No horse’s head appeared in our bed overnight, but two decapitated pheasants appeared on the back doorstep early next morning. I knew I’d annoyed people the previous evening, but hadn’t expected quite such a vivid response. Hurtling to the downstairs loo, I bade farewell to my breakfast. I didn’t want to see the corpses again, but I’d made it a rule never to ask other people to do things I couldn’t do myself, not unless I paid them handsomely for the privilege. So, donning rubber gloves, I was ready to carry the bodies – at arm’s length – to the bin. But Theo arrived just in time to do the deed himself. Except that he didn’t. He seized on them with glee.
‘How lovely! I wonder who left those for us.’
‘A fox with razor-sharp teeth?’ I shuddered.
‘I take it you won’t be dressing them?’
‘Or more to the point, undressing them! Or taking their insides out!’
He shook his head as if trying not to laugh at me. ‘I’ll show you.’
‘You can do it in decent privacy, thank you very much. I don’t even have any recipes for pheasant,’ I added mutinously.
‘I’m sure we’ll find one in Merry’s old files.’
I hoped he wouldn’t notice my half-swallowed gasp. According to Mrs Mountford, Merry had been a perfect vicar’s wife and helpmeet. In addition to those regularly left by Theo, there were always fresh flowers on her grave. More expensive ones than Theo’s. I wished he’d talk about her, so I could get a clear idea of her as a woman; all I could deduce from his silence was that he still found it too painful to talk about a perfect woman. Much as he loved me – and I didn’t doubt that – he must see me as an inferior replacement model. The longer I spent in her depressing kitchen the surer I was that I was a pretty poor substitute.
‘I’ll go and check,’ I said. He didn’t understand how painful it was for me to go through her beautifully annotated ring-binders full of recipes clipped from magazines or newspapers or carefully transcribed in lovely clear handwriting.
Before I could do so, however, Burble hove into view. ‘Road kill,’ he said, as if that explained everything. To a country person au fait with game laws, it probably did.
‘That’s very kind – thanks!’ Theo enthused, in a tone suggesting he’d been afraid they might have come from someone’s private estate.
‘Owe you one for Violet – right?’
Heavens! Jungle drums or what?
‘Sending the rubberneckers to the shop. Made a few bob. Ta, Jode.’
So it was nothing to do with my proposals. What would he bring if that little deal came about? A whole ostrich from Port Lympne Zoo?
‘Lock your garage last night?’ he asked. ‘Shed? Look, just ’cause you’re the vicar don’t mean your gear’s – what do they call it? – sacred?’
‘Sacrosanct?’ Theo prompted.
A grin disturbed Burble’s piercings. ‘Nice word, that, innit?’ He rolled it round his mouth a couple of times. Suddenly, dropping the machete I’d found in the shed in question, and some leather gloves and goggles I’d bought him (’Elf and Safety, after all), he said, ‘Know what you need,’ and disappeared. For the rest of the day, as it happened.
So did another couple of lawnmowers, this time from the estate the rectory backed on to – people who’d assumed that living in a village meant they didn’t need to lock their sheds. At one point, before my arrival, it had meant you didn’t even need to lock your front door. Now, as I discovered when I went for my next run, dotted all around the village were vans from burglar alarm companies, including the one Ted Vesey used and which he had no doubt recommended.
Until the dust from the PCC meeting had settled, I changed my route, avoiding the more picturesque part of the village which included Mrs Mountford’s domain. Instead I ran through the small area of social housing, right on the edge of the village. Some houses were obviously in private hands, with owners making what Mrs Mountford would probably call An Effort. Others were less well maintained, but I’d seen far worse estates in London, and it hardly qualified for Ted Vesey’s description of it as a sink estate. As I ran I made sure I greeted everyone I could, even the bunch of disaffected youths lounging near a car without a tax disc. One or two – Burble’s mates, perhaps – returned my wave and smile. One actually detached himself from the group and stopped me to ask about my Porsche. He was sorry I didn’t have it any more.
‘Come on, they’re already nicking bikes and mowers,’ I said. ‘Someone might fancy a Porsche!’
He shook his head sadly. ‘Only to key it, like.’ He fished one hand out of his hoodie pouch to mime vandalizing paintwork with a sharp object. ‘Some people don’t like fancy motors. Best with what you’ve got, maybe.’
‘You don’t think a six-year-old Focus is going to offend anyone?’
‘What do you think? Make ’em shed a tear, more like.’ It seemed the conversation was over. But he suddenly asked, ‘What’s it like, having lots of money? And why did you come down to this dump instead of spending it?’
