A Welcome in the Valley

by A Welcome in the Valley (retail) (epub)

  Most of the afternoon was spent cleaning the cottage. She lifted up the coconut matting, and the heavy rag mat, and scrubbed the flagstone floor. She black-leaded the grate, and whitened the inside of the oven. The rag mat was lifted with great difficulty onto the clothes line and beaten until the garden was lost in a cloud of dust and dog’s hair. ‘Like a bleedin’ eclipse of the sun,’ she muttered. ‘Still, Evie’s sure to check, so I got to get it done.’ She took an old distorted tennis racquet and continued her beating.

  Hanging on the back of the chicken shed was an oval-shaped galvanised bath. She lifted it down and, dragging it on a length of carpet, brought it into the cottage. Two kettles and the stewpan full of boiling water, plus a lot of cold, carried, bucketful by bucketful from the tap in the lane, gave her a good bath, which she lavishly scented with bath salts. She picked up her book and glasses, and the magazines and papers she had collected with pictures and articles about the forthcoming coronation, and settled herself for a long soak.

  On the day Evie, Tim and Oliver were due to arrive, Nelly borrowed the key from Fay, who still held it, and went to light the fire. The day was dull and the sight of a blazing fire would be cheering. Nelly guessed Evie would need something to brighten her mood. Reading between the lines of the stilted letter, Nelly knew her daughter would have preferred to keep the fifty or so miles between herself and her mother.

  She was still there when the van arrived with the furniture and she watched as the men laid the carpets in the living room and the two bedrooms that were going to be immediately used. Blue, she noticed for young Oliver, mottled and rather dark. His furniture was dark brown and highly polished. No sign of him being only eight, she thought with disappointment.

  The car with its three occupants came as the last of the furniture was being unloaded. Evie stopped when she saw a red-faced and very tired Nelly waiting for her at the door, then walked to her, put an arm around her and kissed her, pulling away before Nelly could overdo the greeting.

  Tim’s eyes showed more pleasure and as he walked in and saw the room already looking like home, with the curtains up and the fire burning brightly, he thanked her.

  ‘Mother-in-law, that was very good of you. You must have worked very hard. Thank you.’

  ‘You ain’t got a proper kettle so I couldn’t ’ave no tea ready. One of them electric ones,’ she explained. ‘They don’t simmer like a proper one. Put it on now, shall I?’

  She went into the kitchen and switched on the kettle, nervously straightening an already straight tray. She had only nodded and smiled at Oliver. She felt shy of the small, neatly dressed boy and he obviously wouldn’t welcome a display of affection from a woman he could hardly remember. Best I wait, she had decided, when she noticed how he had hung back from her when he had stepped out of the car.

  He was thin for his age, she noticed, and dressed as if he’d been prepared for a shop window in one of the big shops in Swansea. A suit. Gawd ’elp us! On a kid like that. And a bow tie! Even his socks, which were ribbed and turned over at the top to show a coloured pattern, were dead straight, the rib in perfect lines. His shoes were polished like Mrs French’s windows and his hair was pressed flat against his head, the white parting adding to the severity of his expression.

  He stepped hesitantly into the kitchen and she asked, not looking at him, ‘Want tea, do yer? Or don’t yer mum allow it? Fussy, some mums, aren’t they?’

  ‘I would like a cup of tea please, Grandmother. Mother does allow it, but only very weak and with plenty of milk.’ The careful little voice chilled her and she doubted if she and this strange child would ever be friends.

  ‘Sit yerself down, dearie an’ I’ll bring it for yer.’

  ‘No need, Grandmother. I can manage.’

  Nelly looked at him. Grandmother. Blimey, that would have to stop.

  ‘Would you like to come an’ see the dogs, while yer mum and dad unpack?’ she asked. She saw him glance at Evie and then shake his head. Nelly turned to her daughter. ‘’E can come fer a while, can’t ’e? Bring ’im back in an hour or so?’

  ‘Not today, Mother. He has unpacking to do too. Perhaps tomorrow.’

  Nelly shrugged. ‘I’ll get out of yer way then.’ She picked up the grey coat she had worn for Fay’s wedding and had put on hoping to please Evie, but Evie had already turned away and was busily unpacking a tea-chest, handing the china it contained to Oliver. Sadly, Nelly let herself out.

