Blackwatertown. Paul Waters
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*
This is something I can be angry about, he thought. It’s not the flags and the fuss and the drum-beating that’s the worst, though we’d all be better off without them. It’s the easy assumption that the price we have to pay for a humdrum, peaceful society is that, every so often, one lot gets to remind the other lot who’s in charge. The small, bitter pills, thought Macken, that we swallow to reassure our masters that they still rule the roost. So they can keep on ruling with a light touch.
It’d be nice if they could do their own dirty work without dragging me into it, he thought. Then Macken remembered that, for once, he was being left out of it. But it didn’t make him feel any happier.
‘Hello there, Constable.’
Macken looked up, startled, to find that a vicar had materialised before him.
‘You had me worried, lurking there, ready to pounce.’
The vicar was amidst a clutch of cyclists, whose number grew as more slowed and stopped. Apart from the vicar, they were all women. Macken was thrown to see Aoife among them. She gave him a look of mock severity, as if to say, ‘Not now, with all these ones around.’
‘Bracken isn’t it?’ The vicar was enjoying Macken’s discomfort. ‘I never forget a name.
‘Having forty winks, eh? Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with us, eh ladies?’ Macken felt flustered at the tittering and held up the page.
‘My mistake,’ continued the dog-collared comedian. ‘He was reading the paper, ladies. Following the form, were you? Is it gambling that’s your vice?
‘I daresay there’s not much work for you at this end of town anyway.’
Macken began paying proper attention. He realised that it was the vicar.
‘I beg your pardon, Reverend,’ began Macken, ‘Nice to see you again, sir. As you see, I made it to Blackwatertown.’
Macken gave a slight nod, as if in gratitude for the car ride he had been offered but not given.
‘And, begging your pardon, sir, I was just reminding myself of the latest regulations.’ Macken showed them the sheet of paper. The Reverend Snipe moderated his triumphant beam into something slightly more contrite.
‘Yes, good man, good man. I’m afraid we had to rush on yesterday more quickly than I expected.’ He brightened again. ‘What you need to do, Constable, is find yourself a bicycle. Isn’t that right, ladies? Healthy body, healthy mind.’
As the vicar turned to his appreciative audience, a door opened in Macken’s mind. I want out, he thought, and fate has opened the door. A trapdoor maybe. But it’s time I showed more enthusiasm for policing. Meanwhile, the vicar addressed the women.
‘Thank you, ladies, for a wonderful ride.’
More eye-rolling, mock gasps and giggling from the flock.
‘I look forward to seeing you in church, and back in the saddle soon.’
He bowed. Macken tapped him on the shoulder.
‘Actually, Reverend, could I say a few words?’
The vicar straightened up, surprised. ‘Brethren, the constable would like to address us. Perhaps he fears we’ve omitted to thank God for this blessed day. I can assure you, Constable, that we’re both light in heart and pure in spirit.
‘We’ve given witness to our Lord God this day. And your offer, though welcome, might be better directed to your own sort.’
‘Actually, Reverend,’ said Macken, attempting an expression resembling regret, ‘it is on more earthly matters that I am compelled to intervene.
‘I notice that you and your party are in serious contravention of multiple sections of the Road Transport Act, and I’m afraid I must issue you with penalty notices.’
The hubbub fell silent. Among the shocked faces, Macken could see Aoife’s raised eyebrows. She was shaking her head slightly, this time a more serious warning.
The vicar’s face, angrier and redder, blocked out the others.
‘I think you may be confused, Constable. These law-abiding ladies and myself have been travelling freely along the Queen’s highway, as is our right. Perhaps, as a newcomer, you’ve got lost on your way to another district?’
‘I’m sorry, Reverend, but as you know we’re doing a big push on road safety. I can see you’re in a hurry, so I’ll not delay you, beyond noting that your own cycle appears to be without front or rear illumination and that your rear tyre is in a dangerous state. I’m afraid that’s three separate penalties, sir. You might want to check that your vehicle is in a roadworthy condition overall. I wouldn’t like to have to penalise you further next time.’
Macken dashed down the details in his notebook and scribbled out a summons for the speechless clergyman. Then he moved onto the women, one by one. Having seen the treatment meted out to the vicar, they took it quietly.
This’ll help their statistics, thought Macken grimly, as he finally came to Aoife. She, however, made no attempt to suppress her indignation.
‘Well aren’t you the brave policeman?’
She turned to the rest of the women. ‘Some people act big when you stick a uniform on them – but I’d like to see how they fare without it.’
Her defiance prompted a belated rallying of morale. ‘That’s right! Outrageous!’
She turned back, her face hidden from all but him, and sneaked him another of those winks. Once again he was thrown. She took over.
‘You’ll be wanting my name, I suppose. Aoife Penny. Here’s my address.’
Macken noted it down, but on her summons, instead of any offence, he wrote: When can I see you?
‘Well, Chief Constable – I hope the next time we meet that your manners have improved.’
And off she cycled, to admiring gasps from the other women. As they dispersed, the vicar recovered his poise, with added venom.
‘We’ll have no Papist ruling the roost here, hiding behind a uniform or no. You’ll soon learn, Bracken. Or you’ll be taught!’
‘Good day to you too, Reverend.’ Macken strode off purposefully, displaying a blithe confidence he doubted anyone found convincing, least of all himself. Still, the die was cast. That was the main thing.
CHAPTER 8
Macken rounded the corner and realised that he had no specific destination in mind. Purposeful marching was all very well, but he’d be out the other side of the village before long. The prospect of slinking back to the barracks was not an inviting one.
He slowed down, and finding himself at a shop, went inside. A hubbub at the counter meant the women there did not immediately register his arrival, so intent were they on an outrageous piece of gossip. Macken realised that it featured him in a leading role.
‘You never saw the like! Yon minister was speechless…’
‘’Twas only Aoife Penny had the gumption to put him in his place…’
Over their bobbing heads rose the inquiring glance of the large woman behind the counter, followed by a broad smile and loud announcement.
‘Ladies! The villain of the piece is among us. Good day to you, sir.’
The women froze. Then, heads down, they were off. Must-get-on’s and Is-that-the-time’s scattered in their wake, until the shop was emptied of all but Macken and its proprietor.
‘Have you come to sling me in a cell with