A Welcome in the Valley

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

  ‘Johnny!’

  ‘I suggest we go together and talk to Mrs French.’

  ‘No, I promised Alan —’

  ‘Promises can be broken when it’s in the person’s interest, love. We’ll tell her all we know and go with her to find him, but,’ he looked at Fay, held her firmly and added, ‘But, my lovely, she will go in alone to see him, right?’

  ‘Right. He told me he can only manage people one at a time.’

  It took them a long time to persuade Mrs French and many tears were shed, but eventually she agreed. As she was locking the door, Prue Beynon came out and delayed them.

  ‘Can’t it wait until later?’ Mrs French asked, as Prue began to tell her of her suspected burglary.

  ‘No, I think you ought to be warned. There’s a dangerous man loose. I found a cupboard forced and some papers missing, he obviously thought there would be money in there, and I saw this strange-looking man up on the hill, just standing there he was, staring down at me. I called the police and they’re out there hunting for him still.’

  ‘You what?’ Fay lunged at the woman, hitting her furiously across the face. ‘You stupid, stupid fool!’

  Johnny and Mrs French held her arms and calmed her down, then Johnny explained to Prue that it was a patient, who had walked out of a nearby hospital.

  ‘He injured one of the policemen,’ Prue said. ‘What would he have done to me if I hadn’t called the police?’

  ‘Then it wasn’t Alan,’ Fay said. ‘Thank goodness for that.’

  ‘Alan?’ Prue’s sharp ears had heard the whispered name. ‘Alan, you say?’

  ‘Come on,’ Johnny said, taking Fay’s hand and pulling her towards the car. ‘We have business in town. Private business!’ He glared at Prue. ‘Right?’

  Leaving Prue rubbing her bruised face and watching them curiously, the three of them drove away.

  * * *

  Alan was hiding in the woods above them, in a place he had prepared for the time when he needed to lay low. It was little more than a dip in the ground which he had carefully covered with branches and turfed over, so it blended perfectly with the surrounding area. Inside it were all his possessions. A few clothes, some books, a photograph of himself with his sister and his parents, now bent and cracked and very faded.

  Having decided to go home, he had vacated his room, and given up his job, shutting off all the trailing existence of the past eight years and stepping out to find a place with some permanence and comfort.

  Now all hope of a comeback was gone. Cut off from him in the moment when he had come out of his dream to find he had almost killed the policeman. The hunt had brought back the days of terror when he had been in enemy territory. Kill or be killed. A movement gave you one chance, to deliver the first blow, and it had better be a good one, you won’t have a chance of a second; he could hear the sergeant’s harsh voice insistently urging him to remember. Kill or be killed. In the dream, he had become again that automaton, killing before he could be killed. Now he could never go back. The nightmares were bad enough to have kept him away all these years, but Fay had convinced him that his mother could cope. But not with this.

  He stayed in his hole for two days, and when he was sure the hunt for him had moved away he went out, built a bonfire and destroyed all his belongings and his clothes. Naked, he sat in the ruin of the old castle and took tablet after tablet, he had stored them during his years in the hospital for just such a time as this, when everything was beyond hope.

  He heard piano music in his head and his hands moved as if on a keyboard. The music swelled in his head, and blotted out the pain. As the walls began to crash and crumble around him the music blotted out the sound and became a crescendo that was pure joy.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Leaves were falling and opening out the woodland, allowing the autumn sun to penetrate to the floor and encourage a late showing of grass in patches of brilliant green. The colour above changed with every day, and Nelly revelled in the beauty of the new season.

  She and Oliver wandered through the trees, gathering logs for her winter store, and picked the blackberries that covered the branches of the brambles that abounded in places where few people walked. The garden looked sad, with most of the vegetables gone and the winter digging not yet done. The chickens were searching and scratching for what they could find.

  In the fields behind Amy’s shop they walked with carrier bags in their hands and filled them with the heads of wheat left by the harvesters. This would be a treat for the chickens when their scratching produced nothing more than the occasional worm.

