let me introduce you to a soon-to-be resident of our lovely village. This is Alice Grant. Alice, this is our beloved vicar, Megan Jones.’
Alice swallowed her surprise and offered her hand. ‘You have a lovely old church.’ The vicar’s smile broadened. Alice could now see that she was probably not fifty after all. Maybe mid forties, only six or seven years her senior.
‘Alas, as with all old buildings, it is badly in need of maintenance. If we couldn’t rely on the help of our faithful volunteers like Daniel, I fear I would be conducting services from the shelter of an umbrella.’
‘Would you like to sit down?’ Alice was beginning to get over her surprise and come to terms with who was who. ‘I imagine you’ve been on your feet all morning too.’
The vicar gave her a grateful look and slid onto the free chair. ‘Ah, that’s better. Daniel, have I taken your seat?’
‘Yes, but you are welcome to it. I have to be off. In fact I was on my way out when Alice spotted me. I’m sorry I have to rush off, but I’ve got to get back to Daisy.’ He bobbed his head in their direction and left.
Daisy? Alice was just thinking what an archaic name his wife had, when the vicar supplied some further information. ‘Poor Daniel. He’s been up most of the night with one of his milking herd. He looked exhausted this morning, but he insisted on helping us. The sale was in one of his fields, so I suppose he felt responsible.’
Alice found herself feeling unexpectedly relieved to hear about poor Daisy. ‘So, he’s a farmer, is he?’ She caught the vicar’s quizzical eye. ‘I’d better explain, I don’t really know anything about him. We just met briefly the other day in the church. In fact, until I met you, I thought he was the vicar.’
Just for a moment, she had the feeling that the vicar hesitated, but it might just have been an impression. ‘Daniel Tremayne is the closest thing to a lord of the manor that we’ve got around here. They say that if you stand on top of the church tower and look west, all you’ll see is Tremayne land.’
‘Ah, that explains all the Tremayne gravestones.’
‘Well spotted. Yes, I believe he can trace his ancestry back to medieval times. With a name like Jones, the furthest back I can get is the nineteen twenties. The name Jones is as common as muck in the Welsh valleys, I’m afraid. So what about you, Alice? What brings you to Woodcombe?’
‘I’m going for a fresh start.’ She soon found herself talking quite openly to the vicar about her life to date, her sacking and her decision to restart her life. She even told her about the house full of poo. The vicar wrinkled up her nose.
‘Well, at least by the sounds of it, that particular problem has now been eliminated. When are you going to take a look round the house?’
‘I thought I might go this afternoon. So, if you don’t see me again, you’ll know that the shock killed me.’
‘No, I’m sure you’ll be fine, Alice. And, although you don’t need me to tell you, I think you are doing just the right thing. Not many of us get offered a chance to start over again. I quite envy you.’ She glanced around the room before returning her eyes to Alice, a smile on her face. ‘There are some winter mornings when I rather wish I had gone for marriage to Richard Branson. I’m sure I could learn to like the beard. I can just see myself on a Caribbean island.’ She jumped to her feet. ‘Anyway, welcome to the village. I live right beside the church. The one with the blue door. If you ever want a cup of tea and a chat, you know where to find me.’ She gave her another smile. ‘Or come in the evening for a glass of wine.’
She left just as Alice’s crab sandwich appeared.
Alice pulled up outside number 23 with considerable trepidation. The first thing she noticed was the lack of rubbish in the front garden. All that was left was a muddy puddle. She took that to be a very good sign. As she approached the front door, she saw that the windows were slightly open. As she opened the door and tentatively slid her nose around it, she was relieved and delighted to smell fresh air. All right, she had to admit to herself as she walked into the hall, not quite the sort of fresh air you might get on Beauchamp seafront, but an enormous improvement on what had been there before. She left the front door wide open behind her to aid the ventilation and started her voyage of discovery.
The air, as she penetrated into the house, had a chemical smell to it. The explanation was right in front of her in the lounge, where she found a printed card on the mantelpiece. Underneath the name of the cleaning firm, it read: No toxic chemicals have been used in this property. With good ventilation any residual odour should dissipate within a few days.
That sounded hopeful, which was more than could be said for the room. A huge patch of plaster had dropped off the ceiling, leaving bare wooden laths. A good quarter of the floorboards beneath this had completely disappeared, exposing the earth below. A sinister-looking grey fungus grew up the walls and into the window frame. The whole underfloor area was soaking wet. Maybe the presence of water meant that it wasn’t dry rot after all. Whatever it was, it did not look good. She retreated in the direction of the door.
The dining room and kitchen appeared almost normal at first sight, until you looked up. In both cases, the ceilings were bulging downwards, presumably in a similar state to the lounge. When she climbed the stairs and investigated in the bedrooms, she began to realise what had caused the plaster to drop off. In spite of the open windows and a lingering chemical odour, there was no disguising the underlying smell of urine. The stained floor boards told a sorry, sordid story. She hastily completed her tour of inspection and made a run for the front door. After taking a few lungfuls of clean air, she plucked up the courage to run back upstairs and force the windows further open front and back. Hopefully this would create more of a through draught. Mission accomplished, she headed back onto the street.
She was sitting on the wall, collecting her thoughts, when a noise attracted her attention. It was Vicky from next door, tapping on her lounge window. She beckoned Alice to come in.
‘Come to inspect the results of the big clean-up?’ She led the way through to the kitchen. This time there was no sign of the baby. ‘Tea?’
Alice nodded gratefully.
‘You should have seen what came out of next door.’ Vicky’s voice was awe-struck. ‘They were all dressed up like spacemen, complete with masks and gloves. They must have filled their truck four or five times.’ She turned back from the kettle, her eyes wide. ‘Do you know, they told me they removed no fewer than two thousand bottles of pee?’
Now it was Alice’s turn to look aghast.
‘And I don’t mean beer bottles. These were five-litre plastic containers.’
Alice’s face turned green.
‘And buckets and buckets of what they called “solids”.’
‘Oh, dear God.’ Alice pulled out a tissue and blew her nose in distaste. In the distance she heard a plaintive wail.
‘There’s Danny. He’s had his after-lunch sleep and he’s woken up. He probably heard your voice and wants to say hello.’ Vicky went off and returned with the little boy in her arms. He was red in the face and a bit cranky. She handed him over to Alice, who took him readily.
‘Hello Danny, I was thinking
