Pebbleton-On-Edge, Page 2

Chapter 2 - Toffs and Yokels

  Imogen arched her back and stretched out her fingers, glad she had finished the data entry. Now all she had to do was set the computer off on preset tasks, and everything would churn out of the printer, even the labels for the envelopes. It was so much easier now they had an IT person, sometimes they went a whole week without a single computer crashing.

  There was no-one in Reception to bother her, which suited her fine. She nibbled a cereal bar discreetly, taking tiny mouthfuls in case the telephone rang. Just ten minutes more and Sue Cheam would relieve her on the desk for her lunch hour. She glanced up to the CCTV screen and saw a flash of a figure passing through the entrance porch of Southcliff Hall. He was in Reception and saw her before she could duck out of view, which was her usual reaction whenever Cuthbert Acres decided to visit.

  'Cuffy' Acres was about eighty, but fit as a man half his age. He had parted company with his sanity some time ago, and was quite content without it. Unfortunately he was convinced that the village could not run without his help, and tried to ensure that nothing happened without his input. What he thought was happening, however, was so far removed from reality that there was nothing for it but to keep up the pretence that his opinion mattered.

  "Mr Acres, good morning," smiled Imogen. At least she was a great favourite of his. He tipped his straw boater to her, took his time fumbling about in the pocket of his jaunty striped jacket, then extracted a monocle. Imogen always wanted to giggle when he did this. He adjusted the monocle in his right eye, and stood to attention.

  "Good morning, Miss Imogen," he greeted her graciously. "I hope you are in good spirits this fine day."

  "Most excellent spirits, thank you Mr Acres. And you?" Imogen had got used to speaking to him in the manner of the heroine of a Regency novel.

  "I am feeling in the pink, Miss Imogen, in the pink, thank you for asking. I am, however, a little concerned at what I hear of this new Olympic pool with which we are to be blessed." His grammar was perfect - she had to think hard sometimes in case she split an infinitive in front of him. He would pounce upon such a lapse, and correct her, 'for you own good, dear girl - you will be unemployable in the world of business if you cannot speak the Queen's English!' If only he could hear the Parish Clerk's dictation tapes.

  "Ah, um, the - Olympic pool? Could you just remind me where that will be built?" replied Imogen, keeping a straight face and reaching for a memo pad.

  "I could, young lady, and I shall. Most delighted to oblige. Some sort of ghastly holiday camp is planned - I presume that infamous Billy Butlin is behind it - and this pool will be within the grounds of the tawdry enterprise."

  Imogen hesitated. She knew that a pool would be built in the holiday complex, and she was astonished that Cuffy was in touch with the real world to this degree. "I will check for you - er, perhaps the pool will not be as large as you fear, Mr Acres." Her pen poised above the memo pad, she considered the quickest way to get rid of him before Sue came down and her lunch hour began. It was imperative that she did not walk out of the door while he was there - he would follow her and suggest buying her lunch, or worse.

  "I will make sure that we call you as soon as we have the information. Would that be all right?" she asked, scribbling a note on the pad.

  "You have my telephone number, dear girl - though I would be a happy man if I had yours. You may not realise it, sweet child," he intoned solemnly, leaning over the Reception counter towards her, "but we are facing a great threat - an Olympic swimming pool can mean only one thing. Not content with London, England must offer itself a second time for the Olympics - we will be the hosts right here in Pebbleton-on-Edge, crushed 'neath the weight of thousands of international tourists, swamped by perspiring sportsmen, deluged with men of the press with flash-bulb cameras - need I say more?"

  His voice had risen with angst, as he developed his nightmare vision. Now Imogen was on familiar ground - 'Cuffy-world', as she and Sue had named it. She looked up at him with her most reassuring smile. "You can leave it with me, Mr Acres, and I can assure you that I have heard only this morning that the Olympic Committee have rejected Pebbleton for the Games. They felt there were too few hotels in the district. The pool will be just for a few holidaymakers. I will, of course, check the size - you can let us know if it is suitable before they build it."