  Oliver often called to see Nelly before school began. Evie’s household was early rising and he usually had time to spare once breakfast and dressing for school had been completed. If Evie noticed him with nothing to do, she would push a book into his hands and insist he read to her while she washed the dishes and made the beds. This morning he escaped.

  The sun was already showing the promise of a pleasant day when he walked past the propped-up gate and walked down the ash path. He was surprised to see the chickens still locked up, and wondered if he should open their door and allow them to scratch in the garden as usual.

  The door was tightly shut too. He had never seen it other than wide open. Even if it was raining the door was not closed. Alarm filled him. Something must be wrong. He called, and knocked on the wooden door, but the only response was the wildly excited barking of the dogs. That should wake her if she’s overslept, he thought, but although he waited until he had barely enough time to get to school, she did not appear.

  He wondered if she had overslept because of a visit to town on the previous evening. Better not say anything to Dad, he decided, and ran off to school.

  At playtime he was unable to join in the games. The offer of some cards to flick against the wall would normally have given him a lot of pleasure, but today, he shook his head and stared at the gate, wishing he were free to go and see if Nelly was all right.

  ‘Is something the matter, Oliver?’ his father asked.

  ‘Nothing – at least…’

  ‘Yes?’ Timothy coaxed.

  ‘It’s Gran. She wasn’t there when I called before school.’

  ‘Out with the dogs?’ Timothy suggested.

  ‘The dogs were inside barking to be let out. The chickens were still locked up.’

  ‘She must have overslept.’ Timothy frowned when he thought what that might mean. ‘We’ll call at lunchtime, shall we? Just you and me?’

  ‘Lunchtime’s a long way off.’

  ‘Forget about it for now, Oliver. She’s all right I’m sure.’

  The bell rang out to call the children into lines to return to their classrooms.

  ‘But if she’s hurt…’ Oliver said, but his father had already turned away, back into the building to watch as the lines of his pupils walked in an orderly fashion back to their lessons.

  Oliver moved to the end of his line and when the teacher had disappeared leaving the last few to come in unchaperoned, he ran across the wide playground, through the gate, along the road and up the lane to Nelly’s cottage. This time he pushed and pushed at the door and finally opened it wide enough to slide in and let the frantic dogs out.

  ‘Gran? Gran. Are you there?’

  The room was dark after the sunlight and the curtains were drawn and there was no flicker from the fire. There was no sound except the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece. Oliver was frightened and wanted to run. ‘Gran?’ he called again, but this time his voice was a whisper.

  He pushed the door wider and climbed onto Nelly’s big armchair to pull back the curtains. Then he saw her. She was lying at the foot of the curved staircase, and as he watched, she moved and turned her head towards him. He was still standing on the armchair and for a moment he did not move.

  ‘What you gawpin’ at?’ Nelly said. ‘Ain’t yer never seen a Gran flopped on the floor before? Make me a cuppa tea why don’t yer? But first, I think we’d better try an�
�� get me up.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Fell on these bleedin’ stairs, that’s what!’

  ‘Shall I fetch Mother?’

  ‘Not bloody likely! ’Ave me put away she would, given a chance like this. No, pass me a nice fat cushion.’ She pushed it against the wall between her leg and the first stair and sighed contentedly. ‘There, that’s better. Soon be able to get up. Let me chickens out, will yer?’

  Slowly she began to rise, first onto the lowest stair, then onto a chair brought by an anxious Oliver.

  ‘There, see? I’ll soon be walkin’ about as if nothin’s ’appened. Got a bit cold down there, though. See if the fire’ll revive with a bit of coaxin’ with some sticks, will yer?’

  Oliver soon had the fire burning brightly and a kettle singing with the promise of a pot of tea. Nelly found she could move about by resting her painful leg on a chair, using it as a sort of crutch. She made tea and they were sipping it, chatting happily when Nelly heard the dogs growl. Oliver looked out of the small, deep-set window and said, ‘Oh heck, it’s Dad.’

  It was only then Nelly realised he should have been at school. ‘You bin mitchin’ then, young Ollie?’ When he nodded, she asked, ‘On account of me?’ He nodded again as Timothy entered, followed by the fussing dogs.

  ‘Oliver!’