  Chapter Four

  Wednesday was half-day closing for Amy’s shop and in-between customers she got herself ready to go out. She always loved dressing up and spent a while deciding which of her large collection of jewellery she would wear. She settled for diamante earrings that dangled in three separate chains, and a necklace that filled the wide neckline of the red dress she had chosen. She fluffed out her thick hair and smiled at her reflection in the mirror. Satisfied with what she saw, she winked at herself and taking a light-weight mac and slipping varnished toes into shoes, she set off.

  Margaret was playing with Oliver, Nelly’s grandson, and Freddy was out, probably fishing. He was almost fifteen, seven years older than his sister, and soon to start work.

  She left food out in case he came back before her, and locking the shop and hiding the key where the children could find it, she ran to the main road to catch the bus for Swansea. She alighted at The Drovers.

  As she went into the bar and looked across to their usual table, her brother-in-law, Harry Beynon waved and stood up to greet her. He rolled his mischievous blue eyes and looked with exaggerated care around the almost empty room and gave her a kiss on the cheek. When she had taken off her mac and slipped into the seat beside him, he kissed her more affectionately on her full lips.

  ‘Darling,’ he said, holding her slightly away from him, ‘you look fantastic.’ They kissed again before Harry went into the next room to the bar and brought her a drink.

  They talked idly for a while, making each other laugh at things that weren’t really funny; happy to be together. Then Amy said, ‘Harry, I have decided to get something done about the shop.’

  ‘At last! Trying to persuade you for months I have.’

  ‘I went to see Prue, foolishly, I realise that now. I thought if I asked her to ask you it might be easier.’

  ‘She hasn’t said anything to me.’

  ‘No, she wouldn’t. Told me I was a scrounger and I shouldn’t have bought the shop if I couldn’t cope.’

  ‘Prue speaks before she thinks.’

  ‘Prue automatically says no before she thinks, and rarely changes her mind!’ She looked at him. ‘Will you do it for me, Harry? Could you tell her it was your idea, and nothing to do with me asking?’

  ‘I think we could come to some arrangement.’ He winked a bright blue, laughing eye and his hand slowly stroked her arm, sliding up and up until his fingers were caressing her body. ‘Where will we go to discuss it?’ he whispered.

  Amy felt desire ache in her breasts and rise from deep inside her body. Harry’s attraction for her grew with age, it did not diminish. She looked at him, her heart beating faster as his hands continued to stroke her skin. His eyes, so blue, were slightly narrowed with laughter which always bubbled below the surface. Enjoyment of life showed in every expression, she had never seen him low, or even angry.

  He was short-sighted and wore rimless glasses which he carried easily. They were a part of his image, an advantage others lacked. His face was tanned, even so early in the year as, besides owning a building company, he worked in it, laying bricks as fast and as efficiently as those he employed, which was why he had the respect of men as well as the admiration of women.

  His brown hair was thinning but even that did not lessen his powerful magnetism, nor detract from the overwhelming confidence of the man. Amy thought he glowed with health and the joy of life. She smiled at him, her long earrings sparkling. Her eyes glowed and promised him a pleasant hour.

  ‘Where?’ he asked quietly.

  �
�Margaret’s out to tea with Evie’s son, but I’m not sure about Freddy. He’s gone fishing somewhere.’ She moved so her breast touched his, moving against him, watching the doorway. ‘If only we dare…’ she said wickedly.

  ‘Amy, you’ll be the death of me! Let’s get out of here before you frighten the landlord and have us banned!’

  He took her hand and leading her to his car, drove off in the direction of Swansea.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she asked, still laughing at his alarm. ‘Nowhere quieter than The Drovers on a Wednesday afternoon, I bet.’

  ‘No, and how he gets away with staying open I’ll never know!’

  ‘Favoured customers only, and they won’t talk,’ she said. ‘Go back, shall we?’

  ‘The office is still on site at Greenways estate. It’s well out of sight, so be patient, you wanton woman. We’re going there.’

  ‘Why?’ she asked innocently.

  ‘To talk about your shop widening, what else?’ He glanced at her, laughing softly.

