Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
‘Damn,’ said Devon, pocketing his mobile after a lengthy conversation with what sounded like an agitated racehorse stud owner.
‘Problem?’ asked Geoffrey.
It was nearly lunchtime and Bets had finished assisting the older man with an operation and keeping an eye on a very groggy dog, who was due to be picked up in the next half hour.
‘Yes. Sweeney has two horses that are lame and a busy racecard this weekend. He wants me there pronto. You couldn’t do me a favour, Dad?
I said I’d help Ella take some paintings over to Great Missenden for her exhibition but I’m not going to be able to make it.
She needs help getting them in and out of the car at both ends. ’
‘Sorry, son. I’ve got an appointment with Alan, the sales rep about the new dog food we’re thinking about stocking. I’m hoping Alan will buy me a pint or two.’ Geoffrey winked at Bets. ‘Not many perks to this job. Might as well make the most of what I can.’
‘Course,’ said Devon. ‘Not to worry.’ His forehead creased into a thoughtful frown.
‘I can help,’ volunteered Bets, doing a quick calculation in her head.
She had three hours before she was back on this afternoon.
‘But I can’t do it until one-thirty.’ That would give her time to nip to Tesco, pick up the bits for her mum and then drop them off on the outskirts of Tring before driving back to Wilsgrave to help Ella.
‘You’ll have to drive the Volvo because Ella’s new paintings are not going to fit in that washing machine on wheels she drives, or your Nissan.
I’ll take the Landy, if that’s all right with you, Dad.
’ He preferred driving his own car when he could, rather than the practice Land Rover, which was draughty and uncomfortable but invaluable on those occasions when they needed to go off road to reach an injured animal.
‘No worries, I’ve driven the Volvo plenty of times,’ replied Bets, before adding with a cheeky grin, ‘and if I put a new scratch on it, you’re never going to notice.
’ Devon’s car was a workhorse, and he had a habit of driving it into and along hedges.
But given that a large proportion of their clients were farmers with acres of land spread across the Chilterns, it was hardly surprising.
‘But can you take Tiggy, Geoffrey? She’ll only get in the way. ’
‘Do you think she’ll be all right in the pub?’ asked Geoffrey doubtfully. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘I can’t take her with me,’ said Devon quickly.
Bets sighed. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll sort something out.’ She really didn’t want to take Tiggy to her mother’s yet. She needed to prepare the ground first and she hadn’t had a chance yet.
‘I’m sure you could leave her here with Diana,’ suggested Geoffrey. ‘She won’t mind.’
Bets gave him a tight smile.
‘Thanks, Bets. What would we do without you?’ Devon was already about to hand her the car keys.
Even though she’d heard the platitude a dozen times over, this time, for some reason, it rankled. Needling her like a burr stuck to her skin.
‘I don’t know,’ said Bets with sudden awareness, realising that once again she’d fallen into the same habit of being helpful and willing.
Devon’s words were equally habitual. Did he really mean them?
‘What would you do without me?’ There was a touch of challenge in her voice and she sounded a little bit bolshy.
Both Geoffrey and Devon turned to look at her, surprise etched on their faces.
It was a bit of a revelation. They actually looked at her properly, as if they were seeing her for the first time. Devon opened his mouth but didn’t say anything. He glanced at his father as if looking for help.
Geoffrey, gentleman to the last, coughed. ‘We couldn’t do without you, Bets, you’re a valuable member of the team. Practically family.’
Bets raised an eyebrow. ‘Not anymore,’ she said, unable to help the bitterness creeping into her voice.
Both Devon and Geoffrey shuffled on the spot.
‘I’m sorry about that, love,’ said Geoffrey, ‘but you’ll always be … you know.’
But Bets didn’t know.
She snatched the keys from Devon’s outstretched hand, and wheeled out of the room, knowing full well she’d be leaving the two men with confused expressions on their faces.
Good. Maybe it was time people started noticing her, even if it was for the wrong reasons.
* * *
‘I thought you’d be here before now.’ Bets’ mother’s face wore its habitual disgruntled frown. ‘Have you got my fags? I told you I’d run out last night.’
‘Sorry, Mum. You know I had to work this morning,’ she pointed out.
‘Hmph.’
‘And then surgery ran over. One of the dogs didn’t respond well to the anaesthetic, poor thing.’
Clare Fowler tutted. ‘You care more about them bleedin’ animals than you do your own mother. I’m bloody gasping. Get me vodka as well, did you?’
