the village vicar 12

 

Chapter 12 The devil maketh mischief still for idle hands to do

 

Chaz heard a sound of disapproval from  Rachel as he knelt to remove the ever-encroaching cleavers from his borders, the seeds brought on animal fur or the legs of human visitors, and a never-ending nuisance in any garden. It was halfway between a mew and a growl, and he was always surprised by how loud such a small cat managed to be. There was also the sound of something hitting the stone flags of the path. Chaz stood up, to find Rachel, who had been dozing in the lavender bush, hissing like a tea-kettle at the boy who had apparently just shied a stone at her and had another in his hand. Rachel showed no signs of being hurt, so Chaz shouted,

“You, boy! You come right here!”

Apparently Captain Cunningham had not been put back into the box after having been permitted out in the protection of one of his men as the shout was worthy of the parade ground. The boy fled.

Chaz was not about to let this go, and thundered across his lawn, to hurdle the stone wall just in front of the youth, and laid a hand on his shoulder. The boy was lanky but rather skinny, and Chaz judged him to be no more than thirteen.  His hair was dark and messy but he showed no signs of neglect, his skin was as clean as any teen’s, which is to say probably would not stand a close look behind the ears, and his clothes looked well cared for with no more grime than might be explained by a day’s wear.  But Chaz did not recognise him.

“I told you to come here, laddie; wasn’t I loud enough?” he demanded, grimly.

“You can’t whack me or I’ll say you assaulted me,” said the boy.

“Do you think whacking you would stop you, anyway?” asked Chaz, manoeuvring the boy back towards the gate.

“No!” said the boy.

“Then it would be a damned silly thing to do, wouldn’t it?” said Chaz.  “I’m going to introduce you to my cat, whose name is Rachel, and if she scratches in retaliation, you’ll have deserved it. And we’re going to look for that stone you threw. How much do you weigh?”

“About forty-five kilos,” muttered the boy.  “What has that to do with it?”

“Everything,” said Chaz. “Rachel weighs three kilos; she’s a small cat, always has been. It doesn’t stop her being bossy, though, she keeps her brother well under her little paw. Rachel, this is... what is your name?” They had got far enough up the path to be level with Rachel’s lavender bush. She hissed but did not move. She began washing her already immaculate black fur with apparent unconcern. 

“Evan.  Evan Queave,” said the boy. “Me mum’s bossy.”

“Well, you understand Rachel, then,” said Chaz. “Now, this looks like the stone you threw; is it?”

Evan shrugged.

“Yeah, reckon,” he said.  It was a large stone, taken from Chaz’s wall, the vicar thought, a flint nodule easily as big as the hand that had thrown it.

“Right, Evan, come inside and we’ll find my kitchen scales.”

“I ain’t supposed to go inside no-one’s house that I don’t know.”

“A sensible prohibition,  and I swear on all I believe in that I mean you no harm. But I don’t want you scarpering while I get my scales, because if I have to search you out, I won’t be in a good mood.”

“I’ll stay here,” said Evan. “Why do you want your scales?”

“I’ll show you,” said Chaz.

It was a calculated risk to leave the boy, but Chaz decided to trust his word. He was pleased the boy was still there when he came out, albeit with his hands in his pockets and looking sulky.

Chaz set down his scales and placed the stone on it.

“How much does it weigh?” he asked.

“Almost a kilo,” said Evan.

“So a third of what Rachel weighs,” said Chaz. “And you weigh forty-five kilos, so a stone as big to you would weigh fifteen kilos. Now, my sack of fertiliser over there weighs fifteen kilos; will you go and see if you can lift it?”

Evan did so, with a struggle.

“Now, you know how much fifteen kilos weighs. Come and see which of the rocks on my rockery weighs as much,” said Chaz.

Evan tested several, and pointed to one.

“That one,” he said.

“Ah, a nice piece of red granite,” said Chaz. “How would you feel if I were to retaliate for you shying stones at my cat by throwing that one of comparable size to the one you threw at her?”

Evan paled.

“It’d break my leg,” he said.

“And your stone might have broken Rachel’s leg, or her ribs, or killed her,” said Chaz. “Don’t you think I have good reason to be angry on her behalf?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” said Evan.  Chaz waited. The boy shuffled. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again,” he said. “She looked so self-satisfied and it made me angry. I wanted to disturb her.”

“I fancied that might be something like it,” said Chaz. “Why don’t you nip into the pergola and get out a couple of garden chairs while I get some... let me see, do you drink home-made lemonade?”

“Dunno; never had it,” said Evan.

“Well, I’ll get some, and then we can talk about why you are angry and what I might do to help,” said Chaz.

If Evan wondered why he was meekly obeying, he kept his mouth shut about  it..  Chaz brought out lemonade and some of his iced biscuits on a tray with legs, making a mini table, pouring a glass of lemonade for the boy, and pushing the plate of biscuits towards him.

“Hey, this is good!” said Evan, cautiously sipping the lemonade.

“Thank you,” said Chaz. “I made the biscuits too; I like to cook.”

Evan made approving noises through the crumbs.

Chaz let him scoff, and drink a refill of lemonade.

“I’m bored,” said Evan. “We just moved here, because dad wants to start up on his own with a business putting in patios and things. And he won’t let me help, and I’m not really that interested anyway.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I want to go back to the Isle of Man and be a mechanic for the TT races.”

“You know that only happens for a short while, and then the men and their bikes go away?”

“Yes, but normal folk will want their cars and things fixed,” said Evan.

“That’s the same anywhere.”

“Yes, but I had a friend who worked on the bikes. And I had more boys my age to hang out with.”

