David Gorse was watching as the envelopes slipped out and fell to the ground. He was smiling as Eric wandered over the field towards the stream. There was no one in sight as he picked them up and turned away. ‘Serve him right, the stupid old fool,’ he muttered. ‘Perhaps his bad luck will be my good luck.’ He made for the betting shop and a search for a coincidental name.
It wasn’t until he reached home that Eric missed the money. He called the landlady and put his hand in his pocket to pay her, then gasped when the pocket was empty.
‘I – I seem to have – um lost my pension, Mrs Godfrey,’ he said, taking off his jacket and searching fruitlessly in every pocket. ‘It must have fallen out. I took off my jacket and carried it because it was so nice and warm, you see.’
Mrs Godfrey’s expression hardened. ‘I’m very sorry, Eric, but you know the rules. No money, no room. I’ve been kind to my tenants in the past and later found out the missing money had gone to the local pub or the bookies. I remain firm. No, I’m sorry but whatever the excuse the rule remains.’
‘Until next week then, Mrs Godfrey.’
‘I’m afraid so.’
Eric wasn’t too upset. He had blankets in his room and extra clothes. Thankfully the weather was warmer and it was far from the first time he’d had to sleep under the stars. Food was the problem. He had very little money left from the previous week’s pension but he knew that calling on friends would keep him from starvation and the bakers often gave him a few leftover pies and cakes. He went to see Gwilym but determined not to tell him about the loss of his week’s money. People soon tire of moaners, even good people like Valmai and Gwilym, he thought.
David Gorse was attracted by the commotion around the back lane behind the Martins’ house. The banging of hammers, chatter and laughter, plus, as he drew closer, the unmistakable sound of tea-cups on saucers.
He went to the end of the lane and looked towards the source of the activities. Must be important. Even Walter was there and actually carrying something! ‘Morning,’ he called as he walked towards the scene. ‘What’s happening? Not moving, are you?’
He saw Gwilym at the back door, sitting in his chair, a blanket covering his knees. ‘Morning, Mr Martin. You the foreman then?’
‘We’re trying to sort out this lot and make room for a new shed,’ Valmai explained. ‘We could do with a hand if you’re offering.’
‘Can’t the old shed be repaired?’
‘Have a look,’ Walter said. ‘Too far gone, I reckon.’
David looked at the walls of the wooden shed. The base was rotten although the rest of the walls seemed fairly sound. The roof timbers needed a few replacements. The felt had rotted right away. ‘I reckon I could fix it up if you get the timber,’ he offered. ‘It needs a good strong base and some replacement timber. The roof isn’t too bad and if it’s protected with a new felt—’
Valmai was surprised at David’s interest; more so when he actually offered to do the work. She wondered what he’d ask in return. David Gorse wasn’t one to help with favours. Better she paid him, keep things straight. The repaired building wouldn’t be any use for Gwilym’s workshop but it would be very useful for storage. Worth spending a little money on it.
The discussion continued for a while as Netta and Valmai provided tea and cakes, David and Gwilym drew plans and made lists, and Walter found a wheelbarrow, sat in it and fell asleep.
With a list of requirements prepared by Gwilym and David, Eric went to the timber merchants and ordered all they needed. Days passed and there was no sign of David Gorse. Eric called at his mother’s house early one morning and she roused David from bed. Reluctantly he agreed to be at the Martins’ place in an hour. Two hours later he arrived and rain prevented him from doing anything. He looked at the wood and sneered. Waste of time trying to fix this, but he’d be sure to get a few pounds for his trouble – he’d protest at first but would take it, insisting it was to make them feel better.
Eric managed to survive the week without any money, mainly thanks to young Jimmy. It was on Monday morning when Jimmy was mitching from school, having decided that the day was better spent walking around the fields, that they met. Jimmy was at the edge of the shrubs and trees that had grown around the mill since it had fallen into disuse, when he heard a sound. There were the usual murmurings of the trees and the chuckling of the water past the unmoving wheel, but there was an air of stillness that was unusual. At this time of the year there should have been birdsong and they were silent.
