‘Would you believe me if I tell you I regret that?’
‘No, I wouldn’t! After nine years? You must think I’m stupid. What’s the real reason for this conversation, Owen?’
‘All right, I’ll tell you, but you must keep it to yourself.’
She reached for the door handle, preparing to get out. ‘I don’t want your confidences.’
He touched her arm and held her back, and she stayed, leaning towards the door as stiff and unyielding as a poker, and listened. Bertie came up, obviously intending to meet her, and he ran towards the van.
‘Go away, boy, I’m talking to your mother,’ Owen said. Bertie stood near the hedge, pulling leaves off and dropping them on the ground.
‘There are going to be some changes at Treweather Farm. Neither of the boys wants to carry on and it’s likely the place will be sold. When it is I’ll be out of a job and a home. I just wondered whether we might make changes all round and try to patch up our marriage instead of going ahead with a divorce. I’ll have the money to make a fresh start, somewhere far away from Cwm Derw. What d’you think? Will you think about it?’
Still with her hand on the door, she turned and glared at him. ‘I won’t have anything to do with a man who could see a small child in such difficulties and do nothing to help him. Knowing your own situation makes it even worse. Your self-absorption has made you evil, and I feel touched by it simply sitting beside you.’
Leaving the door swinging she ran out, hugged Bertie and hurried off down the road, back the way they had come.
*
As term reached its end, there was a presentation for one of the teachers, who was retiring. The children were at the morning assembly, and when the reading and the hymns finished they were told to wait. Sophie stood near the front row of children and glanced around until she found Bertie.
He wore a new blazer and a clean shirt and she smiled with relief. Sarah was certainly doing her best for him now. She half smiled at him when he looked at her but he turned away quickly.
Murmurs and foot shuffling in the room increased as the children became restless; then they were called to order and Miss Evans was invited up on to the stage. There was a brief announcement that Miss Evans was retiring, then the headmistress made a speech, talking warmly about Miss Evans’s contribution to the school and giving her a bunch of flowers and a rhinestone necklace that sparkled and sent colours darting around the wall. When they all trooped out to the rousing sound of a Sousa march, Bertie was watching Sophie, a frown on his face. Why hadn’t she been given a necklace?
*
With both Ryan and Gareth gone, the farm was short of help, even though Tommy had employed a full-time labourer, Harry Sutton. Harry was over sixty and had retired when the farm on which he worked had been sold. Since then he had helped in a kennels a couple of mornings a week and was grateful to be invited to return to the work he knew. Owen worked long hours dealing with everything he could and making sure Tommy knew about it, hoping for praise or at least some credit for the hours he put in. He even helped Rachel prepare the meals, which were simple and not up to the standard of her usual fare.
One warm late-July evening, after a humid and exhausting day, Owen drove down to the main road and went into the Ship and Compass. Daphne was in the bar, helping Betty on occasion, and sitting near the bar when she wasn’t needed. Owen sat near her and asked if she would like a drink.
‘Cider, please, but not as strong as that stuff your uncle serves,’ she said with a groan. ‘A headache that lasts twenty-four hours is what that stuff costs.’
She chattered easily and flattered him when he told her that since the boys had gone he was left with a part-timer who had to be told everything and his uncle, who was in a foul temper over the abandonment of his sons.
‘Doesn’t Tommy pull his weight?’ she asked.
‘He’s in such a mood that I hardly dare speak to him. I just get on and do as much as I can without bothering him.’ He deliberately spoke lightly, almost with amusement. He didn’t want Daphne to think he did nothing but complain. ‘I started at five this morning,’ he said as he paid for their drinks, ‘and finished an hour ago, after peeling potatoes till they looked like marbles and shelling some peas.’
‘I don’t suppose I can help, can I? Feed chickens? Count sheep or whatever it is you do with them?’ Her eyes were sparkling with humour, then she said more seriously, ‘I’d love to help if I can. I don’t work at the weekends and I’m at a loss sometimes to fill the time. Even your new man must have a day off. As you can see, I’m no fragile flower.’ She stood up and stretched to her full height. He remembered that she topped him by several inches, and guessed that in weight, too, she was superior, but it didn’t matter. What was important was how well they connected in attitude and humour.