“Yes, there is a singular paucity of young folk in the village. Suppose I had a word with Barty Thorpe, who runs the village garage. If he’s agreeable, I can get you a Saturday job working for him. It’ll pay peanuts, but he’ll give you a lot of tips, and if you work hard, he might let you work on the old Bugatti he has in the back, which he’s hoping to get running for the next car rally.” Chaz grinned. “According to Wendel – the vet – Barty has been promising to get it ready for the next car rally for the last ten years at least, but with  a helper, who knows? He might.  And you’ll have my motorbike in there for its service and M.O.T. as well.”

“You have that big Ducati 900, don’t you?”

“I do. I remember Mike Hailwood winning the TT on one, though that’s before your time by a long chalk,” said Chaz. “I’m not convinced the race is safe anymore, too many people, the bikes can go faster now than the roads are designed for, but it thrilled me when I was younger.  I was six when he won the TT and it stuck in my memory.”

“Cor!” said Evan. “I’d love to drive something like that.”

“And you’ll only do so once you’ve worked your way up with smaller machines,” said Chaz.  “Now, how about you come and say sorry to Rachel, and then we’ll walk over and talk to Barty?”

“Thank you, sir,” said Evan. “I... I am sorry. I didn’t think. And I was in such a temper with Mum telling me to go out and do something, and not knowing what. I don’t deserve you being kind.”

“Oh, everyone deserves someone being kind,” said Chaz. “I could see you were miserable. Most people who throw stones or paint nasty graffiti – I don’t include clever pictures – are miserable. Because people who can’t make things die a little bit inside, and start to destroy what others make in defiance. And then, you know, if they get punished without being helped, they only get more angry. You understand that, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir, I do,” said Evan, with feeling.  “There’s boys who spray rude words on the school bus, and laugh if anyone tells them off.”

“Unfortunately, it’s none of my business, but I’d get them painting the bus properly,” said Chaz. “Designing pictures to put on it as well, and then they’d be invested in keeping it nice.”

“I bet there’d be less trouble if you were the headmaster,” said Evan.

Chaz sighed.

“I can’t be everywhere,” he said. “My Boss can, because that’s the nature of God, but He puts men in places to help, and has to rely on them to do His will. And each of us can only do our best.”

“Did I ought to tell them that painting the bus would be hard work?”

“No, they’ll probably beat you up,” said Chaz. “It’s all very well to say doing what is right is better than doing what is easy, which in principle it is, but principle is a bit airy-fairy when you’re in hospital in traction and your words didn’t reach anyone anyway. You have to be practical about these things.”

“You’re awfully sensible for a grown-up,” said Evan.

“I do try to be,” said Chaz.

The garage was one of those places which tend to fascinate small children and not so small children who like mechanical things. There was a small breaker’s yard out the back, as Barty cheerfully bought in any car being scrapped  to cannibalise for parts, some of which he mended and sold on to a larger garage in the nearest town.  Chaz  was pretty sure that they charged as for new, but he had not been able to catch them at it, and suspected that Barty’s methodical reconditioning might provide pieces which were superior to new parts in any case.

The garage itself had been built in the 1930s, and was definitely a fine example of art deco architecture, the poured concrete of its construction featuring the rectangular and triangular patterns on the front and over the big double doors typical of the period. Inside, various cars sat about in various states of disrepair, and right at the back the racing car which had to be contemporary with the garage, and which put Chaz strongly in mind of Captain Hastings from the ‘Poirot’ T.V. series. 

Barty’s daughter Trisha was in here, helping out, covered in greasy overalls as usual, but the overalls not hiding that she was becoming fairly shapely.  Chaz smirked to himself to see Evan noticing her. Being of an age, a friendship between them, with or without any extracurricular snogging, would doubtless be good for both.

 

“I’m not sure, Vicar...” said Barty, when Chaz explained the problem. “They changed the law so you have to be sixteen to work. Not that anyone takes any notice, but there’s that little shit, Sir Tarleton-Rickett, who would make trouble if he could.”

“You could, however, let your daughter’s class-mate help her help out and drop him a little pocket money,” said Chaz.

Barty was dubious, but nodded, slowly.

“Trish, you know Evan?” he asked.

“Yeah, he’s at school with me; new boy,” said Trish.

“Check him out on the Mini to see if he’s worth letting us help with the Bugatti,” said Barty.

“He knows what he’s doing, he crosswired the ignition on all the teachers’ cars so they’d only start if they were holding the horn down,” said Trisha. “The noise was delightful...uh, most terrible,” she amended with a glance at Chaz.

“I can imagine it being a blast,” said Chaz, making her grin.

“Yeah, something like that,” she said. “Old Fink blamed me but I demanded trial by jury as I could be alibi’d all day. And he couldn’t disprove it and he didn’t dare put me in detention or dad would have given him what-for.”

“I suppose I should confess,” said Evan.

“Why? It’s yesterday’s news now,” said Trisha. “We can figure out something really spectacular to do for the end of term now we’ve talked to each other.”

“And don’t discuss it in front of me,” said Chaz, who had very little opinion of Dr. Finklebrand , the deputy head. “And for goodness sake, Evan, do try to keep up with your school work,” he added.

“Why? If I have a job to walk into...”

 “Because in twenty years, you might have changed your mind, and you might even be the next headmaster, if you can keep your studies going. And you need good exams to study engineering at university anyway,” said Chaz. “In twenty years you’ll be almost the same age I am now, and I never planned to be a vicar. I was going to be a career soldier. But God called me, and I packed my kitbag and followed Him into a battleground far more challenging than one where you know the enemy and all you have to do is to shoot them.”

“I’ll work hard at school as well as on cars,” said Evan.

Chaz hoped his enthusiasm would be maintained.