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WELCOME TO FVD THREE.

Henrietta felt an unbelievable sadness. She now knew what it was that Oliver had been keeping from her all these months. Instead of feeling elated and proud of her husband and his award in the Queen’s Birthday Honours List Henrietta was devastated that Oliver trusted her so little that he had not told her as soon as he had received the letter. It was as if all she was to him was a dotty woman whose judgement could not be trusted. In public Henrietta smiled and acknowledged the congratulations that were being heaped upon both her and Oliver as they walked around the village. The local newspaper photographer would be along and snap the couple, arms entwined outside Bagley Cottage. In the years to come Henrietta would never be able to look at the photo without feeling small and sad. Meanwhile Oliver was enjoying all the attention. There was more than one pint bought for him. In fact he was lucky to walk even the few steps from the pub to the cottage in a straight line on the evening of the announcement of the honour. The following day was the Village Fair and it was a hung over Oliver who awoke blearily to the morning.

 The day was as good for weather as could be hoped for and Fred lost no time in making his presence felt on the Village Green. ‘Fred’s Helpers’ – as they did not think of themselves – were already busy. Oliver was trying to remember how to set up the dip-for-a-duck sideshow that he was in charge of. The mini funfair rides were there awaiting construction. The men with them were on a tea break, something that made Fred tut to himself. The ladies of the W.I. were in the hall with cakes to price, making the first of what they hoped would be the many sandwiches that they would sell. At the pub Norman was yawning his way into the day as his bar staff got on with preparing the makings of the food to be sold to the hungry hoards. Later in the morning an ice cream van would join the selection of eateries. Henrietta was in charge of the selling of the lucky programmes once the event got underway, but at the moment she was buttering the bread in the hall and listening to the ladies as they discussed this and that. There was speculation about the new residents and tenants in Flagon’s Valley who had all moved in since the last fair. Would they come and support a village event. Did anyone want them to come. Some thought there could be more to be lost than gained from certain types attending. Fred flittered around in a state of near panic as the hours ticked by to the opening. There was so far no sign of Cllr Dupon. Fred was hoping that the leader of Newtsbridge Council actually knew which village he was supposed to be in.
 
Hooter was wearing the t-shirt with the motto “Don’t Ask Me I’m More Stupider Than You” that Lulu had given his for his tenth birthday. His gran had given him the new football that he wanted, but there was no sign of the England strip. Pix had sent a card that said “hope you are ok” and “ luv Pix” but didn’t have any kisses on it. His mother had sent a card and a letter explaining why she couldn’t give him a present. Shane Wentworth had told Hooter that he was lucky to have made it to ten. Watching the men by the fairground rides sitting about as if they had all the time in the world, whilst Fred found reasons to walk past them every few minutes looking daggers, made Hooter smile. He hoped that he would never be such a fusspot when he was older. Sedge arrived on the green and the two boys wandered about looking at what was being put into place. “It’s you two again. I’ve already told you about this green belonging to the village not to you new comers.” It was Kevin Hawkling. Hooter looked up at Kevin, who stood with his face defused with red of anger. “This green has been ours for hundreds of years and it will stay ours while I have a say in it.” Kevin continued. Fred came past “What are you on about now Kevin?” he asked. “I’m telling these that they have no claim on this green, that’s what I’m doing” snapped Kevin. Fred looked surprised “We need everyone here today. How else will we make the funds we need to keep things running. It’s time you got used to the new people Kevin. They are here to stay and there is nothing any of us can do about it.”
 
Cllr Dupon had eventually arrived with only minutes to spare. He immediately told Fred that once the opening speech had been made he only had time for a quick walk around and then he would have to leave. The MP always stayed for most of the event. Fred was by now in such a state that he couldn’t be bothered with Cllr Dupon and his gracelessness. To Fred the fair was ‘his’. Every year it was only a success because of him. There was no one else capable of organising anything in this village. So it had been for all the years since Fred took charge. Not that anyone else wanted to take the task off Fred. Why should they? Here was someone ready to do it year after year. The speech by Cllr Dupon was brief. It could have been made at any event the councillor opened – and probably was. Then after the shortest of walk rounds, with hardly more than a “good morning” to any of the helpers, the Cllr was gone. The event was under way and there were a surprisingly large number of people already on the Village Green. The bric-a-brac stalls for various charities were doing good business. Programmes were selling well. The cakes were being snapped up in the Village Hall, as homemade cakes usually are. Cups of tea and coffee were being poured and a fresh batch of sandwiches were being made.
 
Verity had refused to listen to Deidre and had already dressed as Queen Mary, even though the pageant was not until two in the afternoon. Verity was helping Oliver who was run off his feet at the dip-for-a-duck. The prizes for finding ducks with a number ending in five were small but the young children seemed happy enough with them. Most won a prize, which was worrying as the prizes were fast running out. Verity giggled with the children and it was due to her picking up the ducks to check the numbers on the bottom when Oliver wasn’t looking that so many were winning. Kevin looking brooding was watching the proceedings from the bench. He was sure that the grass was being dug up by the rides, now running merrily music playing. It would take weeks to get things back to how they should be. It was the same every year.
 
Shane and a group of likeminded young men from the social housing were sitting on the grass drinking from cans of beer. They had only come to the fair to see if there was anything in it for them. They watched with no great interest. Shane had been paid well by Norman for his part in the ‘importation’ of the drink now selling well in the pub. With the additional money made from other merchandise that Shane and Sid had brought back with them Shane for once was flush with cash. He was thinking that it might be time to be on his way. There was nothing to keep him in Falstaff Vale. He might go back to Brighton. The holiday season was starting in earnest now and with good weather the city would be full of holidaymakers. People on holiday were in the habit of letting their guard down.
 
People had continued to arrive and by two pm the whole green was packed. Fred looked on, smiling benevolently. This year was another success. The pageant started. The commentator spoke of the history of Falstaff Vale from the earliest known accounts. “Not many events happened in the village that made news further afield, but in the eighteen hundreds something occurred that has echoed down the years.” There was then a telling of the story of the murder at the great house. Kevin still sitting on the bench listened in outrage. No one had told him this would be included in the pageant. Eden Hawkling, churchwarden who had been hanged for the murder, was Kevin’s great-great-great grandfather. Eden had lived in the cottage nearest to the church where Kevin had grown up. Kevin knew his ancestor had been innocent. How dare this be used as an entertainment. By now ‘Queen Mary’ had arrived and was waving to the crowds as she walked regally across the green from the hall. She was soon followed by other depictions, including Deidre as Mrs Snodder once the school’s unpopular headmistress - who was greeted with some boos from the older residents.
 
The numbers of young men laying and sitting on the grass drinking beer and cider had increased. PC Sam Hedger was looking concerned. The group were getting a bit rowdy now. They were shouting comments to the passing women, many of whom were dressed more for the beach than the middle of a village. Daisy Gates had attracted ribald comments for a different reason. She was dressed too conservatively. Shane had shouted to her that she should put on more of a show for the boys. Daisy had hurried away with tears in her eyes. Sam went over and tried to talk to the group. They jeered at him. He was only one and they were many. Sam withdrew and decided it might be too soon to call for extra officers. The pageant had finished. It seemed to have gone down well. People were running out of money and energy. The crowd was thinning. Some young men from the village had gone to sit near Shane’s group. The two groups eyed each other with distain. Another man from Flagon’s Valley arrived to talk to Shane, and Sam recognised him as one of the two who had hit Sam leaving him unconscious outside the hall all those months ago. The man looked over at Sam and recognised him. He leapt up and strode away. Sam knew it was time to call for reinforcements. He hoped they would not be long in coming.
 
Kevin had been in the pub since the pageant. Not usually a big drinker he had downed more than his fair share of the booze on sale. By the time Norman suggested that Kevin might like to think about going home for a rest Kevin had worked himself up into a state. The way the villagers had used his ancestor as entertainment in their piddling little pageant was making him more and more incensed. As Kevin left the pub he saw the young men on the grass throwing empty cans and bottles around. The rides were packing up and as Kevin had feared the grass was cut up where the rides had been. He staggered along the village street towards The Gloaming, the cottage where his parents still lived. His parents were sitting out in the garden when Kevin got there. “Need something” Kevin muttered as he passed them. He went into the cottage. Kevin’s father had kept the shotgun, now unlicensed. It was in the cupboard beside the ingle nook fireplace along with the ammunition.
 