He moved quietly through the trees, careful where he placed his feet and avoiding moving the branches until he was at a point where he could see the doorway of the mill. It was open, and he could hear someone whistling. He grinned. That sounded like old Eric.
He moved closer and joined in with the whistling of ‘Que sera sera, whatever will be will be—’
‘Good morning, Jimmy. No school today?’
‘No, didn’t feel like it.’
‘That’s a pity. You’ll have an easier life if you work at school and get a good job.’ Eric cleared away the evidence of his breakfast, and tucked his blankets behind a pile of wood.
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Jimmy sighed. ‘I’m ten years old. How can I worry about when I’m twenty? Old that is, and ten is for having fun.’
Eric chuckled. ‘I’m off to see Mr and Mrs Martin – coming my way? Or is that too close to home?’
‘You said it!’
Eric waved goodbye and went to call on Gwilym. Valmai was always good for a piece of toast or a slice of cake.
Jimmy ran like the wind and staggered, puffing with the effort into Valmai’s kitchen. ‘Old Eric’s sleeping rough again. Someone pinched his pension money.’ Valmai thanked him for telling them and added a couple more sausages to the frying pan.
Jimmy was satisfied. She’d make sure the old man didn’t go hungry. At the time school would close he went home and insisted he was starving. He planned to hide some food and, after dark, take it to the mill for Eric. Satisfied he had done a good deed, he threw his satchel on the floor and went to change out of his rather muddy school clothes.
That night, when his parents were asleep, Jimmy went to the old mill and left food for Eric, who was snoring contentedly in a corner of what had once been the room where the flour sacks were filled, the sound of the stream his lullaby.
At the end of the week, Eric returned to Mrs Godfrey, but to a smaller and less comfortable room right at the top of the stairs, which was all she had available.
It was May before David actually made a start on the repair to Valmai’s shed, and Gwilym, who went up after everyone had gone to see what progress had been made, was worried. The structure didn’t look safe and he didn’t want Valmai to risk going inside. The sound base they had discussed hadn’t been added and the replaced wood wasn’t attached firmly to the strongest of the original. Some of the posts bought for strengthening were unused and thrown behind the shed. During the night after David declared he had done all he could, the whole thing fell down. David hid his pleasure well as he commiserated.
Sitting on the wheelbarrow beside Gwilym, staring at the untidy pile of old and new wood that had cost them so much money, Valmai wanted to weep. In a rare explosion of anger she turned to Gwilym. ‘You could have prevented this! If you’d been there instead of staying out of sight, seen what he was doing, made sure he was making it safe, this wouldn’t have happened!’
Gwilym held her in his arms, hid her face against his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, love, but I just can’t.’
She relented then. ‘I know, Gwilym, I know.’
It was Rick who rescued the shed. He called to ask a question about local deliveries and saw Eric trying to gather the best of the timber. There were piles of unused planks at Waterstones’ old house, and together with one of the lorry drivers he delivered it.
With Eric and the lorry driver helping and Walter sitting on a wall and offering advice, they arranged for the lorry driver and his mates to repair the sad building and make su
re it was safe.
Eric slept in the mill again so his pension could pay some of the cost, without Valmai being aware. Besides, he hoped that the following week would mean he’d have his old room back. The present one was up thirty-five steps and seriously dreary.
‘There’s that tramp again!’ Amy said, pointing through the window to where Eric was strolling past. To her outrage he stopped, waved, then sat on the garden wall. ‘Tell him to go, Rick. I won’t have him coming around here.’
Rick walked to where Eric was sitting. ‘Hello, again,’ he said. ‘Do you live near here?’
Eric pointed along the road, ‘I have a room in a small boarding house. I’ve lived there since I lost my job at the furniture factory,’ he explained. ‘The rent is cheap and she gives me a good breakfast.’
‘But you have to stay out during the day?’
‘Mostly. Except Thursdays when she visits her daughter in Cardiff.’ Eric stared at Rick, his blue eyes shrewd and his lips beginning to smile. ‘Wants me to clear off, does she? Your wife?’
