Epilogue

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Yaxley Farcett and Fiona Morgan shuffled through the doors of Barnham Village Hall along with a hundred and fifty or so others. They had been to the Historical Society Meeting that Anne Worthington had organised. She had given her presentation on Opium Eating and had given over the last five minutes of her allotted time paying tribute to Reg Dixon. It was the only time she had been out of the house apart form Dixon's funeral the week before.

 

Farcett slid an arm around Fiona Morgan as they made their way along the Main street in the general direction of The Skaters Run. 'D'you fancy a drink ?' he said. Fiona gripped the sleeve of his jacket and replied, 'Not this evening Yax, Just you and me eh ?' They wandered along in silence with no particular place to go, enjoying the fine spring evening.

 

'What do you think will happen to my dad, Yax ?' Fiona asked. He stopped and placed his hands on her shoulders. 'Don't worry. I've had a word with one of the men in the Serious Crime Squad and they reckon that as no money changed hands he'll probably get conspiracy to fraud charge thrown at him. At the very worst he'll get six months or so. It means he can kiss his career goodbye but he'll not suffer too much. He'll recover, he's not the first to make a stupid mistake.' He paused, 'Y'know at one point I really thought he'd killed Dixon'. Fiona took his hands in hers and gave a small laugh, 'Yeah He told me about the cigarette packet you shoved in his mouth'.

 

Yaxley rested his head on the girl's shoulder and whispered 'My chief in Bradford has asked me back up to Yorkshire. He reckons he only sent me down here as a punishment and never expected me to stay'. Fiona didn't respond, but shrugged Farcett away and carried on along the street. She shouted over her shoulder, 'So you'll be off then I suppose. Back to the city...back to civilisation'. As she said this they could see Brian Worthington, Hummer Thompson and Clunch Parsons crossing the road and going in through the door of the Skaters Run. They saw Farcett and Fiona and waved before disappearing inside. An old red post office van drove past with Jak Jackson and Fleur inside. They also pulled into the gateway of the pub. Yaxley caught up with Fiona and held her hands. He put his face up close to hers and gave her an 'Eskimo kiss', rubbing noses back and forth. 'You silly sod' he said. 'I love this hideous fen of huge bigness, I love those characters that have just gone in the pub...... and you're not bad either you know' and he gave her a hug. 'I'm quite smitten by you Miss Morgan. Not so keen on your dad though' he added. Fiona grinned. 'You're staying ?' Yaxley laughed, 'Of course I'm staying. I can feel my feet taking root'.

 

They carried along past the church and round the corner until they were walking by the entrance to the cemetery. Yaxley pulled Fiona's hand and they passed through the iron gates. 'Why are we going in here Yax ?' asked Fiona. Farcett remained silent and they made their way down the grass aisles of the graveyard. They came to the fresh graves at the bottom end and they stood before Reg Dixon's grave. The earth was still piled in a little mound and a temporary wooden marker had been placed in the ground. 'Where do reckon he is Yaxley ?' Farcett shook his head. 'Dunno. I never met the man while he was alive but I would have gone for a pint with him. I should say he's gone to the right place...to some fantastic place'.  They held hands and read the inscription that Anne Worthington had carved onto the make shift gravestone:

 

 

REGINALD DIXON

31/1/63-18/5/98

NETTLES AND WEEDS TELL THE

TALE OF LOVE AND CARE PASSED

AWAY. WE ALL HOPE THAT WHEN WE DIE

WE MAY NOT BE QUITE FORGOTTEN

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

THE END



Episode 100

Yaxley Farcett was standing hesitantly in front of the door of Chestnut Farm, the home of the late Reg Dixon. He had left the severely distressed Anne Worthington in the care of Clunch Parsons and had made his way to Barnham. After Anne had made the shocking confession that it had been she that had killed Reg Dixon, albeit in an act of compassion, Farcett had rushed out to his car and headed to the quiet home of Dixon. He had to get another look at the diaries that Anne had spoken of that he had seen the day before. There must have been over twenty of them gathering dust on that shelf in his study. Farcett was unable to find Dixon's next door neighbour, Mrs.Brancaster, so he took more direct action and smashed the window of the door, reached inside for the catch and unlocked it. He entered and clicked on the nearest light switch without success. Even in the afternoon sunshine, the old fashioned heavy curtains made the room almost dark. The electricity board had cut off the power supply with unseemly speed. Yaxley tried to remember the lay out of the house from his visit earlier in the day. As he made his way across the room, his eyes became accustomed to the dark and he made his way around the room pulling back the curtains to let in the afternoon sunlight.

