‘You are ready to leave?’ Peter stood alongside Ted, hands in his pockets. He’d slept badly, the old wound in his shoulder was aching this morning and he’d spent the night going over and over what Mary had told him, reliving the shame of his cowardice, of his inability to confess. Instead he’d let her think the worst of Tom.
And yet still he knew he wouldn’t tell her.
‘Yeah.’ Ted took a last drag on his cigarette and nipped the burning tobacco between finger and thumb before dropping the tab end into the top pocket of his jacket. ‘Just waiting for Ellen to pack and get herself ready.’ He cast an eye over the vegetables. ‘Garden’s looking good.’
‘I follow what Tom started.’ Peter bent down and pulled out an errant dandelion amongst the line of onions, a sudden stab of pain in his shoulder making him straighten up more carefully.
‘I’m glad we finally met,’ Ted said, feeling slightly uncomfortable, ‘even under these circumstances. Happen you’ll come to Ashford sometime?’
‘Perhaps.’ Peter had no intention of ever setting foot in that town again. Even so he smiled at Ted. ‘It is good we understand one another.’ He dropped the weed down onto the path and rubbed his palms together.
‘And I’m sorry about Ellen’s behaviour yesterday. She upset Mary, I know.’
‘I am sure they have made friends again,’ Peter said. ‘Jean is also…’ He halted, unable to find the words to describe Mary’s difficult friend who obviously disliked him.
‘Impossible.’ Ted laughed and then frowned. ‘She’s having a hard time at the moment though.’
Peter cocked his head to one side. ‘Oh?’
‘Yeah, Patrick’s getting handy with his fists by all accounts.’
‘That is shameful.’
‘Yeah.’ Ted passed his hand over his mouth. ‘There’s other stuff going on as well.’ He was almost tempted to confide in this quiet bloke, but then thought better of it. ‘Ellen tells me Mary intends to go back with Jean.’ He sensed the startled movement of Peter’s head. ‘You didn’t know?’
‘No.’ The rush of anxiety unnerved Peter. ‘I did not.’ Why hadn’t she told him?
‘Personally, I don’t think it’ll do much good. Jean’s been sweet on Patrick for as long as I can remember. She’ll not leave him now, whatever he does.’ Sensing Peter’s unease, not sure why Mary hadn’t told Peter, Ted focused on fumbling in his pocket for the cigarette end. ‘Mary thinks she should have words with him. But I reckon he’ll go mad and Jean’ll resent it.’
‘Mary should stay here.’ Peter’s voice was grim. ‘She does not need more trouble, more worry. And also, she is to go back to work next week. The hospital, they have understood, but she said to me she has been away long enough. It is almost a month.’
‘Mary’s looked out for her family all her life. She’s a strong woman.’
‘Still, she has me now. I will look after her.’
‘She’s been especially good to Ellen. She’s relied on Mary for a lot of things.’ Ted nodded. ‘I don’t know how much you know about all the stuff that happened to Ellen during the war?’ he said. ‘She didn’t have it easy … and I know folk think I’m soft with her, that I let her get away with murder…’
Peter was barely listening, his mind furiously working on ways to persuade Mary not to go to Ashford.
Unaware he’d lost Peter’s attention, Ted continued, ‘I swore then if I got home and she’d have me I’d look after her if it killed me. When I found out everything that had happened with Linda and everything, I was so angry I wasn’t there to protect her.’
So he knew about Shuttleworth? Peter didn’t ask.
‘It’s hard,’ Ted said, ‘feeling guilty about something, when you know there wasn’t anything you could do about it. I’d kill for her, you know.’ Ted’s spoke almost casually.
Peter tightened his lips before the guilty admission spilled out. Instead he moved his head, acknowledging what Ted had said.
‘Ted, what are you doing? Come and drink this tea before we leave. The kids are getting fractious.’ Ellen stood at the back door.
The two men grinned at one another in a shared moment of humour. Then, in an even tone, Ted said, ‘You really don’t want Mary to go to Ashford, do you?’
‘No, it will do no good I think.’
‘Let me have a talk with her. I think I can persuade her she’s better off staying here.’
‘Come on, we’ll better get a wriggle on.’ Ted stood on the doorstep, jingling the van keys. ‘It’ll take all day, the rate that old banger goes.’
