Im sure he isnt!
Hes good at football, she conceded. Im not sure how clever you have to be for that, but it makes him popular with the boys too.
They watched him in the distance and then Josie sighed and said, I dont suppose hell ever notice me again. I suppose it was just because he practically fell over me and I was a new face.
Oh, I dont know, Libby said, looking at her thoughtfully, then added immodestly, Youre not pretty like me, but sort of attractive in a different way. Ive never met anyone else with hair that really dark redor eyes that bluey-greyish-lilac sort of colour.
Thanks, but Im not sure I want to be different. Her eyes returned to Ben, now playing football with a group of other boys. She was also tall for her age
Ben asked me out once, but I had to turn him down, Libby said.
Josie turned and stared at her new friend, feeling a pang of jealousy. Not part of the big plan?
No way. She shook her head. And I think he only asked me because his friends dared him to. They probably told him I was easy, like Mum. Anyway, I dont want to get tangled up with some village boy; I have to concentrate on the bigger picture. Im saving myself for Mr Right. Mr Rich and Right, she added, then giggled. It might have been worth going out with Ben, though, just to see his parents faces! Theyre so snobby and stuck up, especially his mother, theyd have had fits.
Oh? What does she do?
Absolutely nothing, but Bens fathers a hospital consultant and they live up a lane the other side of Church Green, in a converted farmhouse. Bens already got his own studio in one of the outbuildings, because his mother doesnt like mess in the house.
How do you know all this?
One of his friends told me.
Grannys house is on the Green, Josie said. That pair of cottages by the really old black and white building. My uncle Harry lives next door to us, but hes not really an uncle, he just married Grannys cousin.
The old house is Blessings, Libby nodded. Its Elizabethan.
Granny says she used to go there to clean, years ago.
In that case, dont get ideas about Ben Richards. His parents would probably think a granny who was a cleaner was only one step above a slutty mother.
I dont see why, Josie said defensively. Anyway, she was a nurse during the war, but it damaged her back so she took up cleaning afterwardsjust light stuff. She still gets a bad back sometimes, but thats probably just because shes really, really old. My mother was a nurse too, and my dad was a policeman. We lived in a police house in St Albans.
Well, dont start crying again, or youll set me off, Libby said briskly.
Josie gave a watery smile. Shed got the measure by now of Libbys kind heart under her sometimes brusque exterior, and her friends lovely blue eyes were, indeed, brimming again with sympathetic tears.
A dad who was a policeman is at least a couple of rungs up from not knowing who your father isand my sister, Daisy, doesnt know either, except that we have different ones, Libby pointed out. Maybe its better not to know.
Libby left the bus before her new friend, at the other end of Neatslake, but Ben Richards and a couple of other boys got off when Josie did, suddenly swinging down the spiral stairs from the upper deck as the bus stopped, and jumping off first.
She didnt think hed noticed her, but as she turned the corner towards Church Green, he fell into step beside her as if hed been waiting for her. Which he had.
I hear your granny makes the best cakes in Neatslake, he said, with that warm, irresistible sideways smile, and Josie felt the glacier around her heart crack into a million fragments and melt away.
* * *
Well, thats going to put the cat among the pigeons, Granny said thoughtfully when Ben had finallyand reluctantlygone off home, full of cheese straws hot from the oven and several slices of butter-rich fruitcake. But he seems a nice boyconsidering.
Considering what? Josie demanded, coming out of a pleasant trance. Her mouth ached a bit from all the smiling shed done this afternoon, and she wondered if her face muscles had atrophied over the last few months from disuse. She got up and looked at herself in the small, cloudy mirror beside the coat pegs, but it was about as much good as a reflection on water, all ripply.
If you two are going to be friends, I dont think Bens parents, especially his mum, will be too pleased about it.
Ive heard shes a snob, Granny. Do you know her?
