I don’t suppose he comes in the shop much?”
“Not him. But his wife does, with the toddler, and she’s really nice. I feel a bit sorry for her. She hasn’t made many friends yet. Because of him, I should think. He’s too clever by half. Thinks the rest of us are bumpkins!”
“He’ll learn,” said Gran enigmatically. She had seen it all before. “Young couples buying houses in the village. ‘It’s so quaint!’ they say. And then, before you can say knife, they start wanting to change it.”
The shop door opened, and a couple of teenagers came in. One of them Gran recognized as the eldest son of that woman over in Pickerings’ house, and a right scruff he was, too. She stood up, grasped the hairy handles of her planet-friendly bag, and left the shop.
The boys did not come straight to the counter, but lingered over a display of newspapers and magazines by the door. Josie kept an eye them, knowing from experience that even the best brought up kids can be light fingered if the temptation is too great.
She was about to suggest that if they were going to leaf through all the magazines they might buy one and leave the rest clean and tidy for others, when the boy who belonged to Paula Hickson burst into delighted guffaws. His pal peered at a virtually naked girl carrying all before her.
“That’s enough, boys,” Josie said. “You’ve had your fun, now please put that magazine back tidily and tell me what you came to buy.”
“You ain’t got it, missus, so we can’t buy it,” said the Hickson boy, and they both left the shop, sniggering as they went.
Charming! thought Josie, remembering how pleasant she had found Paula Hickson, and deciding the boy must take after his absent father. It was not until later, when she was checking the newspapers for the next day’s order, that she discovered they were one magazine short.
ELEVEN
T HE EVENING WAS MILD, WITH A GENTLE BREEZE STIRRING the leaves on the giant chestnut that spread its branches above the small Reading Room, which had been donated to the village in l898 by a benevolent squire at the hall. It had recently been restored, and Derek unlocked the door with a feeling of pleasure at the success of a campaign that had saved the little building from being bulldozed, with the ironstone to be used for repairing a wall around the new vicarage.
He arranged a table and chairs ready for the meeting, and sorted through some details about soap box racing that Lois had downloaded for him from her computer. He had been considerably alarmed at the technical stuff about constructing the soap boxes, and about safety regulations that would have to be considered. He would ask Tony Dibson what they had done in the old days. No doubt Adstone would use it as an excuse to try turning the committee against soap boxes in any guise.
“Evenin’, Derek,” said Tony, as he came through the door, looking smart and neatly dressed for the meeting. Derek marvelled again at how the old boy managed with a disabled wife and all the household chores to do.
“Nice to see you, Tony, and on time as always! Reckon we could show these youngsters a thing or two.” The rest came in ones and twos, and Derek was just beginning to wonder if Hazel Thornbull had forgotten, when she and husband John hurried through the door, apologising for having had to stay with a sick cow.
“Not that blue tongue, I ’ope,” said Tony, and Gavin made a disgusted face.
“Do you think we could start, Chairman,” he said. “I have some business work to catch up on.” He hadn’t, but he liked to create an image.
“Right, let’s get to it,” said Derek briskly. “All here?” He looked around, and saw that Father Rodney was missing. Saying a prayer for the soul of the sick cow? Derek asked if anyone had heard anything from him.
“I saw him in the churchyard as I was comin’ down,” Tony said. “Gazing upwards, he was.”
“Lost in wonder, love and praise, probably,” said Hazel, who had
“Not him. But his wife does, with the toddler, and she’s really nice. I feel a bit sorry for her. She hasn’t made many friends yet. Because of him, I should think. He’s too clever by half. Thinks the rest of us are bumpkins!”
“He’ll learn,” said Gran enigmatically. She had seen it all before. “Young couples buying houses in the village. ‘It’s so quaint!’ they say. And then, before you can say knife, they start wanting to change it.”
The shop door opened, and a couple of teenagers came in. One of them Gran recognized as the eldest son of that woman over in Pickerings’ house, and a right scruff he was, too. She stood up, grasped the hairy handles of her planet-friendly bag, and left the shop.
The boys did not come straight to the counter, but lingered over a display of newspapers and magazines by the door. Josie kept an eye them, knowing from experience that even the best brought up kids can be light fingered if the temptation is too great.
She was about to suggest that if they were going to leaf through all the magazines they might buy one and leave the rest clean and tidy for others, when the boy who belonged to Paula Hickson burst into delighted guffaws. His pal peered at a virtually naked girl carrying all before her.
“That’s enough, boys,” Josie said. “You’ve had your fun, now please put that magazine back tidily and tell me what you came to buy.”
“You ain’t got it, missus, so we can’t buy it,” said the Hickson boy, and they both left the shop, sniggering as they went.
Charming! thought Josie, remembering how pleasant she had found Paula Hickson, and deciding the boy must take after his absent father. It was not until later, when she was checking the newspapers for the next day’s order, that she discovered they were one magazine short.
ELEVEN
T HE EVENING WAS MILD, WITH A GENTLE BREEZE STIRRING the leaves on the giant chestnut that spread its branches above the small Reading Room, which had been donated to the village in l898 by a benevolent squire at the hall. It had recently been restored, and Derek unlocked the door with a feeling of pleasure at the success of a campaign that had saved the little building from being bulldozed, with the ironstone to be used for repairing a wall around the new vicarage.
He arranged a table and chairs ready for the meeting, and sorted through some details about soap box racing that Lois had downloaded for him from her computer. He had been considerably alarmed at the technical stuff about constructing the soap boxes, and about safety regulations that would have to be considered. He would ask Tony Dibson what they had done in the old days. No doubt Adstone would use it as an excuse to try turning the committee against soap boxes in any guise.
“Evenin’, Derek,” said Tony, as he came through the door, looking smart and neatly dressed for the meeting. Derek marvelled again at how the old boy managed with a disabled wife and all the household chores to do.
“Nice to see you, Tony, and on time as always! Reckon we could show these youngsters a thing or two.” The rest came in ones and twos, and Derek was just beginning to wonder if Hazel Thornbull had forgotten, when she and husband John hurried through the door, apologising for having had to stay with a sick cow.
“Not that blue tongue, I ’ope,” said Tony, and Gavin made a disgusted face.
“Do you think we could start, Chairman,” he said. “I have some business work to catch up on.” He hadn’t, but he liked to create an image.
“Right, let’s get to it,” said Derek briskly. “All here?” He looked around, and saw that Father Rodney was missing. Saying a prayer for the soul of the sick cow? Derek asked if anyone had heard anything from him.
“I saw him in the churchyard as I was comin’ down,” Tony said. “Gazing upwards, he was.”
“Lost in wonder, love and praise, probably,” said Hazel, who had
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