The House by the Brook

by The House by the Brook (retail) (epub)

  She tried to persuade him to face up to the fact they were homeless, but although he promised that they wouldn’t be out on the streets, assuring her he was dealing with it, he didn’t offer any concrete hope of anything other than the sky for a roof. He was out most evenings and several times he came home very late.

  Every day, when he came home from work and changed into less formal clothes, she made him promise not to go out, but most evenings his presence at home ended by nine o’clock after he had put Violet to bed and told her a story.

  ‘It has to be another woman. What other reason could there be?’ she asked Geoff one evening as they worked on a house refurbishment, a job he had found and insisted on helping her complete.

  ‘I doubt it, Marie. I’ve heard nothing and in the shop I pick up all kinds of gossip, which I try to forget. There’s no rumour about your Ivor and another woman.’

  ‘I’m so tired by the time ten o’clock comes I have to go to bed, but tonight, if he goes out. I’ll wait up and make him tell the truth,’ she said.

  *

  It was a clear night with the moon riding high, three-quarters full and adding a glow that was like an enchantment.

  The air was still with not even the tiniest movement in the trees. It was a temporary balm to her weary spirits, until fears and imaginings beat against her brain and she wondered if she would ever find peace again. She would miss this house where so many happy memories resided. She couldn’t think clearly. Not knowing where they would be in a few weeks time was a barrier to any attempt at making plans. She looked up at the sky and thought the emptiness was matched by her own situation. Miles of emptiness without a goal in sight.

  Although it was chilly, she sat in the garden for a while, trying to stay awake after the three children were asleep and the house was quiet, trying to recapture that momentary peace of a few moments ago.

  She didn’t like being in the living room any more. It was no longer hers. All her possessions had been packed away apart from the bare minimum. Soon someone else would be there putting their mark on it, and in no time at all every trace of herself and Ivor and Roger and Royston and little Violet would disappear, floating in space like the moon and stars. It would be as though they no longer existed. Ghosts for a brief moment, just until every last trace of them had been overlaid by the newcomers, then gone.

  Although she was cold, from time to time she dropped off to sleep, her neck at an awkward angle, then jerked awake to momentary confusion and further disappointment. A blanket she had brought out had fallen to the ground and she gathered it around her. In the distance a church clock chimed twelve. It was tempting to give up and get to bed; the thought of a couple of hot water bottles to warm it appealed to her, making her realize how cold she had become. She went inside and put the kettle on the gas to fill the stone hot water bottles, then took them and placed them in the bed. She was about to refill the kettle to make a hot drink when she heard footsteps. She switched off the gas under the kettle and went back outside. Someone was approaching, and momentarily she felt a spasm of fear. It could be a thief, looking for something to steal, but the footsteps were quick and, with no sign of secretiveness, undoubtedly Ivor.

  ‘Marie? What are you doing outside? The children are all right, aren’t they? Is something wrong?’

  ‘Fine they are, and so am I, apart from wondering where we’ll sleep next week. Where have you been?’

  ‘Oh, talking to Jack Harris. He said our Roy’s doing all right, working hard and he’s pleased with him. That’s a relief, eh?’

  ‘Chatting with friends, there’s nice for you. What have you done about us? Homeless we are and there’s you having a nice chat with Jack Harris. You’re fiddling while Rome burns!’

  ‘“Fiddling while Rome burns”, that’s good that is, but I haven’t been doing nothing. I’ve been trying to work something out. I’ve a plan in mind but I don’t want to talk about it until everything’s certain sure.’

  ‘Forgive me if I don’t believe you!’

  ‘Be patient a little while longer, Marie. We’ll have a place to go, I promise.’

  ‘You have to tell me what’s happened, Ivor.’ Aware that he was keeping his distance from her she stepped towards him, suspicion making her search for evidence of another woman. It was too dark, impossible to see his expression or any tell-tale marks on his clothes, but there might be a hint of perfume – something she couldn’t afford for herself. Once inside she might see a mark on his clothes; lipstick is a stubborn stain and he could hardly come home without a shirt. His scarf was tight around his neck under his overcoat; what was it hiding? She would stay close until he took it off. She stepped towards him and he backed away.

  ‘I’ll go and have a wash,’ he said.

  She reached out and pulled him towards her and then the smell hit her, and it couldn’t be described as perfume. It was a noxious odour of sourness, of rotting food, of fermenting fruit, and the deep, unwashed smell of the tramps she sometimes passed in the bus stop shelter, forcing her to wait outside.