He found her easy to talk to, and they were both unaware of the locals in the crowded bar nodding in their direction, nudging each other and smiling knowingly.
When he invited her to come to the farm and see what was being done, she accepted.
‘Would you like to come?’ she asked Sophie later, but Sophie shook her head. ‘Best I stay away. I was never Rachel’s favourite person,’ she added with a wry laugh. ‘In fact, she blames me for Ryan leaving. As if I could influence him! Nothing more than friends, and hardly that. I only saw him a few times.’ She gave away her disappointment by adding, ‘He hasn’t even bothered to write.’
‘Idiot!’ was the retort.
After that first visit, when she impressed Rachel by the way she dealt with dishes and helped prepare food as though she’d lived there all her life, Daphne went whenever she had a few hours to spare. She walked around the fields with Owen, holding posts while barbed wire was fixed; she fed hens, gathering and washing their eggs, hardly needing to be told what was necessary; she watched and learned and loved it.
*
Bertie turned up at Badgers Brook after school on the final day of term and offered Sophie an untidily wrapped package. ‘What’s this? A present for your mam? Is it her birthday?’
‘No, miss, it’s for you, a leaving present because you left school for the holidays. Sorry it’s late.’
‘But I’m not leaving, I’ll be there next term. Who is it from? Did your mother send it?’ She thought it might be a thank you for looking after Bertie on Saturdays and was worried, hoping it wasn’t too expensive. He looked anxious as she carefully unwrapped it: string, then crumpled brown paper. Nestled in tissue paper was a brooch: flowers made of rhinestones similar to the necklace the school had given to Miss Evans.
‘Bertie! It’s beautiful, but tell your mother I can’t accept it. It’s far too expensive. What a lovely, kind thought. I’m thrilled with it, but please, take it back and explain to your mam that I love having you and I don’t need anything to thank me for looking after you, will you?’
‘It wasn’t from Mam, it’s from me,’ he said, head down, staring at his shoes.
‘I don’t understand. Where did you get so much money from? It must have cost quite a few shillings.’
‘It’s my money, my dad sent it.’ He called the words as he ran off and Sophie stared at the gift with growing concern. Contact from his father was nothing more than a dream, like his new bicycle had been. She rewrapped it, and, next morning, while Bertie was busy helping Bob and Kitty to paint their fence, she set off for Nerys’s dress shop. Better to talk to Sarah without Bertie being around, in case what she suspected was true and he had stolen either the gift or the money.
Nerys gave Sarah ten minutes to go with her and drink a coffee in the café after Sophie quietly explained what had happened.
‘What should I do?’ Sarah asked helplessly.
Inside, Sophie felt her muscles tighten. Uninvited came the memory of her persuading her family to stay together under the same roof; that was the advice she had given, breezily confident, and they had all died because of it. A sort of panic filled her as Sarah looked to her for a decision. There would be no
advice from her, no slick answers, never again. ‘That isn’t for me to say. But I’ll help if I can. You tell me what you want to do and I’ll help, but the decision must be yours.’
‘You’re a teacher, you tell me.’ Sarah’s eyes were filling with tears.
‘Think about it, talk to your friends, but don’t be hard on him. He’s just a child.’
She handed Sarah the brooch and saw her flinch as she gripped it, locking it into her hand, her fingers white with pressure. ‘I could kill him, the idiot. Stealing! Why did he do such a stupid thing? And for you. Not me – his mother – but you!’
Sophie started with shock, the hint of accusation making her heart race with a guilt she knew she didn’t deserve. ‘Take it home and talk to him.’ She didn’t dare say more, although she wanted to tell Sarah to hug the child, tell him she wasn’t angry, just concerned because she loved him. The faces of her dead family ran across her mind. Her advice might lead to worse trouble and she couldn’t take the responsibility.
