Four Silences Broken, page 10
Meera smiled again. “You know the word ‘mate’ really doesn’t suit you, Lucy.”
“Oh dear, doesn’t it? I was trying to sound more ‘street’ before my interview.”
“I wouldn’t bother. Be yourself and you’ll have them eating out of your hand.”
Lucy gave her friend another hug. “Likewise, Meera. You’ll win Agnes over in no time.”
*
Despite leaving Hartwell in good time, Lucy hadn’t accounted for how slow the traffic getting into York could be. She arrived at the radio station, breathless and with only a few minutes to spare. The radio interviewer was a serious-looking young man wearing a black polo neck and rectangular glasses. As the station didn’t play pop music, Lucy wasn’t familiar with him or the format of his weekly political programme.
“What would you say are your political ambitions?” was his first question.
“Oh, I don’t have any,” replied Lucy. “Absolutely, none. I only stood to draw attention to the lack of funding for the Rosemary Centre. It’s the only place in the constituency where victims of domestic abuse can go to for help, and it has lost its funding and its home.”
The interviewer gave her a quizzical look. “Isn’t standing for public office a little extreme? Living at Hartwell Hall, many would see you as a wealthy individual. Wasn’t there some other way of helping the centre?”
“I have offered them an empty farmhouse on the estate, but it’s the day-to-day running costs that are the real issue, and unlike some charities that can rely on endowments or have funds in trust, the Rosemary Centre has been relying on funding from central government. I’d love to do more, but quite honestly all the money the estate makes goes back into maintaining it. You wouldn’t believe how much it costs just to fix the roof.”
“Why is the Rosemary Centre so close to your heart?”
“It’s simply a wonderful place. A real haven for those who need it.” As she was speaking, she caught sight of the newspaper serialising Sadie’s book, folded on the desk. She had avoided reading any more. The other day, one of the men working on the ballroom had left a copy behind and Joan had swiftly dumped it in the bin. The interviewer followed her gaze.
“Your mother, Sadie, gave an interview recently. She implied your marriage to your late husband was difficult, violent even. Is that true?”
Lucy stared across the studio at him. Despite all the warnings from Rob, Jo and the others about her personal life being under scrutiny, she hadn’t imagined anyone would ask her something so direct. Although she was sure all her friends knew, she’d never spoken about life with Rupert to anyone except Sadie. She felt her heart racing and her mouth go dry, but she couldn’t lose her nerve now.
“Yes, he was,” she replied hearing the falter in her voice through her headphones. “That is why the Rosemary Centre is so important to me. I know exactly how the women there feel. To jump at the sound of the door, to never know whether the man walking through that door would be charming or a monster, to blame yourself. I’ve been in their shoes. I pretended everything was all right, I made excuses, I covered up what was happening. If I’d decided to run away, I don’t know where I would have gone. That’s why the Rosemary Centre is so important, and it is about time the other candidates understood that.”
When she’d stopped speaking, she was amazed she wasn’t crying. She actually felt incredibly calm and barely heard the interviewer when he thanked her and ended the interview.
Chapter Ten
Later that week, Meera and Jo had arranged to meet for lunch at the White Hart. Meera had suggested it. She wanted to keep an eye on her friend, make sure she was eating properly and encourage her to attend her antenatal appointments. So far she still hadn’t booked in to see the midwife. If she was honest, she also wanted an excuse not to eat at home. Agnes was still with them. After every conversation with her future mother-in-law, Meera felt like all the life had been sucked out of her.
Mealtimes were the worst. Meera had always enjoyed cooking for others, but nothing she presented Agnes with was good enough. Before even taking a bite, she would wrinkle her nose and declare it smelt too spicy and say she would prefer a sandwich in her room. The previous evening, Meera made the plainest tomato and pasta dish she could think of, only for Agnes to declare there were too many onions in it.
Ben seemed blissfully unaware of how stressed this was making Meera. All he said was: “I told you she was a fussy eater. We should have let her stay at the pub.”
