Aileen had never wanted to move to a village. She was full of scorn when the estate agent suggested they take a look at the two new houses in the top lane.<\/p>\n
\u201cRising damp, crumbling cottages, church suppers, coffee mornings, no thanks.\u201d<\/p>\n
The sales agent was persuasive, \u201cYou\u2019ll be just off the main road, easy ride into town, good bus service. You really wouldn\u2019t have to go into the village at all. The houses are lovely; there\u2019s been a lot of interest.\u201d<\/p>\n
So they went to look. Bob was smitten. \u201cLook at this view, fields, woods; a nice stroll down the lane for papers or milk. We\u2019ll get a dog, good exercise.\u201d<\/p>\n
So far Aileen had managed to avoid the village completely. She drove herself to town where she shopped and lunched with her friends, playing the \u2018we\u2019re doing better than you\u2019 game at which she excelled. She never mentioned Bob\u2019s lay off, and the need to down size, hinting instead at important consulting work, \u2018brings in quite a bit, but of course he can\u2019t talk about it.\u2019 And she was well ahead in the ensuite versus wet room contest, having two bathrooms to boast about, with upscale fittings and power showers. She let it be known that her new house was detached and never discussed the d\u00e9class\u00e9 neighbors who lived in the second house, sadly in full view. From her front room she looked out on their messy forecourt with its heap of bicycles, and piles of construction materials, presumably a conservatory in the making. She of course would never have such a thing. \u00a0No, she was keen on a studio room situated at the end of the long garden. \u201cI might pick up my painting again.\u201d<\/p>\n
Bob took to village life; he had found a golfing partner from the big house at the end of the green and sat on the music festival committee with someone called \u2018Ron from the bungalows\u2019; he went regularly to the monthly Wednesday nights at the pub to hear various writers and story tellers, and had promised to attend the upcoming Best Kept Village planning meeting. Aileen had been scathing, \u201cWe\u2019ll be seeing you on Midsommer, next.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then Bob broke his ankle badly, jumping over stiles with the dog, and was left unable to do his promised Christmas fund raising calls around the village.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ll have to go for me, Aileen.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not going, can\u2019t someone else do it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, it\u2019s supposed to be a personal visit, season\u2019s greetings and all that. There are some who don\u2019t go out much and it\u2019s a way of checking on them.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy can\u2019t people just bring the money to the church or somewhere? What\u2019s it for, anyway?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe Christmas carol concert and the roof fund.\u201d<\/p>\n
Aileen shuddered. \u201cKnocking on peoples\u2019 doors and shaking a tin isn\u2019t my idea of fun. I\u2019ve never even been round the village, how will I know who\u2019s who?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve got a list, it\u2019s just round the green, really, not the lanes or the farms, or the outlying cottages. You won\u2019t be shaking a tin. There\u2019s an envelope with the names and I\u2019ve written in the cottage descriptions. It won\u2019t take long, give you a chance to meet people.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAll right, just this once, but you\u2019re not enrolling me in any more of your silly village efforts.\u201d<\/p>\n
Pulling on her boots and cloak, she set off down the lane. Slender trees stood black against a cloudy sky, a damp, smoky mist drifted down the lane. Looking back she could just see her house. It looked oddly tilted, and she had never realized it was such a yellowy color. The settling mist drifted across the garden turning the bushes into pig shapes. Cows mooed somewhere to her right; she heard the clanking sound of buckets and then that faded.\u00a0 Was there a farm over there? Wasn\u2019t it just fields? Bob would know, strange, though, he had never mentioned a farm. Well, it was getting chilly; she pulled her scarf over her hair, better get on.<\/p>\n
She came to the end of the lane; the village spread itself around the green; it looked quite pretty really, like an old painting. A whiff of manure and a creaking of wheels, a dog scampered past, and a cart lumbered by, the driver hunched over the reins. \u201cEvening, Ma\u2019am.\u201d God, it was too rustic!<\/p>\n