  "That will be best - I should regret the necessity of ordering them to remove it. And I would appreciate the reassurance of the Council that they will not allow noisy concerts in this tasteless venture. I have heard rumours that Mr Elvis Presley had taken to the road again, gyrating his hips in the most shameless fashion. Apparently ladies scream and faint at the sight - I hope," he frowned, "that you, Miss Imogen, do not find this repulsive young man to be attractive."

  "Why no, Mr Acres, indeed not," she replied primly. She suppressed a smirk at the thought of his reaction if he had seen her jumping around at the Black Eyed Peas concert last week. And what about the next one she intended to see? The Scissor Sisters would give him a stroke. But she couldn't resist winding him up just a little. "I am going to see Divine Comedy in concert soon, you would approve, I'm sure - they have an orchestra, usually."

  He started upright, his eye boggling at her behind the monocle. "Divine Comedy? The Divine Comedy, child," he admonished her severely, "was written by Dante, and you cannot see it, in concert or on the stage in any form. No such thing exists. Someone has been teasing you."

  "Oh, dear, I must look into that," she smiled. Next time he came in she'd have a go at a reference to Franz Ferdinand, and enjoy a lecture on an assassinated Archduke. She and Sue had hours of fun thinking of ways to torment him like this. He was living so far in the past that they could get away with comments about groups as far back as the 1970's. Once they had him believing that an avalanche of Bread, Hot Chocolate and Cream was expected, suggested by the Tourism department printing flyers for a week of music by tribute bands.

  Sue appeared behind him, and her eyebrows shot up. She instantly retreated out of sight. A minute later the Reception phone rang, and a harsh voice barked "Imogen! Desist from gossiping with that young man and get on with your work!"

  Imogen gave an exaggerated jump in her chair, and replied "Yes, Miss Cheam, I will have the reports ready for you in five minutes." She looked up coyly at Cuffy as she replaced the receiver. "I'm so sorry, Mr Acres, I will be in trouble if I talk to you any longer. I really must get on with my work."

  "Mea culpa, dear girl, I have kept you long enough. Thank you for your time." He sighed. "I would not be able to carry the responsibility of running this village so easily, if I could not come in here and have you brighten my day." With an elegant bow he raised his straw boater to her again and turned on his heel. Upright and proud, he headed for the door and was gone.

  Sue peeped round the corner. "Gone?" she asked.

  "Yes. Thanks for the call, I was getting carried away winding him up. I told him I was going to see Divine Comedy - showing my ignorance of classic literature, again."

  Sue grinned. "What did he want this time? To take you to London to buy a new bonnet, Miss Imogen? Fie, you wanton wretch, how could you be so cruel to your most devoted admirer?" she chortled.

  Imogen gave a sardonic smile, got up and grabbed her handbag. "He gets worse - he thinks the Olympics are coming here. Something about the pool at the holiday place. Honestly, he really does think he's responsible for the whole district. Funny, though - he usually gets his ideas from la-la land, but he must have read the local paper for once - he actually knew about something real going on!"

  "Oh, that's no fun. He's much more entertaining when he's away with the fairies. At least he's wearing the straw hat, I thought we were never going to be allowed official summer. That trilby thing must have been glued to his head for nine months. Anyway, go on, shoo - I want to get off on time today myself, I've got the electrician coming. I told him I'd be indoors by a quarter to tw
o, I must get that stupid shower fixed."

  Imogen swayed out of the building, her long fair hair like spun silk over her shoulders. She was very attractive, but no-one begrudged her the attention this brought, as she was so likeable. Sue sat down on the swivel chair and wriggled a bit, levering the seat up to a suitable height for her dumpy frame.

  All was quiet for ten minutes, and Sue fell to wondering if Paula had got around to talking to James Goswell yet. She worked around him every day, and just couldn't see him behaving like that, but then you never knew about people. Sue was determined to let things play out without interfering, but it was such an odd thing to happen. Anything unexplained intrigued her until she could make sense of it. Her pondering was interrupted by an odour of manure, which preceded the entrance of a familiar figure. Mrs Bathgate, resplendent in a green cotton skirt stretched around her bulging hips, teamed with a filthy brown blouse and tattered red cardigan, stood grumpily in front of the counter. Her outfit was completed by dirty old socks and tennis shoes, leaving her stocky brown calves on display under the ragged hem of the skirt. She was probably no more than sixty, but her skin was weather-beaten and leathery, making her look much older. Sue noticed some flies zig-zagging around near the ceiling, and was sure they hadn't been there a minute ago. They must surely have come as a package deal with Mrs Bathgate.

