Chapter 19
The next morning, having dropped Grace at preschool, Beth walked back along the parade towards the car park, wondering how and why that last conversation with the Wolverine had ended so strangely. The sound of a baby crying filtered into her thoughts. The door of the craft shop banged open and Lucy stuck her head out.
‘Tell me, Beth,’ she demanded, her skin pasty with exhaustion, ‘why does anyone have more than one child?’
‘Don’t ask me. Most of mine came as a package deal.’
Lucy shushed Hazel. It had no discernible effect. ‘Have you time for a cuppa?’
‘A quick one. I need to pop into the Crashing Boar later. Rose said they have a lunchtime shift going, then I’m dropping my CV into some places in Highcliffe.’
‘No luck on the job front, then?’
‘Not so far. What’s bothering Hazel?’
‘Teeth, I think. Not that I can think anymore.’
‘That bad, huh?’
‘Tom was on call last night and I reckon he had more sleep doing the whole casualty doctor thing than I did. Talking to you just might save my sanity.’
‘Don’t look at me for sanity.’
‘Are your kids giving you grief, too?’
‘Always, but no. It’s the man next door.’
‘Oooh.’ Lucy wiggled her eyebrows. ‘The good-looking neighbour you mentioned. What’s the problem?’
‘Let’s just say, he has issues.’
‘We’ve all got issues, darling.’ She looked down at her wailing daughter. ‘Haven’t we, Hazel? Yes, we have.’
‘Can I hold her?’
‘Fill your boots.’ Lucy handed the wriggling bundle over. ‘Trying to run a business with a newborn baby was a daft idea. What was I thinking?’
‘You’re just tired. Go sit down.’ Beth walked up and down the shop, gently rocking the sobbing child. ‘Grace used to love it when I held her facing out, so she could see what was going on.’ She turned Hazel around. Frantic sobs became gasps and hiccups, then Hazel belched like a beer-sodden football supporter and stopped crying all together.
‘Sweet heaven above. Peace at last. Why didn’t the little traitor do that for me?’
‘Pure luck, I promise you. Anyway, how are the interviews going? Found a crafty whiz-kid, yet?’
Lucy snorted. ‘Hardly, I’ve had three ladies apply, but none of them are right.’
‘They can’t have been worse than me.’
‘I wish that were true. The first had the worst BO imaginable. I couldn’t breathe the whole time she was in here. The second wouldn’t stop talking. Honestly, she’d drive me mad in half an hour. Plus, I got the impression she had a problem with the idea of working for a person of colour.’
‘No way! That’s awful.’
Lucy pursed her lips. ‘Meh! It happens. It shouldn’t, but it does. Anyway, neither of them would have created the right atmosphere in here.’
‘And the third one?’
‘Ah, well, her I recognised. From that lot over past the railway tracks in the next village. Do you know the family I mean?’
‘I’m not sure I do, but, then, I’m not in the loop with local gossip.’
‘I avoid gossip as a rule, but I did hear she lost her job at the Crashing Boar because the till was light too many times.’
‘Oh, yes, I do know. The Dixons, isn’t it? I heard Rose telling Daisy. That’s why there are some shifts going.’
‘I don’t suppose your Daisy is interested in the job here, is she?’
‘She might’ve been if I hadn’t been the one to mention it to her.’
‘How so?’
‘It wasn’t a conversation that went well.’
Lucy yawned. ‘Sorry. Not trying to be rude. Just cream-crackered.’
Beth tipped her head towards a wingback armchair tucked away right at the back of the shop. ‘Why not have a rest? It’s quiet in here. I can keep an eye on things. If you’ve got a sling for Hazel, you can give me a couple of jobs to do, too. But only idiot-proof stuff, mind.’
‘Oh, thank you. If you’re sure you don’t mind. There’s a papoose over that chair. Can you sort the wool in that box into baskets of different colour and then tidy the shelves on the far wall? That would really hel… oh, sorry.’ Lucy stifled another yawn, settled herself down in the chair and closed her eyes.
Beth hummed, concentrating on sorting wool. Hazel stuffed a chubby fist in her mouth and dribbled. Lucy snored. The shop doorbell tinkled. Beth looked up. Oh heck .
Mrs Trenchard’s steely gaze swept around the shop and zeroed in on Beth. ‘Mrs Hope. It’s you.’
Beth resisted the urge to look down and double check her own identity. She pointed to the baby strapped to her front and then to Lucy. ‘Just lending a hand. Although, heaven help me if someone wants to buy something. The till looks very complicated.’ Beth stopped, realising that Mrs Trenchard was a customer. ‘Can I get you anything?’
The older woman shrugged out of her coat and scarf and bustled over to the little kitchenette to hang them on a hook behind the door. ‘That till’s the same model as the one in the post office. I’ll operate it for you.’
‘I couldn’t put you out like that.’
‘You’re not. Crafty Crochet starts in twenty minutes,’ said Mrs Trenchard. ‘I always come early to get the teas and coffees sorted.’
‘Crafty Crochet?’ Horrified at the thought, Beth cleared her throat. ‘Oh dear. I can’t crochet to save my life.’
‘We do the crocheting, Mrs Hope. You supply the wool.’ She nodded towards the box of wool that Beth was sorting. ‘You seem to have that covered. Ah, look, Reena’s here.’
Outside on the pavement, Reena was tying Tiny’s lead to a post.