Peering at Bob\u2019s list, Aileen oriented herself.\u00a0 The first cottage was Old Margaret; then a few other cottages and she could go right round the green, some bungalows and more cottages, finishing up at the bigger house at the end. She pushed the gate to Old Margaret\u2019s cottage. It stuck on the uneven path and screeched as she pushed it back. The knocker was a twisted iron rope, black against the blue door. Aileen knocked twice; the cottage was silent, she supposed Old Margaret was deaf, or slow or something, maybe give it one more try. She rapped out a brisk, rat-a-tat-tat, and was turning away when the door swung open.<\/p>\n
Old Margaret stood on the threshold; she was tall, dressed in some sort of long skirt and shawl. Aileen smelled tobacco, was there a Mr. Old Margaret? \u00a0Then the woman pulled a clay pipe from her pocket, jamming it into the corner of her mouth.\u00a0 Aileen held up her envelope. \u201cCollecting for the church\u2026 I\u2019m Aileen, Bob\u2019s wife.\u201d<\/p>\n
Old Margaret didn\u2019t answer, but beckoned her in. The cottage was incredibly small, just one room downstairs, with a bit of a scullery at the back. It smelled of smoke, lavender and spirits. Old Margaret opened a cupboard in the wall over the fireplace and withdrew a bottle and two small glasses; she held them up to Aileen.<\/p>\n
Aileen nodded. \u201cThank you.\u201d Old Margaret poured the yellow liquid and handed her a glass. Aileen was tempted somehow to say \u2018slainte\u2019,\u00a0 \u2018cheers\u2019, didn\u2019t seem right, but Old Margaret held up her glass saying nothing, so Aileen did the same, and sipped; the drink had a strong winey flavor, sweet without being cloying.\u00a0 Old Margaret sipped slowly and stared at her. Her eyes were cloudy, her gaze vague, her lips moved and she stretched out a hand to Aileen,<\/p>\n
Obviously senile, thought Aileen, why hadn\u2019t Bob warned her? She smiled, \u201cWell, I must be getting on, um \u2026would you care to make a contribution?\u201d<\/p>\n
Old Margaret remained motionless, hand extended, then turned and faded back into the scullery.<\/p>\n
Aileen let herself out, closing the blue door behind her. She skipped the next few cottages; there were no names on the list and they looked quite shut up, holiday cottages, maybe. She came to the end of the row and found herself facing the pub set at an angle at the foot of a little set back where there were two small, older buildings, but with new windows and front doors. Aileen rapped on the first door. A young woman opened it.<\/p>\n
\u201cChurch collection.\u201d Aileen showed her envelope.<\/p>\n
\u2018Oh yes, come in, it\u2019s chilly out. You\u2019re Aileen, Bob\u2019s wife, right? I\u2019m Liz.\u201d<\/p>\n
She ushered her into a kitchen, with a fireplace and settle. \u201cDreadfully small these places, I don\u2019t know how people managed in the old days. I\u2019m on the list for housing. Out on the main road, they\u2019re building, three beds, inside lav. I can\u2019t wait to get some space, get my kids back. Here, sit down, you\u2019ll have a cup of tea? Kettle\u2019s on, I was just about to have a cup.\u201d<\/p>\n
Aileen sat on the settle, while the girl, rummaging about on the dresser, produced cups and a teapot. She shook the teapot upside down and retrieved three pound coins, which she tossed on the table. She flung tea bags into the cups, poured on water from the whistling kettle and handed Aileen her cup and a miniature brandy. \u201cNo milk, sorry. No point going next door, he\u2019s away again, musician, travels all over. Where else have you been?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJust Old Margaret\u2019s, I\u2019m going this way round.\u201d<\/p>\n
Liz looked puzzled. \u201cOld Margaret? That\u2019s a sad story, she has been moved into a care home, getting a little strange she was, kept saying someone had been in her bed; I should be so lucky.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, someone was there, I went in.\u201d<\/p>\n
Liz twitched her tea bag out of her cup. \u201cMust have been her niece, little redhead? Piece of work that one, she\u2018s suppose to be clearing out the place.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, an old woman, tall, with a pipe, she gave me wine.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMaybe it was Leila, she is always poking around other people\u2019s houses, and they should do something about her too.\u00a0 She\u2019s in the next to last cottage on the other side. More tea?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, thanks, I must get on.\u201d<\/p>\n
Liz came to the door with her. \u201cBrrr, it\u2019s getting cold. Here, you can cut straight across; Jen, in that posh house, is away. There\u2019s old people in that first bungalow, nice old things and Ron\u2019s next door, watch out for him, wickedest man in the village he is.\u201d<\/p>\n