 

Yaxley turned the doorknob with a creak and let himself into Reg Dixon's study. He stood in front of the desk and looked at the twenty two volumes of diaries that almost filled the shelf.

 

Farcett took down the 1998 diary and sat down heavily with it in front of him. He opened the diary to the last couple of entries for Thursday and Friday; the last two days of Dixon's life. He read:

 

It's Friday morning and I'm sitting here at my desk, having just taken my medicine...just what the doctor ordered...ha ha. Doesn't seem to be helping much...my ribs feel like they're on fire and I'm sure Trent did some damage last night...the bastard. Though it won't make much difference in an hour or so's time...will it ? It's 7:30am and I'm off to meet Worthington in a bit. By then I expect to be almost there, I just hope I've timed it correctly. The dosage should be right, according to the web site...wonderful what information you can find...suicide.co.uk... I know this isn't all to do with Anne and the power station but I'm still going to have my say. How far am I away from unconsciousness?? How far am I away from a stream of unconsciousness ? Not the usual sort of thing you write is it ? A note like this. A note to no one in a book no one will read. No Courtney Love to read it to an adoring crowd. No fanfare for the fallen. No bugle for the broken and beaten.

I'm going to tell Worthington what I think of him and then I'll be ready. He's just an irritation. Just another example to convince me I'm doing the right thing. I'm fed up. I'm fed up with shouting at the deaf. Fed up with Feem Park fun, Fed up with seeing kids stone fire engines while teachers are made redundant, fed up with hospital beds closing while factories make computer guided missiles which kill ordinary people 'by accident', fed up with thirty years of Sesame Street producing kids which gun down their class-mates, fed up with religion, fed up with irreligion, fed up with being fed up, pissed off with being pissed off. Too much pulpit bullshit not enough people going to church and yes Mr.Zimmerman..the vandals have taken ALL the handles.

 

I know my handwriting is starting to deteriorate. I hope you (if anyone does) can still read this. It's probably illegible...like the joke: Q- 'What's that word. I can't read your handwriting ?' A- 'It's illegible' Q- 'Yes I know. What does it say ?' A- 'I told you ! It's illegible'....etc etc etc.

 

I've been flicking through all these diaries for the last couple of hours and a thought occurs to me. I've never considered it before, but maybe the fact that that I'm going to see Worthington has cleared my mind even at a time when I expected to be scared. But I don't. This is the most clear headed I have been for years. I now realise that these diaries have been leading up to this. Too much honesty, too many excuses, Anne has made me see the light. These diaries have been my........Two Million Word Suicide Note...

& thas' it. No more.........

 

Reginald Dixon 18/05/98 7:45am



Episode 99

As Yaxley leaned over the parapet at the top of the Great East Tower the gusting wind blew his hair across his face and in his eyes. Dragging it to one side with an impatient hand he stared down at the pavement below. He knew what he would see but he had to look all the same. From this distance he could barely tell if Worthington was actually down there. It could have been a black binliner, escaped from someone's garden. However, as the pool of blood began to widen and form itself into an estuary which travelled towards the nearest drain it was obvious that he would not be getting up from this one. There have been stories of people falling out of aeroplanes and skyscrapers and surviving, but no one could survive a fall from The Great East onto concrete and escape death. Yaxley felt for his mobile phone in his jacket pocket and dialled Ealham Police Station. There didn't seem an awful lot of point in getting an ambulance at this point. It would be more important to keep the rubber neckers away from the scene. Yaxley turned his back against the wind and bellowed into the phone for Sergeant Stumpsfield to get himself and a couple of officers to seal off the entrance.