  ‘Where have you been?’ she demanded, holding on to his coat as he struggled to get away. ‘You stink! You haven’t been talking to Jack Harris. His house doesn’t smell like an ash bin. Tell me, Ivor! I want to know where you’ve been going. Who’s keeping you out all hours and making you ignore what’s happening to us?’

  ‘Let me have a wash and change my clothes, please, Marie. I’ll be sick if I don’t get out of these things soon.’

  Her arms fell from him as though their strength had failed, and she watched as he hurried through the back door and up the stairs. Once before he had been in clothes that stank and he’d told her he’d been in the farmer’s barn, but the smell wasn’t of chickens, it was filthy rotting food and unwashed humanity.

  He came out of the bedroom smelling clean and dressed in freshly laundered pyjamas, with his hair neatly combed, and shiny faced as though he’d scrubbed himself to get rid of the last vestige of that awful stink. Aware of the children sleeping nearby, she repeated her demand for an explanation in a hissing whisper.

  ‘Get into bed, love, I’ll make us a hot drink and come up in a minute or two. You must be frozen, sitting outside like that.’

  ‘I want an explanation. And I want it now, this minute!’ she whispered harshly, her voice louder than she intended, startling in the silence of the night.

  ‘We both need a hot drink, Marie, love. Go to bed and wait for me to make it.’

  ‘Then we’ll talk?’

  ‘Soon, I’ll explain everything soon,’ he promised, as he ran softly down the stairs, his head buzzing with possible reasons for his behaviour that didn’t reveal the truth.

  Marie slid into the bed that had been warmed by the hot water bottles, and felt the comfort relax her, her body becoming limp, her eyes succumbing to drowsiness, and, in the welcoming warmth, anxiety eased away, and as the minutes passed she found it more and more difficult to stay awake. An hour later, Ivor looked at her, bent over and kissed her gently and went back downstairs.

  *

  Marie woke and, before she opened her eyes, stretched out a hand and felt across the bed for Ivor. He wasn’t there and his pillow showed no sign of his ever having been. She rushed downstairs but his coat and umbrella were gone. On the table was a note. ‘I’ll be late tonight, but don’t worry, Everything will be all right.’ He had signed it ‘Your loving Ivor.’ She heard the twins rising and stuffed it into her dressing gown pocket.

  As she began to get breakfast she felt the threat of tears as she realized how badly she needed someone to talk to, someone to whom she could open up and in whose sympathy and understanding she could wallow. Her parents wouldn’t want to know. Theirs was a simple, uncomplicated life in which any problems had been spirited away before they became serious. There was only Geoff, and somehow she couldn’t tell him about the filthy state in which Ivor had arrived home. She had to keep it to herself, like the bloodstained jacket, which Ivor had told her had been an accid
ent caused by chopping wood.

  Fastidious as he was, she had almost accepted his explanation that he couldn’t bear to wear that jacket again after such staining, even after cleaning. Almost, but sometimes she wondered about the coincidence of it happening on the same evening that Emily Clarke had died in a road accident. The jacket incident, and last night’s return covered in the disgusting smell, would remain a secret. Until she made sense of it herself she would have felt disloyal discussing it. Stupid as it might seem, she still felt loyalty and told herself there would be a logical explanation for his behaviour.

  She wondered briefly whether he had been helping at one of the reception centres that had opened around the countryside to accommodate the vagrants, ex-soldiers many of them, men and a few women, whose lives had been disrupted by the war and who had lost touch with where they were from or who they were. But surely if that were the case he would have told her. Ivor was vain enough to want admiration for any such altruism. And surely such goodness didn’t necessitate depriving your own family to help those less fortunate. That would have been replacing misfortune with misfortune, wouldn’t it?

  She fed the children and watched as the boys left for work. She forced a cheerfulness into her voice as she walked with Violet as far as the school gates then left her and hurried to the shop. It opened at nine a.m, but the staff were expected to be there fifteen minutes before, to make sure everything was in readiness for their first customer. Again that forced cheerfulness as she helped a young woman to choose a dress for a birthday party. A birthday celebration far different from her own, she thought with a sigh. How wonderful to be spoiled as this woman appeared to be. She carefully pinned up the hem of the full-skirted dress and marked a few tucks in the bodice to ensure a perfect fit, then watched as the smiling customer swept out to buy the accessories, for which her doting parents had given her their clothing coupons.

  ‘There are two pins on the floor, Mrs Masters!’ The sharp tone of her boss brought Marie out of a daydream in which she was féted and spoiled and made into a star for the day at an imaginary birthday party held in her honour. At that moment her sister came in and asked to speak to her.

