13
After another sound night’s sleep, albeit interspersed with the odd mouse-infested dream, Charlie woke to a full day of appointments at his constituency office. Tom was going to open up, as usual, and his new case worker, Helen Groves, was proving to be calm and efficient, and just what he needed as he was navigating the tricky waters of the issues of his constituents. Glancing at his diary as he grabbed a quick slice of toast and some coffee to take with him in his (not yet Instagrammed) travel mug, he was pleased to see he had a wide variety of people, and issues, to deal with that morning. Sooner or later, he knew he’d greet the information with a little more weariness, but for the moment he was pleased that so many people were seeking him out for help and advice. Working for his constituency was one of the main reasons he wanted this job, and so the more he could do while he was here, the better.
It was another lovely day in Willowbury as he walked down the path from his front door and onto the road that led to the High Street. He noticed that Fairbrothers was doing a roaring trade, as usual, and waved to Miles as he caught his eye through the bakery window. Jack, too, in his coffee shop, seemed to be trading briskly. The taxidermist on the corner of the High Street was polishing his front window, and Charlie found his gaze drawn to the sinister-looking stuffed crow on a tree branch that took pride of place. Every time he passed it, it seemed to have its beady eye on him, as if it was reminding him to behave himself. Years ago, when he was at school, he remembered the science department having a similar piece in its office, that some joker had made a miniature mortarboard for.
From the High Street, he could see the silhouette of Willowbury Hill a few miles further on, backlit by the sun and majestic in its dominant presence, even from this distance. Tourists flocked from miles around to climb the hill and experience the breathtaking views from the top. Willowbury also had its own ruined religious building, too – a priory that was destroyed during the Reformation, which was an increasing draw to tourists now the National Trust had acquired it.
Musing on this, he passed ComIncense, but clearly Holly hadn’t opened up yet as the shop front lights weren’t on. He glanced at his watch and realised it was only half past eight, and most of the shops that didn’t sell food and drink didn’t open until nine o’clock anyway. He tried not to imagine Holly padding around upstairs in her flat, perhaps making a coffee and going through her tasks for the day. An image flashed into his mind of Holly in a skimpy cotton nightgown, with her vivid red hair in a bed-tousled plait over one shoulder, the other fully revealed as a strap slipped down… He swallowed hard, chiding himself for letting his imagination get the better of him.
Letting himself into the office a few minutes later, he put his travel mug down on his desk and went through the diary for the day on his iPad. Tom had access to it, as did Helen, and both were proving adept at managing his constituency days beautifully. So long as he kept himself briefed on who was coming to visit, the logistics of the appointments were out of his hands. This suited Charlie perfectly as it allowed him to concentrate on the actual issues at hand.
Glancing down his list for the morning, he didn’t see anything too controversial or odd – a bit of noise pollution, a Rachel Jamieson coming in to discuss a health issue, and a meeting with the head of the local Chambers of Commerce about boosting tourism in the area. So far, so safe.
‘So if you could just see fit to have a word with him, I’d be ever so grateful,’ the little old lady in front of Charlie’s desk continued. ‘Only I don’t know how as I can go on like this with the blessed music blasting out night after night. My husband’s deaf, so it doesn’t bother him, but my hearing’s still as sharp as ever, and I really can’t get any sleep.’
Charlie felt a pang of sympathy for her. Mrs Garner lived in the middle of a row of local authority houses in Willowbury, which had a high turnover of tenants, except for her and her elderly husband, and the current tenants on one side were clearly being more than a little antisocial.
‘I’ll see what I can do, Mrs Garner,’ Charlie said. ‘But perhaps you’d be better off phoning the local council offices? They tend to deal with environmental health issues, rather than me in this office.’ This wasn’t the first Willowbury resident who’d come to him with matters better suited to the council, but Charlie was loath to turn them away out of hand. He relented a little. ‘Are you online at home at all? It’s quite easy to email them, too.’
Mrs Garner laughed. ‘You’re pulling my leg, love. It was hard enough getting my husband to use a push-button phone.’
‘Well, perhaps my assistant can email the council for you,’ Charlie said. He picked up his phone and spoke briefly to Helen, who occupied the front office. Smiling as he put the phone down, he turned back to his constituent. ‘Helen’s going to send them an email, and when they respond, we’ll drop you a line and let you know. Or you might get a letter from them.’
‘Thank you, my love,’ Mrs Garner’s rheumy eyes brimmed. ‘It wouldn’t be so bad if my husband didn’t have dementia, but facing this on my own is a bit difficult these days.’
Charlie felt a lurch of sympathy. He could well imagine the trials of the woman in front of him. ‘Does your husband have a carer to come in at all?’ he asked gently. He knew he had another appointment in a few minutes, but he was reluctant to let Mrs Garner go just like that.
‘Oh, they come in, these lovely foreign girls, twice a day, but they don’t get paid enough, and they’re always so pushed for time,’ Mrs Garner sighed. ‘It’s not their fault, but it does mean long stretches where we’re on our own.’
‘I see.’ Charlie’s mind was whirling. ‘What about respite care? Is your husband eligible for that?’
‘He goes into the local nursing home for a couple of nights a month,’ Mrs Garner replied. ‘Which would help, but with the noise from next door, it doesn’t make a great deal of difference.’
‘I see.’ Charlie was determined now to try to help. He stood up from behind his desk and came round it to help Mrs Garner to her feet. ‘If we can help with the noise issue, I promise we will.’
‘Thank you so much,’ Mrs Garner smiled up at him. ‘Now I’d best be off. You’ve got other people to see, I’d imagine.’ She walked with a surprisingly brisk step to the door of the office.
‘Take care now,’ Charlie said as she left. He hoped he would be able to help her. It was the work of a few minutes, time-wise, but it might make a big difference to her. Walking back to his desk, he made a note in his diary to check on her case again in a week or two, and, if necessary, hassle the council himself.
When he looked up again, he saw a woman in his doorway. She was clutching a folder to her chest and looked a little nervous, but very familiar.
‘Hello,’ Charlie said, rising from his desk and holding out a hand. ‘I’m Charlie Thorpe. How can I help you?’
The woman smiled, and then it clicked.
‘Of course,’ Charlie said. ‘You’re Rachel, aren’t you? We, er, met last night at your sister’s place.’ Unsurprisingly, he’d been more concerned about getting his trousers back on than paying attention to the woman and child who’d appeared at that highly embarrassing moment in Holly’s home.