A Welcome in the Valley

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

  ‘Phew, it was ’ot in there,’ Nelly said. ‘Me coat was steamin’ like it was on fire.’

  ‘It’s a beautiful night, so sweet-scented and warm now the rain has stopped.’

  ‘And the moon’s tryin’ to shine for us. Fancy that.’

  ‘I’ll walk you home, it’s on my way.’

  ‘Ta. That’d be nice.’ Nelly began to hum one of the tunes they had sung, and the tramp whistled an accompaniment. Cars passed at intervals and added a shushing sound in the wet road, but apart from those things, the night was still and silent. When they came to a part of the road where there was no pavement, the tramp warned Nelly to keep close in.

  ‘These cars come a bit close, especially where the road bends. Shorten the leads and put the dogs on the inside. We don’t want them hurt.’

  Clumsily, Nelly did what he suggested, but bending over made her giddy and she had to stand a while before walking on.

  They strolled up the lane, Nelly still humming a tune. ‘It’s bin a lovely evenin’,’ she said as she stopped and leaned over a fence to look into the field. ‘It ended nice, you walkin’ me ’ome. Tell yer what! Stay the night why don’t yer?’

  The tramp shook his head. ‘Thank you, but no. I must move on.’

  ‘I won’t keep yer. You can sleep on me armchair by the fire an’ get up in the mornin’ an’ make yerself a cuppa an’ go off whenever you like.’

  ‘It’s kind of you, Nelly. Really kind. But there’s no need.’

  ‘I can’t say it proper, like you or Mrs French could, but you’ve given me a right royal time, even if we was thrown out of a pub.’ She laughed her loud laugh at the memory. ‘It’d be a sort of thanks, if you’d stay. That armchair is real comfy.’ She stood, leaning on the fence, looking at him, enjoying his company, not wanting him to go. ‘I’ve slept there a few times meself, when I’ve bin too drowsy to get up an’ go to bed.’

  ‘Like in the frosty cold, when the fire roars and glows red, and the wind howls and you’re warm and safe inside?’

  ‘Yes,’ she smiled as she remembered. ‘The dogs at me feet, the kettle singin’. It’s as if movin’ would —’

  ‘Break the spell?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’d like to accept your invitation, but…’

  ‘Good. I’m glad.’ She touched his arm. ‘Listen, you can ’ear the stream!’ Her face held a reverent expression, she was in awe of the wonders of the night. She spoke in a barely heard whisper. ‘It’s that quiet, you could ’ear a sparrow fart.’

  The tramp chuckled softly. ‘Do you think they do?’

  ‘Everyone does, except Evie of course!’

  They walked on, the dogs pulling now, impatient to get home. As they reached the gate, Nelly stopped. The oil-lamp was lit, its light shining through the open door and reflecting on the wet ground. She dragged the gate open and at the same time a voice called, ‘Is that you, mother?’

  ‘Bloody ’ell. It’s Evie!’ Nelly gasped.

  From behind them, Tim said, ‘Mother-in-law, where have you been?’

  ‘Yes, it’s me, your mum, ’oo else did you expect?’ In an effort to sound sharp, Nelly stumbled over the word.

  ‘Mother! You are drunk!’ Evie ran up the path as Tim came through the gate. ‘And who is that with you? The man who was thrown out of a public house an hour ago I suppose.’

  ‘We wasn’t thrown out, was we, George? We was refused entry,’ she laughed.

  Timothy sounded ominously calm. ‘Where have you been, mother-in-law?’

  ‘Drinkin’ an’ playin’ darts and ’avin’ a sing-song, with me friend George. Call me Nelly, why don’t yer?’

  ‘You’d better come back with us for tonight. We’ll sort it out in the morning,’ Timothy said.

  ‘No thanks, dearie. George ’as seen me safe ’ome. I’ll be perfectly all right. Goodnight.’ She spoke the words slowly, sounding every letter. ‘Don’t worry about me.’

  ‘Don’t worry?’ Evie snapped. ‘We’ve been searching for you all evening. What’s in that case?’

  ‘A case,’ Nelly giggled. ‘An’ a couple of bottles for tomorrer.’