‘Well, she’s a bit stressed at present. The house and the wedding plans, you know how it is.’
Eric nodded. ‘I’m off to see young Jimmy Prosser. Know him, do you? He’s a hit of a wanderer too.’
‘That’s the young boy about eight or nine who lives next to Valmai and Gwilym?’
‘Ten he is. He’s a good lad. He helped me when I lost my rent and had to sleep in – somewhere else,’ he amended. ‘Well, I’d better go.’ He smiled. ‘You can tell your wife I’ve been told off good and proper!’
Rick saw Jimmy later that day and went out to talk to him. ‘Hello, where are you off to, young Jimmy?’
‘Who wants to know?’
‘Only me.’ Rick smiled. ‘I’m not MI5! I was talking to Eric and he told me your name.’ He began to walk alongside Jimmy and asked a few questions. ‘Nice place to live, is it? I mean, we’re moving in in a few months and we don’t know anyone.’
‘It’s all right, I suppose. I like it round here. Everything except the school. It’s years yet before I can leave. Daft if you ask me.’
‘Mmm. I’ve noticed you wandering around during school hours,’ Rick said. ‘Look, I’m not encouraging you to mitch, but if you want something to do at the weekends, come and see Amy and me. Any time, just give a knock and if we’re there you’ll be welcome.’
Jimmy didn’t feel too sure about his wife, but he nodded. ‘If I’m not too busy,’ he replied.
The following weekend Jimmy visited twice. The first time he helped in the garden, for which Amy rewarded him with a bar of chocolate, and the second time Rick introduced him to some of his favourite books. He soon realized the boy was not a very good reader so he read to him, then listened patiently as Jimmy read. As soon as Jimmy was bored with struggling to read, Rick took over again for a while and Jimmy began to enjoy the stories about the countryside written by T.G. Evens, a man who called himself Romany and who lived in a caravan with his dog and his young friends Muriel and Doris. He could relate to the stories as the descriptions of the wild animals and birds referred to were known to him.
Amy was surprisingly pleased at Jimmy’s progress, stating that Rick’s interest in children was one of the reasons she loved him. He seemed able to become friends with anyone of any age and from any background. She had taught for a while but meeting Rick and making plans to marry had persuaded her to give up her career, not without some relief. She knew she wasn’t a natural teacher, not like Rick would have been. She was too impatient and, she admitted to herself, too critical. ‘I can’t help the way I am,’ she often told Rick proudly, expecting praise. ‘I strive for perfection and expect others to do the same.’
‘Perfection is different when you’re only ten years old.’
As well as reading, Rick introduced Jimmy to chess, explaining every move throughout the games at first then playing without comment as Jimmy became familiar with the moves. As he had guessed, Jimmy was very bright but had suffered from a lack of encouragement and self-confidence. Jimmy tried to tell his father about his improved reading skills and his introduction to the fascinating game of chess, but Walter didn’t do anything but nod, his eyes glued to the newly acquired television or his newspaper.
Netta tried to show interest but her eyes glazed as he explained about kings, queens, bishops, knights, rooks and pawns. Jimmy didn’t mind. His new friends were interested in him and Gwilym offered him a game – if Valmai could find his chess set.
Although Amy was happy to spend a little time with Jimmy and approved of Rick’s efforts to encourage the boy, she was still very prickly with most of the neighbours. Sally Travis, she ignored. Accepting Milly Sewell’s opinion that she was one of the criminal class made her decide not to give even a polite ‘good morning’, as that might be misconstrued as a friendly gesture.
Determined not to give up on the albeit slight chance of Gwilym starting to work, Valmai withdrew their savings and bought a shed. The workmen who delivered it also erected it, electricity and water was laid on and that Saturday morning in August, Gwilym went to inspect it.
‘It isn’t finished yet,’ Valmai told him. ‘On Monday there’s a surprise coming.’
‘Not more expense?’ he said softly. ‘We’ve spent so much, and so far there’s only the building. There’s the inside to set up before I can do anything, places for tools and a bench for me to work on.’