Fred Bloom was about to partake of a well earned pint when shouting started outside. Thinking it was the young men getting into a fight Fred looked out of the pub door. At first he could not see what the fuss was about. The young men were now standing and looking across the green in the direction of the other end of the village. Some of them were starting to leave, going in the opposite direction to whatever it was that had their attention. Fred thought that this was a good thing, as the sooner they dispersed the less likely there was to be trouble. In the distance there was a bang. “Not fireworks!” thought Fred. People were now rushing past the pub, all heading in the same direction. Fred sighed, this was all he needed at the end of a long day. Putting his pint on the bar Fred headed out to talk to who ever it was letting off fireworks. In the garden at Sunset Cottage Verity was deadheading the roses still dressed as Queen Mary. She had enjoyed the day immensely. Deidre was standing talking to Henrietta. Deidre had not yet had time to change from her Mrs Snodder outfit. Fred had commented how like Mrs Snodder Deidre looked in wig and make up. Deidre had not been too pleased, she had hated the headmistress with a passion. Hooter and Sedge were coming back onto the green to see if there realy were fireworks about. They had been around the back of the hall trying to see if anything useful was being thrown out. Oliver had finished packing the ducks away and was inside Bagley Cottage with his feet up watching the telly. At the pub Norman came outside to stand in the car park. In the distance he could see a figure. The figure seemed to have caught everyone’s attention.
 
Kevin fired another shot into the air and then had to stop to reload. He resumed walking toward the village green. Coming toward him was that old fusspot Fred Bloom. Fred hesitated. Kevin liked Fred. Fred was put upon by the other villagers. Kevin walked past Fred without a glance. PC Sam appeared. Kevin held the gun to his shoulder and pointed it at Sam, who froze. Kevin lowered the gun and walked on. Sam was calling for help on his radio as he watched Kevin walking along the village street. Verity was singing as she deadheaded the roses. It was a nursery rhyme. “Mary, Mary Quite Contrary how does your garden grow?” Verity did not see Kevin standing at the cottage wall behind her. Deidre and Henrietta did. Deidre came forward. “Kevin? Can I help you?” she asked quietly. Kevin swung round. He had spent the whole of his time at the village school being tormented by Mrs Snodder for being too slow at every subject. Mrs Snodder had told Kevin constantly that he was stupid and lazy. It was true - Deidre did look the spitting image of Mrs Snodder in her outfit. At the sound Verity turned. She looked at her sister. Deidre looked surprised, then she fell to the ground. Henrietta screamed. Kevin walked on. He didn’t know where he was going or why. Suddenly the world seemed to have changed. Mrs Snodder was lying on the ground and it was all because of him. Kevin knew he would be in lots of trouble. His parents would be called to the school. They would not be proud of him.
 
Passing the pub Kevin thought how it was the testimony of the landlord in eighteen twenty that had sent Eden Hawkling to the gallows for the murder he had not committed. But Norman had not been the landlord then and so it would not be fair to blame him for what happened. The pub doors were shut and locked. The people inside had gathered in the back room waiting for it to be safe. Hooter and Sedge were hiding behind the wheelie bins in the pub car park. They could not think of anywhere else to go. Kevin could see the bright colour of Hooter’s t-shirt. He came across and looked behind the wheelies. It was the two boys who had been playing on the green when they were not entitled to. Kevin pointed the gun at the boys. “What have you got to say now?” he asked. Before either boy could answer a voice snapped “Kevin put that gun down!” It was Fred Bloom. Fred had followed Kevin along the village street. He had watched helpless as Kevin shot Deidre. Now all Fred could do was try and stop the day ending in any more bloodshed. It was Fred’s responsibility to see the day of the Village Fair went well, and he intended to carry out his responsibility. Kevin turned to Fred. “Why did you have to follow me? I like you Fred, but I can’t let you get me into trouble. It’s time I went.” The shot thundered and Fred slumped to the tarmac. Kevin walked away, quickly now. He needed to get to Leafy Wood. Hooter and Sedge clung to each other, sobbing in terror. Sam was there. People came out of the pub carrying towels to try and stop the bleeding. Already sirens were coming, called to help Deidre. Now another ambulance was needed in Falstaff Vale. “How many more?” thought Sam. Kevin was out of sight.
Sunday morning dawned with no sign of Kevin. The police had combed the area and the police helicopter had flown back and forth many times. The trouble was that it was fairly certain that Kevin would have made for the wooded area and there was very little chance of spotting him from the air. So it was left to those on foot to try and pinpoint his whereabouts. The searchers were aware that Kevin might still be armed and could be dangerous.
 
Verity would not stop acting as normal. She had insisted on rising at her usual time and getting ready to attend church at St Joseph of the Hills in Overly Down. She was standing ready at the gate of Sunset Cottage as Oliver brought the car round to give her a lift. Usually the lift was for the two Avalone sisters. Oliver and Henrietta had spent the night at Sunset Cottage with Verity. She had no relatives in the local area. Henrietta had persuaded Verity to change out of her Queen Mary costume at two in the morning and go to bed. Verity was chatting on about the Village Fair and how naughty she had been in helping the children to win prizes on Oliver’s stall. She hoped that Oliver would not be too cross with her if he found out. After the shooting of Deidre Verity had seemed to be too shocked to move for a couple of hours, but once the scene outside the cottage had quietened down a little she had gone back into the garden to continue to deadhead the roses, to water the containers and generally potter about. The local GP had been in to see her mid evening. He said she would cope in her own way.
 
Sedge had recovered his nerve to the extent that he was now claiming that he could have disarmed Kevin if he had only had the chance. “It was only a shotgun. I could have pulled it out of his hands easy.” Sedge told the first reporter who had access to him. The world’s media had arrived and nothing anyone could do could keep them from invading the village. The residents were steadfast in their refusal to be interviewed. Out at Flagon’s Valley’s social housing however it was very different. People there were queuing up to be interviewed. Most of them had been nowhere near the shootings but they all had a story to tell. Hooter’s gran had told Hooter that he was not to speak to anyone unless they paid. His gran knew that there was big money out there for the first hand account of a ten year old boy who had stared death in the face when that madman had pointed the gun at him.
 
Arriving back from the church, where a shocked Matthew had done his best to put on a normal Sunday service to acknowledge Verity’s obvious need for nothing to be different, they found reporters and TV crews had set themselves up on the Village Green. The pub was doing a roaring trade to the delight of Norman who was frantically phoning round to obtain extra supplies of drink from anywhere he could think of. The pub car park being one of the scenes of crime the thirsty media had to go around the back of the pub and climb over a five feet wall. Norman had placed a ladder of one side of the wall and once on top it was an easy enough matter to get down via the roof of the old outhouse and a handily positioned concrete coalbunker. “Always knew that coalbunker would come in again some day” Norman told bar person Flora. The police officer on guard outside Sunset Cottage made everyone stand back to allow Verity to exit Oliver’s car and get safely indoors. Cameras clicked and questions were shouted but Verity seemed unaware of the hubbub. As soon as Verity had removed her hat and coat she went to put the kettle on. “Do you think that the policeman would like a cup of tea?” she asked Oliver who had just come in through the back door. “I don’t suppose he can drink tea on duty” Oliver told her. “On duty?” Verity seemed bemused “If he is on duty why he is he standing about outside our cottage?”
 
At the hospital Fred Bloom was regaining consciousness in Intensive Care. He had no idea where he was or why he was wherever he might be. The last thing Fred could remember was being pleased with the way that the fair had gone and then hearing fireworks being let off in the distance. What had happened next? Fred had no memory of it. The doctor smiled and the nurses were kind. He was in hospital that much was plain. He was feeling groggy because of the medication they had told him. His family knew and Christine was on her way from Glasgow. This must mean it was not too long since what happened had happened as it would not take days to get from Glasgow. Fred tried to stay awake. He failed.
 
