A Welcome in the Valley

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

  ‘I want to go home.’

  ‘But I thought we’d go and see a play, or a film?’

  ‘Take me home.’

  ‘What have I said now?’ He was slightly exasperated. ‘Don’t spoil the day out.’

  ‘You’ve said nothing. What makes you think I’ll spoil your day? Nothing upsets me. I’m Amy, that “good sort”, remember?’ She stood up and collected her coat from the stand and without waiting for Harry, left the restaurant.

  She walked up the street fast, crossing the road heedless of traffic and not knowing where she was going. She went into a cinema, seeking solitary darkness, and sat in a cocoon of isolation in an empty row not seeing the screen, only aware of the loneliness without Harry.

  She had been here before, in this deep dark misery, wondering if she should finally end the affair with him. But other than moving right away, starting again somewhere without any friends, it was impossible. Knowing his faults brought anger, but the anger was with herself for not being strong enough to break away. And she called Harry weak. How she wished she could face never seeing him again. What could she do to motivate herself to blot him out of her life? ‘Till death us do part’ didn’t have to be said in front of a parson. So were they tied for the rest of their days to this half life? On the screen two lovers kissed as all their troubles were ended, and some of the watchers stood up and left. Without waiting for the main film, Amy stood and shuffled out after them.

  Harry searched the streets for an hour, then went back to where he had parked the car. He waited there for another hour then, leaving a note for her on the windscreen, went for a drink. He came back after a further two hours to find the note in the gutter and his car missing.

  Amy. She’s done it again! he thought. He checked to see he had enough money for the fare and walked to the railway station. He had twenty minutes to wait for the Swansea train and as it was getting cold, he went into the waiting room. Amy stared at him with complete disbelief when he opened the door.

  ‘Harry! How did you find me?’

  ‘Where’s the car?’ he demanded.

  ‘Car? I don’t know. I can’t remember where we parked. I’ve been in a cinema for ages. Can’t you find the car either?’

  ‘It’s been stolen. I thought you…’

  Suddenly they were laughing and hugging and all that mattered was being together. Damn the future, Amy thought, it’s today that’s real.

  They went back to Swansea on the train, after reporting the loss of the car, then by bus to Llan Gwyn. Pooling their remaining money, they decided to have a taxi for the last part of their journey.

  ‘You get out at the beginning of the houses, Amy love,’ Harry said. ‘I’ll go on right to my door; that way we’re less likely to be seen.’

  ‘There won’t be many people about now,’ Amy pointed out. ‘They’ll all be indoors listening to the radio.’

  But as Amy walked parallel to the church and the school and was about to turn into the lane behind the shop, she noticed that the village street was far from empty. Groups of people were gathered around the houses, and several policemen were among them. She went in to see the children, then phoned Evie to find out what had happened.

  Harry’s taxi drew up near Mrs French’s house and he saw that all the neighbours were outside open doors, standing in groups, waiting. An ambulance drove along the main road and as Prue was nowhere to be seen, he walked back to the road to see what was happening.

  The ambulance stopped at the end of Nelly’s lane, and several policemen stood near it.

  ‘What’s happening then?’ he asked. ‘Someone ill?’

  ‘Found a body, up by the castle ruin. Don’t know who he is; young chap, but not from here,’ Constable Harris told him.

  ‘Thank goodness,’ Harry said. ‘Thought it might have been old Nelly.’ He stood with the policemen and waited while the stretcher was taken up and the men returned with their sad load. He looked at the scarred face of the young man but no recognition came. Gradually, the street cleared, lights went out and Harry at last saw Prue, who had been with Evie and Timothy, and who had also looked into the dead face.

  ‘Fancy, a sudden death in the village,’ Harry said. ‘Never been known.’

  ‘It was the criminal who attacked that policeman, the one I reported as a suspicious vagrant,’ Prue told him. She explained what had happened and he let her talk. That way she was less likely to ask where he had been, although the car theft gave him an excellent story.

  When they reached home, Prue did not go inside, she stood talking to the neighbours for a while, then noticed that Monica French had not been told. She knocked on her door to spread the interesting news.