‘No more expense, I promise. I’ve spent the last penny I intend to spend. Now it’s up to you to make money. Of course you might like to take our wonderful friends for a pint in the Dragon. They’ve earned it. Ages since you’ve been there.’
He looked at her sorrowfully. ‘Not yet.’
‘Then we’ll get a few drinks and they can come here. Right?’
Eric had been to see the builders that were clearing the remains of the furniture factory ready for building houses and explained what he needed. Help was promised for Monday morning.
‘If only Rhys would come home, everything would be perfect,’ Valmai sighed as she closed her eyes and imagined Gwilym settle himself against the bench in the new shed.
In Bristol, Rhys was picking up the latest brown envelope from Sally and felt that his guilt and shame must be visible on his face. He walked out of the café as eyes followed him, convinced they all knew how badly he was treating someone who loved him, someone who didn’t deserve to be stuck with someone as dishonest as himself.
Someone else was thinking of Rhys that day. It was more than a month since the date she had expected Rhys to come home, face the police and tell everyone they were to be married. She had written to him, trying not to beg, but asking when he expected to appear. The situation had to be resolved soon.
Although she hadn’t been to the doctor to get it confirmed, Sally knew she was again expecting a child. Four months, during which she had fought against morning sickness and lethargy, had passed and soon her condition would be clear for everyone to see and she knew she could ignore it no longer. Rhys must come home. Once she had spoken to him, then she’d go and start the procedures for the baby’s care. How she would manage, that was a very different thing. They wouldn’t have much money at first, and how could she work and cope with two small children? How would she feed them? She had to persuade him to stay, face the police and answer any questions. There hadn’t been any talk about his guilt apart from people like Milly Sewell, and the Waterstones – who had altered details slightly, just enough to build rumours about Rhys’s involvement, rumours that had made Rhys run away, afraid he would lose the chance of training as a teacher if accusations by the police resulted in an arrest.
It was Tuesday, the day she went to the butcher’s, and Milly was certain to be there. Would she guess? Would she be the first to point out to others that the unmarried mother was expecting again and with no sign of a husband?
Fortunately she was delayed and the shop was empty when she went to buy her midweek order. That simple reprieve made the day just a
little happier.
Gwilym heard the sound of activity at the end of the garden and cautiously peeped out through the curtains. Six of the men he had once worked beside were struggling to fit the bench into the shed. The door had been taken off and lay on the path alongside the gate, also removed to allow them to deliver the bench. Gwilym opened the door and, hiding his legs beneath the blanket, waved. He felt ashamed. These men had lost their jobs, too. One suffered from arthritis, another had poor sight, but they had found work. Over tea and pasties he learned about others. Ted and Arthur Jones had gone to Australia. Peter Powell was in London, Maldwyn Porter had been killed in a fight in Liverpool aboard a ship. Then there was Walter, idling his time away being supported by Netta – who had found another job as soon as the closure had been announced. He should have done the same after the accident, not hidden here and allowed his wife to feed him. Guilt was a severe pain but it didn’t force him to go outside and join them. He’d left it too late. ‘I’ll make tea,’ he called. ‘Come when you’re ready.’
Valmai came down to pick up a bag of tools she had put ready. ‘Come on, Gwilym, you can face your friends, surely? They need to know where you want things placed. They need your help.’
‘I am helping. I’m making the tea,’ he muttered, wheeling himself back inside the kitchen.
Patching up the old shed hadn’t resulted in a beautiful building and by comparison with the new one it looked even worse. But to Valmai both sheds looked beautiful. By the evening everything was in place.
As soon as the men had gone, Gwilym went up to see what they had done and he felt as weepy as a child. The bench was perfect and the lathe, bought by Valmai as part of the surprise, had been set up exactly where it was most convenient. On the bench was a drawing pad and an assortment of pencils. Hesitantly at first, he picked up the pencil and began to draw. An ark, filled with couples of animals, and Noah and his family. Valmai crept up and watched for a few minutes, then with fingers tightly crossed she went back to the kitchen.
Facing the World Page 5