Chapter Thirty-Three - Site Meeting

Sunday 3rd December

The kettle on the site hut's camping stove started to whistle, swiftly rising from an uncertain warble to a shriek before Lionel Blampied could extinguish the flame and pour its contents into a random collection of chipped, quirky and not entirely hygienic mugs.

'Two sugars was it, Sue?'

The Police Community Support Officer nodded.  'I shouldn't really, but...'

Lionel passed round the rest of the drinks.  That old rogue Bernard accepted his with unusual civility, probably because the presence of a carton of fresh milk had prevented the customary bickering over who was to blame for letting the powdered stuff get damp.

'So you have our felons?' Lionel confirmed.

'We think so,' PCSO Sue Lanham replied.  'If it's the same bunch of lads who were caught on CCTV raiding the Netley site the following night.  We've identified one of them and brought him in for a chat and he'll probably lead us to his mates without even realising what he's said.'

'Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, then?' asked Ralph.

'You could say that.'

'Are we likely to get our tools back?' Bernie queried.

'It's too soon to say but, unless they've simply passed them on as scrap metal, I would be surprised if they had disposed of them all yet.  That's why I've popped in to check we have the full inventory.'

Lionel and Ralph had, between them, managed to speak to everyone on the site since the break-in and almost all had found time to check their sheds and report any absences.  Lionel was reasonably confident that the thieves had not been targeting scrap metal.  His odd collection of rusty-looking improvised tools would have met that specification with no difficulty and his shed was unguarded, yet it had been untouched.  His neighbour's shed however, which boasted a hefty padlock and sturdy construction, had been forced open and the pick of the shiny Spear and Jackson contents spirited away.  Everyone, except Lionel, had assumed Catherine would be devastated at the loss of her late husband's treasured tools.

'We ought to set up a Just Giving page for her,' Sally had suggested earlier that morning, when the assumption was that their tools were gone for good. 

'That's a nice idea,' said Steve, another of the gardeners.  'Will's things were nice but too big for her, really.  She could get herself a more suitable load of kit.'

'That's true, but Will's tools probably had sentimental value,' said Ralph.  'There's nothing we can do to soften that blow.'

'I'm not so sure,' Lionel had said.

'Something to show we all care would help, wouldn't it?' asked Sally.

'Then why not do an old-fashioned whip-round?' Bernie argued.  'I'll start the kitty off with a tenner...'

'She won't accept it,' insisted Ralph.

'Why not?' asked Bernie.  'She's not well-off.'

'That's why she won't,' Ralph replied.

'How's that?'

'She's a very proud and independent lady.  She won't accept charity - or anything that looks like charity to her.  You certainly won't get her to accept money.  It'll simply end up in the tea fund.'

'How can you be so sure?' Bernie persisted.  'It'll cost a fair bit to buy everything she needs.  If she's hard up, surely she'll be glad of a helping hand.' 

'I think Ralph's right,' Sally said.  'She won't take our money.  What she might accept would be the loan of some spare tools.'

'That seems a bit tight-fisted to me,' said Bernie.

'We don't have to loan her our worst tools and we don't have to ask for them back,' Sally replied.  'We could all find a couple of things, I'm sure.'

'Yours are even bigger and heavier than poor old Will's!' Bernie teased.

'I've got some hand tools Dan's step-mum gave me.  They're really pretty too, but I'd probably just snap them if I tried to use them.  I'll see if she'd like them.'

'Don't all ask at once,' Ralph warned.  'She'll know we're up to something.'

In the event, it seemed their carefully worked plan might not be necessary after all, if PCSO Sue was right about the stolen goods. 

Sally was still inclined to offer her flowery trowel as a present, since it would otherwise continue to gather dust at the back of the greenhouse or risk being used to stir the bio-diesel brew.  When Bernie and Steve had gone back to their plots and Sue had left too, Sally shared this idea with Lionel and Ralph.

'I bet she wouldn't let you buy her dinner last night either,' Sally said to Ralph.  She caught Lionel's eye as she asked and winked.

'Actually no, she wouldn't,' Ralph replied.  'I felt dreadful about it.  I wouldn't have asked her if I'd known she would insist on paying her half.  It's awfully nice food at the old Temeraire but it's quite pricy.'

'You had a nice date, though?' asked Sally.

'It wasn't a date, as such...'

'Bollocks!' said Sally.  'It was totally a date!'

'Honestly not,' Ralph insisted.  'Not that I'm not awfully fond of her, but I have the feeling it's still all rather too soon.  It's not a year yet, you know.'

'Did she talk about Will?' Lionel asked.  He supposed not.  Ralph still seemed to have the late Mr Collier ensconced in his saint's niche.

'We talked about gardening more than anything else,' Ralph replied.  'I was telling her about my blasted leaky pond in the back garden and she was complaining that he landlord won't even let her put out a bird bath!  She chatted about the girls as well, of course.  She thinks the world of them but I rather think they lead her a merry dance at times.'

'You're not wrong,' Sally said.  'The older one threw a proper strop when Shane was cheering for the Solent Welfare Rights Project's workers, and named Catherine as one of them.  I didn't hear the whole thing, but it sounded like she'd told her mates her mum worked somewhere else.'

'Why ever would she do that?' asked Ralph.  'Catherine speaks very well of her colleagues and, from what I saw of them, they seemed very decent sorts, if a trifle alternative.'