  ‘Come on, mother-in-law.’ Tim tried to take her arm. ‘You,’ he said to the tramp, ‘I think you had better disappear before I report the presence of a vagrant.’

  ‘’E talks posh too, George, just like you,’ Nelly said. ‘And I’m not goin’ with you two neither. Standin’ on me own two feet I am.’

  ‘You’re too drink-filled to do that!’ retorted Evie sharply.

  ‘Come and take her other arm, Evelyn.’

  Nelly began to struggle and shout abuse as they forced her to go with them. She clung to the gate, which finally gave up and down it went, taking Nelly and Evie with it.

  ‘Now look what you done. Vandals!’ Nelly shouted as she struggled to get up.

  ‘We know best, mother,’ Evie said firmly gripping her mother’s plump arm. ‘It’s painfully obvious you can’t be left.’

  Nelly was suddenly defeated. She was too tired to argue.

  ‘All right. I’m comin’, but only for tonight. Let me give George ’is change back. Asked me to mind it for ’im ’e did.’ She walked to where the tramp had stood watching, wanting to interfere but knowing his intervention would only make things worse. ‘’Ere,’ she said, pretending to give him a few coins. ‘Stay the night like I promised. There’s some fat bacon in the larder what I got off ration, ’elp yerself.’ She turned back to Evie and shouted at the top of her voice, ‘An I’m takin’ me dogs!’

  The tramp held her arm for a moment. ‘I’ll stay, and thank you,’ he whispered, ‘but tell me, why did you call me George?’

  ‘Never got round to findin’ out yer real name, couldn’t tell them that! You look like a George. What is yer name?’

  He chuckled. ‘George will do. Goodnight, Nelly.’

  * * *

  In the room above the shop, Amy’s children were playing Monopoly and arguing about the unfairness of charging the rent for a newly acquired hotel, when the doorbell announced a visitor. Amy glanced at the clock; seven-thirty. She sighed and put the dishes from the remains of their meal into the sink and called, ‘Go on, one of you answer that. It’s probably one of your friends.’

  ‘Oh Mam,’ Margaret protested. ‘If I go, Freddy will cheat!’

  ‘All right, take the rest of the dishes off the table. Both of you!’

  She went downstairs and opened the door to see her sister, sheltering under an umbrella against the heavy rain.

  ‘Prue, I didn’t expect to see you. Come in.’ Prue always rang to arrange a visit, reminding her more casual sister that it ‘wasn’t done’ to call unannounced.

  ‘Can we have a word in private?’ Prue asked, shaking her umbrella before closing the door.

  ‘The kids are here.’ Amy shrugged. ‘If it’s that private we could sit in the store-room. Although it’s lovely having so much extra room in the shop, I do miss the room behind. My snug, I called it. Handy when the kids had friends in.’ She was nervous, talking fast, afraid of what Prue wanted to say. She looked at her sister, but could read nothing from her expression.

  ‘Couldn’t the children come down to the store-room for a while?’ Prue asked.

  ‘I can’t ask them to do that. Playing Monopoly they are. And why should they be disturbed? Come up and say “hello”, then we’ll bring a cup of tea down. We can light the electric fire, it’s quite cosy really.’

  It was clear to Amy that something was worrying Prue and she dreaded to be told what it was. She watched as Prue sat upright on the edge of a chair, and only answered in monosyllables when Margaret or Freddy spoke to her. Yet she seemed in no hurry to go downstairs to explain her problem. She took her time over drinking her tea, which Amy had suggested taking with them, and asked for a second cup and Amy knew it was an excuse to delay.

  As fear that it was Harry and herself who were the subject of the forthcoming talk faded, Amy began to feel irritated and finally took
the unfinished drink and said firmly, ‘Come on, time’s passing. I’ll have to be getting these two to bed soon.’ She went to the door and stood, waiting for Prue to join her.

  ‘Get them to bed? They’re big enough to do that for themselves I’d have thought.’

  ‘Yes, well, I like to be involved. Come on.’

  Everything about Prue was thin, Amy thought as she sat waiting for her sister to speak. Thin hair, thin face, thin nose, body and feet, and thin hands which fidgeted now as she tried to find the words to begin. When she did speak, the words were a shock that made Amy’s head reel.