  "Come ter pay me 'lotment," she growled between clenched teeth. Sue tried to hold her breath, and dived into the drawer for the paperwork.

  "It is quite overdue, Mrs Bathgate, I have a note that you didn't respond to two reminder letters. By rights you have forfeited the allotment, and we can offer it out to the next person on the list." Sue could see that the final due date was actually that very day, but any chance of getting rid of Mrs Bathgate would have the other allotment holders celebrating. It was a chance worth taking. However, Mrs Bathgate had an excellent excuse.

  "Ain't my fault, I bin decapitated lately. Doctor told me I weren't to go out. Anyway, I got up 'til today 'ter pay, ain't I?"

  "You've been decapitated? I am sorry, of course the Doctor was quite right to keep you indoors. Were you incapacitated as well?" Sue inquired without a trace of sarcasm.

  "Yer what? Look 'ere, do yer want this money or not?"

  "Cash or cheque, Mrs Bathgate?"

  "Cash, 'course. Don't 'old with banks - robbers, all of 'em. Here y'are, twenty quid, flamin' outrageous for a few inches of mud." She handed over two screwed-up, grimy notes. Sue took them with the tips of her fingers, and dropped them on the till. She scribbled out a receipt as fast as she could, and gasped, "Thank you, see you next year, Mrs Bathgate."

  Instead of taking the hint and leaving, Mrs Bathgate stamped her feet apart and glared at Sue. "Where's that Imogen? She don't give me no receipt 'til she done the form an' put the money in the till. You're not doin' it right."

  Sue knew this accusation was typical of Mrs Bathgate's mean and suspicious nature, and took no notice. "Just doing it now, don't worry," she replied cheerfully. She surreptitiously picked up a pen and used it to slide the notes to the top ledge of the till. She jabbed at the till keys, and when the till opened she flicked the notes in with the pen. Slamming it shut, she scribbled quickly on the allotment invoice, stamped it with the date, and filed the result. "OK?" she asked.

  "Yeah, well, I got a complaint ter make, an' all."

  "Oh goody," thought Sue. She waited silently, looking at Mrs Bathgate with her face devoid of expression.

  "Rats. Rats all over the place, gettin' in from the school playground, I reckon. Been eatin' me early lettuces. Get rid of 'em," she commanded.

  Sue had no idea if rats would eat lettuce, but she wondered what desperate rat would sink so low as to visit Mrs Bathgate's allotment. The stench of inadequately rotted manure caused regular complaints from the other allotment holders, and weeds seemed to be the only plants that flourished in her plot. "I'll let the Team know, Mrs Bathgate, leave it with me," she mumbled, trying to keep the overpowering whiff from entering her lungs. What did the woman do, roll in the stuff?

  "See you get it sorted!" the lady snarled, and waddled out. As soon as she could see Mrs Bathgate on the CCTV screen at a suitable distance, Sue rushed round flinging up the windows, and hunted for the flyspray. A family of holidaymakers caught her in the act, and she scuttled back to the desk. They wanted to know about camp-sites in the area for a future holiday, but seemed to be rapidly going off the idea as they surreptitiously sniffed the air. She sent them over the car park to the Tourist office as fast as possible, before 'essence of Bathgate' ruined the tourist trade completely.

  When Imogen returned later, she noticed the lavender-scented fly-killer lingering in the air. "Mrs B?" she enquired. "Yep, says she's got rats on her allotment," groaned Sue. "Yuk, not surprised," said Imogen. "One all, ha ha!" They kept score of the more difficult visitors in Reception. It made the job more interesting for the long-suffering staff, trapped as a captive audience for the more bizarre residents of Pebbleton.