Worthington had landed right in front of the door where about seven hundred people would soon be expecting to walk through. Stuffing the phone away he took a last look down at the increasingly gory scene some one hundred and fifty feet below and made his way across the lead lined roof to the low door, set in the corner of the tower. He made his way back down the three hundred and twenty seven steps, the soles of his shoes slipping as he stumbled in the faint glow cast by the emergency lights set in the walls. Cursing, he bashed the side of his head on a restraining bar which had been mounted in the staircase some fifty years before in an effort to shore up the rapidly deteriorating brickwork. Eventually he reached the door at the bottom of the stairwell and re traced his steps through the network of corridors and into the peace chapel. Still sitting patiently in their seats, as if waiting for a teacher to return after an errand, sat the expectant villagers.

 

As Yaxley strode across the Chapel, his face must have given away the events that had just occurred. Cedric and Anne rushed to him and as he shook his head it was obvious to all of them what had transpired.  'I've called the Station. They're going to seal the front of the Cathedral and sort things out. I wouldn't go out there if I were you. It's not a pretty sight'.

 

On hearing this, Cedric Morgan slumped heavily down in his chair, causing the ancient joints of the antique furniture to groan under his weight. He leant forward in the chair and buried his face in his hands. 'What a bloody fool I've been' he moaned, and he dragged a large handkerchief from his jacket pocket. 'A bloody stupid fool...too interested in my work and the power...what in the hell is happening to us all...have we all gone mad'. He looked across at Anne and said 'I'm so very, very sorry' Yaxley looked across at him with contempt. 'Shut up you pathetic man ! She doesn't need your sympathy' Morgan carried on, '....and all for the money. God knows why I couldn't see that I had more than any amount of money can buy, right here in The Fens without having to get even more'. Morgan then gave way to his normally well-hidden emotions and broke down completely, huge wracking sobs suffusing his large frame. Farcett's telephone rang and he answered it as Clunch Parsons began to shout at the distraught politician. Farcett was nodding and said 'ok...ok...Yup' into his mobile phone with an air of gravitas and turned to the assembled crowd. 'Hang on Clunch' he said to the shaking Parsons...'There's something else'. He paused and announced, 'Reg Dixon was full of anti depressants and opium the morning he died as well as being beaten and kicked half to death by Trent and Worthington.

Dr.Coggles has just finished the post mortem. He says the pitchfork actually finished him off, but he would have died within half an hour anyway......Dixon was committing suicide !' At this news there was a hushed silence in the Peace Chapel as the wind howled around outside. Anne Worthington suddenly began to cry and she shrieked, 'It was me ! I put him out of his misery. He begged me to. It was the pain he was in....he never thought it would hurt in that way. I put him out of his misery like you would a bird with a broken wing'.

Farcett stared at the woman. 'Anne...are you serious. What happened ?' Grotesque images were already starting to flow through Farcetts's mind and he hoped the woman was just caught up in the drama of her husbands death. 'It's true !' she cried. 'I was in the kitchen arguing with Daisy as usual and I saw John and Reggie shouting at each other. I saw Trent walking away across the fields and realised what was happening. Reggie had threatened to come down to tell John what he thought of him and I knew what John would do. I dropped the washing up and rushed across the field just as the wind started to get stronger and my eyes were starting to fill with soil as I got closer'. The rest of the assembled audience in the Peace Chapel were transfixed by these revelations. Even Graham Trent's face was showing complete absorption rather that it's usual arrogant air. 'I got to the pair of them' continued Anne, '..and Reggie was on the ground holding onto his stomach and groaning. He looked near death, his face was a horrible yellowy colour and he was dribbling from the side of his mouth. I knew John had beaten him. I could tell. He was standing there like a playground bully. I screamed at him to go inside to his precious mother and to get out of my sight'.

 

Yaxley moved closer to Anne and said softly...'and was Dixon dying at this point ? 'Anne nodded. 'Yes he was..he told me what he'd taken and he begged me to finish it off. The pitchfork was there, just stuck in the ground. Reggie nodded towards it and just said 'You know what to do Anne. Be strong for me'. Then I had to get down on the ground to make out what he was saying. I screamed at him that I couldn't do it but he was in so much pain..he said it felt like his stomach was going to explode.' She paused and lowered her head. 'And I put the pitchfork through the heart of the man I love, while he looked into my eyes'

Yaxley rushed towards her and caught her as she almost slumped off her seat. Just as Anne was about to lose consciousness she shouted, 'Just look in his dairies...he always said everything would be explained in his diaries !' and she fell into Yaxley's arms.