Knowing that her friend Daphne was seeing a lot of Owen, Sophie told her about the brooch and the mystery of where Bertie had found the money to buy it, hoping she would mention it to Owen. She doubted that he would care, but perhaps, just perhaps, he might try to help. Sarah was on her own and had to face the various problems that arose in dealing with Bertie with little money and without any support.
Owen’s response surprised Daphne. Having so recently been told he was evil by Sarah had been a shock that wouldn’t leave him, and Daphne could see he was upset. She knew that Bertie was not his child, but, after lunch, he led her to a barn and, sitting beside her on hay bales, told her the full story. ‘The worst part was Sarah leaving without giving me a chance to consider what we should do. I hated the gossip and being a joke, a husband who had been cheated on. If she had stayed, well, I might have decided it was better to keep the child, easier to bear than ridicule, d’you understand?’
Daphne touched his hand and nodded.
‘And now,’ he said, ‘knowing there won’t be any second chances, I’m going to see a solicitor about a divorce. It seems the sensible thing to do, tie up all the ends, make our long separation a permanent one in the eyes of the law, giving us both our freedom to build a life again.’ He looked at her, his eyes mysterious in the shaded light of the barn. ‘Then I intend to restart my life, begin to live again after almost nine years of teetering on the edge.’
‘And Bertie?’
His voice was harsh as he replied, ‘He’s never been my responsibility. Sarah walked away taking the child with her without a moment’s discussion, making it quite clear that I wasn’t involved. Nothing has changed there. I couldn’t help, even if I wanted to.’
‘And do you want to?’
‘I might have once, but not any more.’
Daphne waited, knowing from his tense expression that there was more he wanted to say.
‘D’you know, Daphne, although I’ve lived with my aunt and uncle since I was about five, I’m still an outsider, treated with little more respect than a casual labourer. When I offer suggestions about the farm, like adding land drains to give us better fields, or the best position for a new barn, I’m ignored.’
She reached out and put her hand over his and he muttered, ‘Thanks for listening. I don’t usually complain. My father left me when I was a child and I should be grateful for them giving me a home.’
‘You were without a father? Like Bertie?’
‘No, not like Bertie! My circumstances were very different.’ He stood up and walked away from her and she was furious at her stupidity. Why had she reminded him of Bertie? Now he’d never confide in her again.
*
It didn’t take long for Sarah to discover where Bertie had found the money. She went home, anger building up as she half ran in her eagerness to solve the problem. She grabbed his shoulder and showed him the brooch, held out in a shaking hand, and demanded to know where he’d bought it. She shook him angrily, insisting on answers, and finally he admitted he’d taken five shillings from Kitty and Bob’s house and the rest from her own cash box where she kept money for paying the bills.
She turned him over her knee and spanked him, trying to control her fury and dismay, knowing she was in danger of hitting him too hard. He didn’t cry, just jumped on to his bed and hid himself under the covers. Sarah left him there and, more slowly, walked back to the dress shop trying to hold back sobs that were more guilt than anger.
She still held the brooch and didn’t know what to do with it. Would she get a refund? The bills would have to be paid and Kitty’s money returned. There was money in the post office but she hated the thought of using some of her oh so slowly growing savings.
Bertie rose from his cocoon of blankets, his face red and his eyes bright with humiliation and tears. He knew he had been stupid, but, childlike, managed to find someone to blame. He went to Badgers Brook and threw mud and stones at the kitchen window, then leaned on Bob’s newly painted fence until something snapped.
*
Sarah needed to explain her long absence to Nerys, and, when the shop was quiet, she told her exactly what had happened. Aware of the woman’s distress, Nerys told her to go at once to the shop where it had been bought and explain. A refund would be the best solution.
After some argument, the item was accepted back and a refund given. While in the same determined mood. Sarah went to see Kitty and Bob. Bob was outside examining the fence, which had a broken support. They went inside and the five shillings was repaid.