Kevin had made it to Leafy Wood. It had grown dark and he had sat with his back to a tree for what seemed like hours. All he could think about was the sight of Mrs Snodder lying on the ground with lots of blood beginning to flow out of her body. How could Mrs Snodder have been in the village? Kevin was aware that he was not a child anymore and Mrs Snodder must have been dead for years. How could he have shot a dead woman and made her bleed? It was very confusing. Throughout the hours of darkness Kevin sat where he was. Being summer the day began to lighten early. By four am it was light and the birds were singing. Kevin stood up and began to walk further into the wood. If he hid they would not find him. ‘They’ Kevin knew would be the police. He heard a sound of someone nearby and hid in some bushes. Whoever it was did not seem to be searching, rather walking along. Kevin peered out from his hiding place and saw a man he did not know by name but knew he was one of those from Flagon’s Valley. This man had been amongst the crowd that had been lying on the grass and throwing empty beer bottles and cans about. They had been loud and disrespectful. Kevin’s grasp on the shotgun tightened. Here was the real reason he had the gun, to make those men show some respect for the village. Kevin had not intended to shoot anyone. He wanted to scare them into saying how sorry they were and picking up all their litter and going home. It was Mrs Snodder talking to him that had made everything go wrong. And then Fred. Kevin wished he had not shot Fred. He hoped Fred would be all right. As for Mrs Snodder she was already dead years ago so she couldn’t die again, everyone knew that.
 
Sunday wore on and evening arrived. The police were still searching the woods for Kevin. Kevin’s father had told the police where Kevin might have gone. Kevin’s parents were devastated that their eldest had done this. They could not believe it. His father was cursing the fact he had kept that shotgun all these years. There had seemed no harm in having it. This was the country, time was when everyone had a shotgun and thought nothing of it. Finely the dogs got scent of someone and slowly the searchers moved in that direction. After a long time they reached the spot where Kevin had spent the night. Lying against a tree was Kevin. He had a knife wound to his chest. It seemed it had been inflicted sometime ago and there had been heavy bleeding, now congealed. Of the shotgun there was no sign.
It had been a ghastly mistake and no one would ever know. When the inquest would be held the verdict would be that Deidre Avalone was killed by Kevin Hawkling whilst the balance of his mind was disturbed. Kevin would not be able to tell the Coroner that he had shot Mrs Snodder. If Kevin had turned and seen Deidre he would never have shot to kill the way he had. The inquest on Kevin would say that he had been killed by person or persons unknown.
 
The media were having a field day. The analysis articles in the press all spun towards the fault being with the social housing occupants. Here was a quiet English village where trouble was unheard of, and only months after the first of the social housing was occupied a gun rampage had taken place. The fact that Kevin was a villager was seen as the locals being driven to despair by the actions of the thieves and yobs. Anti-social behaviour had all but ruined the lives of the villagers – the articles continued – and it was not surprising that one person had snapped. Kevin was portrayed as a man of low intelligence who could not cope with the pressure of the twenty first century disorder that the development at Flagon’s Valley had forced upon the area of Falstaff Vale. All manner of learned people were interviewed on the TV news and current affair programmes. All had the same message. This was the shape of things to come in the rural areas of the country as more and more housing was forced into an already crowded island. The break down of law and order was at best only a few years away. The phone in shows on the radio ran red hot with outraged citizens airing their views. The phone in polls found the public in favour of more draconian punishments to deter lawbreakers. There was an almost universal forgiveness expressed toward Kevin. Many said that they could foresee themselves being driven to act in the same way.
 
Verity had been involved in the funeral arrangements for her sister as much as anyone could involve her. Her cousin’s daughter had arrived to stay at Sunset Cottage for the time being. This had freed Henrietta and Oliver. They had been interviewed and photographed. The angle was that on the day he had received an honour Oliver had been within a whisker of being shot and killed. The fact that Oliver had been inside Bagley Cottage at the moment when Diedre was shot, and by the time he had rushed out Kevin was in the pub car park shooting Fred Bloom, before heading off out of the village, was ignored. As was the fact that it was Henrietta who had been standing in the street when the shot was fired, and but for luck – or so it was thought – it could have been she Kevin shot. Overall Henrietta warranted a mention only in that she was Oliver’s wife.
 
Hooter was fed up with being kept indoors whilst his Gran tried to find someone who would pay money for his story. Unfortunately the other boy to be threatened by Kevin in the pub car park – Sedge – had told his version to any who would listen, and had not asked for a penny, so there were no takers for Hooter to tell the same story. The one good thing was that Shane Wentworth had gone. All his bits and pieces that had littered the house had been packed up in a battered old backpack and Shane had strode off into the distance. Hooter was so glad that Shane had gone that he didn’t even wonder about who had killed Kevin. Shane had not been in the house that night. Not appearing until mid Sunday morning and that was when he had arrived to pack up his things. Hooter had wondered where Shane had got the clothes he was wearing. This was not the outfit Shane had worn on Saturday afternoon. In fact Hooter had never seen the clothes before.
 
The police were more interested as to the whereabouts of Shane. Hooter’s gran had shrugged when asked if she had any idea. “Just pleased the little sod has gone” she snapped at the detective who stood with his note book open in the living room, “Never wanted him here in the first place” When asked if Shane carried a knife she shrugged again, but said not one word. She said she had no way of knowing any thing that might help in the manhunt. Nor had anyone else in Flagon’s Valley. Sid and the others truthfully said that they had not met Shane until he came to the area in search of Dolly and knew nothing other than what Shane had told them about himself – and that was not much. Norman said that he had never done more than serve Shane and occasionally pass the time of day. No one else in Falstaff Vale had any recollection of ever speaking to Shane or hearing anything about him.
 
Kevin’s life story was pieced together from accounts by those who remembered him from school and those with whom he had worked at Newtsbridge Council. He seemed to have had no real life outside of his work and his interest in all things to do with nature. In more recent years Kevin had become a keen photographer and had photographed Falstaff Vale and the surrounding area throughout the seasons. The photos were in a collection at the photographic club in Newtsbrdge and it was not long before they somehow found their way into the newspapers. Kevin came across as a loner. A man unable to cope with the modern world. It was in fact stated repeatedly just the profile to be expected in the circumstances. Kevin’s family refused all attempts to get them to give interviews. His funeral would be as private as it was possible for it to be. “We are burying a family member” said a statement handed to the media on the family’s behalf.
 
Verity was still puzzled. Where could Deidre possibly be? She had not said she would be going away. Evie had come to stay, which was nice. Henrietta had tried to explain that there would have to be a funeral for Deidre. Verity had decided that she needed a new hat. Her old black hat had seen better days. So they went into Newtsbridge and bought a good quality hat that Verity said “will see me out”. They had returned from the shopping trip to find a letter on the mat. It contained the share certificate for the investment of twenty five thousand pounds that the sisters had made on the recommendation of that nice young man on the phone. The shares were in Deidre’s name. “You can’t open that” Verity told Evie “Deidre will be ever so cross if you open a letter with her name on it” Evie opened it and gasped “Verity! What has Deidre done?” Verity had no idea, she had not taken all that much notice, only saying yes when Deidre asked a question.
By the end of the week the media had found something else to occupy them and had decamped, much to Norman’s grief. The pub’s takings had been healthy for the first times in months. The police presence was withdrawn. The following morning the villagers awoke to find the new tree that had been planted on Fair day had been snapped in two. There was graffiti on the bench, the post box and various walls. Someone had scattered drawing pins on the Village Green and Mrs Mainard’s poodle – Shula – got one embedded in her paw and needed to be taken to the vet. Flowers in the garden of Sunset Cottage had been uprooted, which caused Verity much sadness, even though she managed to replant some. Paint had been thrown onto the windows of the Village Hall. All in all it was not a pretty sight.
 
Sam and Tansy were still trying to find a house. With things the way they were it might be that they would have to rent. The house they had seen in Newtsbridge had been snapped up by a developer before the couple could do anything about it. The more they searched the more disheartened they became. They were both “key workers” but at the moment that was no help in the immediate area, and they could not move further away because of their jobs. The couple had had their first row over whether to rent or try to buy. Sam was fixed on buying “Why pay rent. It’s throwing money away” whilst Tansy was being more realistic. They had not seen each other for three days. They had only texted each other twice. When Sam told Mavis she showed her concern. Secretly she was delighted.
 
Emma Patching had celebrated turning fifteen and fallen in love on the same day. The object of her attention was Ned Dearing, Fred Bloom’s grandson from Canada. Ned had arrived to take up a place at Newtsbridge University. His arrival had been arranged some months before but with the recent turn of events it was well timed. Ned was to live with Fred until the start of term when he would move into student accommodation. Ned had been told to call at the Vicarage for the key to Fred’s. The door of the vicarage was opened by Emma who took one look at the six feet tall, hockey playing Canadian and decided he was the one for her.
The funeral of Deidre Avalone had been a low-key affair. It had been requested that donations instead of flowers should be sent to the restoration fund for St James de Falstaff. Verity had seemed to understand that her sister was dead. She had chosen the hymns. She stood at the graveside. She chatted to people who came to the village hall for a cuppa and a sandwich. It had been restricted to invited people only and the media had been asked to stay in the background, which they did. Evie was still trying to find out what the shares were about that Deidre had invested so much money in shortly before her death. The phone number that was on the literature was not being answered. It was a number in the UK, and there was an address in Croydon that was a box number. Evie had spoken to the Trading Standards Officer at Newtsbridge Council who was looking into the matter.
 