  * * *

  Oliver was unhappy. Besides being the son of the Headmaster, he was shy, and he soon became the butt of the other boys’ humour. Sitting in the playground and watching the other boys from his class throwing cigarette cards against the wall, or playing marbles into holes dug in the earth around the trees, he felt completely isolated. Even Margaret Prichard, who was his friend out of school, rarely spoke to him. She was unwilling to step outside the circle of her friends and support him for fear of being cut off from them as well.

  Nelly saw him occasionally as she walked the dogs, and guessed what he was suffering. He rarely came to see her, and one day she called at the house and asked him to come and see what she was doing with her broody hen. With little show of enthusiasm he politely accepted her invitation to call.

  He came after school, still wearing the suit and bow tie which Evie insisted he ‘used up’ for play. Nelly opened the side door of the chicken coop and peered inside.

  ‘See that stupid ’en?’ She pointed to one of the nest-boxes where one of the Buff Leghorns that was paler than the rest, its wattles pink instead of the bright red of a laying hen, was sitting contentedly. ‘Off lay she is. Gorn broody so I’m goin’ to give ’er somethin’ to do.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Oliver said, bending down to look into the strange-smelling coop with its row of nest-boxes.

  ‘I’m goin’ to let ’er do a bit of ’atching. I’ve bin to see about buyin’ day-old chicks – and one night, when it’s dark, I’ll take out the potatoes she’s sitting on, and put some chicks around ’er. She’ll think they’re ’ers and she’ll look after ’em well.’

  She explained about giving the hen some potatoes to sit on to deceive her into thinking she had hatched out the chicks when they arrived, and that placing them at night was a precaution against them being pecked.

  ‘We’ll collect the chicks tomorrow; I’ll ask yer mum if you can stay a bit late, so you can put the chicks into the box. Don’t forget to tell yer teacher what you’re doing,’ she hinted. ‘The class will be jealous and want to know more, I bet yer.’

  The next evening, Oliver’s eyes were brighter than Nelly had ever seen them as he picked up the fragile little creatures and carefully placed them one by one into the warm nest box, where the hen immediately lifted herself to make room for them beneath her fluffed-out feathers against her warm breast.

  As Nelly had cleverly surmised, things were easier for Oliver, once he had something interesting to talk about, and the teasing stopped, particularly the nick-name of Dirty Nelly’s boy, and Smelly Nelly’s Ollie. Boys pleaded with him to let them see the hen and her chicks and he watched their progress with a proprietorial interest.

  He began to call sometimes before going to school, knowing she would be up and about earlier than most. And gradually he became less shy with her.

  ‘I was just goin’ up to the castle with the dogs. Cornin’?’ she asked one morning. ‘They’ll be startin’ to get things ready fer the coronation party soon.’

  ‘Yes please, Grandmother.’

  Nelly looked at the neatly dressed little boy and sighed, ‘Call me Gran, why don’t yer?’

  ‘Mother doesn’t like it. And – she doesn’t like you calling me Ollie either,’ he added nervously. ‘She told me to tell you.’

  ‘Yes, like that, your mum. Insists ’er name is Evelyn, yet I ’ad ’er christened Evie. That’s ’er proper name. She won’t ’ave it though. So I got to call you Oliver, ’ave I? Well I will, on one condition.’

  Oliver looked at her expectantly.

  ‘On condition you calls me Gran. Only when we’re alone though,’ she added quickly as he began to disagree. ‘Our secret, okay?’

  ‘She says I mustn’t say okay either,’ he gave a slight grin. ‘Well we won’t, at least, not when she’s listenin’!’

  They walked through the trees, Nelly pointing out where she had found a thrush’s nest and where she went for the wild flowers that filled the vases, cups and jam-jars in her cottage. ‘Stand and listen, and sometimes you can ’ear the baby birds twitterin’.’ They stood for a while and she was pleased to see his serious face open in delight as the soft sound reached his ear.

  ‘Can I bring them food sometime?’

  ‘’Course you can, dearie, but not yet. Best to let them train the youngsters to find their own proper food. When winter comes, then they’ll be right glad of some ’elp. I got a robin what comes right into me kitchen, ignorin’ the dogs, big soft things they are, and cocks ’is ’ead as if sayin’, “come on Nelly, you’re late with me breakfast”.’