‘The second question’s easier to answer,’ I said honestly. ‘I came down here because I love Theo, and since his job’s here, he’s not going anywhere.’
‘But a lot of folk hate your guts, see, you being a banker.’ That hurt. But at least I had the consolation that it wasn’t personal. ‘Might have been better if he’d got a job near you.’
‘The church doesn’t quite work like that. And if I say having money’s nothing compared to loving the right person, I dare say you’d laugh in my face. Just for the record, I wasn’t a banker. Ever. And I never had huge bonuses or any other stuff.’
‘What was you then?’ He looked taken aback, as if denied his right to be resentful.
‘I worked in computing.’ No need to specify the firms I spent most years with, since their tax arrangements appalled even me. ‘Recently I did short-term contract work.’
‘Used to like computers. At school. Then at the library. Then they shut the library.’
‘And they shut the youth club, too.’
‘Yeah, but the computers there were crap. And it was just for kids, really. The club, I mean.’
I was beginning to have the glimmer of another idea, but wasn’t about to talk it over with him. Not just yet. Rather than come out with a platitude, however, I looked at his feet. ‘Pretty sound shoes: are you up to running with me for a few hundred metres? Only I don’t know your name.’
‘Malcolm Burns. Mazza. OK. You’re on.’
After some warm-up exercises he clearly thought were beneath his dignity but certainly weren’t beneath mine, I took him on a gentle circuit round the estate, so he wouldn’t feel bad about dropping out on the excuse he’d got to pop into a mate’s house or something. But he kept going: he had the right build for a distance runner, whippy, and he ran in a neat economical style. So we circled the better-heeled parts too. Wouldn’t you know it, halfway round the village green we overtook not the dreaded Mountford, who might have expired with a seizure at our feet, but Ted Vesey and his wretched amorous dog. Only it didn’t seem too loving when the feet and ankles it saw were moving. Guessing what the dratted thing would do, I shoved Mazza hard enough to make him stumble away; I’d had enough practice of dealing with snappy dogs to jump clear. But I’d reckoned without the extended lead Vesey favoured, which acted like a tripwire.
Vesey’s apology, when I fetched up on my hands and knees at his feet, was courtly enough, and I accepted it graciously, despite his acrid glances at my running partner. Fortunately I’d escaped with no more than bruises. In the summer, with shorts and no gloves, it might have been a different matter.
Dusting myself down, I trotted after Mazza, who to my horror was busily filming everything with a mobile even more expensive than mine. So what was all that about not being able to use a computer? ‘Please promise me that won’t go on YouTube or whatever,’ I said. ‘Just delete it.’
‘Bastard tightened the lead deliberately,’ he said. ‘I’ll make him smile the other side of his face. Could have hurt you bad. Sue him: he’s fucking loaded.’
‘Let’s not start a class war over my knees,’ I said. ‘Keep it to yourself, please. Or I shan’t train with you tomorrow. Mind you,’ I continued, as I set us going again, ‘I bet you’ll be too stiff.’
‘Bloody won’t. What time?’
‘Half-seven? At the rectory? We’ll do some warm-ups and add an extra kilometre.’
He winced. At the time, I thought, rather than the distance I’d suggested.
‘Or would half-one be better?’ I asked with a grin. ‘But let’s see you getting rid of that footage first.’
‘No way. That sort of bugger’s likely to accuse one of us – OK, me – of kicking the little rat. But I won’t put it on YouTube.’
‘Nor on your Facebook page. Or anywhere else. Now for our warm-downs …’ I started mine. As I stretched, I asked casually, ‘Have you seen Burble? He popped off first thing this morning after bringing us a brace of road-kill pheasants and I’ve not seen him since.’
‘Probably foraging,’ he said tersely. ‘Though he knows some weird—’ His phone bellowed some music I didn’t know. ‘Got to take this.’
‘I gather you’re spending your time making young criminals fitter,’ Theo said as we washed up before heading to bed that night. Oh, for a dishwasher. Oh, for enough space for a dishwasher.
‘Ah. Ted Vesey’s been in touch.’ I put down a wine glass very carefully on the draining board.
He picked it up with equal delicacy. ‘No. Not Ted. Someone else. You know every wall in a village has eyes as well as ears. Was it wise to kick Ted’s dog, Jodie?’
‘I’d have kicked Vesey’s balls if I could have reached. Actually, the running shoe, as it were, is on the other foot. I tripped over the dog’s lead, that Mazza swears—’
‘As much as Burble?’
