Crisis in the Cotswolds Read online

  Crisis in the Cotswolds

  REBECCA TOPE

  For Tim and Paula Charsley

  with thanks for your help with exploring the

  Cotswolds

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Map

  Author’s Note

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  About the Author

  By Rebecca Tope

  Copyright

  Author’s Note

  Broad Campden is a real village, but I have tinkered with some details of the layout in order to find a site for the burial ground.

  The Paxford Centre is a product of my imagination in every respect.

  Chapter One

  ‘That was difficult,’ said Drew, clasping and twisting his hands as if holding himself together. ‘Worse than difficult, in fact.’

  ‘In what way?’ Thea frowned up at him. ‘Are they in a terrible hurry or something?’

  ‘No. They want me to pretend the funeral’s not happening. They want me to lie, if a particular person phones to enquire. And they will, apparently.’

  ‘Who? Don’t they know who they’re dealing with? What did you tell them?’

  He went to the kettle and made himself a cup of strong instant coffee. His movements were jerky, and Thea could feel his tension from across the room. ‘I told them it wasn’t something I would generally agree to.’

  ‘Don’t make it so strong, Drew. It’s bad for your heart.’

  ‘It’s not my heart I’m worried about. It’s my conscience. I let money overrule principle. A simple moral dilemma, on the face of it. But who am I to judge the rights and wrongs of it?’

  ‘So – I’m guessing these are nice people, and the person you’ve got to lie to is a feckless drunken cousin who’s going to come and wreck the whole thing.’

  ‘More or less, according to them. But how do I know if I can believe what they say? What if it’s the other way round? It’s a big thing, to stop somebody coming to a funeral.’

  ‘I could do it,’ she offered. ‘I’m a better liar than you, after all. You’d just stammer and choke, and they’d know you were fobbing them off.’

  She could see he was tempted. ‘That would mean you answering every call for the rest of the week. You wouldn’t be able to go out.’

  ‘True,’ she nodded, with a glance at the clear blue sky outside. ‘But I can hear the phone from the garden, and that new lounger hasn’t had much use so far.’

  ‘You lazy object,’ he sighed. ‘What happened to those plans you had for getting a job? That was months ago now.’

  ‘It must have been New-Year-itis. Resolutions and new starts and all that. But Hepzie thinks it wouldn’t do. Not to mention Steph and Tim. The whole thing would get impossibly complicated.’

  ‘Other people manage. In fact, as far as I can see, just about every woman in the land has found a way of managing. Look at Maggs.’

  ‘I know they have, but it doesn’t look like fun to me. I’ve never imagined I could compete with Maggs on any level. And I’m not sure it would be sensible economically, either, in our case. We’ve still got plenty of my house money to fall back on. We’ll talk about it again when Tim goes to the big school, okay?’

  Drew sighed again. ‘That’s two and a bit years from now, right?’

  ‘Indeed. No time at all. Now tell me about this dodgy funeral.’

  He sat at the table, nursing his mug. ‘The deceased is called Stephen Biddulph, aged seventy-nine. The funeral’s on Tuesday. There’s a wife, Linda, and a son, Lawrence. Second wife. Which is a secret, even from Lawrence. He’s always assumed he was a one and only.’

  ‘What? And she told you, just like that?’

  ‘I’m a safe pair of ears. But now that Stephen’s dead, she’s worried that word will get back to the first wife and her two sons. Secrets have a habit of breaking loose when there’s a death. That would rock all sorts of boats. Especially for her precious son, who would be exceedingly upset, apparently.’

  Thea gave this some thought. ‘He’d be very angry as well, probably. Especially with her for keeping the existence of half-brothers hidden from him. I know I would be.’ She scowled at the very idea. ‘What a coward she must be.’

  ‘Hey! That’s a bit strong. She says Stephen made her swear never to mention it when Lawrence was born, and she’s stuck with it. She’s quite proud of herself, I think.’

  ‘So, the man never saw his older sons in all that time?’ Her outrage was still all too evident. ‘How is that possible in this day and age?’

  Drew shrugged. ‘Good question.’ He finished the coffee and stood up. ‘Anyway, can’t stop. Mr Fleming tomorrow, nine-thirty sharp.’

  ‘The birdsong one?’

  ‘That’s him.’

  They had enjoyed this particular customer more than most when it came to planning the funeral. Mr Fleming, deceased, had been avid about birds, and had insisted that his burial take place to the sound of their song. Dying at the beginning of May had been a bonus but, as Thea had pointed out, ‘They sing loudest at about 5 a.m. You’ll have to be out there pretty early.’

  Mrs Fleming, being a woman of pragmatic character, had refused to consider anything sooner than half past nine. ‘They won’t sing at all if it’s raining,’ she said. ‘These things are clearly impossible to control. If it’s a fine day, there’ll be very nice early sunshine and most likely some sort of birdsong, even if it’s only collared doves.’

  Drew, who lived to serve, had worried. ‘What if I bring a CD player for backup?’ he suggested. ‘There are sure to be some discs of birds available.’