‘It’ll get you home, though?’ Mary imagined them stuck in the middle of nowhere. That would be sure to cause a row. She kissed both children, welcoming Linda’s tight hug. ‘Be good for your Mummy now.’
‘Yep, radiator’ll just need topping up every now and then.’ Ted grinned. ‘I’ll get Ellen to do it if it’s raining.’
‘You won’t.’ Ellen gave him a light slap on the arm. ‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘we’ll be down again for the wedding, once you’ve set the date. We’ll have a new car by then.’ She gave her husband a mock warning look. ‘Won’t we?’
‘Aye, I suppose so,’ he said in feigned resignation. ‘I doubt the nattering’ll stop till we do.’ He held out his hand to Peter, his grip warm. ‘Thanks mate,’ he said firmly, ‘you make sure you look after our Mary.’
‘I will.’ Peter put his other hand over his and Ted’s clasped ones. ‘And thank you.’
‘What for?’
‘For the friendship you have offered to me.’
‘And thank you for our chats.’ Ted’s voice affected casualness. ‘And if ever you feel you can face Ashford, you’ll always be welcome in our house.’ He added sheepishly, ‘And I’m sorry if I offended you yesterday. I was a bit bladdered – middle of the day as well – should be ashamed!’
‘Not at all.’ Peter smiled. Their conversation had broken down barriers that could have lasted years. ‘As I said, thank you.’
Ted turned to usher the children out onto the path. ‘Come on, wife,’ he ordered in mock officiousness, laughing and staggering slightly as Ellen gave him an indignant shove.
She put her arms around Mary. ‘I wish you were coming with us.’
There was something in her eyes that made Mary say, ‘You’ll be all right?’
‘I’m fine.’ Ellen crossed her eyes and grinned. ‘Bright as a button, me. Right, no more yacking, let’s get the show on the road.’ As she turned away Mary saw she’d begun to cry; large beads of glistening tears. ‘I’ll miss Tom too, you know. It’s easy to take things for granted, like I always knew he was here.’ She gave a loud spluttering cough and shepherded Linda and William towards the gate. ‘Come on, Ted, or it’ll be dark before we get home.’
Mary lowered her voice. ‘Look after her, Ted. She’s not as hard as she pretends to be.’
‘I know, don’t worry.’ He walked away. ‘Tell Jean ta-ra for us, will you? We’ll probably see her tomorrow when she gets home. Tell her I’m sorry there’s no room in the van.’
‘I will.’
‘Course, she could have travelled in the back like you offered, Ted,’ Ellen called over her shoulder as she ushered the children into the van. ‘Bit of flour doesn’t hurt anybody.’
Mary’s lips twitched at the thought.
Ted turned back to hug Mary. ‘Thanks Mary,’ he said, ‘I owe you.’ He held her at arm’s length.
‘Give over.’
‘You’ve got a good man there, lass,’ he whispered.
‘I know.’ Mary smiled. ‘And you’re probably right about what you said. I should let Jean sort things out for herself. She wouldn’t thank me for interfering in her marriage … and Patrick certainly wouldn’t.’
Ted nodded. ‘You have to look after yourself, love. You’ve gone through a hard time as well.’
They hugged one last time.
With Peter’s arm over her shoulder she waved until the van disappeared round the corner. The lonel
iness the sudden loss of their noisy presence provoked was almost painful. Everything’s changed, she thought. Oh Tom, I am really going to miss you too. Looking back at the cottage she felt that all at once she couldn’t face going in.
Then Jean appeared at the door. ‘Nice to have a bit of peace,’ she called. ‘Fancy another brew?’
Chapter 27
‘I have to say the grounds have never looked so good.’ The Minister pulled an apologetic smile. ‘But that’s all there is at the moment, I’m afraid. There doesn’t seem to be anything else for you to do.’ He handed a pound note to Peter. ‘I’ll let you know when … as soon as … something else crops up.’ He beamed. ‘Good job, good job, well done, well done – now must dash, a christening this morning. Yes, yes, a christening.’ Muttering to himself he ambled back to the church, stopping now and again at various graves.