  * * *

  The incident of the dead man was not high on Harry’s mind the following day. He was thinking of Freddy, and the way he had taken to the business. Even if he and Amy did not get together he would have Freddy and, with or without his name, Freddy was still his son. The thought pleased him more and more. If he did leave Prue and go to live with Amy, his son might despise him for the years he had not owned him. His explanations of loyalty might not sound very noble when compared with his lack of loyalty to Amy and Freddy.

  He would be foolish to risk it. Prue was not a loving wife and they had not been very successful at attempts to make their relationship more close. Prue was undemonstrative and tightened up rather than relaxed at his shows of affection. But she was a good wife in every other respect. With Amy as his mistress, life was good.

  He had already started proceedings to make the house over to her. That would please her and she would not press so hard for him to leave Prue, for a while at least. The house was almost ready for occupation. Soon, he would hand her the deeds and she would be able to move in. The rooms above the shop could be let, she would have a small income from them, yes, she would see the sense of letting things continue as they were. They would both be better off.

  His mind made up, he rang the solicitor and told him to make haste with the transfer of ownership then went home to talk to Prue. Best to set her mind at rest as soon as possible. He looked at his watch. Freddy had gone to collect some plumbing fittings, but he would be back soon and it wouldn’t hurt to leave the phone unattended for a while. He locked the door and using one of the firm’s lorries, drove home.

  He was surprised to see the carrier bike outside his house, Then he smiled. Since Prue had stopped shopping at Amy’s, she often rang to ask him to bring something home. She must have missed him and asked young Freddy. As he parked the lorry in the confined space of the close, he saw he was correct, Freddy emerged from the house and waved before getting on his bike. Harry hailed him and ran to talk to him.

  Freddy was very flushed, the redness reaching high into the roots of his brown hair. He refused to meet Harry’s gaze.

  ‘Hello, Uncle Harry, I’ve been—’

  Harry waved away his explanation. ‘Don’t worry, I bet you’ve been shopping for Auntie Prue, right? She’s always asking me to bring something from the shops, and now she’s got you at it.’ He patted the strong shoulder and smiled at his son. He thought again of how big and mature he was. A moustache, unshaped, but dark and thick, grew on his upper lip, making Freddy look far older than his years. His body was powerfully built, his arms filling the sleeves of the old coat he wore to work. Harry thought he would give him an advance on his wages and ask Amy to buy him a new coat. He couldn’t have his son looking anything but smart. He’d pay for dressing, as his mother would have said.

  Freddy rode off and Harry walked into the house. Prue was in the kitchen, she was polishing the brass, the pokers and other fireside ornaments on the table which was spread with newspaper. She too looked slightly flushed and she did not look up when he entered. That was not unusual, and Harry smiled and said, ‘So you’re using Freddy as an errand boy, are you?’ He was smiling, but the smile slid from his face when Prue said angrily, ‘I don’t want him to come here again. He’s Amy’s son and I want nothing to do wit
h any of them.’

  Harry stared at her; at the fingers rubbing furiously at the brass, at the gloved hands, so clearly showing her anger.

  ‘What’s happened?’ he asked, dreading her reply. Had she found out he was Freddy’s father? That must be it. He didn’t know what to say, whether to deny it, bluff it out, or own up and tell her of his decision to stay with her, to make a success of their marriage and never see Amy again. He realised he did not know how she would react to either response. Married for all these years and he did not know her at all.

  ‘Freddy’s a fine boy,’ he began, trying desperately to think. ‘Strong and very useful in the firm. He’s going to be a real asset. He’s so mature and grown-up. You’d never think he’s only sixteen. ’

  ‘I want you to sack him. ’ Prue still had not looked up from her furious rubbing. The brass seemed to be taking all her attention, yet Harry recognised the tension in her voice and knew something had angered her. She must know.

  ‘You know. Who told you?’

  She looked up then and stared at him. She did not speak, but waited for him to continue. Cleverly she waited, knowing he would not be able to stand the silence. He would have to say more and she would find out easier than by asking her own questions, what he had not wanted her to know. She was not worried, a sense of excitement filled her. Watching him and feeling the guilt flowing from him, she allowed her own guilt, and the sensations of the recent love-making, to fade.