‘Almost – Mazza swears that Vesey tightened the lead deliberately. He got footage to prove his point too, and to prove that my feet were flailing in the air, not kicking anyone or anything. I made him promise not to distribute it, though.’
‘Thank you. Rector’s Wife Assaulted By Churchwarden – that would have looked good on the Internet, wouldn’t it?’
‘Quite. Though how Mazza comes to have such an upmarket phone, I’d rather not know. I doubt if he’ll come tomorrow or I’d get him to show it to you. The clip, not the phone.’
‘Sweetheart, you don’t need to do that. I believe you. Without any evidence.’ Laying aside the tea-towel he kissed me thoroughly enough to convince me.
I returned the compliment, but not totally satisfactorily given the blue rubber gloves. ‘It’d be nice for you to be able to show other people though. Or rather, tell – I’d be happier him not knowing my personal number, which isn’t the most Christian thing to say, I know.’
‘You’re not the priest in charge, sweetheart; you don’t have to put your details into the public domain. But I’m interested that you don’t entirely trust this Mazza.’ He put away the glass and looked at me quizzically.
‘I don’t distrust him. After all, he’s not uploaded it yet: I checked ten minutes ago. It’s more – a matter of distance between him and me. I’m not sure if I’m making sense. It’s one thing to get him running, to give him something to do, but another to have him thinking he’s my friend. Though I think he might have tried to give me a veiled warning about the folk Burble hangs out with. I’m not sure … But he did give me one idea,’ I added positively.
‘You seem to be having a lot these days!’ Turning from me he hung up the tea-towel.
I flushed. I detected a distinct note of – was it simply amusement or was there criticism there too? No, just amusement. ‘I just thought that since I know quite a lot about computers, maybe I should give the unemployed kids some lessons. In the village hall or somewhere. A sort of ASBO club,’ I added with a rueful grin. ‘It’d make them more employable, if ever there are any jobs in the future.’
He took my hands and kissed me. ‘That’s a brilliant idea. But what about the computers they’d need?’
‘Ah. I suppose I couldn’t just buy … No? OK, I wonder if the village school would let us use theirs …’
‘I know what Mrs Mountford would say: No doubt the ne’er-do-wells would download material you wouldn’t want a child to see.’ He had her face and her voice to a T.
‘As if I couldn’t stop that. Filters, Mrs Mountford, ma’am! Still, one thing at a time: let’s not try to run before I can walk.’
He turned his mouth down, Eeyore now. But he couldn’t keep the joy from his eyes. ‘You may have a lot of walking coming up, too. Jodie, I can’t wait any longer: your shop in the church idea’s going to get the bishop’s approval. But don’t say anything until everything’s firmed up.’ We danced round the kitchen like kids.
At last I pulled away. ‘But it’s not down to us, or even the bishop, is it? It’s the PCC that has to make decisions. Speaking of which, I’d love you to circulate my PR friend’s free idea – he wants the bells to be recorded and used on the church and the village websites and Facebook pages.’
‘My love, as far as I know, neither has either. But you’re right, before you say anything – both should have both.’
‘Mrs Mountford notwithstanding.’
‘Quite. So we don’t tread on anyone’s toes or even reinvent the wheel, I’ll phone the chair of the parish council tomorrow and tell her what we’ve been talking about. Julie’s a sensible woman: her husband’s very ill so she’s not been as active as she’d like. I’m sure she’d love a joint website – we have to sneak into the twenty-first century somehow!’ He put his hand in the small of my back to propel me upstairs. ‘I bet you’ve got a friend who can get us there, at least as far as the website’s concerned.’
‘I could do it myself, Theo, standing on my head with one hand tied behind my back. But remember what you said about fishing and teaching how to fish.’
‘And to whom are you planning to give fishing lessons?’
I said mildly, ‘It would be good if someone from the village could be volunteered into having them. Mazza, for instance …’
‘Mazza!’ But then his parson’s instincts overrode his middle-aged, middle-class ones. ‘Yes, Mazza. Perfect.’
Or not. I was ready to fight my corner when his face was transformed by the sweet smile that had turned my heart over the night we met.
‘I’m so glad you’ve come to St Dunstan’s. He’d be very proud of you. Dunstan,’ he repeated as I shook my head in incomprehension. He took my hands in his and kissed them in turn.
‘I thought he was all about white sticks and guide dogs.’
‘He gave up his worldly life and retired to Kent. Nothing, they say, gave him more pleasure than teaching the young.’