But Krish had picked up on the tense atmosphere at home. She had barely seen her son since Agnes had arrived. He spent all his spare time walking the colonel’s dogs or at Freddie’s.
“So how are you feeling?” she asked.
“Loads better. I’ve finally stopped throwing up and now I’m starving all the time,” said Jo, helping herself to one of the bread rolls from the basket Shirley had placed on the table.
“You look much brighter.”
Jo glanced up from smearing butter on the roll. “I wish I could say the same for you. What’s up? Is living with the Loch Ness monster getting to you?”
Jo had experienced one brief encounter with Agnes. After spending less than ten minutes in her company, she’d made her excuses and left, so it was clear it wasn’t only Meera who Agnes upset. Ben had taken her out for supper to the White Hart to give Meera a break, but she even managed to offend the normally easy-going Shirley, by criticising the pastry in her steak and ale pie.
“You shouldn’t call her that,” said Meera, although she was a little relieved that she wasn’t the only resident of Hartwell who found Agnes difficult.
“And you shouldn’t be looking this miserable. I thought you’d be all excited about the wedding, now you’ve finally found a venue.”
“I am. It was very kind of Lucy to offer us the ballroom. It will be absolutely perfect,” replied Meera, without adding that she’d been so preoccupied with trying to please Agnes, she’d barely had time to think about her wedding.
“Hey! Nice necklace,” said Jo, clocking the Hartwell noble dangling delicately around Meera’s neck. She felt herself blush and touched the coin self-consciously.
“Thank you. Now we match and I feel like a real local. The colonel gave it to me. Wasn’t that kind? He told me it belonged to his late wife’s family.”
“How’s he doing?”
“He still isn’t very mobile, and he’s been having trouble with cooking and cleaning. I suggested he get someone in to help and he’s actually employed Becky for a couple of hours every afternoon.”
Jo raised her eyebrows.
“I know,” continued Meera. “I was surprised too, but it actually seems to be working rather well. Apparently, he’s always been a bit of a hoarder, so she’s been helping him have a clear-out and organised everything, including things that belonged to his wife. It’s such a shame he doesn’t have any family of his own.”
At that moment, Shirley arrived with their food. “It suits you love,” she said nodding at Meera’s noble, “and I’m sure Annabel would have approved of Hugh giving it to you. He gave me one of her watches. I have to say it made me quite emotional.”
“How come they didn’t have any children?” asked Jo, taking a sip of her cranberry juice.
Shirley bent down and lowered her voice. “Annabel would have loved a family, but it seems Hugh wasn’t up to the job. A bout of mumps when he was a teenager left him infertile. Such a shame. They would have made wonderful parents.”
“When did she die?”
“About ten years ago. Not long after Rupert’s father ironically.”
“Why ironically?”
“It was assumed when they were younger that Annabel would marry Alexander Hanley. They dated as teenagers, but then Annabel met Hugh, who swept her off her feet, and it was the two of them who introduced Caroline to Alexander.”
At that moment, an eighties pop tune came blaring loudly out of the stereo. Jo pulled a face.
“Jack! Turn it off!” she yelled at the same time as Shirley began to bop along in time.
“Oh, Wham! My favourite,” she said as she shimmied her way back to the kitchen.
“This is why I can’t move in here,” muttered Jo as Jack appeared looking sheepish. “It’s far too noisy for a baby.”
“Sorry! I was testing out some new speakers,” he apologised.
“At least your mum appreciated it,” said Meera diplomatically.
“Back in the day she used to go to pop concerts with Mary, Joan, Caroline and Annabel. I think the highlight was seeing George Michael play Wembley,” said Jack with a grin as he ducked back behind the bar. Meera screwed up her face.
“I really can’t imagine Caroline at a pop concert.” But Jo didn’t appear to be listening; instead she was entering something into her phone. “What are you doing?”