‘I won’t say anything to the boy.’ Bob said. ‘He’s had his punishment. We don’t believe in a child having more than one: a telling off, a smack, a loss of pocket money, no sweets – sometimes people don’t know when to stop. A smacking and knowing you’re upset is enough.’
‘It sounds as though he thought it unfair that Miss Evans had a gift and not Sophie,’ Kitty added.
‘I’m so sorry, I never dreamed he’d do anything like this.’
‘Don’t worry, I don’t think it will happen again,’ Kitty said. ‘Our boys stole apples from Treweather Farm a few times, and once they came home with a chicken they insisted was wandering and had followed them home. And there was a favourite library book hidden, which they swore was lost.’ It was all said to make Sarah feel better.
Sophie called to see Bertie but, although Sarah coaxed him to speak, he sat on his bed, looking down at his boots, red faced, and refused to move. Sophie was just leaving when there was a knock at the door. With a frown Sarah stood up. ‘I hope this isn’t more trouble,’ she muttered, then Sophie heard her invite someone inside and she stood to leave. It was Owen.
‘Hello, Owen. I’m just leaving,’ she said, patting Bertie’s shoulder as she headed for the door through the over-filled room.
She heard Sarah demand, ‘What do you want? I didn’t think you even knew where we lived.’ The door closed behind her then quickly reopened, and Bertie darted out.
She managed to grab him as he passed her and held him. ‘Bertie, come back with me, will you?’
‘No, miss, I hate you.’
‘I don’t hate you, you’re my best and kindest friend.’ But he pulled free and ran off.
Sophie hoped that with the school holidays starting he wouldn’t be difficult about her looking after him. Sarah didn’t want any problems now she was beginning to sort her life out.
*
Having coldly discussed with Sarah his intention to seek a divorce, Owen made an appointment with his solicitor for the following Monday. When he explained what he wanted to discuss, Mark Lacy was surprised. ‘With Gareth and Ryan leaving the farm, I thought you’d come to discuss selling up. There’s a growing demand for building land and it’s easier now to get planning permission.’
‘We aren’t selling. I run the farm and with very little help from Gareth and Ryan. Their leaving has made little difference,’ he replied shortly. ‘Now, after such a long separation, my divorce shouldn’t be a problem, shoul
d it?’
‘If you’re going for adultery, what took you so long? Where is the other man? Who is he, do you know? He’ll be difficult if not impossible to find after all these years. He hasn’t supported Sarah, has he? If we find him will you demand he pays maintenance? Do we have an address? If he can’t be located, you do intend to continue your support for the child, don’t you?’
The questions came fast and Owen answered abruptly when he answered at all. ‘Just do what you think best. I want to be free again, as soon as possible, right?’
‘Is there someone on the scene?’ Mark asked encouragingly.
‘Maybe, it’s too soon to know.’
‘Then I wish you good luck, Mr Treweather.’ The poor woman will need luck, too, if she marries a misery like you, Mark thought, as he saw Owen out and promised to be in touch.
*
Sophie was at the hairdresser having her hair cut. Elsie Clements was there, discussing her much delayed wedding with a few friends. She had her hair held in tight waves by the grippers that curved half around her head, and the hairdresser, Lucy Calloway, was arranging curls all around the edges. Weddings being such a popular subject, Sophie was quickly included in the conversation.
‘It will be our third attempt to tie the knot,’ Elsie preened. ‘Poor Ed, he’s been so patient, and me having to make him wait.’ Elsie giggled like an eighteen-year-old.
‘I do hope all will be well next time. When is it to be?’ Sophie asked.
‘Very soon.’ Elsie said coyly.
‘What was the trouble? one lady asked. ‘You look very well at present, so everything should be fine next time.’
‘Only a trapped nerve but it was very painful and we didn’t want anything to spoil our day.’ A young, girl came out from behind a screen and handed Elsie a cup of tea. ‘Thank you, dear, will you put it down for me?’
A New Beginning Page 13