'Not unlike myself, in fact!'  Lionel laughed. 

'They are the best colleagues,' Sally agreed.  'Apart from my current gang.'

'From what I recall of being fifteen, alternative wasn't a quality much admired in parents or family friends,' Ralph conceded.  'Dull and safe, with grey suits and well-polished shoes, thus suitable for rebellion against was the ideal.  Parents with cooler friends than ones own were quite a challenge.'

'I remember your mother,' Lionel said gently.

'Everybody does,' Ralph answered.  'She's still going strong, you know.'

'How old is she?'

'Eighty-five,' said Ralph.  He turned to Sally.  'She lives on the Algave, in an artists' colony.'

'Is she the naturist?' Sally asked.

'Er, yes.'  Ralph looked at the floor.  'Actually, she is.'

'No wonder she lives somewhere warmer!'  Sally laughed.  'Do you ever go to visit her?'

'I do.  Not actually at home, however.  I'm not quite brave enough!'

'It'll make introducing her to Catherine tricky,' Sally continued.  'I bet she would like a holiday, though.  Her daughter's looking forward to hers.'

'Really?'  Lionel was surprised.  'Catherine told me a little while ago that she couldn't afford to let her go - strictly in confidence, that is...'

'She was bragging about it to her friends last night,' Sally said.  'Before the strop.'

'Perhaps there's been a change of plan, now she has a job,' Lionel said.

'I don't think so,' said Ralph.  'She confided in me yesterday evening that she felt terrible, because she'd had to step in to make Alexandra cancel her school trip.  The silly girl had been selling things to try and raise the money for it.'

'What sort of things?' asked Sally.  Lionel thought she suddenly looked anxious.

'Electronics, I seem to recall.'

'A computer?'

'I think so.  A tablet, I think she said.'  He too seemed to notice Sally's expression had changed.  'Are you sure she was talking about still going?'

'Definitely.  It may be nothing, she might just be keeping up the pretence until she can come up with a sympathetic reason to drop out, but there was a boy hassling Alexandra at the gig.  I didn't catch exactly what he was saying to her.  It sounded like she owed him something but it didn't look healthy, so I told him to behave.'

'What happened?' asked Ralph.

'He behaved.'

'Who was he?' asked Lionel.

'She called him Leo.'

'Leo Finn?' asked Ralph.  'I think that was who Catherine said had bought the tablet.'

'It's not that common a first name, so I guess so.'  Sally wrinkled her nose, as if detecting a bad smell.  'I didn't like his attitude.'

'I do hope Catherine's daughter isn't still trying to find the money for this school trip,' Ralph said.

'I bet you a jar of Lionel's brightest Borlotti beans she is!'

'Oh bugger!' said Ralph.

'Ralph!  I don't believe I've ever heard you swear before.  Whatever is the matter?'

Catherine stepped into the hut,  Ralph looked abashed.

'He's just disappointed that the police haven't found our tools yet,' Sally explained hastily.

'Have I missed the meeting?  I hoped they might still be here.'

'PCSO Sue dropped in,' Lionel explained.  She thinks they might have our bandits, if they're the same band they caught raiding another site.'

'In the meanwhile, wait there!'  Sally strode off towards her plot.

'She has some spare tools she thinks might do for you,' Ralph explained.

'Won't they be taller than me?' laughed Catherine.

Sally returned with the pretty tools, still in their gift box.

'I'm scared of bending them,' she said, handing them to Catherine.

'Are you sure?  Can I give you anything...?'

'That's cool, but no.  They'll only go rusty where they are.  You use them as long as you need - or until there's a little Sally who needs them, eh?'  She laughed.  'Must go - I've decided to take Dan for a pub lunch.'

'From that remark, I wonder if she needs to sit him down with a stiff drink,' said Ralph.

'Can you imagine the havoc a little Sally could cause?' Lionel sighed.

'Easily,' Catherine replied.  'Still, if I've missed the meeting, I had better get home before my own daughters cause any more.'

'Is everything alright?' asked Ralph.

'No worse than usual, I suspect.  No doubt I'll find out over Sunday lunch.  I came up to get some greens.  I'm glad you're here, though.  I didn't really get chance to thank you properly for yesterday evening.'

'It was my pleasure, Catherine...'

Lionel moved towards the door, lest he spoil the moment.  He almost walked into Bernie, coming in.

'Ralph and Catherine,' he tried to explain.  'They're talking...'

'Good.  I thought I saw her come in here.  I've got a spare fork for her.'

'Can't it wait?'

'I want a brew too.'

Lionel sighed.  Short of battering the old fool round the head with a large bunch of mistletoe, there seemed no way to stop him blundering in and interrupting.  Poor Ralph.  Poor Catherine.  Their lives darkened by the shadow of a man who neither could admit was a monster and beset by troubles and idiots.  There had to be something he could do to clear the path of cupid’s arrow.

‘Bernie,’ he said, catching his rival’s arm.  ‘I hate to admit it, old chap, but you may have a point about the importance of winter digging.  I couldn’t prevail upon you to take a look at a spot of troublesome weed growth around my cardoons, could I?’

‘Nothing a blast of Roundup won’t sort, I reckon…’

That would be the end of the cardoons too, of course, and of thirty years of organic cultivation.  However, it might allow a little love to flourish, which would be no bad thing.