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Authors: Rodney Hobson
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the middle of prayers an ice cream van arrived across the road and started playing How much is that doggie in the window? It was quite funny, really. Several people couldn't stop themselves tittering. It certainly made me giggle. Not Ray. He got up pompously and ostentatiously and left the pew. He had to get past two or three people to do so.
"He walked imperiously out of the church and a few moments later the chimes stopped abruptly. It was a hot evening - hence the ice cream van - and the doors and the top windows were open. We could hear the ice cream van driver shouting at Ray as he walked back to the church: 'You're not a police inspector. You're Ray Jones. I'll report you for impersonation.'
“Then the van revved up and drove off. I've never heard screeching from an ice cream van's tyres before or since.
"Everyone was sniggering behind their clasped hands. No-one dared to look at Ray in case they burst out laughing. I felt completely humiliated. Talking about it now, it all sounds very trivial but for me it was the last straw. It was typical of the way he expected other people to suit him. Next day I carried out my threat and left him.
"I went to Nottingham because I had friends there. I took a job back in teaching and bought a small flat. I asked Ray for as little money as possible - just a few hundred for the deposit and to live on until my first month's salary was through. I didn't want anyone to say I'd been sponging off him."
Mrs Jones stopped again. "Can I have a drink, please?" she asked.
"Tea ... coffee ... orange squash?" Amos asked as he rose to his feet. He was not sorry for a short break at this point while he digested the insight that the woman across the table had given him into the life and times of her dead husband.
Chapter 15
Amos wandered out of the interview room and was relieved to see his friend Sgt Mark Jenkins at the desk.
"It's getting interesting," Amos remarked. "Any chance you could spare someone to get tea?"
"Do I get a mention in dispatches?" Jenkins asked with a grin.
"Happen," Amos replied noncommittally. He was glad of the diversion created by this banal conversation. He needed a few moments’ break to digest the unexpected appearance of Jones's wife and to put the many questions he wanted to ask into some semblance of order. Nor did he want to sound too eager to hear what Mrs Jones had to say. He did not want to put her off or to put her on her guard.
A constable whom Amos had never seen before was despatched to the canteen for refreshments.
A couple of minutes was enough. Two beakers of tea duly appeared - real tea, Amos noted with approval, not the brown stuff out of the machine down the corridor. Amos always selected white coffee on the rare occasions that he used the machine because that tasted passably like tea. The tea tasted like nothing in particular.
This was a good brew. Even Mrs Jones sipped it appreciatively. She and Amos sat in silence for a few moments but the officer, having had his brief respite, was now impatient to continue.
Sensing his shuffling, Mrs Jones looked him in the face and raised her eyebrows quizzically to signal that she was ready to resume.
"How did you feel about your husband? What sort of relationship did you have?"
Amos was flustered as he tried to ask the question he particularly wanted answered. His Baptist upbringing still left him prudish after all these years.
Finally Mrs Jones took the hint.
"Are you trying to ask me if I sex with my husband when I lived with him?" she inquired without embarrassment, indeed with a touch of humour in her voice.
"Well, yes," Amos said. "How did you feel towards him?” He blushed slightly.
"It's difficult to explain," the woman opposite him began. "I was very fond of him, certainly. Do you believe love is the basis for any marriage?" she asked suddenly.
Amos was certainly blushing now.
"I thought
"He walked imperiously out of the church and a few moments later the chimes stopped abruptly. It was a hot evening - hence the ice cream van - and the doors and the top windows were open. We could hear the ice cream van driver shouting at Ray as he walked back to the church: 'You're not a police inspector. You're Ray Jones. I'll report you for impersonation.'
“Then the van revved up and drove off. I've never heard screeching from an ice cream van's tyres before or since.
"Everyone was sniggering behind their clasped hands. No-one dared to look at Ray in case they burst out laughing. I felt completely humiliated. Talking about it now, it all sounds very trivial but for me it was the last straw. It was typical of the way he expected other people to suit him. Next day I carried out my threat and left him.
"I went to Nottingham because I had friends there. I took a job back in teaching and bought a small flat. I asked Ray for as little money as possible - just a few hundred for the deposit and to live on until my first month's salary was through. I didn't want anyone to say I'd been sponging off him."
Mrs Jones stopped again. "Can I have a drink, please?" she asked.
"Tea ... coffee ... orange squash?" Amos asked as he rose to his feet. He was not sorry for a short break at this point while he digested the insight that the woman across the table had given him into the life and times of her dead husband.
Chapter 15
Amos wandered out of the interview room and was relieved to see his friend Sgt Mark Jenkins at the desk.
"It's getting interesting," Amos remarked. "Any chance you could spare someone to get tea?"
"Do I get a mention in dispatches?" Jenkins asked with a grin.
"Happen," Amos replied noncommittally. He was glad of the diversion created by this banal conversation. He needed a few moments’ break to digest the unexpected appearance of Jones's wife and to put the many questions he wanted to ask into some semblance of order. Nor did he want to sound too eager to hear what Mrs Jones had to say. He did not want to put her off or to put her on her guard.
A constable whom Amos had never seen before was despatched to the canteen for refreshments.
A couple of minutes was enough. Two beakers of tea duly appeared - real tea, Amos noted with approval, not the brown stuff out of the machine down the corridor. Amos always selected white coffee on the rare occasions that he used the machine because that tasted passably like tea. The tea tasted like nothing in particular.
This was a good brew. Even Mrs Jones sipped it appreciatively. She and Amos sat in silence for a few moments but the officer, having had his brief respite, was now impatient to continue.
Sensing his shuffling, Mrs Jones looked him in the face and raised her eyebrows quizzically to signal that she was ready to resume.
"How did you feel about your husband? What sort of relationship did you have?"
Amos was flustered as he tried to ask the question he particularly wanted answered. His Baptist upbringing still left him prudish after all these years.
Finally Mrs Jones took the hint.
"Are you trying to ask me if I sex with my husband when I lived with him?" she inquired without embarrassment, indeed with a touch of humour in her voice.
"Well, yes," Amos said. "How did you feel towards him?” He blushed slightly.
"It's difficult to explain," the woman opposite him began. "I was very fond of him, certainly. Do you believe love is the basis for any marriage?" she asked suddenly.
Amos was certainly blushing now.
"I thought
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