Emma Patching was happily dreaming of Ned Dearing. In fact Emma was doing little but dream of Ned. Her schoolwork was already suffering as she found herself unable to concentrate. Her history teacher was particularly annoyed with the quality of the assignment that Emma handed in. History was by far Emma’s best subject and she was expected to do well when the exams came along. As for Ned he was blissfully unaware of the effect he was having on Emma. He was settling in at Fred’s, along with his Aunt Christine. It had been decided that as soon as Fred was fit to leave hospital and travel he would go for a few weeks in Scotland, staying with Christine’s eldest daughter in the Highlands. Ned would be left on his own. Ned could hardly believe his luck.
 
Oliver and Henrietta had decided that they needed a break away from the village. They had always wanted to visit Greece and so they had made speedy arrangements, and left as soon as the funeral was over. Henrietta had found herself unable to stay upset with Oliver for keeping his award a secret from her. It didn’t seem to matter too much any more. Henrietta kept seeing the moment that Deidre was shot. Night after night just as she was about to go to sleep – which was not until the small hours – she would see the scene in vivid colour. The doctor had offered Henrietta some sleeping tablets that she had refused, although she did agree to a mild sedative type medication to be taken if she felt too stressed to cope. The holiday should help her back on an even keel. Oliver could not get it out of his mind that he might have lost her. He blamed himself for Henrietta being in danger, though he had no idea why he felt that way. There was no way he could have known what was about to happen when he retired to put his feet up in Bagley Cottage. It was the same feeling he had about those of his fellow soldiers who had not come back alive from the postings around the world’s trouble spots. Oliver would never quite understand why they had died and not him. Why was he so special? By the time he had left the Army he had had more than his share of good fortune.
 
Hooter had taken to bunking off school whenever it could. It wasn’t difficult now that the school was so far from where he lived. His Gran didn’t care all that much what he did. Lulu who liked school went every day. Not even a cold or a forecast of snow would keep Lulu away. School was somewhere to go for a few hours and try to forget the life she had at home. Lulu could not understand why her brother suddenly seemed to feel school had nothing to offer him, not even a place of refuge. Hooter would wander off into the surrounding countryside. He had his packed lunch – usually a packet of crisps and a can of fizzy drink. The school didn’t allow such things but his Gran said who were they to dictate what she sent him with. And so Hooter would spend his time watching the wildlife and lying asleep in the fields if the weather was nice enough, which it had been lately. Sedge had said that he didn’t have nightmares about the moment Kevin pointed the shotgun at the two of them. Hooter did have horrid dreams and woke up sweating and crying. Several nights he had wet the bed and his gran had got very cross, saying she had enough to do without extra washing and him ten and old enough to know better.
 
The village had been cleaned up from the graffiti. But since then it had happened several times more although not so much at one time. It got so everyone woke up and looked out to see what it was this morning. The graffiti had the same theme all the time. The villagers were middle class and hated. Bertrum Stamp had bought a new tree to replace the one snapped in two. It was planted on the village green and Bertrum was intending to supply a plaque to say it was in memory of Deidre. There were those who said that the amount of trees that Bertrum’s developments cut down if one tree planted salved his conscience then his was a very easy conscience to salve.
 
Emma had taken to walking through the village in the hope of bumping into Ned. Her brother Joseph had realised quickly how things were and had begun to tease Emma mercilessly. She had taken this teasing in very bad part and more than once had dissolved into tears. Sophia had tried to explain to Joseph that first love – whether returned or not – was a painful event but he had laughed at the idea. Joseph had laughed even more when Matthew had tried to make him realise that one day he too would experience first love. The very idea that he would have anything to do with something as silly as love and relationships! Emma’s parents were a little concerned about her infatuation but consoled themselves that there did not seem to be any sign that Ned was interested in Emma. Ned however had noticed Emma but he thought her a little young for him. He was about to start at Uni and she was only fifteen. He e-mailed his brother older Barry, who replied “go for it if she’s willing”.
 
Former village postmistress Joyce Farthingale now lived in what had been the post office. It had now been converted back into the cottage it had been before being converted into a post office. Joyce had bought the shop in 1968 and happily served the locals until that axe fell. At her age she had decided that enough was enough and to stay put. Now the chair of the local WI Joyce found no shortage of things to fill her time. She served in a charity shop in Newtsbridge one morning a week, was a Governor at the primary school in the town attended by Sedge, drove for Meals On Wheels two days a week, took courses in flower arranging and belonged to the Art Club. All in all Joyce would say that she had a full and happy retirement. There was one regret in Joyce’s life and that was she had never been able to take the course she would have so liked to have taken – a degree in English Lit. There had been no hope of Joyce staying on at school to get to University. It was her lot to leave school and get a job. She spent a few years as a clerk in the Employment Exchange – as it was called in those days. Joyce had had a certain pleasure in being able to match the right person with the right job. Maybe not the job they would have liked, but the job for which they were the most suited. Not unlike her own situation.
 
The annual funfair would be in Overly Down in July. They set up on fields at Grandlands Farm. Every year there were complaints about the noise, the traffic and the litter. Every year the council gave permission for the fair to happen once more. The farmer – George Hails – was only too pleased at the amount the fair paid him in rent. George argued that the fair brought some much needed entertainment to the area. This year there were all the new residents in Flagon’s Valley so there should be more custom.
 
Verity was pottering in her garden as the evening drew to a close. She had been spending a lot of time in the evenings outside. She didn’t want to be in the cottage, even though she had Evie for company. Evie was wondering how long she would be able to stay – she had her own family to get back to. What was to become of Verity? She could hardly be left on her own depending on the good will of neighbours for the rest of her life.
The first “For Sale” board appeared outside Stephen Merryman’s. Within two days Miss Spalding of Spalding & Gallop had an interested couple viewing the property. The villagers were surprised at the turn of events. No one had any idea that Stephen would be leaving Falstaff Vale. In fact it was only recently that he had been bending ears in an attempt to convince them that the village should have its own website. Norman got a flea in his ear when he asked Stephen what the rush was to leave. There was a suspicion that Stephen was cashing in his property before prices dropped any lower. The price Stephen was asking was a shock to many. They had not realised that the credit crunch was having such a bad effect. In truth recent events – plus the on-going vandalism – had been seen by Stephen and Miss Spalding as the reason to drop the asking price to the level that it was.
 
Over in Flagon’s Valley the credit crunch was also having its effect. Two of the newly occupied houses were already on the market. The owners had only lived in the houses for half a year and yet they were having to bit the bullet and admit that they could not service the mortgages that had been granted to them such a short time ago. It was predicted that boards for Spalding & Gallop would be springing up like mushrooms before long. Lionel was in as low a mood as Daisy had ever seen him. Lionel’s firm were making ‘cut backs’ and Lionel was sure one of those cut back would be him. With Daisy now so far into her pregnancy that she had had to give up any hope of earning, and the prospect of all the expense of another child to bring up Lionel was at his wits end. He could see them in the same boat as their neighbours – having to sell at a loss and then their trying to find somewhere for themselves.
 
Joyce Farthingale walked past the pub and tutted at the graffiti on the wall. She tried not to read what it said in detail. Whoever had sprayed it was a poor speller, or perhaps that is how it was spelt these days. With all the Americanisation of the language anything was possible. In all her years in this area she had never known anything like this. The village hall had been targeted more than once with paint, broken windows and the lock super glued. These people who were doing this could not know that the village hall didn’t make much profit and that to have to use the money to repair the damage would soon begin to be felt – or if they did know they didn’t care. Joyce could not understand why the new residents in Flagon’s Valley seemed to have no inclination to become involved in the local community. True they lived far enough away and in an estate so they would want to have a community association of their own, but they could still begin to join in with the established groups. Life would never be the same she feared.
 