When he reached the last one before the porch, a grey headstone that was slightly sunken in the ground he turned back. ‘Sam Jones,’ he called in a bright voice, his hand resting on it, ‘he was the church gardener for thirty years or so I’m told. Of course he did it for the love of his work – wouldn’t take a penny, I believe.’
Peter pretended he hadn’t heard. He picked up his shears and knelt down to trim around the graves. Tugging at a particular stubborn clump of weeds he studied his hands. There were cuts and callouses on his skin but he didn’t mind. They were the hands of the gardener he’d become, not the doctor he once was.
But now he was worried. Would he get work with Tom gone? It didn’t seem so. This was the only job he’d had since then. He shook his head, trying to shift the worry.
Packing away the tools in the old shed at the back of the church he pondered on what to do. He walked slowly along the path and perched on the stone wall by the lych-gate, folding the pound note into small squares. He looked up as two women passed by. The younger one’s smile swiftly faded, vanquished by a dig in her ribs by the older woman.
Peter watched them until they turned the corner at the end of the church wall, his lower lip caught between his teeth. He needed to do something. Mary couldn’t be the only one to bring in money, his pride wouldn’t accept that.
He reluctantly acknowledged his only option: he must ask Alun and Alwyn if they could give him some gardening jobs. Tom had sometimes taken on work they hadn’t time for. They were his only hope. For Mary’s sake he had to try.
He jumped down from the wall and made his way to the outskirts of the village. Looking up towards the top of Ellex Hill he could just see the roof of the twins’ house. He’d never been but Mary had once pointed it out to him.
The air was humid and difficult to breathe as he climbed slowly, back hunched, his knees bent against the steep gradient of the lane. When he reached the top he turned and looked out over the sea to the horizon. On fine days he supposed the views would be breath-taking. Today there was a heat mist rolling in shrouding the cliffs and the beach far below. He took off his cap and wiped his forehead with his arm before turning to face the path leading to the house. If he didn’t know better he would have thought it was empty. No curtains hung in the widows, the framework and the door were badly in need of repair and paint, on the corner the drainpipe hung broken and grass sprouted from the guttering. Mary had told him the twins didn’t bother about their home but still … he stared, a slight flicker of surprised humour in him.
He swallowed, his pride sticking in his throat like a piece of dried stollen. Begging for work wasn’t something he’d done before and he resented it now.
For an instant he remembered the time he was revered as the doctor in his village in Germany. ‘Dummkopf,’ he muttered, twisting his cap in his hands. Those times had gone. He strode up the path and around the side of the house.
The plot of land at the back was immaculate. Canes steepled together were entwined by runner beans, the rows of dark red-veined leaves of beetroot gave way to the shoots of onions and inside the greenhouse was a mass of tomato plants. In the far corner, in the middle of lines of the ferny tops of carrots and the broad leaves of spring cabbage, a homemade scarecrow, wearing an old plaid shirt, black trousers and tattered brown trilby, leaned to one side, its clothes barely moving in the light breeze.
Peter looked around. The pitch roof of a large shed poked up from behind a trellis. ‘Hello?’
Alun appeared first, his tangled black hair flopping over his eyes, a tray of small potatoes in his arms. ‘Peter.’ He grinned and Peter gave an inner sigh of relief. At least he was welcome here. Before Tom’s funeral he’d been lulled into a false sense that he would be accepted by everyone in Llamroth. He’d learned since he was wrong.
Balancing the tray Alun shook his hand. ‘Alwyn, come here, see. We have a visitor.’
Alwyn emerged from the shed wearing a trilby with more holes in it than the one the scarecrow wore. There was a piece of coarse string fastened through the loops of his trousers. He wiped his hand on his jacket and held it out for Peter to shake but said nothing.
‘You are busy?’ Peter shoved his cap inside his overall pocket and made a sweeping gesture with his arm. ‘It is most impressive.’
The two men looked self-conscious and shuffled their boots on the gravelled path but he could tell they were pleased. Alwyn took out a large grubby handkerchief and blew his nose, peering over it at Peter.
‘Just a visit, is it?’ Alun asked.
‘Yes. No.’ Peter faltered. ‘I was – I was hoping for some work?’