  ‘You think Harry’s being unfaithful?’ Amy gasped.

  ‘I’m not sure, but something about him the other night when he came home all upset and irritable, it set me wondering. I thought about the hours he works – boasted about that I have. And about the times I haven’t been able to reach him at his office when he said he’d been there. Little things that never worried me before. But now I’ve started thinking…’

  Her voice trailed off and Amy tried to gather her wits sufficiently to say something. Anything to break the silence that was agitating the air with accusations. She felt sick.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ she asked.

  ‘I think I’ve been a good wife. He’s never had to look for a clean shirt, or wait for a meal. The house is well kept.’ She was silent for a moment, and Amy began to shake, afraid of what was coming. Dreading the charge she could not deny.

  ‘I helped build up his business you know. I was more than a secretary. I ran the business during the war, when he was in the R.A.F. He’s got no complaints.’ She stared into space for a while, memories tormenting her, forcing herself to go on. ‘I know he – doesn’t want me—’ She turned her face away, her voice dropping to a whisper. ‘You know – like that.’ She could not say the words.

  But Amy could. ‘You mean you don’t sleep together… have intercourse.’ She could not stop the feeling of relief and selfish pleasure at the knowledge that she wasn’t sharing Harry with his wife. ‘How long since you did?’ she asked, again for selfish reasons.

  ‘It’s never been much of a thing. Harry doesn’t bother me much. Never has. I thought he was just not interested. Not every man is, you know,’ she added defiantly, ‘in spite of what you hear.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Amy asked and a wave of pity came over her as she looked at the stiff, unbending woman she was cheating in the most cruel way. ‘Prue, can’t you talk to him?’

  ‘I want to change.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I want to throw away all my sensible clothes. Have my hair styled properly. Change myself so he’ll see me as something more than a good reliable housekeeper.’ She looked at Amy, a straight, unwavering stare that unnerved Amy and made her shake. What was coming next? Was it accusation she saw now in those cold blue eyes? She held her breath and wilted under their glare.

  ‘I want you to help me keep him,’ Prue said. Amy jumped up and walked to the door to stare unseeing, out into the rain. What irony, she thought. I can’t help her and I can’t refuse either. She must talk to Harry.

  ‘You introduced us,’ Prue went on. ‘It’s the only good thing that’s ever happened to me. I worked for him, became his secretary, while you and he were going out together, remember?’

  I remember every moment, Amy thought. I remember telling him I was pregnant and pleading with him to marry me. I remember him refusing, and telling me to get rid of the child. I remember going away and wanting never to see him again. And loving him, wanting him, and coming back to ask him to change his mind. And finding him married, to you.

  ‘Then you went away to Yorkshire for a time and Harry and I found we had a lot in common. We got married just before you came back with the baby and pretended you’d adopted it.’ Even at such a time, Prue could not keep the disapproval from her voice.

  ‘No one believed me for long, did they?’ Amy said. Thanks to you, she thought. No one loved gossip more than Prue, her tongue couldn’t be stopped, even when it was her sister who suffered from it.

  ‘Prue, can’t we talk about this some other time. I have to get Margaret to bed. Stay up ’til midnight she would if I let her.’

  Prue stood up, angry with herself for saying so much.

  ‘Don’t worry. I won’t bother you with my problems again.’ She picked up her umbrella and shook it open.

  ‘Don’t be like that, Prue. Of course I want to help. Just let me get Margaret and Freddy to bed, then we’ll talk some more. All right?’

  ‘Will you come with me to buy some new clothes?’

  ‘Of course I will. And go with you to a good hairdresser. But I still think you should talk to Harry.’

  ‘You haven’t said once that I could be mistaken,’ Prue accused.

  ‘That’s why I think you should talk to Harry,’ Amy said swiftly.

  She could not make herself say there was nothing to worry about. Yet she hoped that Harry, given sufficient warning, might do just that. How is this going to end? she wondered. She felt some gratification at knowing that now Harry would have to do something. She wondered what it would be. Would he play safe? Concentrate on reassuring Prue that all was well? Or admit to loving Amy, his bit on the side who had been his lover for more than fifteen years.