Matthew Patching was in the middle of his sermon. As usual he had a mental block. It was always the same on a Friday evening. Matthew sat and stared at the paper clip assistant on his computer screen and waited for inspiration – Devine or otherwise – to come to him. He had the beginning – love one another – but was at a loss for an analogy to use to make his point more readily understood by his congregation. He thought of Emma and that young man Ned, that was not the kind of love that Matthew meant to inspire. Sophia seemed unfazed by the turn of events in her daughter’s life. It was a phase that all girls went through, she had said, Emma was sensible. Sensible! The most sensible people did the silliest things in the name of love in Matthew’s experience. Mitzy came into the study wagging her tail hopefully. Matthew decided that a walk was just what he needed. Mitzy pranced down the hallway in her joy.
 
The Village Green was in sore need of having its grass cut. The weeds were already starting to establish along the edges and it would not be long before they spread across the whole green. Without Kevin to tend it the chances were that the best of the days of neatness in Falstaff Vale were over. The new man who had been taken on by Newtsbrige Council had no intention of putting himself out to do any more work that he was told to do to get paid. He would have no interest in the village or its inhabitants. He lived in Newtsbridge and although he would pass the time of day with them he would never realy get to know anyone. Everyone agreed that this was another example of the distance that was between themselves and the council. Not the physical distance but a distance that was in some ways even greater than miles – or kilometres as ‘they’ would have it these days. The village had just been told that the wheelies were coming! In September they would all be presented with two bins, one each for rubbish and recyclables. Up to now only the pub and the village hall had had the wheelies. Many of the older folk were concerned. They did not need the enormous bins that would be forced upon them. Some said it was a sign the Government would get its way and have only monthly collections. What was the world coming to? Did no one care about health these days. The thought of stinking bins on a hot summers day was enough to make anyone wish for life as it used to be.
 
There was an air of sadness and depression over the older residents of the area. They wanted to have peace and quiet. Cars would roar down the village street with music blaring so loudly that the driver must either be deaf already, or soon would be. Even the young children from the social housing had mobile phones. How that could be when their parents did nothing but moan about how hard up they were was a mystery. The children were rude and inconsiderate. They expected the old to jump out of the way of bikes and skateboards that were always on the pavement. Safer than the road some said, but who was going to keep the pavements safe for pedestrians? Then the local council newsletter arrived through the letterboxes of Falstaff Vale. The council had appointed a community worker to come to the four villages. The council had obtained the money for the lottery. The worker would help the make the villages “better places to live in”. The residents were outraged. But for the council the village would be a good place to live. It was the council who had allowed ‘those people’ to be plonked on their doorstep. At the social housing there was hope that this new council community worker would a push over that they could get lots of perks out of.
 
Suzanne McPiece snorted when she read the newsletter. Another overpaid do-gooder. Another ‘suit’ with all the understanding of a lump of coal in the ground. Suzanna had no time for community workers and their type. She had spent her life in a ‘Government department’ – never specified – she had no need of being told what she needed by a no doubt young inexperienced person. When Suzanne met Fluer Shakespear all her worse fears were realised. “Has Media Studies degree written all over her!” Suzanna had complained to Joyce. “If she thinks wearing scruffy old clothes and riding a bike to ‘reduce her carbon footprint’ are going to impress me she is sadly mistaken.” Fluer herself happily thought she had made a good impression.
 
Verity had settled in to her new state of life. She still thought that her sister would be back one day. Evie had spoken of who was to look after Verity. Verity could not understand why she needed to be looked after. The money that Deidre had ‘invested’ was gone. The phone number on the literature had proved to not exist, and the box number was a newsagents’ who just passed on any mail that came via a courier – as he did for a number of other clients who were prepared to pay well for the service. Like most of the clients this one had come and gone in a few weeks and the newsagent no longer received mail for them. What was left of the sister’s savings would not keep Verity for long with the way the cost of living was going. It was all a great worry to others but not to Verity. She had her garden and her flowers that at the moment were in the best of their blooming. She was making plans for next year. She had been taken by some of the new roses at the flower show in London and hoped to be able to plant some to enhance her display.
 
Emma was sitting by the window on the off chance that she would see Ned walking by. He seemed to walk by at about the same time most days. He looked at the Vicarage windows and if he saw her he waved. Sometimes for a reason she could not understand Emma would duck back when she saw Ned coming so that he would not see her. Then she would watch his disappear down the road and get upset in case he had not been disappointed not to see her. Her best friend – Hattie – called it ‘playing hard to get’. Emma called it hard to do. She so wanted Ned to smile and wave to her. She so wanted Ned to come walking up the path instead of walking past.
Hooter's gran had decided that she wanted her house to have a name as well as a number. If it was good enough for those in the village to name their cottages why shouldn't she. She had asked the council housing officer and she had said there was nothing in the terms of the tenancy to prevent the house having a name as well as a number. Julie had had a name sign made up and it was now proudly displayed. "GETYEGONE" it's message welcomed visitors.
Henrietta and Oliver arrived back to find Falstaff Vale in upheaval. There had been heavy rain and gale force winds throughout the country all week, and the village had had its share of the battering. But the most concerning thing was that as the taxi drove up to their cottage it had to sneak its way past the Fire Engine outside the Village Hall. There had been an arson attack in the early hours. By the time Henrietta and Oliver arrived home at seven a.m. the flames had been doused. That night had been the first dry clear night all week and the fire had got quite a hold on the main hall and entrance area of the building before the fire crews arrived. The smoke had been spotted by Verity who, unable to sleep much these days, had been looking out of the window worrying about the state of her flowers. Norman left the crowd still standing about watching the scene unfold and crossed the road to greet the couple. “Nice coming home to this!” he said with a sigh. “What happened?” asked Oliver, hoping that the answer would not be what he feared it would. “They say there’s a smell of petrol about the place” replied Norman “though how anyone can afford to throw petrol on a building at today’s prices beats me.” “Arson then?” asked Oliver. “Looks like it. There’s been loads of problems since you two have been gone, and Merryman’s put his place up for sale. Running scared he is and no mistake. Never did belong round here since the day he moved in.”
 
Newtsbridge Counril’s new Development Worker chose that day to come to the village and introduce herself. Fluer Shakespear had expected a welcome when she started in post. She had been told how the area needed developing, There was nothing to do. The expectations of a rich forfilled life for all ages was not being met, according to her new bosses at the quaintly named Well Being Department. Quite whose ‘well being’ was refered to in that title nobody had ever been sure, but as long as they could be seen to be doing something – even if that something failed as it was not what the people wanted or needed – then all was right with the world at Newtsbridge Town Hall. Here she was all ready to start and make the four villages better to live in and so far the residents of Overly Down, Saffron Minster and Whitechurch had made her feel like an interloper into their lives. How short sighted could these people be? Arriving in Falstaff Vale on her trusty bike Fluer found herself in the midst of the aftermath of the fire. The local paper’s reporter and photographer were there snapping the scene, the fire investigation officer was on site, a police car was parked in the pub carpark, and some residents stood about. Children from the social housing ran about the village green making dah-dah noises trying to imitate the sound the sirens made. In between the running about the children shouted insults at the fire fighters who were still waiting to be told it was ok to leave.
 
Pru was in a state and no mistake. She was due to travel to London in the morning to make her appearance on the TV gameshow “Mind Your Manners”. For weeks Pru had been telling anyone who would listen that this was her big moment. Not only would she win, but she would also be ‘spotted’ as a potential presenter of programmes yet to be made. There was no chance in Pru’s mind that she would not make it past the first round. So tense and stressed had she been that Pru has lost nearly a stone in weight from a body that had not been over fat to start with. The result was that she looked drawn and ill. Sedge would not be allowed into the audience at the show and so although his school would be closed by the industrial action being taken by UNISON he would be left behind with Hooter’s gran.
 
Fluer wondered to whom she should speak. As the situation was it was not obvious whom to choose. She had hoped to breeze into the Village Hall and announce herself but this was now not an option. She strolled across to the pub. The door was open and she entered to find Flora washing the last of the glasses from the previous evening. “Not open for business, no all day drinking in this pub” Flora informed Fluer. “My name is Fluer Shakespear,” Fluer waited for recognition to appear on Flora’s face, Fluer’s appointment had been reported in the paper and a newsletter delivered to every home and business. No recognition came. Fluer ploughed on giving Flora the full patter about how she had come to improve life in the four villages and the area around. Flora did not look impressed. “So, how’s you gonna do that?” she asked, when Fluer finely stopped for breath. “What’s the grand plan then that the Council’s cooked up behind our backs?” Fluer began to feel defeated. It was the same everywhere she went.
 