‘Yes, Mum. Although don’t tell me you’ve started on that at lunchtime as well.’ She grinned to show she was teasing and held up the vodka.
‘I’m not some bloody alky, you cheeky mare.
It’s one of the few pleasures I have in life.
It’s all right for you with your cushy job and place to live and the mighty Ashcrofts fawning over you.
Some of us don’t have it so easy. The vodka takes the edge off in the evenings when I’m here on my own every night. ’
Bets knew better than to respond to this. There was no answer. For everything she suggested, her mother had a reason not to do it. ‘I’d love a cuppa, want me to make you one?’
‘Ta, love. Knock us a sandwich up as well, while you’re at it,’ Clare said, ripping the cellophane off a pack of cigarettes.
‘I bought us some in Tesco,’ said Bets, holding up a carrier bag.
‘La di da. My food not good enough for you?’
Bets refrained from pointing out that there was never any food in the house and she didn’t have the time to go foraging through the cupboards for some unlikely combination like baked beans and tinned potatoes, the food staples of her youth.
‘I’m short on time and I thought you might like something different for a change. I’ve got chicken with stuffing, roast beef and horseradish, and bacon, lettuce and tomato – and salt and vinegar crisps.’
‘I’ll have chicken, although why you didn’t get any tuna…’ She sighed heavily. Bets managed to contort her face into a long-suffering smile. ‘I suppose I’ll get some plates.’
Bets followed her mother into the tiny kitchen, which stank of smoke. It was the only room in the house that her mother allowed herself to smoke in, which was something.
She put the kettle on while her mother got out the plates and popped them on the table.
‘How’s Lara?’ Her older sister was married and lived in Cheshire, about as far away as she could get.
‘She’s great. Sent me a lovely picture of the kids. They’re growing so fast. She said they loved those mouse books you sent. How’s your friend who draws them?’
Bets smiled as she lifted the mugs out of the cupboard.
Her mother did genuinely dote on her grandchildren, Bets’ two nephews.
Her sister was the smart one. Having escaped, she rarely came home but was very good at maintaining digital contact.
A few well-chosen photos every now and then appeased their mother and cemented Lara’s pole position as favourite daughter.
Distance definitely made her mother’s heart much fonder.
No doubt, if Lara had lived locally, she’d have been in for the same constant niggling criticism, and Bets didn’t blame her one bit for buggering off as soon as she’d been old enough.
If it weren’t for Jack, she might have done the same.
‘Ella’s fine. She’s working on a new book. How’s work?’ asked Bets, locating the teabags.
Clare rolled her eyes. ‘That bellend of a head complained again last week. I’ll outstay him.
I always do.’ Bets caught her lip in her teeth.
You had to hand it to her mother; she’d seen off seven head teachers at the primary school over the last fifteen years.
Not one of them had managed to get rid of her, despite their best attempts.
School cleaners were hard to come by, which meant she also hung on to her dinner-lady job by blackmail more than anything else.
‘He’s a serious pain in the arse. Not sure what he expects.
Cleaning up after hundreds of kids is no picnic.
I’d like to see him get down on his hands and knees and do a bit of hard work for a change.
And’—she drew herself up, taking a long deep drag of her cigarette, waiting a moment before she blew a plume of smoke out through her nose, reminding Bets of a cranky dragon—‘they don’t want me to be a dinner lady no more.
Keep insisting I have to do all this safekeeping training.
Like I haven’t been a dinner lady longer than he’s been out of school himself – a lot of these kids need a good clip round the ear. ’
‘Not sure you’re allowed to do that anymore,’ said Bets, trying to keep things as light-hearted as possible suspecting that her mum meant safeguarding rather than safekeeping.
‘More’s the pity.’ Her mother sat down heavily at the table, pulling an ashtray towards her. She was all grey skin and gaunt bone, thanks to her diet of alcohol and nicotine. ‘Although, these days some of the little buggers would give us a thump back.’
Bets peeled back the plastic sleeves of the sandwich packets and put them onto the plates, sneaking an additional bacon sandwich onto her mother’s plate. The lettuce and tomato were probably the closest thing to five a day her mother would ingest today.
‘And what’s going on in your life?’
Bets was pleased to note her mother wolfed her sandwiches down while she gave her a brief update on the comings and goings of the village, which her mother loved hearing about. It was like Wilsgrave was her own personal soap opera.
‘Oh, poor love,’ she exclaimed, when Bets told her about Doris’ accident. ‘Cats is bad news. That’s why I wouldn’t let you have no pets. Dangerous they are. And dirty.’