16
On the other side of the hedge, hidden by the overgrown privet, Beryl stood stock-still. She’d been pegging her washing out when she realised her neighbour was in the adjoining garden. Just as she was about to call over to Vee and Rick to see if they fancied another slice of fruitcake, she heard voices being raised. Never one to avoid a good chance to eavesdrop, because unless people were obviously whispering, what you naturally overheard was free information in Beryl’s opinion, she froze where she was standing and leaned a little closer to the hedge.
As the conversation developed, getting louder by the minute, Beryl’s mouth dropped open. She listened until Rick and Vee stopped shouting at each other. Had they gone inside? She risked a peek through the only small gap in the hedge she could find. Vee was sitting on the concrete step staring up at Rick, who had folded his arms and was looking back down at her. Intrigued, Beryl leaned closer. Still the other two didn’t speak. She waited.
After what seemed like half an hour but was actually only five minutes, she heard Vee say more quietly, ‘I don’t want to talk about this here. We’ve got work to do. Can we just get on with what we were doing and discuss this later? I’m expecting a message from someone who might be able to help me with getting back my memories of what happened before I left the village.’
‘You’re kidding me. You’re not saying you’ve forgotten all that?’
‘That’s exactly what I’m saying, and it’s no joke. I want to get a complete picture of the time just before I left so I can put it all to bed. It’s been bugging me for years.’
‘Who are you trying to contact?’
Beryl could hear the apprehension in Rick’s voice even from over the hedge. Vee took a while to answer, but then she said, ‘Rhonda Clements.’
This was a shock. Beryl hadn’t heard that name for a long time and had hoped never to hear it again. She’d never liked the girl but her suspicions about Rhonda were many. Her parents had been loaded, even by the standards of the other well-heeled families who lived down by the river in the big houses. Fancy calling your daughter after an old Beach Boys’ hit. That was the nouveau riche for you.
Beryl remembered being at a school function with the girl’s parents, and Rhonda’s father, smoking a fat cigar at the time, puffing smoke into Beryl’s face and telling a bawdy story about his daughter’s conception at a party when he and his then girlfriend had sneaked away to a deserted bedroom and consummated their relationship while the song played downstairs.
Even now, the scene haunted Beryl. The lyrics of ‘Help Me, Rhonda’ started to sing themselves in her mind and she knew that they’d be an earworm for the rest of the day. It was ironic really. There were very few people who would be able to drum up any help from Rhonda Clements. She had always been as hard as nails.
Rick cleared his throat. ‘Yes, you’re probably right. Let’s wait till we’re back at home. There’s a lot to say and I think we both need some breathing space first.’
Damn. How disappointing. Beryl willed Vee to change her mind and decide not to postpone their argument but instead she answered more quietly, ‘That seems like the best thing.’
‘Well, I’m going to start on the living room in that case. I’ll be in there if you want to carry this on after all but otherwise, we’ll talk later. I’m afraid though that you’re going to be gutted if you think anyone can fill in all the blanks for you. It’s a long time ago, and I don’t think there’s a person alive who can do that.’
Beryl heard them go inside and ground her dentures in frustration, then remembered that the dentist had warned her not to do that after she broke the last set. She left her empty washing basket by the line and went indoors. The first thing she did was to pick up the phone and call Winnie. Her friend answered on the second ring.
‘Have you rung up to talk about last night?’ Winnie said. ‘How about that for a turn-up for the books? Our Anthea getting married again. Some folks never learn, do they? Mind you, I wish her well, you know I do, but five times? She’s a glutton for punishment.’
Throughout this tirade, Beryl had been trying to butt in, and when Winnie drew breath, she seized her opportunity. ‘Iwasgoing to call you to have a natter about that, but something else has come up. We need to talk. Do you think Anthea might be free for coffee at the country park café for lunch? She could still be with her beloved, I suppose. I wonder if she took him back to her place when we left the pub. She was very cagey about what their plans were.’