  ‘If you like,’ the widow agreed. ‘But I’m not sure that’s what Dicky had in mind. To be perfectly frank, it’s enough for me that he died thinking it would all go as he wanted it to. He imagined the whole thing in advance, and that made him happy. What we actually do on the day isn’t terribly relevant, when you stop to think about it.’

  Drew was never quite sure how to handle this kind of scepticism. Any lack of consideration for the rituals of death made him uneasy. ‘You still think the dead person’s hovering over you, watching what goes on,’ Thea accused him. ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ he prevaricated. ‘But it feels wrong to risk it, just in case.’

  This elicited a laugh that was more affectionate than mocking. ‘You’re a one,’ she told him.

  But they both knew that Drew had a comprehensive understanding of most of the emotional and cultural significances of a funeral. He regularly knew better than the families themselves what were the essential elements that should not be fudged or overlooked. Primary amongst these essentials was a recognition that the person concerned had gone and was not coming back. This was followed closely by a similar recognition that the same thing was going to happen to everybody else in the family, and it therefore behoved them to do as they woul
d be done by. The dead were acutely vulnerable to disrespect and calumny, which explained the taboo against speaking ill of them. Whether grieving the loss or celebrating the life – or, ideally, both – there were certain truths that Drew would not allow to be dodged. He never said ‘passed away’, never avoided referring directly to ‘the body’, and never carelessly agreed to any overriding of the dead person’s wishes.

  And in the case of Mr James Fleming (always known as Dicky), he very much hoped that some obliging birds would sing spectacularly in the trees above the newly dug grave.

  But the matter of the Biddulph family – or families, to be strictly accurate – was a whole other worry. Thea’s offer to shoulder the burden of blatant lying was of very little comfort. Her involvement in the burial business was capricious at the best of times. At the outset, he had assumed that she would step efficiently into the shoes of his first assistant, Maggs Cooper. Arranging the funerals, talking to the relatives, even handling the bodies and attending the burials – it was all there waiting for her when they moved to Broad Campden. But, bit by bit, she had detached herself until her role had reduced to little more than answering the phone and sending out the bills. Her first experience of making arrangements with a young wife and very young son had gone disastrously badly. The family took its business elsewhere and Thea swore never to do that again. ‘I’m not Maggs Cooper,’ she said repeatedly. ‘She’s irreplaceable.’

  It was true that Maggs was unusual. If ever a person had a vocation, it was her. From her early teens, she knew what she wanted to do and foisted herself on the local undertaker, brooking no arguments. When Drew set up on his own, Maggs went with him. Their success was as much thanks to her as to his own efforts. People loved her. Sensitive but direct, friendly but professional – she struck precisely the right note in her dealings with the bereaved. And now she was in charge of that original business, down in Somerset, with a small child, husband and versatile employee called Pandora, while Drew soldiered on in the Cotswolds, assisted not by his wife but a new employee named Andrew.

  ‘I’ll have to think about it,’ he said five minutes later. He’d made some toast for himself before pursuing further business in his office.

  ‘Think about what?’ Thea had been reading the local paper, forgetting all about Drew and his burials.

  ‘The first Mrs Biddulph,’ he reminded her.

  ‘Is that still her name?’

  ‘Good question. Probably not. Look – don’t stay by the phone any more than usual. If the call comes through to me, I can handle it. If you do answer it, just be careful what you tell anybody asking about that funeral, okay?’

  ‘No problem.’ She smiled at him, her whole face soft and pretty and guileless. His wife, he inwardly repeated, for the thousandth time in nearly a year. His second wife. Thea Osborne, née Johnstone, now Slocombe. Stepmother to his children, retired house-sitter and a few years older than him. He had fallen for her within minutes of their first meeting, in the face of disapproval from Maggs and his own anguished conscience, his first wife Karen still being alive at the time.

  ‘Anything in the paper?’ he asked.

  ‘Quite a lot, actually. You’ve got a heartfelt thanks in the obituaries, and somebody’s stolen a Labrador bitch and eight puppies, one week old. How is that possible? What foul things people can be. Oh, and they’ve finally got your plans in the council announcements section. Only a month late, the idiots.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I can’t afford to do it yet, anyway.’

  ‘That’s not the point.’ Her look was part exasperation and part affection. ‘It sends a message that business is growing and you’re keen to add more facilities and attract more customers.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ he said, with his customary patience.

  Chapter Two

  The children came home in two very different moods. Stephanie was moving up to the final year at the primary school the following term and was taking it all very seriously. Shouldering responsibility came naturally to her and she was already positioning herself for the role of Head Girl, despite it being months away. Her rival was a child called Sophie, and the resulting enmity was savage. Most afternoons, Thea was expected to listen to every little skirmish in the never-ending war between them, and today was no exception.