Episode 98

Yaxley Farcett rose from the ancient seat and addressed the small audience before him. Unknown to him only three days previously, they had become inextricably woven into his life over the past fifty-four hours. He had shared moments of extreme tenderness and passion with Fiona Morgan and Anne Worthington. His encounters with Cedric Morgan and Graham Trent had been explosive and occasionally violent. Clunch Parsons and Hummer Thompson had proved to be loveable and vulnerable rogues that typified the Fenland character he had observed so far. John Worthington sat brooding in a corner, his face made ugly by the shadows cast by the architecture of the Peace Chapel in Ealham Cathedral. John's son, Darren, seemed oblivious to the unfolding drama as he gazed round at the walls reading the inscriptions on dozens of plaques dedicated to the fallen of countless wars that had been fought since the Cathedral had been built over seven hundred years before.

 

'I don't know what to make of you lot, I really don't' said Yaxley, the exertions of the past three days now beginning to show. As he had come over to Ealham with Fiona he had dispensed with his trademark jeans and tee shirt and now sported a pair of khaki chinos, blue shirt and a tweed jacket with leather elbow patches. He also wore a very stylish tie, which could easily be mistaken for a cravat. Stylistically and ascetically, he looked the part.

 

'Yeah...In your parlance, Yor a rum lot o' buggers' he continued. 'Although it is Mr.Morgan's fault we are all in here now, I think we know the real reason fate has thrown us together'. He paused, 'The killer of Reg Dixon is in this chapel...'

 

Graham Trent looked up and spat out, 'Yeah..And I've already told you..I gave him a slap in the car park..nothing more !' Yaxley strolled slowly toward Trent and looked him up and down, unable to hide the contempt in his face. 'Yes..you've told me. And I believe you. You may be capable of boorishness, violence, fraud and many other things but I know you didn't kill Dixon. Once the Serious Crime Squad has finished with you, you'll see your day in court, but not for murder'.

 

Farcett gave Trent a last withering look and made his way to where Morgan sat, still rubbing his wrists following his incident with Hummer. The honourable member for Fenland South looked up, his elbows resting on his knees. He looked tired and beaten. 'Don't even ask', he said. 'My career and my marriage are in tatters and there's a strong chance of going to gaol for something I did on the spur of the moment in a committee meeting twenty years ago. No...I didn't kill Dixon'.

 

Before answering Yaxley looked across to Fiona. She smiled and he continued..'No, you will have to wait for your chance to put your side of the story. I know what you were up to when Dixon was killed...that's between you and your conscience'.

 

He moved round to Clunch Parsons. 'Clunch here as also been less than honest in the last couple of days, but I think we have reached an understanding that 'Parsons and Worthington-Purveyors of Fine Tinctures' has now been closed down for good. Clunch lowered his head shamefaced, and nodded agreement. On hearing his family name, John Worthington perked up. 'What's all this about? Tinctures ? Yew daft buggers aren't still messing around with that stuff are you ? I'll crown that Brian when I get hold of him'.

Farcett looked over to John and pursed his lips. '...and you... John Worthington. I've deliberately left you until last. I have it on good authority that you were the last man to see Reg Dixon alive'. Farcett then remembered that he had been given that information by Trent and he qualified it by adding 'My enquiries have led me to discover that you were, in all probability, the last person to see Reg Dixon alive. 'What happened John ? What made you snap ? Did Dixon tell you something you didn't want to hear ?' Was it worth killing him for ?' Farcett circled Worthington while he fired the questions. He hoped that the pressure of an audience would draw out the truth from the dour farmer.

 

Worthington cast his eyes around the room, resting his gaze on each one for a fleeting second before speaking. ' How would you feel if you had a wife that was growing further away from you every day of your life. I met and loved that woman..' he pointed to Anne angrily...'from the first moment I set eyes on her. Then a few years ago she set about 'bettering' herself..meaning better than me. She took to studying, going out all the time to evening classes and then in the end going off on summer schools, getting up to god knows what. The last straw were when she got tangled up with Dixon. I couldn't stand it'.