“Noting down what Shirley said about the colonel’s wife and reminding myself to check when George Michael played Wembley in case it tallies with when I was born. Maybe it was an excuse for one of them to be down there.”
Meera looked at Jo with a mixture of sympathy and astonishment.
“You don’t really think your mother could be someone you know, do you? I’m sure someone would have said something by now.”
“I’m not. If anyone round here had promised to keep a secret, I think they’d take it to the grave.”
“You don’t know that for sure, and you never will unless you ask them outright.”
“No,” replied Jo firmly as she put her phone away and speared a chip with her fork, “if I’ve learnt one thing being in the police, it’s not to start accusing someone without enough evidence. Rachel suggested I talk to the rev, but he wasn’t any help. I swear he’s losing the plot. I’ll just have to keep digging myself.”
The obstinate look on Jo’s face told Meera there was no point trying to change her mind, so she decided to change the subject instead.
“I didn’t know you were even considering moving in here.”
Jo shrugged. “We want to live together properly when the baby arrives. There is more room here, but the cottage is more peaceful. Actually, I was hoping you might come back with me this afternoon and give me some decorating advice. We want to make the smaller bedroom into a nursery. Everyone said we should pick a neutral colour. I was going to choose green, but then Shirley said that’s an unlucky colour. I picked up a colour chart and wanted to know what you thought.”
“I’m sorry. I would love to help, but I can’t today I’m afraid. I promised I would drive Agnes to evensong after I leave here. Ben is on call all weekend.”
“You shouldn’t pander to the old bag,” said Jo. “She’s done nothing but complain since she got here. She’s worse than Nora. Anyone normal would be thrilled to have you for a daughter-in-law, not be trying their hardest to make your life a misery.”
Meera’s heart began to sink as she drove back to the Grange. It had been good to catch up with Jo, but something Shirley had said about the colonel was bothering her. During one of her many attempts to find common ground with Agnes, she’d begun to discuss her work, explaining how busy they had been administering the latest Covid booster shots. Meera had thought this would be a fairly neutral subject, only for Agnes to declare firmly that she didn’t believe in vaccines. At the time, Meera hadn’t bothered to argue and let the matter drop. Now she wondered if Agnes hadn’t vaccinated her children. Could Ben have suffered from mumps like the colonel? Was it due to Agnes, that Meera had failed to fall pregnant? One thing she did know—it wasn’t going to be a conversation they would be having anytime soon.
An hour later, Meera was wrapped up in a hat and scarf, shivering outside the door of the church. Evensong was due to finish soon. Agnes had rebuffed Meera’s offer to join her at the service.
“I don’t think so. It wouldn’t be right, seeing as you’re not a believer.”
Instead, Meera had paid a visit to Reverend Davenport, knowing he would be on his own while Belinda conducted the service. His ankle was much better now as he hobbled around the kitchen to make her a cup of tea, and he didn’t seem quite as confused as he had been, chatting happily about village life.
“How are you settling at the Grange?” he asked as she was leaving.
“Very well, thank you. It’s taken a while, but it’s starting to feel like it’s ours.”
“Yes, so sad about the previous owner. I was trying to explain to Sergeant Ormond, only the other day. He was so very happy,” he replied with a solemn shake of his head.
Meera pondered this last comment as she stood waiting for the service to finish. She’d only met Guy a few times before he’d been arrested. He’d seemed perfectly pleasant, but she wouldn’t say he came across as being particularly happy. No wonder Jo had despaired with him, if he was telling her about Guy when she wanted to learn about her parents. The final note of the church organ faded away and Meera gave a sigh of relief. Despite her hat, scarf and gloves, the damp, cold evening air was making her shiver. Joan was the first of the congregation to leave. She greeted Meera with a huge smile.
“I’m so happy you’ll be having your wedding at the hall,” she said. “And if you need any help with the catering arrangements you only need to ask. I’d love to be involved in your big day.”
Meera thanked her and watched her walk down the path to where Bill was holding the car door open, waiting to drive her home. She was such a nice woman. If she had to pick someone in the village to be Jo’s mother it would be her.