  ‘What a marvellous boy ’e is!’ Nelly said quickly. ‘Knew I was in trouble and even broke school rules to come an’ find out what was wrong. There’s bravery for yer. You must be ever so proud of ’im, Timmy.’

  The words about to fall from Timothy’s lips fumbled and instead, he asked, ‘Are you all right, mother-in-law?’

  ‘Yes, thanks to your carin’ son I am. Fell I did and no, I wasn’t drunk! Fell on them stairs when me leg sor’ of gave out.’

  ‘Shall I send for the doctor?’

  ‘Gawd ’elp us, what for? Put me in bed ’e would. People dies in bed! I’ll get something for the bruises, that’s all I need; don’t want to worry no doctor.’ She laughed away the idea.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘’Ere it’s about dinner time, ain’t it? Let Ollie – I mean Oliver, stay an’ ’ave a bite with me. Right as rain I’ll be then. Honest.’ She smiled her crooked smile and nodded to encourage him to agree.

  ‘Be sure you aren’t late, Oliver,’ Timothy warned, ‘and we’ll say no more about this.’ He picked up the battered clock from the mantelpiece and carefully put it to the correct time.

  Nelly looked at the small boy, who always seemed smaller in the presence of his father. If only Timothy could bend a little and be a dad sometimes, she thought sadly, instead of always being a headmaster.

  ‘Ollie,’ she whispered urgently when Timothy had gone. ‘Will you do something for me? Secret? I want to send a message to George; you know, the tramp.’

  ‘Why? How?’

  ‘I ’ates admittin’ it, but I’m goin’ to need a bit of ’elp fer a while. I want you to write a short message for me an’ send it to the Daily Mirror. George ’as promised to look in there every day, and ’e’ll come as soon as ’e can when ’e reads it.’ Oliver looked upset. ‘I can’t, Gran. You know I can’t,’ he added accusingly.

  ‘This ain’t an occasion fer words like can’t. Look at me ’ands. All swollen where I was lyin’ on ’em. Ollie, I’m dependin’ on yer.’ Nelly pretended not to see the frantic shaking of his head. ‘There’s a pen and a bottle of ink in the table drawer. Come on, Ollie, we mustn’t miss the midday post.’

  ‘I can’t!’

  ‘But you’ll try, won’t yer. Good boy you are Ollie, no-one never ’ad a better grandson.’

  After a few false starts, the letter was written and the postal order which Nelly had bought in readiness was filled in. Proudly, Oliver walked down the lane and posted it in the box outside Amy’s shop. Then he went back to school to tell his story to his curious friends.

  The tramp arrived a few days later, and Nelly pointed to the saucepan on the fire. ‘Just in time you are, George. There’s a pot of soup made with an ’ambone Amy brought for me.’ She smiled at him, her dark brown eyes glowing with pleasure. ‘Nice to see yer, George. I’m glad you could come. So quick an’ all. Young Oliver’s been lookin’ after me, but I’m glad you’ve come.’

  Nelly was sitting in her armchair, covered with a warm, Welsh plaid blanket sent to her by Mrs French. She had a pile of books and magazines beside her and her records were within easy reach. She smiled and showed her crooked teeth and the expression on her sun-weathered face was almost wicked, her eyes crinkled with a suggestion that whatever life threw at her, she would always see the joke. The tramp laughed with delight at seeing her again. Oliver came after school and was delighted to see George. He jumped up and down, asked dozens of questions about what George had been doing since he last called. Nelly was reminded again of how different the boy was when he was not in his parents’ company. With the finest of intentions, he was being smothered.

  ‘So it was you who wrote the letter to the Mirror?’ George said. ‘Well done.’

  ‘I had to. Gran’s hand was swollen and stiff.’

  ‘I got it stuck under meself when I fell an’ it got a bit squashed.’

  ‘I have a present for you, Oliver, for being so kind to your Gran.’ George took a package from his bag and handed it to Oliver, who opened it with haste.

  ‘Gosh, thanks. A proper fountain pen and a propelling pencil. Thanks! None of the boys in school have these!’ He looked anxiously at Nelly. ‘Gran, can I talk about George being here? I mean, to Mother and Dad.’