At the admission of the affair, eyebrows raised around the room. It was the first time the village had heard of Anne's activities. Farcett stood protectively beside Anne Worthington and said, 'So you met him in the field on Friday morning ?' John nodded, 'Yeah. He knew the Trent was coming down to see me and he must have followed him down the drove. I'd just seen Trent off. He'd had a wasted visit as I already knew about their dirty little Thursday meetings. Dixon came staggering across the field. He looked like he'd been up all night drinking and he could hardly speak...looked bloody awful..and I gave him a piece of my mind. Anyway, he kept on and bloody on, calling me everything under the sun and in the end he started telling me about him and Anne and how he'd given her everything I hadn't...like my time. He kept saying that the greatest gift you can give someone is your time. Just kept screaming it in my face like a bloody Hari Krishna'. Farcett moved away from Anne and stood by the altar. 'And what did you do John ?' Worthington covered his face with his huge farmers hand and mumbled, 'I pushed him in the chest and he went over like a cardboard cut out...and when he laid there looking up at me in that pathetic way, still bloody going on about 'time', I kicked him...good and hard in the guts. The bastard..I just wanted him to shut up. I gave him a few good uns and left him there in the muck, where he deserved to be. I should have chucked the bastard in the drain to drown'

 

During Worthington's admission, his wife had sat staring at him.Unable to believe his hatred. She leapt from her pew and rushed towards him, grabbing the candlestick from the altar as she passed. John saw her approach and jumped from his chair with a look of horror. He dashed through the chairs and pews and nipped behind a heavy velvet curtain in the corner of the chapel. Yaxley grabbed Anne's arm and prevented her from giving chase. 'Let him go...we'll get him'.

 

Clunch looked across to Yaxley and said, 'I think you'd better go after him now. That's the corridor that leads to the Tower. God knows what he'll do in this state'.

Yaxley Farcett ran, skidded across the tiled floor of the Peace Chapel in pursuit of John Worthington. He reached the bottom of the stairwell, and although still afternoon, found it difficult to see in the dimness. He could hear Worthington ahead of him and they both made their way up the three hundred and twenty seven steps of the Great East Tower of Ealham Cathedral. Eventually, Yaxley crashed through the door at the top of the stairs and looked round to get his bearings. The roof was topped with a lead covering and around the castellations were eight ancient and frightening gargoyles, which were probably as old as the cathedral itself.

 

The wind howled and Yaxley could barely make out what Worthington was shouting at him... Yaxley moved closer and his smooth soles slid on the lead as he slithered over the roof towards Worthington. 'I told you didn't I Farcett ! Remember ! I'd sooner kill myself than Dixon !' He moved closer to the wall. 'She wants time...she'll get bloody time...all the bloody time in the world for the rest of her bloody life'. He leaned against one of the gargoyles and made to lift his leg up onto the low wall.

 

Yaxley took a leap forward but he slipped on the lead and fell. Worthington, with a face that registered equal measures of fear and hatred shifted his weight against the wall and the crumbling gargoyle finally disintegrated and began to fall outwards taking Worthington with it. As Yaxley looked up from his horizontal position he saw John Worthington's legs disappear over the wall on their journey of a hundred and fifty feet to the pavement at the base of The Great East Tower................



Episode 97

Clunch Parsons took a deep breath...'Yaxley ! It's Mr.Thompson, in the chapel, with the candlestick !!' Farcett stared at him, believing that Clunch was in the grip of some kind of Cluedo induced madness. The heads of many visitors to Ealham Cathedral craned round to see what all the fuss was about. At the far end of the cathedral, the graduates continued to file past the lectern to collect their hard-earned degrees from the Bishop of Ealham. 'Clunch' hissed Yaxley, 'Tell me slowly and carefully what has happened'.

 

Clunch leaned forward and spoke into Farcett's ear. In front of them, the Worthington's also waited to see what Clunch had to say. 'I went into the Peace Chapel a minute ago to get some more hymnbooks and I saw Mr.Morgan in there. He was practising the speech he's got to make later. Just kept wandering around repeating something about 'straying from the path of righteousness' and giving a funny look into this mirror. Anyway, Hummer came in to find me and saw the Welsh Windbag standing there...' He realised Fiona was there and quickly nodded to her and mumbled, 'err err no offence meant, Fiona'. Yaxley grabbed Clunch's sleeve. 'What's going on?'

