The Village Green Affair by Rebecca Shaw Read Free Book Online Page A

me.’
     
    Liz studied his face and saw his wrath was genuine. ‘I’m sorry, Jimbo, very sorry.’
     
    ‘Change of subject. Neville goes to the Grand Prix, doesn’t he? Could he get me two tickets, do you think? I don’t expect them for free.’
     
    ‘Oh! Are you going? That would be lovely. I’d be delighted for some sympathetic company, instead of all those stuffed shirts Neville invites.’
     
    ‘Er! They’re not for Harriet and me; it’s a sweetener for that Kevin in planning. He’s given me the latest on the market so I had to reciprocate, though I hate myself for it. Apparently this chap, Titus Bellamy, has got four other markets in full swing. Wait till I see him; he’ll wish he hadn’t been born.’
     
    Liz looked at Jimbo and felt she needed to bring some sanity into their conversation. ‘He’s a businessman like you, Jimbo, earning his crust, doing his best. You should cooperate with him, welcome him. See how you could use his market to your advantage as well as his.’ Liz kissed his cheek and handed him back his boater.
     
    ‘Thanks.’ Jimbo absentmindedly smoothed his hand over his remaining hair and placed the boater on his head.
     
    ‘Was that it?’
     
    Jimbo didn’t reply so Liz went back into the Store to get her shopping. She felt quite intrigued by this Titus Bellamy person. There were such exaggerated stories about him going round the village, the most ridiculous being that he was Richard Branson wearing his gardening clothes as a disguise - ‘Well, he was tall and thin, and he did have a beard, didn’t he? And that Richard’s always looking for openings.’
     
    Behind the tinned soups appeared to be the hot spot for the morning, but only if you hadn’t tired of the market. Vince Jones, ostensibly there to pick up Greta’s weekend shopping order, but in reality meeting his bowling club cronies over a freshly brewed coffee from Jimbo’s machine, as they did regularly as a kind of mid-week committee meeting during the bowling season, slunk behind the soup section, steaming coffee in hand. Club matters had been pushed aside by the immediate urgency of the threat of the market.
     
    ‘Well, I don’t agree. A market’s going to bring nothing but trouble. There’s going to be all the riff-raff from Culworth gathering, and guess who’ll catch the fall-out?’
     
    ‘Us.’
     
    The smallest member of them all, insignificant but with a permanent mission to be different from everyone else, piped up, ‘You’re all making a mountain out of a molehill. One morning a week, that’s all. A bit of competition won’t do Jimbo any harm. A chance to buy good food at reasonable prices, and it can’t be said the prices in here are cheap.’ He waved his paper cup of free coffee about to emphasize his point. ‘I for one will patronize it. Well, I will if I like what I see.’
     
    ‘You won’t get no free coffee in the market, don’t forget that,’ someone reminded him.
     
    Those opposed to the market nodded sagely in agreement, and the smallest member of the committee had to admit they were right about that.
     
    ‘It’ll all fall on us, will the clearing up,’ said the treasurer.
     
    ‘Exactly. Us. You and me. They’ll leave mountains of rubbish when it’s all over. Before we know where we are we’ll be overrun with rats.’
     
    There was silence while his cronies shuddered at the thought, and unintentionally Vince worsened the situation by telling them that he’d just seen the council vermin officer out the back of Hipkin Cottages with traps. ‘It’ll be Alan Crimble’s compost heap encouraging ’em, I bet. He’s obsessed, he is. Takes all the food waste from the pub home with him. He’ll be selling compost soon he has that much. I wouldn’t mind, but his garden’s no bigger than my hen run.’
     
    Vince muttered loudly, ‘I bet the council won’t send no one round to clear up, and if they do volunteer their help they’ll put our rates up. No, the