  "Well," Sue replied, "at least it makes the day go by. Sometimes it's dead boring here. Nothing interesting ever happens, unless you count lettuce-eating rats. Right, I'm off to see my dopey electrician, otherwise I'll soon smell like Mrs Bathgate. I'm fed up with getting doused with cold water, or having to boil the kettle and have a lick and a promise at the basin. Ah, what exciting lives we lead. I can't wait to get away on holiday, even if it is Benidorm with my idiot brother and his evil offspring." She heaved her over-filled bag onto her shoulder, and waved as she hurried out.

  "Lettuce-eating rats.....what is she on about? She's right, though, I wish something would happen around here, it's so dull..." thought Imogen. She wiggled her neat bottom on the chair and adjusted it back to its usual position, and prepared to start a mail merge.

  The phone rang at ten to nine that night. The man formerly known as 'Simon' was sure it was the call from London, it was the usual time the quiet voice checked up on him. He muted the TV and reached out an arm to pick up the receiver, wondering if anyone other than this distant vigilante would ever take any interest in his activities.

  "Hello?"

  "Ah, glad I caught you - thought you'd be home now, and didn't like to ring too late. Just before the news, you know?"

  "Very thoughtful of you, sir."

  "How's it going?"

  "Quite well - the Development sailed through Council, and work has started in earnest."

  "Excellent - you have been working hard. Settled in socially?"

  "Sort of. Joined a few things, but you know me - never get too close to anyone."

  "Simon, you don't have to think like that now. It's summer, get out and enjoy the seaside. You've got a whole new life there - make the most of it!"

  "Don't think I'll ever get the hang of being like other people, sir. Not with my past."

  "Oh, come on, Simon - I know that's not your name now but I'll always think of you as Simon - you have to try to put it all behind you, you know. I know I wasn't much help, but I'd like you to talk to me any time you want - I'm not much of a father substitute, I know, but at least it's someone who knows your past and can offer support. Will you do that?"

  'Simon' paused, then, "Sure. I'll be in touch if anything crops up."

  "That's the stuff. By the way, I'm taking quite a long leave this year, I won't be back in the office until late August or early September. But I'll call you as soon as I can after that. Meanwhile, keep up the good work."

  The call ended and 'Simon' replaced the receiver gently. He sat back on the sofa, but while his eyes watched the flickering images on the muted TV, his mind revolved around the words spoken by the quiet voice. A father substitute - oh sure, one who couldn't even call him by his right name, and was available only in office hours. He'd never known a father, so perhaps that was about as much as the average son could expect. Still, it was true that someone who understands your past has a better chance of un
derstanding you??only here in Pebbleton, there was absolutely no-one who had the least idea.

  Sue had made two supreme sacrifices by the end of July; firstly she had kept her promise to her divorced brother by accompanying him to the Costa Blanca with his two children, which was more expensive than going away during school term-time, and secondly she had kept her promise to herself not to interfere in Paula and James' relationship. She knew the first promise would result in a lot of work rather than a real holiday, but she did feel rather sorry for the youngsters, who had been devastated when their parents split up. They were quite badly behaved, acting out their unsettled frame of mind after spending their lives shuttling between embattled parents. Sue intended to take a firm hand from the outset, which usually meant a difficult first week then a slightly better second week. Sitting on the plane watching the white cloud layer pass beneath, she let her mind drift to the subject of her second great effort.

  Why did it bother her so much that Paula and James should sort out their differences? Was it because her brother's marriage had ended horribly, and she wanted to believe that some people could make a go of it? True, her brother and his wife had been squabbling since before they even tied the knot. The whole family had begged him not to go ahead, but baby number two was on the way, and he imagined it would make things better. Of course, nothing changed, just got worse. Then there was Kim's marriage - another disaster, though Kim and her husband Steve had seemed an ideal couple. That really had rattled her more than she cared to admit. Secretly, she knew she desperately wanted Paula to find love, just to make happiness seem less of an impossible dream. Sue sighed, snuggled back in the aircraft seat, and closed her eyes. It was going to be a long two weeks, and by the time she returned it would be well into August. Another summer rushing by, another year of a rather lonely life?.