Oh, yes. Manys the time Nell Slatterys sat here in the kitchen with your mother, she said unexpectedly. They did their nursing training together and started working at the same hospital together too, and they were quite good friends in those days.
Josie frowned. So why wont she be pleased if me and Ben are she blushed, friends?
Well, flower, for one thing her husband is a consultant pathologist and the very instant the ring was on her finger she chucked the nursing and most of her old friends with it, and got Ideas. And for anotherwell, her husband fell for your mother first, you see, and Nell got him on the rebound.
Bens father once went out with Mum? Josie said, amazed.
No, she didnt have any fancy for him, but he pestered her until she met your father and they got marriedthen he turned and wed Nell instead. Since then she pretends shes never met me if we pass in the village. Cleaners are below her notice. Though I suppose, she added with humour, if she really didnt, shed be trying to employ me!
Theres nothing wrong with having been a cleaner, Josie said loyally.
No, Im not ashamed of having done good honest work, but I was proud of your mother, getting her nursing qualifications. And she was so pretty too. You look just like her at that age, Josie.
But Im not pretty, she said, surprised.
Of course you are.
Josie shook her head definitely. No, Im not. Libby Martin, my new friend at school, said she thought I was unusual. Libby really is prettysmall and blonde and slim.
Isnt she Gloria Martins younger daughter? The talk of the village, that one is!
Libby isnt like her mother, Josie said definitely.
I dont suppose she is. Neither of the two girls has had a bad word said about them, agreed Granny fairly. The older one is apprenticed to a hairdresser and doing well. Whats she called? Some flower name.
Daisy, I think, Josie said. So, can I invite Libby to come round here sometimes?
Yes, of course you can.
Cool!
Im glad to see you making friends already, though I didnt think youd be starting with the boys quite so quickly!
Josie blushed. Bens just being nice. I mean, its not like hes asked me out. He did ask Libby out once but she turned him down.
Quite right too. At your age, friendship is better, Granny said firmly. I dont mind him coming here to see you, but no goings-on.
Josie blushed furiously. Granny!
Josie blushed. Bens just being nice. I mean, its not like hes asked me out. He did ask Libby out once but she turned him down.
Quite right too. At your age, friendship is better, Granny said firmly. I dont mind him coming here to see you, but no goings-on.
Josie blushed furiously. Granny!
Later, in her room, she took the framed photograph of her parents out of the drawer where shed hidden it away and looked from her mothers smiling face to her own serious one in the dressing table mirror. Her mother was pretty, even with laughter lines and a bit of extra weight plumping up her cheeks, but Granny was just being kind, for surely her eyes had been bluer and her skin less sallow than Josies own?
Then she tried to remember what colour her fathers eyes had been, but already the memories were fading, along with the first sharp edge of pain and anger.
As the years passed, she forged a bond of hopes, dreams and laughter with Libby and moved seamlessly from friendship into love with Ben. But, deep down, she never quite lost that slight feeling of insecurity, the fear that those she loved might just be snatched away from her at any moment.
And she always hated the cry of peacocks.
Chapter One Cakes and Ale
The Artist has gone off to London again, for the opening night of an exhibition that includes his work. The source of his inspiration may come from the countryside, but these increasingly frequent trips to the metropolis are yet another necessary compromise to our way of life.
We aim to be as self-sufficient as possibleand still the twenty-first century constantly intrudes. Realistically, were doing well if we can strike an eighty/twenty balance! Even this diary is now written directly onto a laptop and emailed straight off to the editor of Skint Old Northern Woman magazine, just one example of the constant contradictions involved. And, of course, many of you now subscribe to the online version.
But it has to be admitted that the Artist has a weakness for all kinds of gadgets and bits of technological wizardry that I dont share even when, with the best of intentions, he presents me with something like a breadmaking machine, which he is sure will make my life easier
Cakes and Ale: the musings of a backyard good-lifer
The sun was making a brave attempt to warm a dank and fuzzy mid-October morning when Ben, looking as big, tousled and wholesomely delectable as always, turned on the doorstep to say goodbye.