  ‘You know,’ he repeated. Prue waited. ‘About Freddy.’ Then Prue had to speak, Harry had turned away, presuming she knew all, he was not going to enlarge on the brief words.

  ‘You’d better tell me.’

  ‘All right, so Freddy is my son. It’s a miracle you haven’t worked it out before. What are you going to do about it? Don’t do anything hasty, Prue, let’s talk about it. I don’t want to lose you. Yes,’ he went on quickly. ‘I’ve finished with Amy. It’s all over. I want to stay with you, and Freddy will stay in the firm. He’s a fine boy, Prue. My son. I know I should have told you years ago, but—’

  He stared in horror at Prue, who was reaching for the brass pokers on the table.

  ‘No, Prue. Don’t be stupid. It’s not that important. Prue—!’ His voice was cut off as the heavy poker hit him on the side of his head and made him stagger.

  Prue felt sick. She was still unwashed from Freddy’s love-making and she felt unclean. Amy’s son, a fine revenge for stealing her husband. But Harry’s son. She felt clouds fill her brain, shutting out the unbelievable. Blocking the shame and guilt and humility. Harry’s fault. Harry’s fault. Harry’s fault. Each time the words issued from her tight lips, she hit him. He stood up once, and seemed to be coming for her, his eyes glazed, his face blue. She struck him again and again, hate pouring from her. He tottered, then fell towards her. Prue tried to move away, to escape from his final embrace, but she fell beneath him. Her head snapped back hard against the grate and she lay still.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Nelly’s leg was still painful, but she insisted on going to Mrs French’s the morning following the discovery of Alan’s body. She knew that Mrs French would probably not be there, but also knew where to find a key. She felt the sadness of Alan’s tragic ending both for Fay, who had tried to help him, and for his mother, who had not known of his survival until it was too late.

  ‘Pity it ’ad to be Prue Beynon what told ’er,’ she grumbled to the dogs as they walked up to Mrs French’s back door. ‘She’s bound to ’ave embellished the story. No doubt about that.’

  As she was unlocking the back door, she heard shouts and unable to resist, it being Prue’s house from where the sounds came, she quickly tied up the dogs, threw down the key and ran to see what was happening.

  Prue and Harry were fighting. She could see through the open back door that Harry seemed to be having the worst of it, as Prue was armed with a poker and he had nothing but his bare hands. Nelly hesitated on the doorstep and was about to shout and distract them from attacking each other, when Harry fell. A last blow aimed by Prue fell against his head and then she disappeared beneath him, her shouts cut short and leaving a horrible, eerie silence after the row.

  Nelly went inside hesitantly, calling Prue then Harry. Both lay still. ‘Oh, my Gawd!’ Nelly ran back to Mrs French’s to telephone for the police and an ambulance. She looked at where she had thrown down the key but could not see it.

  She was crying, saying, ‘Oh my Gawd!’ over and over but failed to find the key. In her panic she had not thought to use Prue’s phone. She thought of it now, and ran back, but not to the back door. Her legs were like lead and she knew she would have difficulty walking past those prostrate bodies. She stretched up and looked through the window, foolishly hoping she had imagined it all.

  Prue was slowly rising, having pushed Harry’s heavy body away. Mesmerised, Nelly watched as Prue sat for a moment, taking in the situation, then got a cloth from the sink and begin to wipe the blood from the grate near where her head had landed. The fire was lit, and she removed the working gloves she was wearing and put them into the flames. She did not look at the small side window where Nelly still watched.

  Walking stiffly, Prue walked to the drawer near the sink and took out a clean pair of working gloves. She put them on and, lifting a poker, walked into the hallway and out of Nelly’s sight. There, she opened the door of Harry’s office and began throwing out the contents of the desk drawers. She smashed at the metal cabinet with the poker, before throwing it down in a corner.

