Chapter 6

"Freda, what is your husband doing with this girl? Is he intending to marry her?"

"Eh? How would I know? I haven't spoken with him. I don't really want to know what he is up to with her."

"Oh. I see. It was just that ... if he actually wanted to marry her, he would have to get your approval, wouldn't he?"

"My approval? Don't be daft, Margo! Why would I consent to that? I haven't even divorced him yet."

"Divorce? How do you mean, Freda?"

"Well, I haven't got around to instituting divorce proceedings yet, with me being out in the sticks."

Margo was suddenly aware of how limited the teacher's understanding of Rehome really was. She explained, "Freda, you don't get a divorce on Rehome, unless as a really last resort. Anyone leaving a marriage leaves with NO assets at all of the marriage; not even children, if there are any!"

"What? That can't be the law! That idea is ridiculous! Why would they make it difficult to get a divorce?"

"The concept, Freda, is to persuade people not to get married unless they REALLY mean it to be for life. The authorities here didn't want the daft situation in America where divorce was a "get rich quick" method for a woman: Get married to a man with money or assets, then work towards a divorce. The founders of Rehome decided that a marriage should be a permanent structure, not something you could get out of easily. For instance, your husband still has a legal liability to support you as his spouse."

"So what was this curious question about seeking my permission?"

"Freda, surely you are aware that Rehome's marriage law allows multiple spouses?"

"No! You mean, like the Mormons used to have?"

"Not quite, Freda. The law here allows ANY two people who love each other to marry, but permanently, and if they want to add another person to the marriage, all other participants in the marriage have to formally agree that they are happy with the proposal before that could happen.

You husband could marry this girl, IF you gave your approval, then you would BOTH be wives to him, and you would BOTH be his dependents if you weren't working. Similarly, a woman could have two husbands, though how they would work out who had fathered her children, I have no idea, unless they used DNA tests!"

"My God!" exclaimed Freda. "You mean to tell me that I must still remained married to Ian, or else lose my share of the farm?"

"Yes, Freda, but look at this other aspect: he is not dumping you for a younger woman. He is not dumping you at all, in my eyes. Have you even met this girl?"

"No, I haven't been home since she appeared."

"But you might find you LIKE the girl! She is not supplanting you; you simply chose not to appear back home. In fact, if the girl fancies Ian enough to want to marry him, she has to persuade you to approve of her. It is YOUR choice whether she joins the marriage or not; and if she is already sharing his bed, making her another wife will not be much of a change. You will be the senior wife, and she will have to work with you, just as much as you will have to work with her."

"Margo, you make it sound so easy, but it can't be! It just doesn't feel right."

"Freda, not long after we Malan mothers arrived on Rehome, one of our number became so involved with a loving couple with a child, that she is now married to them! They are a happy threesome and she is expecting her first child with them."

"So you think Ian is not as bad as I painted him?"

"If he is acquainted with the Rehome marriage law, Freda, I suspect he wanted to find out if this girl would make an acceptable wife, BEFORE broaching the subject with you. You discovered about her and flew off the handle immediately, didn't you?

I bet he never got a chance to explain himself."

"Naturally not! The minute I found he had cheated while I was away, I left him!"

"So he has not tried to get in contact with you since then?"

"Oh, he has tried to phone me a few times, but as soon as I knew it was him calling, I closed off the call." She pondered, then said, "So you think he was wanting to explain himself?"

"I don't know for certain, but I suspect so."

"Damn!" Freda Brelsford was annoyed at herself. "I hate to admit it, but I still love that man, Margo. I think I will phone him and see what he has to say."

"I would agree, Freda. You have nothing to lose by doing so. At least you can get the true facts to work on. As a teacher, you tell your pupils to work on facts, not rumours, assumptions, or hearsay, don't you?"

Mrs Brelsford nodded, and looked at her phone to see the time. "He may still be at the farmhouse if I phone now, before he goes out. Margo, if I am delayed, tell my class to start reading the next chapter of their textbook untiI I get there."

Margo set to, to clear their lunch debris and get the mugs washed. She regretted not trying to get back to the neighbour who was looking after her girls, but that was one of the trials of work.