Oliver was on his high horse. He had decided that the village had become a lawless zone, as he was calling it. Something needed to be done and soon. Henrietta had felt the full force of Oliver’s wrath when she had commented that if they still had a village hall Oliver could have called a meeting of the residents in it. Henrietta was still in shock from witnessing the killing of Deidre and could not focus on Oliver’s rant. The holiday had been very nice but not the relaxing break it could have been. Henrietta had nightmares most nights – reliving the moment when the gun was fired. She could see Deidre’s face as she realised that she had been shot, moments before she fell to the ground. Henrietta had tried to stop the bleeding but there was so much of it. She knew Deidre was dead before anyone told her. Verity had stood watching and seemed detached. It was a scene that no one could expect Henrietta to ever forget, except Oliver who had said that it would fade in time and she would get over it.
 
Hooter’s gran naming her house had started something. Many of the other residents were trying to think of names for the houses that they lived in. Connie Lapinsky fancied Dunwivmen for a while as she had just thrown her latest boyfriend out, but within a week she had another ‘love of her life’. Karon Mole almost went for Misonbaz – her youngest son was nicknamed Baz – but decided that that would be unfair on the other children. As Karon had eight children it proved too difficult to use all their names. Nigel Moorson – one of only two lone fathers in the social housing – did name his home Manalone. As most of the residents could not afford proper signs to be made they painted the names on pieces of wood or card and displayed them in the house windows or nailed to the wall outside. It was a fad that didn’t last very long and soon it would be only Julie’s house that still boasted a name beside the number. This despite the fact the Fluer Shakespear when she heard of the naming effort was thrilled by the attempt at individuality that this showed. Proving in Fluer’s opinion that ”to be deprived in fact is not to be deprived in spirit.”
 
The damage to the Village Hall was estimated to run to at least forty thousand pounds and likely to rise. The insurance assessor would soon be along to make the lowest figure of it that he could but even that might exceed the estimate. Suzanna McPiece and Joyce Farthingale stood in disbelief at the state of things. It was now deemed safe to have a look inside the building, for those who had a reason to be there. Joyce was close to tears as she surveyed the tea bar area – completely gutted. It looked as if nothing could be saved. The main hall was a blackened wreck. The combination of water and burnt and half burnt debris made a sludge on the floor not unlike slippery black slush. The smell was appalling. The poisonous fumes from the burning plastic had for the most part already gone, but the smell would linger for a long time. The whole place would need to be cleaned, re-decorated and in all probability be cleaned several times more. None of this could be done until the repairs were catalogued. It all seemed so hopeless. The two of them didn’t know where they would start. The office had escaped the flames but was soaked with the water and the thick noxious smoke had settled on every surface. Joyce brushed papers on one of the desks and a cloud of particles flew up into the air. They couldn’t see properly as the windows were in effect ‘blacked out’ but by what little light that there was getting into the room Joyce saw what looked like a large stone on the desk. It was in fact a large beach pebble that had been painted with the image of a cat and sold as a paperweight. It was blackened and felt sticky when Joyce picked it up. Suzanna was tutting at the state of the water drenched computers. Joyce wrapped the paperweight in a paper hankie and put it in her pocket. For some reason it seemed important to take the paperweight away and clean it up and keep it safe.
Pru Sikes was at home and refusing to come out. Her appearance on the game show “Mind Your Manners” had been a nightmare. Host Declan Maidment had lived up to his nickname ‘The Mean Man’. Pru thought that her outfit was the business, when in fact it was – not to be unkind – tarty. Declan zeroed in on Pru with a delight that was bordering on the obscene. Here was someone he could humiliate and in the process reduce the studio audience to tears of laughter as they saw someone else being treated in a way none of them would ever want to be treated. The first round consisted of three questions to each of the four contestants. At the end of round one a contestant was eliminated and became “Declan’s Dunce Of The Day”. Question one to Pru was “How would you address a Bishop?” Pru’s answer of “Sir?” was deemed not to be specific enough and she was asked to try again. Declan smirked at the audience “can’t have Pru failing on the easiest question”. She tried again “Your Worship” she said hopefully. Declan tittered “Sorry Pru, no third tries. If you ever find yourself chatting to a Bishop try to remember to call him Your Grace.” Looking at Pru in her plunging neckline and short skirt the audience howled with laughter at the idea she would ever be within chatting distance of a Bishop. The other three contestants answered their questions correctly and Declan turned back to Pru. Her second question “When pouring tea should you put the milk in first?” made Pru feel confident. “It must be second, ‘cos you have to take the teabag out of the mug before you put the milk in” she replied. “I meant a cup of tea Pru dear, I wasn’t intending to take my elevenses on a building site!” Declan chortled. The audience cheered at his wit. “That is incorrect.” The other contestants each answered correctly to their second questions and the round was over. “With a score of zilch, zero, nowt, nil Pru you are my Dunce Of The Day – the audience clapped and cheered as Declan’s lovely assistant brought out the Dunce Trophy. It consisted of a small dunce’s cap on a base with a plaque that would be engraved with Pru’s name before it was sent on to her. Before she knew it Pru was on her way home. She had not even got Declan’s autograph – though she was not sure she would want it now. Her sister Frannie – who had met Pru at the studio as she lived in London – was outraged. “How dare that horrible little man talk to you like you was the village idiot!” Frannie raged “I’ll never watch his rotten show again. And you didn’t get the extra of a hotel and all ‘cos you live too close to London, just a rotten second class ticket on the train and yer taxi from the station.” The sisters wandered into a burger bar – it was still only one in tha afternoon – and had a pathetic lunch of the best the establishment had to offer. “They might have given you a luncheon voucher” snorted Frannie.
 
The news that the mega supermarket chain “MeUsCo” were planning to build their latest store at Mallow Field End – an area of Green Belt land north of Saffron Minster – was greeted with dismay. The plans had obviously been in the pipeline behind closed doors for sometime before the public were allowed to know. The residents of Saffron Minister viewed the proposals with horror. Mallow Field End was a partial flood plain and they could see problems if it were to be concreted over. To add to their misery it was now that Newtsbridge Council chose to reveal the plan to cut a road through at the north end of Flagon’s Valley to take traffic away from Falstaff Vale. The new road would run past the eastern end of Saffron Minster. As MeUsCo were in the running to build a new store the road would also provide access to that site.
 
The strike by council workers had meant that Flagon’s Valley had not had its’ rubbish collected. The next collection would be on the next collection day as per the collection calendar, which was sent to residents once a year. The result was that two weeks rubbish would pile up. Julie looked along the street at the piles of black sacks, many of them torn and the resulting litter swirling in the breeze. The local Gulls, rats, foxes and other chancers had descended on the valley with glee. Since the introduction of Wheelies in the spring the pickings had been a lot sparser that before so now the creatures were taking full advantage of the rare treat. Julie sighed, for the first time since she had moved to Flagon’s Valley she felt at home. “See this?” she enquired of Lulu and Hooter “this is how Newtsbridge looks. I didn’t realise I was missing the litter and dog pooh so much.”
 
Fluer Shakespear had been welcomed at Flagon’s Valley social housing estate like the breath of fresh air she thought herself to be. Residents there didn’t question her reason for coming as soon as she appeared. No, here Fluer felt she would have the opportunity to do the good she knew she was capable of doing to make these poor souls lives a little better. Fluer had never worked in Community Development before, having spent her few years of work on the supermarket checkout, but having been on a course and accepted a pittance to work for Newtsbridge Council she felt herself on the ladder to success. She was now seated in the front room of Connie’s home. Connie was in the throws of getting rid of her latest live in lover. A short stay even by Connie’s standards, being as he had only moved in twelve days ago. Connie had two children – Zak and Molly – whose father had been one of her longer “arrangements “ (as she liked to call them.) Connie was telling Fluer the tale. As Connie spoke Fluer exuded unspoken sympathy. “How awful for you” Fluer finaly spoke “what a sad life you describe” “Sad? Sad! You don’t know the half of it – but then its not your world, people like us don’t get to be educated like people like you so its us in the gutter from the day we’re born.” “Oh, my dear, you shouldn’t think like that. There are many free courses out there for you to improve yourself” gushed Fluer. “I don’t want no poxy courses” snapped Connie “I spent years bunking off school an’ I aint going back now!”
 