 

Suddenly getting louder, Clunch shouted, 'Hummer got hold of Cedric Morgan by the neck and he's gorn to smash his bloody skull to bits with a candlestick if we don't get in there quick !' On the word 'smash', Yaxley was up out of his pew heading towards the Peace Chapel. As he'd been in there the previous day with Anne Worthington, he was able to lead the way. In his wake followed; Fiona, Clunch, Anne, John and Darren Worthington. As they scuttled round the back of the centre aisle towards the corridor they passed Graham Trent who was leaning against a wall taking notes. He saw the Barnham contingent heading, conga-like, in the direction of the Chapel and quickly followed, sensing that something was afoot.

 

Thirty seconds later they crashed in through the Chapel door and all stood transfixed as they registered the tableau before them. Hummer had taken the cords from half a dozen chorister's gowns and had tied Morgan's wrists and ankles to a chair. Hummer stood over him, obviously very distressed. He was brandishing a gold candlestick, which he had taken from the small altar of the most intimate and atmospheric of chapels in the historic building. Yaxley, realising this was serious, quickly turned around to lock the door. The huge key turned with a clunk and they waited for Hummer Thompson to speak.

 

He kept the Candlestick above his head like a javelin thrower about release his payload and turned his tear-streaked face to the ensemble. 'The bugger ! He knew my dad wanted that land to go to the village. Thought he'd make some dirty money out of it...I heard about it this morning. Turns out he started his fiddling nearly twenty year agoo !' Yaxley stepped forward and motioned to the others to sit down. Hesitantly, they found places on the pews as Hummer looked on, confused. He had fully expected to be manhandled to the ground and wasn't expecting an audience. Yaxley sat down nearest to Hummer and Morgan, only a short leap away. Instead of trying to surprise Hummer, he said. 'We're all here in the peace chapel and I know what this place is like. I was here with Anne only yesterday'. He turned to Mrs.Worthington and smiled. As she returned the smile, John Worthington scowled and pulled at her arm, which she shrugged aside impatiently. 'Yes' continued Yaxley, 'I think we should all say a small prayer for a few things. For the soul of Reg Dixon, who you all knew. For Hummer's dad and the love he had for the village of Barnham. And lastly' and he said this glaring at Morgan..'for all the people in the world who have greed in their hearts.'

 

As Hummer made the mistake of actually closing his eyes whilst praying, Yaxley bound forward and snatched the candlestick from Hummer, who stood rooted to the spot with his arm aloft like a startled Statue of Liberty. 'Nice one Farcett ! Nice one' shouted Trent from his position at the back..'Now lock the silly old bugger up..He can't threaten a Member of Parliament like that !' Yaxley turned sharply, clutching the candlestick and barked at Trent, 'If you don't shut your mouth, you'll get it'. Farcett then put his arm around Hummer and gently sat the old man down, leaving Morgan open mouthed in his chair. 'What about me ? Isn't someone going to let me go?' Fiona sighed and went forward to untie her father, commenting that she agreed with Yaxley that he deserved to have his brains bashed in.

 

After Morgan had been released and he had done a fair bit of rubbing his ankles and wrists and had threatened to sue Hummer for everything he'd got (which was rich seeing as how he had swindled a good proportion of his dads estate already), Yaxley sat down in the seat Morgan had been tied to. He took in the scene and realised that it was strangely Christiesque. His chair was in the centre of the chapel and scattered around him on pews, chairs and in the case of Trent, leaning against a wall, were all the main players in the Reg Dixon case; Clunch Parsons, Hummer Thompson, Graham Trent, John Worthington, Anne Worthington, Darren Worthington, Cedric Morgan and Fiona Morgan.

 

Yaxley placed the candlestick back in its position on the altar and turned to face his audience. Hummer had his head bent forward and appeared to be repenting for his attack on Morgan.

 

Farcett coughed and said....'Let me take you back to the beginning.....'