‘We can have a chat about it?’ Alun glanced at Alwyn who nodded, handkerchief still held to his face. ‘We always like to have a chat about things first, don’t we brother?’
Alwyn moved his head again.
‘Hold on a minute.’ Alun put the tray down. ‘Mr Howells?’ A burly man, in a tightly fastened dark blue suit and shirt and tie appeared at the back of Alwyn, his florid face devoid of expression. Peter smiled a greeting. The man snubbed him. Putting on his hat he glanced at Alun. ‘How much?’
‘Thruppence,’ Alun said curtly. He’d noticed the snub.
‘Bloody expensive.’
Alun bent down and picked the tray up. ‘No then?’ He tilted his head.
‘You know I need them. Visitors have ordered them for their tea tonight.’ Grumbling the man fumbled in his wallet. He dropped three coppers in Alun’s outstretched hand and took the tray of potatoes.
Alun turned back to Peter. ‘Perhaps you could cut the grass on the green in the village? It’s a job we do for the Council.’
Peter felt gratitude run through him. ‘Ja, good. I will do that.’
‘The Rushville?’ Alwyn offered, his voice almost a whisper.
‘The old folk’s home? Yes,’ Alun said, ‘there’s a few jobs you could do for them, like. We keep telling them we’re better on the repairing side of things but they still keep asking us. Tom used to do all that for us. So if you…?’
‘I will. Thank you.’
The man stopped before he turned the corner of the cottage. ‘Don’t send that Kraut to do any work for me. I don’t want him anywhere near my place. Don’t want my guests upset by the sight of him.’
The three men pretended not to have heard. Then Alwyn heaved a deep sigh. He walked along the path to the man and took hold of the tray. There was a short tussle before Alwyn jerked it out of the man’s hands. ‘Here’s your money back, Mr Howells.’ He pushed the coins into the man’s palm. ‘Get your tatties somewhere else.’
They waited until they heard the man’s car start up.
‘Tom was a good friend to us,’ Alwyn said. ‘He made us see how we felt about the war wasn’t wrong. Not like our family back home.’
That was a surprise. ‘I did not know. You were conscientious objectors also? Tom did not say…’ His words trailed away. Uncertain how to continue, he said, ‘It is of no concern to me but Tom told me you were his good friends.’ He flapped the paper. ‘And now, I see, you are also my good friends.’
‘Aye, well, mus
t get on.’ Alwyn shifted sideways, embarrassed. He pushed his hair away from his forehead and giving Peter a wide grin which crinkled the skin around his dark eyes. ‘Give us a shout if you need any help, see?’
‘Aye, must get on,’ Alun said in a low voice, his face mirroring his brother’s and revealing a gap in his large teeth, into which he now fitted the empty pipe he’d been holding in his hands.
Peter swallowed. He was a proud man. Tormented since Tom’s death that he would have to live on Mary’s earnings he didn’t know how to tell the twins what it meant to him. All he could say was, ‘Thank you, thank you to both of you.’ He shook hands with each of them.
Walking away from the house, self-respect flooded through him. It will be all right, he thought.
Chapter 28
The guard nonchalantly slammed each carriage door he passed. He turned and walked backwards, checking there were no latecomers. Then he blew his whistle and the train juddered, a rush of steam spurting out from under the engine.
Jean slid the window down. ‘Let me know when you’ve decided on the date.’ She didn’t smile.
Mary was fully aware Jean still didn’t approve of Peter. At least he isn’t a bully. She instantly regretted the thought. ‘We will,’ she said. ‘And you take care. Remember what we talked about.’
Jean didn’t answer.
‘Stay in touch.’ Mary wondered for the tenth time that morning whether she should be going back with her. It was too late now.
They watched the train shunt slowly backwards on the rust-pitted iron rails; past the end of the platform and out of the station. Two hundred yards away, it connected with the main line opposite the red and cream signal box whose low line of windows flashed in the sun. Squinting, Mary could see the dark shadow of the man inside moving around, pulling on the levers. She dropped her gaze to watch the points sliding across the rails. The signalman appeared at the top of the wooden steps to lift a hand to the driver. It seemed to Mary that he also returned Jacqueline’s frantic wave. The little girl’s face was a pale blob now but Mary knew she was crying and she swallowed her own tears.
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