I almost forgot. The phone went, and I answered it. It was for Jack Jr. A man’s voice. I called Jack, but he yelled down from his room that he was too busy with his homework. He’d ring back later.”
“Did the man leave a name?” Paula said, anxious now.
Josie shook her head. “Nope. Just put down the phone when I gave him Jack’s message. I hope I did right?”
“Oh, yeah. It’d be one of his teachers, I expect. Probably wanting to know where he is most of the time when he should be in school. He’s a problem, Josie. But still,” she added, doing her best to smile, “I don’t want to put you off kids! And thanks again. I’ll do the same for you, one day.”
AFTER JACK HAD REFUSED TO SPEAK TO HIM, THE MAN SWORE AT the waste of money hard come by, and went out of the phone box into the street. He looked up and down the empty street and decided to take the Tresham road out of the village. No rain tonight, he judged, and set off for last year’s straw stack in a field bordering the road. He had noticed a reasonably clean spring that bubbled up there and fed a running stream that led to the river. In his rucksack he had a couple of stale bread rolls retrieved from a wheelie bin at the back of the shop, and with what was left of a hunk of cheese from the night shelter, he reckoned he would be fine until tomorrow, when he intended to put Plan B into action.
PAULA CLIMBED THE STAIRS WEARILY, HOPING THAT TONIGHT SHE would drop off to sleep straightaway, before the onslaught of old worries crowded in the moment she shut her eyes.
“Mum!” It was Jack Jr., still fully dressed, standing in his doorway, pale and tired looking.
“Time you were in bed,” she said sternly. “You’re not even undressed. Get into your ’jamas straightaway. Then if you ever reach school tomorrow, at least you’ll have had some sleep.”
“Mum!” He put out his hand towards her and burst into tears.
“Jack! For heaven’s sake, what’s the matter? Here, come into my room. You’ll wake the others. Come on, get moving.”
It was some while before he stopped the wrenching sobs that shook his thin body, and Paula’s anxiety mounted. Finally he stopped, shrugged himself free of her comforting hug, and sat on the edge of the bed. There were dark shadows beneath his red-rimmed eyes, and her heart bled for him.
“It was a bloke who gets kids to buy things,” he said in a croaky voice. “On the phone. I didn’t speak to him. That shop lady told him I was doing my homework.”
“What things?”
“He hangs around outside the school. Offers kids what he says are sweets. They’re not, o’ course. Uppers, downers, you name it. Some kids sell ’em on.”
“Are you sure it was him?”
Jack frowned. “Who else?” he said.
“Could have been your father,” she said reluctantly.
Jack shook his head. “Why should he ring me?” he asked bitterly. “No, it was either this drug dealer bloke or the school police. I’m not scared of them, Mum, but I am of him. Can’t you get him to leave me alone? He was outside the school gates the other day, waiting for me.”
“When? Which day?” said Paula urgently.
Jack shook his head. “Can’t remember,” he said. “Anyway, I ran into school. Jonathan was with me, and we scarpered. Jonathan’s never had no truck with him, and I guess he just buggered off.”
Paula sat down beside him and took his hand in both of hers. “Jack, try and remember which day.”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes. It could matter a lot,” she said.
TWENTY-TWO
A MESSAGE FROM LOIS AWAITED COWGILL WHEN HE REACHED his office next morning. He had been out of town, visiting his sister Eva, who was in hospital after what her daily help described as “having it all out, dear.” He felt somewhat bruised after a day of tea and sympathy.