  ‘Freddy,’ she said when she had seen Prue off, ‘I have to go out, only for half an hour. Stay with Margaret, will you? Read her a story. Then, when I get back, I’ll get us some chips for a treat. All right?’

  Amy caught the bus that passed Prue and Harry’s house, sitting against the window on the right hand side to peer anxiously through the rain. She wanted to see Harry before Prue spoke to him, give him a chance to prepare. If his car was outside his house she was too late. The rain made it difficult to see, she was not sure. She sat in an agony of suspense until the bus reached The Drovers, and she got out. Harry had gone back to spending a couple of hours there each night, before going home.

  She went into the bar and saw him straight away. ‘Oh, Harry,’ she whispered, ‘I’ve had the most awful hour imaginable.’ She told him about Prue’s visit and at once he stood up.

  ‘I’ll go home straight away,’ he said. Then he changed his mind. ‘That is, after you’ve had a drink. You look as if you need one.’

  ‘What are we going to do?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m leaving her, Amy. It’s time I faced up to the fact that my life is less than full and happy. Look at me now; spending time in here, rather than go home. It’s madness. I’ve been a fool to go on like this for so long. I love you, Amy. I want to spend my time with you. We’ll be married. I’ll give Freddy my name.’

  ‘Margaret too?’

  ‘Of course Margaret too. She’s yours, and you are all my family. Oh, Amy why have we wasted all these years?’

  They went to the store-room near one of his building sites and made love. Ignoring the discomfort, and dirt, they both undressed and gave themselves in a celebration of the freedom to come. Then he drove her home.

  Amy bought the chips she had promised Freddy and Margaret and woke them to the fun of midnight feast. ‘Not quite midnight,’ she said excitedly, ‘but we can pretend.’

  She lay awake for most of the night, dreaming of the future that was rosy at last. Forgetting the twice Harry had let her down, convinced that this time, he would be strong.

  * * *

  Harry drove the short distance home full of excitement. I’m like a sixteen-year-old on his first date, he thought, his eyes shining, his face wearing a wide smile. A new life is opening up for me, a life with Amy and the kids. It would take time of course but he and Amy would legally adopt Freddy and Margaret. Freddy would have his father’s name at last. Freddy, his son, who was already planning to join the firm. Harry Beynon and Son. His smile widened.

  It would be hard for Prue of course. He didn’t relish telling her. But it wasn’t as if she ever loved me, he excused his forthcoming conduct easily. She just likes
having someone to cook and clean for. I’ll buy her a house; I can easily afford it. That will make her happy. She’ll probably move away somewhere, perhaps to the sea. Yes, give her a house and she’ll be happy. It’s more than she’d have had if she hadn’t married me. He parked the car and went in.

  He went into the kitchen, where his meal was neatly set out. The cruet in the centre of the table, a serviette across his side-plate. He did not say anything until he had eaten. Prue, as usual, did not acknowledge his arrival except by placing the beautifully presented meal in front of him. Soon, he thought happily, I won’t be eating alone. Amy’s lovely face will be opposite me, chatting, making me feel wanted and alive.

  ‘That was good, as usual,’ he said.

  Prue only nodded. Accepting praise was as difficult as giving it.

  ‘Sorry about the other night,’ Harry said, wondering how to bring the conversation around to his plans. He couldn’t say it straight out, he had to work his way up slowly. Prue went on piling up plates and saucepans, waiting for him to say something more.

  ‘The truth is, I’d had a damned awful day. I lost over ninety pounds on a man who had some work done, then vanished. The house had been sold and I can’t find out where he is.’

  ‘Would that be Bert Harris?’ she asked. ‘I did leave a note warning you that he was slow paying and suspicious in his excuses.’ Harry noticed the sharpness of her voice more strongly tonight. Oh to be free of you, he sighed.

  ‘Should have taken more notice of you. There were several other things too. I was angry when I came in. Shouldn’t have taken it out on you though. Sorry about that.’

  ‘Was it something about the Luther Collins’ account?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘No. Why?’

  ‘Well, I can’t find any references to him paying you, and the amount of goods listed as being used was far too small for the work you did. A fiddle, was it?’

  ‘Where have you been looking?’ A niggle of fear began to stifle the happiness of a few moments ago. ‘Muddled you are. Got the wrong information altogether I bet.’