‘If she did, I hope the poor chap survived the night,’ said Winnie with a chuckle. ‘I have a feeling there’s a lot of pent-up passion in our old friend.’
‘Oh, me too,’ said Beryl. ‘He’s going to need a lot of stamina and some extra vitamins, I reckon. I’ll ring her and see. Will you meet me at the café anyway? I’ve got one or two things to say to you both. It’s the day Milo usually makes his lemon drizzle cake, and I never like to miss that.’
Beryl set off upstairs to get ready once Winnie had agreed on a time for their rendezvous and she’d managed to contact Anthea, who also said she’d be there. She changed into a scarlet dress, feeling that this might be an occasion to celebrate if she played her cards right, and added a slick of lipstick and her favourite scarf, patterned with poppies. Then she set off for Willowbrook Country Park and the Golden Brown café run by her friend and next-door neighbour from number six, Kate.
It took Beryl half an hour to potter across the green and wind her way around the lake past the rows of memorial benches with their brass plaques. She was soon out of breath and was tempted to have a sit down and a rest on one of them but anticipation about what she was about to do spurred her on. Her previous plan had been a vague one but now it was all becoming clear, and she knew without a doubt what she wanted to suggest for the Saga Louts’ next adventure. All she had to do was be convincing enough. It was time for some action.
17
The area around the café was unexpectedly busy when Beryl arrived, and she remembered that today had been scheduled for the farmers’ market. She checked her watch and found that she was early. Knowing that Winnie probably wouldn’t be on time because she’d said she was going to get a bus from the retirement complex where she now lived, and they were notoriously unreliable from outside the crescent of bungalows, Beryl decided to have a quick look at the market stalls.
The main point of interest for most of the older residents of Willowbrook was always the stall selling jams and pickles. Winnie and Beryl had for years made their own preserves, each priding themselves on being the best at creating their signature recipes. Beryl loved to make traditional jams such as strawberry or raspberry, plus lemon curd and the odd wildcard of her own invention such as greengage and rhubarb, and Winnie preferred to cook up spicier relishes that would complement her Caribbean dishes, so they never clashed when they entered local competitions and shows with their wares. Even so, many of the senior villagers liked to check that the market stall wasn’t selling anything better than the creations they could produce themselves, and to stand and comment loudly on the standard of goods on sale.
The stallholder in charge of preserves today saw Beryl coming and nudged her partner, rolling her eyes and muttering, ‘Here we go. Brace yourself.’ However, Beryl, preoccupied with her own affairs, didn’t stay long at the glowing display of jams, jellies and pickles on show. She merely picked up one or two jars, sniffed at the prices and made her way to the café.
‘We got away lightly this time,’ said the other woman behind the stall. ‘I was expecting a lecture on basic food hygiene and the use of pectin, but she seems a bit distracted. I hope she’s okay.’
‘Don’t worry about Beryl,’ said her friend. ‘She’s got that look on her face. I know it well.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She’s got a bee in her bonnet. Look over there. It’s already nearly lunchtime and she’s heading for the café. I can see her buddies going in too. She has bigger fish to fry, I reckon. I’d love to be a fly on the wall.’
Beryl greeted Anthea and Winnie with a nod – they’d never gone in for this modern habit of exchanging hugs and kisses every five minutes when they’d only seen each other the day before and anyway, it was a surefire way of spreading germs. The three sat down at their usual table which Winnie had phoned ahead to reserve, just in case some pretentious newcomer decided to muscle in on their spot. Beryl looked around with approval. It was the first time they’d been in since Kate’s latest upgrade of the decorative features. The new tablecloths were patterned with autumn leaves and blackberries and each table had its own small pot of crimson chrysanthemums in the centre. A much bigger terracotta pot of the same flowers but in a vibrant rusty red stood on a wooden stool in one corner of the café. The whole effect was warm and friendly.