Oh, I wish you didnt have to go, I said, putting my arms around his neck to pull him down to kissing level. Honestly, youd think he was going on some exotic foreign trek into uncharted territory, rather than to stay with old friends in London for a couple of days. I really must get a grip! But these moments do sweep over me occasionally, because when youve been orphaned as a child and then lost the grandmother who brought you up, its hard not to be afraid that fate might also decide to snatch away the person you love most in the whole wide world.
You know I wouldnt go if I didnt have to, darling. Ben enfolded me in a reassuring if asphyxiating hug, like a good-natured grizzly bear.
Liar, liar, your bums on fire! I chanted rudely. Youre loving your bit of fame, admit it. These days theres a glint in your eye and a spring in your step every time you set off for London.
He grinned, though guiltily, his fair skin flushing slightly. Perhapsbut arent I always more than happy to be back home again, with you?
Maybe, I conceded, because it was true that he always came back exhausted and more than ready to slip back into the old, familiar rut as if hed never been awayuntil the next time. But then, maybe youre just missing your home comforts?
Youre one of my home comforts, he said, squeezing me again and then letting me go. Ill ring you as soon as I get to Russell and Marys flatpromise.
Thats OK, I dont really think anything awful will happen to you between here and Camden, unless things have changed radically since I last came with you. I paused reflectively, trying to remember when that was, and then added in surprise, Do you know, that must be more than a year ago!
Is it? he said. It doesnt seem like that long.
No, the time has just flown. I feel Im losing touch with Mary too, and we used to be such friends, but now if I phone shes always about to go out and never rings me back like she says she will. I really must find someone who would look in on Uncle Harry and walk the dog, so I could start coming with you again.
You know Harrys too independent to let anyone else keep an eye on him and too frail to leave on his own, Ben pointed out patiently. Anyway, youll be much happier here, doing something with all those baskets of apples and pears Dorrie keeps giving you.
Actually, I always enjoyed my trips to London, catching up with everyone and visiting my favourite places, I protested, which was true, especially when Libby was in town so we could meet up. But youre right, theres a huge amount to do here at the moment. Im appled out and I still need to get the last of the marrows in, make green tomato chutney and start pickling beetrootplus I have a really tricky wedding cake to finish icing. Its just that I do miss you when youre away.
And I miss you too, darling, he said, but absently, looking at his watch. Id better gospeak to you later!
He gave me a kiss and then off he strode across the Green towards the High Street and the bus to the station, swinging his overnight bag, while I mopped a weak and pathetic tear from my eye with the belt of my blue towelling robe and summoned up a bright smile in case he turned round to wave.
He didnt, but that was probably because Miss Violet Grace whipped around the corner on her tricycle just as he reached it and he had to take sudden evasive action.
A collision was averted and Ben vanished from sight. Spotting me, Violet veered rapidly in my direction, the bobbles of her gaily coloured Peruvian-style knitted helmet flying in the breeze.
Isnt Ben an early bird? she called, coming to a sudden halt in front of me, so that her hat fell forward over her eyes. She pushed it back and peered upwards, and what with her mauve lipstick, pale complexion and fringe of silvery hair, she would have looked quite other-worldly had it not been for the faint flush on her cheeks engendered by pedalling hard. Off to London again, is he?
Yes, and I would have driven him to the station in the van, but he insisted on catching the bus. At least, I hope hes caught it, because I held him up a bit, I said guiltily.
Violet had been to fetch the newspaper from Nevilles Village Stores. However hard she and her two elder sisters might find it to make ends meet on their pensions, their father, General Grace, had always had The Times, so it was unthinkable to them that they could possibly start the day without it.
Ben is a brilliant artistThe Times said so. She looked doubtful, though willing to believe anything written in that august organ. I thought I would just pop across to remind you that there is a wedding at St Cuthberts todayten thirty. Will you be there, dear?