*
An hour later, when Lucy finally stirred, the Crafty Crochet Circle were all creating away and chatting quietly. Beth watched as Morgan, the twenty-eight-year old mechanic from the village garage – all intense black eye liner and flawless beehive, with flowers tattooed down her right arm – demonstrated how to make delicate, lacy baby booties in sky-blue merino wool. Cathy, a young woman in her early twenties with Down’s syndrome, had arrived with her two adoptive mothers, Liz and Stephie. She chatted away to everyone, while ball after ball of brightly coloured yarn spun off her hook into ornately patterned squares. George Botley, from the hardware store, had been a surprise late arrival. He slid into a seat next to Cathy, who gave him a big grin and showed him how to help stitch her woollen squares into a blanket. Beth focused on the yarn supply, surprised to realise she was enjoying herself.
Lucy yawned and sat upright. ‘Oh, Beth, I didn’t mean to steal your whole morning. Aren’t you supposed to be at the Crashing Boar?’
Beth checked her watch. ‘Yes, I am. Sorry, I’d better go.’ She passed Hazel back to her mother, aware that Mrs Trenchard was frowning at her again.
What have I done now?
‘Thank you so much,’ said Lucy. ‘I’d forgotten what a nightmare teething is. It’ll be so much easier when she’s older.’
‘Don’t you believe it,’ muttered Beth, reaching for her bag.
‘What do you mean?’
All eyes were suddenly on her. Beth shifted from foot to foot. ‘Oh, nothing. Only that it gets more complicated when they’re older. There’s no manual and everything’s subject to random change without notice.’
‘That’s true,’ said a quiet voice. Beth was amazed to hear George speak at all, let alone agree with her. ‘Whatever you do, they won’t like it,’ he continued. ‘Parenting is about being supportive, but not too supportive. You’ve got to encourage, but, at the same time, appear completely uninterested. It’s quite a skill.’
Beth laughed. ‘Exactly. I’ve no idea what I’m doing half the time, although I probably shouldn’t admit it. Anyway, I have to go. Don’t want to be late.’ She smiled a goodbye to the group and headed for the door.
Passing Mrs Trenchard, she heard the old woman mutter, ‘With four children to look after, I should think you have enough to do focusing on them, rather than going galivanting to pubs at lunchtime.’
Beth stiffened. No way was she letting that slide. ‘I’m applying for a job, if you must know. Someone has to keep a roof over the children’s heads and put food on the table. The only person doing that is me and I’ll do it the way I think best.’ She was out of the door without giving Mrs Trenchard a second to respond.
*
Utterly seething, Beth stomped along the wide pavement towards the Crashing Boar. Wrapped up in her thoughts, she accidentally bumped into a woman leaving the pet store with an immense bag of dog food in her arms.
‘I’m so sorry.’ She steadied the woman before she toppled into the road. The shiny dark bobbed hair made Beth do a double take. ‘Jane?’
The counsellor was barely recognisable in a tatty fleece and dog hair-covered jodhpurs, and liberally shedding the scent of horses and Chanel in her wake. Beth wasn’t sure it was her until she smiled.
‘Hello, Beth. You look well. I was worried after you stood me up.’
‘Stood you up?’
‘You had a follow-up appointment with me at the clinic yesterday.’
‘Did I?’ Beth put a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh my goodness. I did. I’m so sorry. I completely forgot.’
‘I wasn’t surprised you didn’t come. You weren’t exactly fully engaged in the first consultation.’
Guilt sloshed through Beth’s middle. ‘It’s not that… Well… it is a bit, but I’ve got some major financial problems. I’m looking for a job.’
‘I see.’
‘But I have followed your advice.’
‘How so?’
‘You said I should open up to people. And I did. I made a friend.’ She shut the image of the Wolverine out of her mind and concentrated on Lucy. ‘And I’ve been trying to socialise more, too. I’ve just come from crochet club.’
‘How did that make you feel?’
Beth tipped her head on one side. ‘Good, actually. Barbara Trenchard is still pissing me off, mind, but that’s nothing new. Everyone else was really nice.’
‘I’m glad.’ Jane jerked her chin towards a battered green Vauxhall estate parked at the side of the road. ‘Would you mind opening the rear door of that car for me?’
Beth pulled the door handle. A chorus of excited yaps started. Two short, hairy dogs, looking remarkably like Dougal from The Magic Roundabout , bounced onto the pavement and chased each other around in circles.
Jane dumped the sack on the back seat. ‘Thanks. I’ve got an equine therapy session starting soon. Right, come on, you two. In.’ She whistled and the dogs leapt back into the car.
‘Counselling horses as well as humans?’ asked Beth, impressed by the display of canine obedience.
‘Not exactly. It’s officially my day off. I teach vulnerable youngsters to ride. Looking after horses is good therapy and so is spending time with the dogs. I was hoping to start a session at the Astley stables, but Lord Astley refused permission.’
‘I’m not surprised. He’s a nasty piece of work.’
‘The riding centre over at Bisley have said I can go there instead. Today’s the first session.’
‘I hope it all goes well. I’m sure it will. And…’ Beth paused. She wasn’t given to sudden impulses, but Jane’s advice in that last appointment had genuinely proved helpful. ‘Look. I really am sorry I stood you up. Is there any chance I could… well…?’
Jane pulled a jangly bunch of keys from her fleece pocket. ‘Are you asking for another appointment?’
‘Uh… I think… well, yes.’
‘I tell you what. Given your current situation, how about a telephone consultation? It’ll save you travelling to Southampton and give you extra time to find that job.’
‘That would be amazing. Thank you.’
‘Righto. I’ll email you an appointment time for next week.’