Aileen stepped out and looked about her. Lights were showing in the cottage windows; mist and smoke from the pub chimneys floated into the trees and hung in spectral shapes. Aileen shivered, she looked at her list again, Betty and Harold straight across. Must be that one with the little green gate. She was somehow reluctant to cross the green, perhaps better to follow the road around. Maybe Liz was watching her.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
She tried to walk briskly. It had begun to rain and buildings on the other side dissolved into greyness. She felt disoriented. A cold rush of wind pulled at her scarf and, stumbling she put out her hand. Something rough and woolly jumped away from her, bleating. A sheep? Now she could smell manure again and the same cart she had seen before rumbled past, this time piled high with sacks; again the driver acknowledged her, tipping his hat. The wind picked up and blew the mists aside. Opposite two derelict sagging cottages leaned against each other, unpainted, their thatch shredding. Maybe she had missed Betty and Harold, and Ron. Was one of these Leila? The left hand one had a faint light in the window.<\/p>\n
Aileen couldn\u2019t see any sign of bungalows. She approached the first cottage. It had a twisted iron rope for a door knocker, like Old Margaret\u2019s. She gave it a good rat-a-tat-tat and waited. There was some shuffling about inside and eventually the door swung open. A bent figure wrapped in a shabby shawl stood there, Leila, presumably.<\/p>\n
\u201cChurch collection,\u201d said Aileen, showing her envelope, \u201cBob\u2019s wife.\u201d She followed the old woman into a smokey, brick floored kitchen. Wine glasses were set on a round table in the center; the same yellowy wine was poured and the same silent toast drunk. Leila sank into a wooden chair by the fire. She seemed quite old and frail. Maybe, Aileen thought, she should just leave, obviously no contribution was forthcoming.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll go then,\u201d she said. She felt guilty leaving; someone should come and see to these old women. Who lived like this, in these days? And that girl, obviously a tart. What was her name, Liz? She thought Bob had mentioned a Liz, in the pub. Well, whatever, they needed a good social worker here, she would bring it up at the next parish council, or rather tell Bob to do so.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Stepping out of Leila\u2019s small garden Aileen bumped into a large stout man.<\/p>\n
\u201cHey, watch out!\u201d He grasped her firmly by the arm. \u201cI\u2019m Ron, are you doing Bob\u2019s list? Look, if you\u2019re done, come over to the pub and have a drink.\u201d He was still holding her arm and steering her back across the green. \u201cWe need to get to know you better.\u201d<\/p>\n
The pub smelled of wood smoke, sausages and chips.<\/p>\n
\u201cGood timing, the ghost teller is here tonight. You\u2019ll love it, great village stories.\u201d<\/p>\n
He brought her sherry and a basket of chips and removed her cloak.<\/p>\n
Helplessly, Aileen submitted.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Aileen had never wanted to move to a village. She was full of scorn when the estate agent suggested they take a look at the two new houses in the top lane. \u201cRising damp, crumbling cottages, church suppers, coffee mornings, no thanks.\u201d The sales agent was persuasive, \u201cYou\u2019ll be just off the main road, easy … Continue reading “The Wickedest Man in the Village (short story)”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[15],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-371","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-writing-excerpts"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/francesgilbert.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/371","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/francesgilbert.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/francesgilbert.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/francesgilbert.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/francesgilbert.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=371"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/francesgilbert.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/371\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":443,"href":"https:\/\/francesgilbert.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/371\/revisions\/443"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/francesgilbert.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=371"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/francesgilbert.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=371"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/francesgilbert.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=371"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}