  Timmy, by contrast, had no ambitions of any kind beyond basic survival. He strove to avoid attention, especially from other children. Increasingly, Thea had sympathised as she understood him better. Small, colourless, quiet and shy, he was easy to overlook. One of four herself, with a healthy collection of nieces, nephews and a daughter of her own, she had nonetheless never encountered a child quite like Tim. His fragility endeared him to her, where it often irritated Drew. ‘It’s the opposite of what might have been expected,’ she remarked. ‘You being the one with all the patience and so forth.’

  Drew never relished discussions concerning his son. ‘Just one of those things,’ he would say. ‘You’ll have to put it down to chemistry.’ He had moved from guilty to defensive and then to rueful acceptance. Tim was a motherless child and the damage was inescapable. All Thea could do was try to soften the edges of his woe.

  Now, the little boy was contentedly sitting at the big kitchen table with his juice, biscuit and latest electronic device, ignoring his sister’s complaints about Sophie. Even his palpable relief at the end of every school day made Thea wince for him. It was as if he mentally ticked one more box off the thousands he would have to endure until he could find freedom. The previous summer had been a whirl of getting married, moving to Broad Campden, entertaining the bewildered children and generally adjusting to the new life for them all. Now they were more firmly settled, with Drew often busy to the point of discomfort, and the future more easy to see. Thea’s spaniel had her routines, pottering up and down the quiet lane where they lived, often unsupervised. A middle-aged Labrador four houses along had made her acquaintance, and the two would get together, somewhat against Cotswolds protocol, which much preferred its animals to be kept under rigid control. Hepzibah was a familiar figure, the Labrador unambitious and, compared to the sudden appearance of an undertaker in their midst, the dogs gave no grounds for neighbourhood objection.

  ‘And she deliberately broke my pencil,’ Stephanie whined. ‘She dropped it on its point while she was pretending to give it back to me. And then Mrs French told me not to make wild accusations.’

  Thea had to hide a smile at the outrage on the child’s face. ‘Sounds as if you had a fairly normal day, then,’ she said. ‘How about you, Tim?’

  He shrugged, as he always did, but then looked up. ‘Daniel Oakhurst’s big brother is going to die. I think they’re going to call Dad about it. I forgot to tell you.’

  ‘Really? How old is he?’

  ‘Dunno. Year Twelve or something. He’s got cancer in his head. Mrs Carroll told us not to talk about it, but Daniel says that’s silly. They talk about it all the time at their house, he says. He’s okay, Daniel.’

  This was a major breakthrough, and Thea took care not to overreact. Implications swarmed through her mind – first of which was a probable improved status for Timmy, as the son of the man who handled such a high-profile funeral. The hint of a friend made at school at long last came close second. She wondered how a Year Four teacher might approach the fact of a young death with her class. ‘We’d better tell him about it now, then,’ she said. ‘Where do the Oakhurst family live?’

  ‘Right near the school,’ said Stephanie. ‘Jemima Oakhurst is in my class. The brother’s called Curtis.’

  Timmy and Thea both looked at her with less than admiring expressions. ‘Is she your friend?’ asked Thea.

  ‘No,’ said Stephanie. ‘She’s horrible.’

  ‘Okay. So let’s leave it to Timmy, shall we? He can be the go-between.’

  Stephanie gave a hesitant shrug. All her life she had been expected to yield to her little brother’s needs, and mostly she went along with the expectations. In the big things – t
he very biggest thing, anyway – she had had her way, and that left her feeling somehow in Timmy’s debt. Drew had broken a promise to his son because he and Stephanie had cravenly chosen to bury his mother in another field than their own. The betrayal was stark and permanent. Nobody thought the debt would ever be fully paid off.

  The prospect of another funeral, this time of a teenage boy, gave rise to mixed feelings. Thea had long since grown accustomed to the flash of relief, even a momentary excitement, at the knowledge that the council tax could be paid for another month, or the freezer restocked. Only after that did she find space for sympathy and fellow feeling for those who had suffered the loss. Then came the story, every one of them different. Drew had great skill in eliciting the smaller details, the near-forgotten facts that made this person unique. ‘Mrs Taylor was a rally driver in her twenties’ or ‘William Collins mined opals in Australia until he was forty-five. He made a fortune and then lost the whole lot in three years, gambling on greyhounds. Isn’t that incredible?’ He nearly always added those final words, his eyes shining at the strange ways of the world.

  ‘Do you think Dad should phone the Oakhursts?’ Thea asked Timmy. ‘What did Daniel say exactly?’

  ‘We should wait for them to call us,’ interposed Stephanie with total authority. ‘That’s the way it works.’

  ‘Yes, I know, but …’ Thea floundered, aware that this young girl had a much more natural grasp of the business than she ever would.

  ‘You lot are quiet,’ said Drew, looking round the door. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Tim’s got a message for you,’ said Thea.

  ‘Has he indeed? And I’ve got one for you. All of you. Guess who’s coming to visit us tomorrow night?’

  Stephanie studied his face for two seconds. ‘Maggs,’ she said with total certainty.

  ‘And Den?’ shouted Tim.

  ‘And Meredith?’ Thea added, adopting a smile that was just a trifle broader than the feelings lying behind it.