  Oliver laughed and for the first time since he had arrived, Nelly felt able to put an arm around his shoulders and gently hug him. ‘You an’ me, we’ll ’ave some fine old times, won’t we?’ She winked a brown eye. ‘Some we might even tell yer mum about!’

  At the castle site the grass had been cut. The bracken, that seemed to disappear temporarily during March and April, was forcing itself up strongly through the ground. A small grass-cutter stood half under the new roof of the kitchens and was covered with a piece of tarpaulin. Rocks had been built into walls and painted white. The ruined buildings had also been given a coat of whitewash and the difference was startling.

  ‘It’s a real castle!’ Oliver said. ‘Almost in your back garden!’ Nelly sat while he and the dogs ran in and out of the old ruin, climbing walls and struggling through openings. When he had finished exploring, Nelly thought his clothes were a mess but his face was that of a happy, normal boy.

  ‘I’ll walk ’ome with yer, an’ explain about yer suit,’ she said, half-heartedly brushing the white dust and brown dirt from it.

  ‘It’s all right, Gran; it’s only my playing suit. I’ll be changing to go to school.’

  ‘A suit fer playing! Bloody ’ell! An’ I bet yer mum says I mustn’t say that neither! Come on, time for a drink of Granny Luke’s ’ome made pop, then we’ll get you ’ome.’

  Nelly glanced into the Castle kitchen, wondering about the man she still thought of as Alan. The bed made from bracken and heather was gone. Thrown out no doubt by the men who had cleaned the place ready for the party.

  While Nelly made a cup of tea and poured some lemonade for Oliver, she gave him a comic to read. She watched as he slowly made his way across the page, his finger lingering a long time beneath each word.

  ‘What’s that say, Ollie, I can’t find me glasses,’ she said pointing to a simple headline in a local paper. The boy shrugged and looked away. It was what Nelly had suspected, Oliver’s reading was far behind for his age.

  Nelly opened Evie’s back door and called before walking in. The table was set for breakfast. She waited apprehensively for Evie to react to the state of Oliver’s clothes, but Evie just hugged him and said calmly, ‘Have you had a good time, Oliver? You went out very early this morning. Go and wash yourself and change ready for school.’ She looked at Nelly. ‘Will you stay, Mother?’

  Nelly shook her h
ead. ‘Best get back, I’ve got the dogs tied to yer fence…’

  ‘Do you have to bring them? Dirty creatures.’

  ‘They ain’t. Evie, is Timmy in? I’ll say ’ello before I go.’

  ‘Timothy is upstairs, preparing some time-tables. I’ll call him.’

  ‘Evie,’ Nelly stopped her before she reached the door. ‘Can’t you be more, friendly-like? I’m yer mum, and we should be easy with each other. I’ll try not to do the things you don’t like. I’ll even try and call ’im Timothy, but—’ Words failed and she shrugged.

  Evie did not reply, she went into the hall and called her husband.

  ‘He’ll be about ten minutes, Mother.’

  ‘Tell ’im not to ’urry on my account. I’m off. See yer soon, Oliver,’ she shouted. She untied the dogs and walked sadly down the path, through the trees behind the house and up the hill towards home.

  At the top of the field she saw Fay walking towards her. She thought Fay had seen her, then the shining, blonde head bent quickly as Fay seemed to be searching the ground.

  ‘’Ello, dearie, lost somethin’ ’ave yer? Help you look for awhile if you like.’

  ‘Morning Nelly. Yes, I’ve lost my watch. It’s only an old one but I’d like it back.’

  ‘Now if it was a bone, me dogs would ’elp. ’ Nelly laughed. She began moving the tufts of grass with her feet, peering between the clumps. ‘Not lookin’ fer Alan, are yer?’ she said quietly. ‘As if you’d be that stupid,’ she laughed. Fay only smiled and went on looking at the ground.

  They were silent for a while, then Fay asked, ‘Are you going to the meeting tonight to discuss the coronation party arrangements?’

  ‘No dearie! Committees ain’t my style. Besides, I got plans. I’m goin’ for a ride into town, buyin’ a bottle or two of stout maybe, fer me supper. I might even go to the pictures if there ain’t no queue.’