Rumours. Freya North
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gum. She was one of Xander’s closest friends and that they should live in the same village, having met nearly two decades ago at Nottingham University, was no coincidence. They’d dated, briefly, or rather they fell into a bit of late-night snogging at the Students’ Union disco in Freshers’ Week, but neither of them could remember much about that. It wasn’t long after that that Caroline met Andrew and adopted the role of older sister to Xander (though she was in fact younger by two years) and Xander, an only child, couldn’t believe his luck, or what he’d been missing all those years. After university, they’d all shared a house in Highbury and then, when they finally decided that they’d be grown-ups – and Caroline married Andrew and Xander set up his own company – they all ended up in Long Dansbury.
The village’s links by road and rail to London meant that Andrew had the best of both worlds – miles of track to run with Xander, as well as a tolerable commute into work. For the children, having Xander close by was brilliant because he loved watching SpongeBob, he was always up for kicking a ball even with a three-year-old, or rough-and-tumbling over their mum’s furniture, and best of all she told him off far more than she scolded them. The Rowlands had lived in the village for six years, the children had been born there and Caroline loved the way that, despite this and despite all the activities she joined in or indeed organized, she was still frequently referred to as ‘Caroline – the Northern Lass’ as if Newcastle was somewhere very foreign and rather exotic.
‘Hullo Caroline, dear,’ Mrs Patek, shop owner, greeted her. Deftly, Caroline chatted back whilst shaking her head before Mrs Patek could say, sweetie for Sonny? and the little boy remained none the wiser. ‘It’ll shake the village, wouldn’t you say?’
‘What – Mother Refuses Son E-Numbers and Sugar?’
Mrs Patek laughed. She was proficient at holding down umpteen conversations at once whilst packing the shopping, doing mental maths before the till came up with the total and managing to remain resolutely jolly all the while. ‘I was just saying, dear, to Nora here, that it’ll shake the village.’
‘What’ll shake the village, pet?’ Caroline asked.
‘She hasn’t heard yet,’ said Nora who needed drama daily and added it to most topics of conversation. She sucked her teeth thoughtfully. ‘Longbridge Hall – it’s for sale.’
‘Never!’ Caroline was surprised. Xander had said nothing about it when he’d popped over to watch the football with Andrew last night – and if anyone was to know, it would be Xander.
‘Nora, dear, we really must say “apparently” until the sign goes up,’ said Mrs Patek.
‘Apparently,’ Nora conceded, touching her blue-rinsed perm as if to check it was still there.
‘How do you know?’ asked Caroline.
‘Her Ladyship was in here the other day, when Mercy was in here, and I overheard her saying “Denby’s?” but Mercy said, “No, Elmfield’s.” And then Her Ladyship asks Mrs Patek here for a piece of paper and wrote down something about someone at Elmfield’s.’
Caroline put her change in her purse, hitched Sonny on her hip because he’d decided he couldn’t possibly stand, let alone walk, and took her shopping from the counter. ‘Perhaps Longbridge isn’t for sale – perhaps Lady Lydia fancies a spot of gazumping.’ It all sounded so far-fetched.
‘Gazumping!’ Nora was thrilled. ‘What’s that?’
‘Perhaps she fancies Mercy’s cottage – and is going to make a higher offer.’ Caroline was jesting but Mrs Patek and Nora considered this gravely.
‘The Fortescues have always thought they own the village,’ said Nora.
‘They mostly do,’ said Mrs Patek.
‘Maybe Her Ladyship is making sure of it,’ said Nora. But she, too, couldn’t really imagine Lady Lydia selling – she must be buying.
‘She’ll never sell me that plot of land opposite my shop – even though you all think it’s the shop’s car park.’ Mrs Patek paused. ‘She can’t be selling. Why would you move if you owned a place like that? And anyway, she’s part of things. And really, we’re all part of Longbridge.’
‘If Lady Lydia is doing a gazump, then I wonder if Mercy’s happy about that. Mind you, if it’s more money, she’s likely to be. She’s from Scottish stock, you know – they like their money, that lot,’ said Nora.
‘And I like brown ale and coal, me,’ Caroline laughed. ‘I’ll see you ladies later. Ta-ta,’ and, smiling to herself, she walked away.
‘But if Longbridge is sold – what’ll it mean for the village?’ she heard Nora say.
As she pushed the buggy, maintained a conversation with Sonny and navigated the dog who had a tendency to wander into the path of anything, stationary or mobile, Caroline texted Xander.
Rumour has it Longbridge is on the market … Cx
The reply came almost immediately.
Bollox! Xx
What a lot of X’s he uses, thought Caroline.
Xander texted again, before she’d replied.
Where did you hear that?!
Village Shop
I rest my case … Xx
‘Mum?’ The front door was unlocked and Xander stood in his mother’s hallway thinking, if I was a burglar, I could swipe her handbag, her car keys, various pairs of shoes, library books, two terracotta plant pots and a selection of Paul Newman DVDs by barely crossing the threshold. Last week, her car keys had been in the car, actually in the ignition; the passenger seat piled high with interestingly bulky Jiffy bags ready for posting and a clutch of Steve McQueen films loaned from Mrs Patek’s esoteric DVD-rental service.
‘Mum?’ Where was she?
‘Hullo, darling!’
She was behind him, making her way up the garden path.
‘Mother – what are you doing?’
‘Your dad forgot his jacket – it’ll be chilly later on. I don’t want that bronchitis coming back.’
Monday night – card night at the pub.
‘But you left your keys.’
‘I didn’t lock the door.’
‘Exactly – you left everything in here.’
‘Xander!’ she chided and laughed. ‘Stop worrying! I only popped out – I’ve only been gone five or ten minutes. Don’t start putting the willies up me about thieves and the like. This is Little Dunwick, remember.’
‘It’s cloud cuckoo land.’
‘Don’t be cheeky.’
Xander shrugged.
‘You think Long Dansbury is small and friendly – well, here in Little Dee, we’re a tiny happy family in comparison.’
Xander smiled as if he acquiesced. His mother still needed to justify her move away to this neighbouring village over a decade ago.
‘Come on in and give your old mum a kiss.’
Audrey Fletcher made herself sound ancient though she had only recently celebrated her sixty-fifth birthday and looked much younger albeit in a windswept way. She had thick, iron-grey hair worn at one length to her shoulders and a fringe she kept too long so that she blinked a lot, which gave the impression that she was always concentrating hard when actually she chose to listen only selectively. It drove Xander mad, but his father greatly appreciated it, not being one for involved conversation. If Audrey lost track of what people were saying, she never asked them to repeat themselves, she never interrupted and she never murmured, ‘Hmm?’; she simply smiled and blinked in a calmingly beatific way, which