She was vaguely aware of Freda getting on to the phone to her husband, but she had more pressing matters to attend to. She had to attend to her coiffure and make sure her clothes were straightened and free from any chalk stains from the morning classwork. She had to be the efficient and authoritative Mrs Ruiz, to the children.

Because of all this, it was at the end of the school day, after all the children were sent home, coats and schoolbags and other accoutrements dealt with, that she was able to take a look at Freda Brelsford. He first thought was, "She looks younger!", then, "She must have had good news.", so she felt safe to ask, "How did you get on with your phone call, Freda?"

"Oh, my dear! It was most peculiar. When I got through, a female voice said, "Hello. Brelsford Farm. Can I help you?". I was struck dumb for a second or two, then said, "This is Mrs Brelsford. Can I speak to my husband?" and she said "Yes, of course, Madam." Then I heard the phone being laid down and she shouted, "Ian! It is your Freda at last."

The phrase 'Your Freda', told me a lot. The girl regarded me as an important person in Ian's life, so that was a start.

Shortly thereafter Ian came on the phone. "Freda! Thanks for ringing, my love. I have been trying to get to speak with you, but every time I manage to get through, I get cut off!"

I responded, "Probably local interference, Ian. I was wondering about you, and how you were coping without me being there."

"I have missed you terribly, Freda. Sylvia has done her best to console me, but she is not the same as you, my darling."

"But Ian, you said she was sharing your bed. You were fucking the girl!"

"We were both lonely, Freda, and it developed from there, almost by accident. I wanted to ask you to come and meet her. If you had got on, I was going to ask if you and I could welcome her as an extra spouse in our marriage. I didn't expect your strong initial bad reaction, darling. You have always been a level-headed girl, able to talk sensibly over any problem, but this time I could not get a word in."

"It was shock, Ian, shock. One doesn't suddenly drop the social baggage of the past, like that! It has taken me a long while to come to terms with the presence of that girl in our home."

"I wish you would come and meet her, Freda, or let her come out and meet you. Sylvia is a kind, thoughtful, hard working girl, who would be an asset to our family. I have to tell you that she is now in the family way, just as I hoped that one day you would bless me with our child. You were always so busy, working."

"Oh, Ian. I never realised you so desperately wanted to be a father. I always thought we would work until we were comfortable enough financially for me to stop work and start our family."

"Well, Freda, our family has now started, so it comes down to you. Will you agree to meet Sylvia and decide whether you could live with her as part of our household?"

Freda paused as she recounted this tale to Margo, leaving Margo to wonder which way Freda had jumped. Freda soon revealed that secret.

"Margo, I told Ian, my husband, 'I have decided to pay attention to all the salient facts before coming to a conclusion, so I shall have an encounter with your Sylvia – who presumably has a surname?"

Ian quickly responded, "Parminter. I know it sounds funny, but it is a genuine medieval name: something to do with parchment."

"Very well, Ian. Send her to me. She can catch the train; we have a station, albeit a small one. She can stay with me overnight, and catch a train back the next day. I shall show her my village school."

Freda finished her tale with, "So she should be arriving tomorrow, Ian says."

Margo congratulated her. "You did well, Freda. You will meet Sylvia on your home turf, and make your own judgment, unaffected by any other outside influence."

"Mummy Charlie, where has my Mummy got to?", asked Jenny Price.

Charlie looked up from what she was studying, and regarded the Malan girl with interest. "No idea, Jenny. She SHOULD be with the Security Service somewhere, but I am not privy to her movements within that august body. Certain things she keeps secret even from ME," she commented plaintively.

"Oh, I see. I wanted to ask her about a Malan word that is giving me bother."

Charlie harrumphed at that thought, then admitted, "Jenny, she probably has no better idea than you have. You know she is learning at about the same pace as you. Is there not an on-line Malan dictionary that you can access?"

"Oh, yes, there is: I forgot. I shall look it up then, and hope I get a context for it."

Charlie had voluntarily been starting to learn Malan also. She asked, "What word is it that is puzzling you?"

"Boolbar. It seems to be used quite frequently by young children, but not after they reach the age of five. It puzzles me, as it seems to be a children's game of some kind, that only children aged about three or four indulge in, not later. It seems weird."

"Sorry, Jenny. I have never heard of it. See what the dictionary says."