The committee of the Village Hall were meeting in the Bullock’s Nose as they had nowhere else to meet. The amount of money needed was to be forty five thousand pounds. The Insurance would pay out – eventually. The firm had to be sure that the arson was not the work of any of the committee themselves trying to get a revamp for the hall. So they would need to wait for the investigation to be completed. There was little chance that anyone would be charged with the attack as the cost of installing CCTV had always seemed prohibitive. When the money came available the committee would need to make decisions. Their AGM was due next month and they were at the moment trying to decide whether – and indeed where – it should be held. The situation was quite clear. According to their constitution they must have an AGM once per calendar year and so they could not delay it beyond December. Suzanna was of the opinion that it was better to get on with it and hold the AGM as per the date each year, the third Thursday in August. She could see nothing to be gained by delaying it. Joyce however felt that the situation regards the insurance might not be clear in such a few weeks and it would be better to wait until they could be more informative. In the end it was decided to hold the AGM on Thursday August 21st. The “where?” was the problem. It seemed there was no option but the pub – and hope that not too many turned up. Everyone apart from Norman hoped no too many turned up, he was of the opinion that the car park would accommodate the overflow. The newsletter was to go out as soon as possible inviting anyone who wished it to put themselves forward to serve on the committee. “Fat chance of that!” snapped Suzanna.
 
The funfair had set up in the fields of Grandlands Farm. It wasn’t a big funfair as funfairs go, not like in years gone by, but it offered some people the chance of an outing if they could afford it. The rides were priced at £1 a go, the dodgems at £1.50 per car, which didn’t sound much unless you had several kids. The ices and soft drinks, burgers and go’s on the win a prize stalls soon made the cost mount up. The local young people as usual hung around the fair in the evenings, of ten with no money to spend. Ned had suggested to Emma that she might like to let him escort her to the fair. Would she! Matthew was not too keen and it was only when Emma’s best friend Hattie and her brother James said that they would go too, and James had a car to get them there and back safely that Matthew agreed. When they arrived to pick up Ned and Emma it was the first time that Hattie was to meet Ned. One look into his astonishingly blue eyes and Hattie was hooked. Hattie was far more worldly wise that Emma. She knew how to go after what she wanted. As far as Hattie was concerned best friend or not Emma could take the back seat. On the way home it was in fact the other way round. Hattie managed to get herself into the back seat to sit beside Ned, whilst Emma sat in the front beside James.
 
Fluer had moved on and was now listening to the woes of Millie Moncrief. One of the few women Fluer had met in Flagon’s Valley social estate to be married, and that to the same man for nearly twenty years. Millie was telling Fluer about her extended family. “Me sister hasn’t spoke to me for near five year now. A right cow she is. Me Mum she tries to be all things to all people but her latest boyfriend is nothing to write home about. Mr Marvellous he thinks he is the lazy so and so. Me brother can’t decide if he wants a girl friend or a boy friend. I wouldn’t mind which if he would only make up his mind and stick to it, its murder explaining to the kids every time he changes.” “How distressing for you” commented Fluer. “Yeah tis. Well some of the family we’ve got together and said it’s about time we did something.” “And what will you do? Try to talk your problems out?” asked Fluer now interested that she was being told an initiative had been taken. “Tha’s right” replied Millie proudly “ Me Mum’s written to the Jeremy Kyle Show to see if we are dysfunctional enough to be on it. Knowing our luck we wont be!” Fluer sighed.
Sybil Gummer had had several nicknames at school – none of them clever or original. “Gumboots”, “gumdrops”, “sticky” and when she won a scholarship to Newtsbridge’s St Mary’s Grammar School “stuck up”. Sybil’s career after leaving university with a degree in zoology had taken her all over the world. Now aged seventy Sybil had decided to settle down and return to the village of her birth, Flastaff Vale. Sybil’s many TV appearances and her published books and articles had made her face well known – if not instantly recognised for who she was. All her family were gone one way or another. Sybil had in fact not been to Falstaff Vale since the funeral of her Father in 1978. He had been the last family member resident there and Sybil had not kept in touch with those who still lived in the area that she had known in her young days. She felt she no longer had anything in common with them – if she ever had. However as the years had passed, and becoming conscious that she was now at ‘three score years and ten’ Sybil felt for reasons she could not explain drawn to return.
 
Pru was still smarting from her treatment at the hands of Declan Maidment. The local paper had been on to her to report on ‘local woman makes TV debut’. Pru thought – and was right – that the reporter was making fun of her. The photographer insisted that Pru stand with her arms flung wide looking for all the world as if she were about to run over and embrace him. When the photo appeared Pru cringed with embarrassment and vowed that that would be the end of it. All her hopes of money were in tatters and, worse, she still owed the moneylender a sum of money that with accruing interest she would likely never pay off. The collector had so far been pleasant enough – this because Pru had made payment of instalments on time and in full. Pru’s children needed new clothes for school and she would need to get on and see what she could ‘acquire’ in the department stores in Newtsbridge. The real problem was those clothing items that needed to have the school logo on them. Add to that the extra expense of the unbelievable rises in the cost of living that the Government were allowing to happen, with the threat of far worse to come in the winter, and Pru could see herself in arrears with the collector and she did not want to contemplate the result of that situation. Years ago Pru had spent some months as a ‘girl of the night’ and she thought she could foresee a return to the oldest profession before much longer.
 
Sybil had met with Miss Spalding of Spalding & Gallop Estate Agents to view the property put on the market by Stephen Merryman. It was a cottage that Sybil remembered well. In her day it had been the home of the Silverson family. Iona Silverson had been two years older that Sybil and had made her life a misery. A big girl in the days when most children were thinner than today, Sybil had been the subject of ridicule by Iona and her group of hangers on. Iona was not the brightest of children and resented the way that Sybil seemed to sail through schoolwork – getting gold stars as a matter of the norm. The dreaded Headmistress – Miss Snodder – had not helped Sybil’s situation by holding the girl up as an example to the school of how to succeed. All the teachers treated Sybil as someone special – which she was, but the alienation this caused had often made Sybil wish that she could find it in her heart to underachieve so that she would fit in with the others.
 
Suzanna McPiece on her way to the pub for another meeting regarding that arson hit village hall nearly fell off her bicycle when she looked to see who was coming out of the door of Robin Cottage and espied Sybil Gummer. ”By gad, it’s that awful stuck up little brat” Suzanna muttered to herself. Rushing into the pub Suzanna greeted Joyce Farthingale with the words “Remember Tom Gummer’s daughter? She’s only looking at Merryman’s place. Don’t say we have her to look forward to.” “Oh, no. Anyone but her” gasped Joyce “she will want to take over everything!” Blissfully unaware of the reaction that her presence in the village had caused Sybil was shaking hands with Miss Spalding, having stated her intention to put in an offer on Robin Cottage.
 
Fluer’s manager at Newtsbridge Council had suggested that Fluer organise an event of some kind to introduce herself to the residents of the area. Fluer had felt a sense of panic descend upon her. She had no experience in organising events. There was also the thought that so far she had felt far from welcome by those residents that she had met and she felt like putting off meeting any more residents for as long as possible. The council had obtained a small grant to provide children in the four village area with experience in drama, art and music. This was to make a change from the sports that had so far tended to dominate what was on offer. It was recognised that to many children physical activity was something done by others whilst they watched. Fluer had created what she considered to be trendy posters. Unfortunately in her anxiety to get the posters perfect Fluer had omitted to include any contact details and so when the posters were put on display it was a dispirited Community Worker left wondering why there was no interest in what should have been seen as an exciting opportunity.
 
Henrietta had still not settled back into life in Falstaff Vale. The loss of the use of the village hall was not helping as Henrietta had been a regular volunteer and this left her with extra time on her hands that she could have done without having. Suzanna had suggested that Henrietta might like to help in the charity shop in Newtsbridge that Joyce served in, but as Henrietta could not drive and there was no bus to get into town it would have meant that she would have needed Oliver to ferry her back and forth and he at least seemed to have plenty to keep him occupied. Henrietta did not like to ask Oliver to make the journey – and was also sure there would be an objection on the grounds of the price of petrol. So she sat watching daytime TV and grew more despondent. It was now that Henrietta realised how much of their life was ‘Oliver’s domain’. He was in charge of the decorating; he drove the car and so dictated when they shopped – and where – he had made all the decisions on their electrical appliances, the list went on and on. Henrietta began to realise that she had let herself become totally dependant on her husband.
 