“Hopefully, we’ll be seeing more of you, Mrs Bannister.”
Meera turned her head. Agnes and Belinda were hidden from view, but she could hear them chatting.
“I wouldn’t have thought so—Inverness is a long way away.”
“But the trip is surely worthwhile to see Ben and Meera. They are such a lovely couple and who knows, perhaps they may be blessed with a little one for you to visit too.”
Meera smiled to herself, as Belinda echoed her own wishes, but her smile disappeared as she heard Agnes’s reply.
“I don’t think that would be a good idea at all. It would be far too confusing for the wee thing. It wouldn’t know what it was. Good evening, Vicar.”
Then Agnes stepped out of the church and with barely a nod to Meera walked straight past her and to the car. The two of them drove back to the Grange in silence. Meera felt so shocked at what she’d overheard, she couldn’t bring herself to speak. They arrived back to an empty house and Agnes announced she was going upstairs to pack as she was leaving the next day. Meera went to her study, closed the door and sank down on to her chair.
On the desk in front of her were the designs for her dress and the four bridesmaids’ dresses all in the empire-line style she’d carefully chosen. She scooped them up and slipped them into a drawer. Then feeling like the little girl who someone had been mean to at school, she picked up the phone and called her parents’ number. As always, her mother answered.
“Oh dear, what’s wrong?” she said as soon as she heard the sadness in Meera’s voice. “Still not pregnant?”
Meera raised her eyes to the ceiling. Her mother took being direct to a new level.
“No and I might never be. I’m worried Ben might have had mumps. I don’t think Agnes vaccinated him when he was little. What if that means we can’t have children?” replied Meera, the stress of the last few days making her feel close to tears. “It feels like the universe is telling me to slow down. That I’m trying to move too quickly.”
“For heaven’s sake, Meera. You could be worrying pointlessly. Remember what we said? No more secrets. Why don’t you ask Ben or his mother outright?”
“I don’t really think I can discuss this with Agnes.” Then in a shaking voice, she told her mother what she’d overheard. There was a heavy sigh at the end of the line.
“At least now you know why she has been so unpleasant to you.”
“You don’t think I misunderstood then?” asked Meera without much hope.
“No, I don’t, darling and if the universe is telling you anything, it’s that your future mother-in-law is a racist. You need to say something to her and to Ben. Stand up for yourself.”
Meera put the phone down. She knew her mother was right. Only a few days ago she had told Krish the same. However, it was one thing to stand up to Nora, but what was she meant to say to the woman who had raised the man she loved?
Chapter Eleven
The village hall was packed. The parish council were holding a meeting to decide on the proposal to turn the Foxton farm buildings into a centre for Celtic heritage and Rachel had made sure as many of her friends and relatives as possible were there. Sarah was standing at the front of the hall, and she was almost at the end of her presentation. She had been planning it for weeks, rehearsing every word and slide in their sitting room. Rachel had found it fascinating, and it would probably have gone down a storm in one of Sarah’s lectures, but tonight it seemed she might have misjudged her audience.
Rachel glanced around nervously. Caroline was making notes and Meera was smiling and nodding politely, but Sarah was in danger of losing the rest of the room. The colonel, who had arrived on crutches, was looking bored. Reverend Davenport had already dozed off, Jack was trying unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn, while Lucy kept trying to discreetly check her phone. Dan’s eyes had glazed over, and he and her uncle Frank were both shifting uncomfortably in their seats. Sarah finally got to her last slide and sat down to subdued applause. She looked across to Rachel, who gave her the most encouraging smile she could muster.
The colonel, who was chair of the council, rose to his feet, wincing slightly. “Thank you, Professor Stevenson. That was most informative. Are there any questions?”
There was an awkward silence as the colonel waited and Sarah sat up eagerly.
“Very well,” continued the colonel when nobody raised their hand. “Would anyone like to speak against the proposal?” she asked.