  ‘Course, Ollie. You’ll want to tell them where you got the pen an’ pencil set. It’s no secret, but don’t say nothin’ about ’is stayin’ ’ere, not for a week. All right?’

  ‘What’s happening next week then?’

  ‘Well, your Mum wants me to go an’ live with you all.’

  Oliver looked thoughtful. ‘I’d love you to live with us, so I can talk to you whenever I want to. But I wouldn’t like not being able to come here. Couldn’t George live here? Then we could both come and see him? Gran! Why not?’

  George and Nelly laughed.

  ‘’Ow’s that fer an idea, eh, George?’ Nelly said and for once they did not include Oliver in the joke.

  * * *

  The shop door opened and a voice called, ‘Where d’you want these boxes of apples, lady?’

  Amy looked up prepared to argue.

  ‘I haven’t ordered any – Oh, hello, Vic. What are you doing here on a Wednesday?’

  ‘I wondered if you were free to meet me tonight, for a drink, or a meal if you like?’

  ‘I’m going into Cardiff,’ she explained. ‘I don’t know what time I’ll be back.’

  ‘Pity it isn’t on Friday, I could give you a lift.’

  ‘No need; I have a lift.’

  ‘Harry Beynon, is it?’

  ‘What business is it of yours?’ she demanded.

  ‘Got me the sack he did, your brother-in-law. Persuaded me to add a few items to the lorry when I loaded up his order. Copper tube and plaster board, then let me down when I was caught.’

  ‘You stole from your boss and you say it was Harry’s fault?’

  ‘Persuaded me he did. Promised to pay and say he’d asked for the extra and let me out of it. But he didn’t.’

  Amy was quiet, as Vic went on explaining how and what goods had been stolen. So these were some of the papers that Prue had threatened him with. What else was Harry besides a thief? She ushered Vic Honeyman out and closed the shop.

  ‘A coward. That’s what,’ she muttered as she went upstairs to get ready to meet him.

  Harry had to attend a meeting in Cardiff at the Park Hotel, and Amy sat in the Sophia Gardens reading a book until he had finished. They went for an early meal and as they ate, Amy mentioned Victor Honeyman.

  ‘I saw a man who claims you got him the sack,’ she said. ‘We had a drink together at The Drovers and he took me home after.’

 
Harry looked at her, his laughing eyes bearing a glint of something other than his usual good humour.

  ‘Don’t try blackmail to persuade me to talk to Prue. I’ll tell her our plans when I think the time is right.’

  ‘Harry! What an awful thing to say! He took me home after buying me a drink. That’s all!’ She waited until she felt calmer then asked. ‘Did you? Get him the sack?’

  ‘I used the money to buy the house for us. He was caught but it was a risk he took. There’s nothing noble about owning up when there’s no need. I haven’t bought anything from that builder’s merchants since though.’

  ‘Harry, now Freddy’s working for you, you wouldn’t involve him in anything – shady – would you?’

  ‘No. He’s my son, isn’t he? I’ll look after him, don’t you worry. Getting on well he is; understands a lot of the business already. Sharp. More a man than a boy, for all he’s not yet sixteen.’

  Something of the day had gone sour for Amy. She knew from his expression when she raised the subject that their relationship was doomed to continue in the same semi-secret way into the forseeable future. Could she accept that? Spend even more years going nowhere?

  She had always known Harry was weak. She had been let down by him, badly. Once when they were young and before he was ready for marriage, he had refused to admit the baby she carried was his, had tut-tutted with the rest of the village when she came home some time later with Freddy, whom he now proudly called his son.

  Her eyes glazed over as she thought of the second child, who she had nursed for those few hours before he had died. That was when their relationship had been renewed, after he had married Prue. As before, he could not face the embarrassment and had let her cope with it alone. The attempted abortion had not succeeded and in the months before the baby was born she did not see him. At the time of the baby’s death he had sent a bunch of flowers, without even a card to say who they were from.

  Now he talked of blackmail. How easy it would have been for her then. She looked at him, finishing his meal, a smile of contentment on his face as he thought of his son, now working in the firm; a son who did not bear his name.