Hooter and Sedge were already bored with the school holidays. There was nothing for children to do in the villages
area. The only places to play were the fields, woods and village green. With Falstff Vale being the nearest to Flagon’s Valley the children were missing out. The closing of the Village Hall meant there was no scope for holiday clubs and the like. Because it had not been known that the hall would be unavailable there had been no money put aside to provide any mobile entertainment, and by the time funds could be found the holidays would be
over. The children could not join in play schemes in other villages, or indeed in Newtsbridge as these were over subscribed already. So Hooter, Sedge and the rest wandered unhappily around the village with long faces and heavy hearts. They felt that no one cared. Fluer came across them as they sat on an old stonewall at the edge of the village. The children knew who she was although they pretended that they didn’t. What good would she be to
them? “What’s up?” Fluer enquired, dismounting from her bike, “nothing better to do that sit around looking like a wet weekend?” “Naff off!” said Sedge. “Now, now. Let’s not have naughty language” Fluer was trying to be funny and act like Super Nanny, completely unaware that none of the children had ever seen the programme. The children glared at her. “Don’t pretend that you care. You care as much as they pay you to care” snapped Hooter, who had had more than enough of ‘suits’ in his short life.
 
Emma was also feeling uncared about. Her supposed best friend had more than moved in on Ned. Hattie had taken every opportunity to call around and it seemed that Ned was always around too. Seeing the pair of them sitting on the bench in the churchyard had made Emma creep away to sit behind some of the stones that marked the oldest graves. She sat there now with tears in eyes. She had so wanted to get to know Ned. He was so nice and those eyes, they made her feel like she was melting. But Emma didn’t know how to act in a way that would make Ned notice her. She couldn’t ask her Mother as she was sure Sophia would launch into one of those ‘be careful’ talks that she was so fond of. Emma knew all about being careful, what she wanted to know was how to be reckless – up to a point.
_______________________
Henrietta awoke to the sound of the television. She gazed blearily at the bedside clock. It was not yet five am and what was Oliver watching – the women’s archery at the Olympics. She knew for a fact that Oliver had no interest what so ever in archery. What was it with men and watching sport she wondered turning over and trying unsuccessfully to get back to sleep. Eventually Henrietta gave up and dragged her dressing gown on and wandered into the living room. By now Oliver was engrossed in Judo, another sport he would have no interest in at any other time. “Hello dear, come to cheer on Team GB?” Oliver enquired when he noticed her standing there. Henrietta said not one word as she left the room to go to the kitchen to make a mug of coffee.
 
Baby Gates had arrived in the world not quite to schedule. Daisy had been in labour for fifteen hours before he made his appearance. Lionel had been with her part of the time, but as it dragged on he found more and more excuses to be elsewhere. Lionel was not very good in situations like this. In fact he had managed to claim a car breakdown and miss the birth of Poppy altogether. With the new arrival safely delivered and Mum and son doing well Lionel was on the phone telling the world. They had decided on the name Andrew Charles. Or rather Lionel had decided. Daisy would have liked something more organic like Robin.
 
Emma was in despair. Hattie had e-mailed her to say that she and Ned had spent the night together at Fred’s. Fred was still in the Highlands, due back by the end of the month. In the meantime Ned had the run of the place and had – according to Hattie – used the opportunity. Hattie’s message had asked Emma to back Hattie up as Hattie had told her parents that she had spent the night at the Vicarage. Emma stared at the computer screen and then burst into tears. It was so unfair. She would have been only too happy to have been in Hattie’s place, no matter what Sophia said about being careful.
 
Joyce and Suzanna were still hoping that the sale of Robin Cottage would fall through, at least as far as Sybil Gummer was concerned. Perhaps this fiasco with the stamp duty that the Government had created would put Sybil off finalising the purchase. The pair hoped that no other property in the village would prove to be perfect for Sybil. In fact Sybil was set on Robin Cottage. She was not too worried about the amount she might save if stamp duty were reduced or suspended. Sybil just wanted to get herself settled in before she embarked on a new series for the TV. The cottage would need doing up to her taste, so she was not expecting to spend time there to start with. Something that would have pleased Joyce and Suzanna had they known.
 
Hotter and Sedge had seen Sybil at the cottage and Sedge had been sure she was off the telly. Hooter had no idea if she was or she wasn’t. Zoology was not the type of programme he would watch. Lulu however was always glued to anything to do with animals – except the predator eating other animals. When these were shown Lulu was known to hide and cry. Lulu happened to see Sybil driving past and immediately recognised her. When she told Hooter and Sedge Lulu was outraged to find out they knew and hadn’t told her. “But she is realy, realy famous and you kept her to yourselves” shouted Lulu at the pair, who gazed at each other baffled. Lulu stormed off to tell all her friends what a rotten brother she had.
 
Sam and Tansy had done nothing but row lately. Their wedding was proving to be the biggest of the problems. They could not afford the sort of do they had expected to have when they set the date. The more they rowed the more they began to wonder if the wedding should go ahead at all. They had not known each other all that long and they now began to realise that perhaps they did not have as much in common as they had thought they had. Mavis stayed quiet and kept her fingers crossed. Even if it was only postponed it would give Sam time to come to his senses. Mavis thought Sam was far too young to know his own mind. To her he was still five years old and gripping her hand on the way to his first day at school. There could not possibly be a women out there suitable for Sam, unless he should find another like Mavis – and that certainly not Tansy. It made Mavis’s day when Sam phoned and said that the wedding was off for the time being. It didn’t even concern Mavis that there were lots of arrangements to undo and people to tell who had been expecting invitations. Tansy had gone home to the north of England for a break. Sam did not know when he would see her again.
 
Miles and Sid were wondering if they would ever get their hands on Old Sidney’s money. They had still not told the pension office that Sidney had died and his pension was still being paid into his bank account. Miles had power of attorney to act on Sidney’s behalf – thanks to the less than honest solicitor that he had found through a friend of a friend. Having decided that it would be too dangerous to claim that Sidney was in a care home Miles had instead claimed that Sidney had moved in with him – in the granddad annex. As Miles lived in a second floor council flat in Newtsbridge it was difficult to see how he would convince any visiting official of the existence of such an annex. Miles was counting on not having any visitors with regards his father. Now Miles was wondering how long he should wait to make sure Sidney’s bank was convinced that Miles had the right to move Sidney’s money about. His plan was to say that he had thought of a better place for the money to be and move it into an account that only he would ever have had dealings with at another bank. Once safely there Miles thought the money would be his to use as he might. The one problem was that he could not tell the pension office to stop the pension payments and he knew that he was breaking the law. Still there was always the option to move overseas. Sid expected that he would be on for half the cash, Miles had other ideas.
 
The plans for the Nudist Holiday Camp at Leafy Wood had advanced with the granting of planning consent. Bertrum Stamp was annoyed that the cost was spiralling. At this rate it would take longer to recoup the cost of development that he had expected. The development at Mead’s Grove – the allotments in Newtsbridge – had reached the point at which Bertrum could put the project out for tender. There was now no chance that any of the local residents could stop the dwellings being built there. At the end of the year the allotment holders had to vacate. Bertrum would have liked to have thrown them and their crops off straight away, but those councillors always put the loss of votes before anything else and still insisted that there must be time for the harvest. Harvest, what did they think was on those allotments? Bertrum snorted with contempt every time he passed the allotments with their pathetic little attempts to be ‘sons of the soil’.
 
 
Sir Malcom Dunwiddy-Hoe had almost admitted defeat. He still had a little spark of hope that the development at Mead’s Grove could be stopped but he knew there was no real chance of that. Malcom was beginning to think that Maude might be right – up to a point. She might be right that it was time for them to move. Malcom still had no intention of going along with Maude’s wish of a move to the country. She had tried her best to make Malcom see the advantages of the countryside. It had proved to be a useless task. Maude was at the moment straying with her sister in Norfolk. Malcom hoped that Maude would see sense before long – it was getting tedious.
 
Suzanna McPiece had been a friend of Malcom’s for many years. It was during her days as ‘something in a Government dept’ that they had met for the first time. No one knew what Suzanna had done, nor in which department she had done it. She liked to keep an air of mystery. Suzanna had never married nor as far as anyone knew had there been anyone who might have been ‘the right person’. Malcom liked Suzanna’a no nonsense approach to life, so unlike Maude. With Maude away Malcom and Suzanna had decided to have the weekend away in London to see a show in the West End and a slap up meal. They had booked separate rooms at the best hotel in town. Arriving back at the hotel having had a few glasses of wine, not to mention other beverages the pair had both gone into Suzanna’a room for a final nightcap. The next day when the staff cleaned the vacated rooms it was noted that the bed in Malcom’s room had not been used.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

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