Jenny got her phone out and called up the Malan dictionary, and looked up Boolbar. The entry was succinct: 'A game played by young children. It is noted for its complicated rules.' Jenny almost exploded with frustration, and showed it to Charlie.

"That doesn't tell me anything more!" she moaned to Charlotte Brown, her mother's new wife. "The stupid dictionary is definitely not helpful."

Charlie was sympathetic but conciliatory. "Calm down, young lady. Dictionaries simply define what the word means. It doesn't offer explanations of why the facts are what they are, Jenny. If you entered "football", it would probably say 'a game played between two teams with a ball propelled by the foot'. That would be accurate, but tells you very little about how the game is actually played, the rules, and fans, and so forth. That is why an encyclopaedia is better than a dictionary at times, if you want more detail."

Jenny went back to her phone and found an encyclopaedia. Trying "Boolbar" brought up nothing except a suggestion that she meant Bulbar: relating to a bulb. Trying another encyclopaedia, she found the same, so in frustration she entered a wildly fanciful request for "Malan Encyclopaedia", and found to her surprise that such a compilation actually existed.

This astonished her, as she knew how few people could speak the language. At Charlie's suggestion, she looked for a copyright statement and found: copyright – The Personalia. That now made sense to her.

She tried Boolbar again, and this time got an entry.

Boolbar: a humorous pastime of young children, particularly Malan children. The game is noted for its rambling rules of play, varying considerably such that adults have difficulty in participating. It has been observed that participation is almost entirely restricted to three and four-year-old children, who devise their own play materials for the game.

Jenny frowned at the entry. It seemed to her that despite all the additional detail, there was still no useful data on how the game was played. She shrugged in her disgust, and returned to her Malan language studies. The word was just filed away in her memory for future reference. She was not yet six, so such problems could be left to others.

Brian Brown was just marking up a delivery item – a pack of light bulbs - going out to one of the rail stations, when he was approached by his store boy, the newest member of the stores staff.

"Mr Brown, there are a couple of people out here who say they want to do an inventory, whatever that is, sir."

"An inventory, you say, lad?" The implication struck him. "Oh, God, no!"

"Sir? They have a policeman with them. They asked for you to assist them with their inventory. I don't know why the policeman is here."

"Dammit. Look, just tell them I am busy at the moment and will be with them shortly, O.K.?"

The lad, keen to be seen to be on the ball, hurried off to pass on this message. Brian pulled his phone from his desk and quickly rang his fence. As soon as the phone was answered, he said, "Jim? This is Brian. Keep shtum. The cops are investigating." Then closed his phone and deleted all his calls from the phone's memory.

Looking out of the cubbyhole they called his office, he saw the policeman striding towards him, following the store boy. Brian immediately stepped out of his office and walked towards them, holding out his hand in welcome,

"Hi there! How can I help you?"

The policeman replied, "I am here to observe a stocktaking inventory sir. There has been a suggestion of criminal activity in this locality."

"Really? My goodness. I can't understand why. We have an up-to-the-minute electronic stock inventory system that I work with. I don't see how that could be incorrect."

"That has nothing to with me, sir. Your senior managers are here to deal with establishing the facts."

At that moment two ladies came up to them, and introduced themselves.

"Mr Brown, you know me: Alice McKerral, and this is MY boss, Justine Jupp."

"Welcome ladies, and what can I do to help you?"

Miss Jupp was direct: "We are here to check your stock against the electronic records, Mr Brown."

He assumed an innocent look. "Fine, fine. How do we go about that, ladies? As far as I recall, we have never actually performed such a task. How long do you expect it will take? We have a huge range of goods here, from very large to quite tiny items."

"Shall we simply get started, and see how we get on, Mr Brown? Now, looking at the inventory record, the first item is: Anti-spall polycarbonate glass."

"Oh, yes. We don't get much demand for that. Only half a dozen in stock, as I recall." He led them to the bay identified in the listing, and there were the sheets. How many does your list say?"

"Six, and I see there are six. Next..." and so they went on. Unusual items were all there, but when it came to goods of general use, there were discrepancies. As they went on, and more and more appeared to be missing, Brian Brown put on a show of horrified discovery.