  There was a cash box in the top drawer of the cabinet, and she took this and scattered the contents over the carpet, as if it had been dropped in haste. Two pound notes and a ten shilling note she kicked out into the hallway. She stood for a moment, then went back into the kitchen, where Nelly’s eyes still peered over the sill of the window.

  Prue’s small apron was spotted with blood and she removed it and almost fed it to the flames, then changed her mind and put it back on. She pushed the fire to make sure all the dusters had disappeared and added wood to conceal their ashes.

  The cloth with which the blood had been wiped up was also burnt, and Prue’s face, as she watched the fire take it, slowly at first, then as the flames touched the Brasso-soaked gloves, in a sudden rush, was like a picture from a horror story. Eyes bright, her skin a strange reddish brown, tinged with blue and green as the flames were reflected. Nelly moved away from the window, unsure what to do next.

  After a long, timeless wait, she heard Prue’s voice. She was obviously calling the police. Her voice was high-pitched.

  ‘I’ve been beaten, I think my husband’s dead,’ Nelly heard her say. Then she screamed, and Nelly hurriedly stepped into the shrubs and worked her way around until she was back inside Mrs French’s garden.

  She sat on the back step for an age, and then the police arrived. There were policemen everywhere, and someone came and asked if she had seen or heard anyone running away, she answered with complete honesty, ‘No, I ain’t. Locked meself out and can’t find the key. Waitin’ ’ere for Mrs French.’

  The police searched the garden, tried all the doors and windows, found the missing key and followed Nelly in. When they were satisfied she was alone they left, promising to come and talk to her again later.

  She tried to do her work, but wondering what she should do and shaking with the horror of it, she spent more time sitting, staring into space than working. She left a note of apology for Mrs French, let herself out and went to tell Amy what had happened.

  Nelly sat silently watching Amy. She had broken the news as gently as she could, but when she had said the unbelievable words, ‘Harry is dead, dearie,’ all the life seemed to drain from Amy’s face. She was looking at Nelly, then at the door and back to Nelly as if waiting for someone else to arrive and tell her it was not true, that there had been some stupid mistake.

  ‘Good sort, ’Arry Beynon,’ Nelly said softly. ‘I mean a really good sort. Not – well, you know what I mean – ’
e took everyone for themselves and never wanted to change people. He always treated me proper, ’e did. Sorry ’e’s gone I am, real sorry.’

  ‘You knew about us, didn’t you, Nelly?’ Amy said at last.

  ‘Yes I knew that you and ’e were, well, you know. That’s why I wanted to tell you, before Prue comes across, to give yer time to settle yerself.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Amy stood up and blew her nose then added, ‘What happened? Tell me again.’

  ‘All I know is that ’Arry an’ Prue were hit by burglars. That’s what the police said. Don’t know nothing else yet. Make us a cup of tea, why don’t yer?’

  Having said nothing to the police about seeing Prue and Harry fighting, Nelly was committed to the lie. She couldn’t go and tell them she had been there, and had seen them hitting each other, not now. Anyway she was not too clear about what happened even though she had looked through the door at that unfortunate moment.

  Every time she closed her eyes she saw Prue’s face, and her arm holding aloft that brass poker. The shock had numbed Nelly’s brain and she couldn’t think straight for the moments following; even now she was still confused.

  The police had not pressed her, but had accepted what she had told them, that she had been sitting on Mrs French’s doorstep and had seen nor heard nothing. She had seen Prue strike Harry, but what had happened before that? She would never know. Perhaps Harry had hit out at Prue? She was enough to make anybody mad, with her disapproval and her rigid ways, but Harry had treated her bad, having an affair with her sister. No, she’d done the right thing to say nothing. Let the police sort it out. Half of a story could get an innocent woman hanged.

  ‘Here you are, Nelly. A cup of tea with something in it to warm us.’

  There was a knock at the door and Nelly took the opportunity to slip away.

  ‘Come an’ ’ave a chat, why don’t yer?’ she said as Amy unlocked the shop door to let her out and P.C. Harris in. Nelly couldn’t look into his face. Lying to the police was a worrying thought, but admitting it and telling him what she had seen was even more frightening. She hurried back over the road and up the lane home.