  ‘Can it wait until lunchtime, Miss – er—’

  ‘If it must, Mr – er,’ Jennie replied cheekily. ‘I’ll wait outside, shall I? How fortunate it’s only raining and not the season for snow.’ She smiled at Mr Harries and he succumbed to her gentle criticism and gestured towards a chair. She thanked him and sat, with her legs crossed, showing an inordinately generous amount of leg.

  She clearly made the pompous Mr Harries nervous, as, fifteen minutes before her usual time, he told Marie she could leave early and come back at the usual time. Grabbing her coat she hurried out offering effusive thanks, and followed her sister along the dull, damp street.

  ‘What got into him?’ Marie said, laughing at the unexpected freedom. ‘He’s never done anything like that before.’

  ‘Oh, just an inch or two above the knee, that’s all it took to transform him to a jelly.’

  In spite of trying to disapprove, Marie laughed, and when her sister suggested they went to a café for a coffee and a bun she agreed.

  ‘I shouldn’t really,’ she said. ‘I promised to pick up Mam’s bacon ration. You know she always likes bacon and egg and chips for Tuesday’s dinner.’

  ‘Honestly, our Marie! D’you think I won you an extra fifteen minutes out of that miserable boss of yours so you can get Mam’s bacon ration? Coffee and a bun and I’m paying. Whatmore d’you want, woman?’

  ‘How is life in the flat, enjoying it are you?’ she asked.

  ‘Wait till the waitress has brought our order then I’ll tell you.’

  Marie sensed trouble.

  They were guided to a table near the window, and as the waitress delivered their order Marie was staring into space, lost in thoughts of Ivor, wondering what he was up to and whether it was legal. With the boys due to appear in court in a month’s time, and the threat of eviction hovering over her, what was she doing sitting here drinking coffee as though she were a lady of leisure?

  ‘Come on, sis, cheer up, or I’ll wish I’d invited old Mr Harries instead of you! And he looks more boring than Mr James!’

  ‘What did you want to see me about?’ Marie forced her attention back to her sister.

  ‘It’s Mam and Dad.’

  ‘Jennie, I can’t do more than I’m doing at present. You know how I’m fixed. Thanks to Ivor. I don’t know where we’ll be in a month’s time and I have to take work when it’s offered to pay off the debts were leaving behind.’

  ‘I’ve decided not to stay in the flat Lucy and I found. Her boyfriend is coming home, leaving the RAF, and I can’t afford it on my own. They’re getting married, see.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Well, not for ages yet, but—’

  ‘What’s the real reason?” Marie demanded. ‘Come on, Jennie, the truth.’

  ‘All right, we’ve been told to leave. That Mrs Roberts is a real misery. Can’t bear to think of us having fun. There was some trivial complaint about noise. I ask you, can anyone have a party without making some noise? Besides, I hate being away from Mam and Dad. I miss them.’

  ‘Their spoiling more like.’

  ‘All right. I miss their spoiling. And I want to go back home but I don’t want Mam and Dad to think it’s for selfish reasons. Can you tell them you persuaded me to go back for their sake?’

  ‘Why make complications? Tell them you’re moving back home and they’ll kill the fatted calf.’ She tried to hide the resentment she felt.

  ‘Don’t be like that, our Marie. I can’t help it if I’m not as perfect as you!’

  ‘I just wish you’d help me sometimes! We’re in a real mess you know.’

  ‘Most of it’s your fault! Soft you are, Marie. A bit of backbone is what you need!’

  ‘Would you like anything else, ladies?’ the waitress enquired.

  ‘Backbone and a kick up the—’ Jennie hissed. The waitress straightened up, offended.

  ‘Sorry,’ Marie said. But catching sight of Jennie’s unrepentant face, and hearing the whispered, ‘I’m not sorry. Do her good it will, stuffy tart,’ she felt a bubble of laughter working its way up her throat. Whatever Jennie’s intentions had been, the result was a far more cheerful Marie returning to work that afternoon.

  Someone else called to speak to her the following morning, and fortunately it was while Mr Harries was out of the shop. Geoff explained to the first sales lady that he needed to give her a message. She stood in the porch without giving him a chance to speak, assured him that everything was under control and Ivor was arranging for them to rent another house. He said nothing, just stared at her for a long time. Then, as the false smile left her lips and sadness filled her eyes, he said, ‘I’ll wait for you after work and we’ll talk it through, right?’

  ‘There’s nothing to talk about, we’ll be all right.’

  ‘I’ll be waiting and I’ll drive you home. One o’clock, is it? Half day closing?’

  For the rest of the morning she kept busy, finding tasks both useful and unnecessary, telling herself all the time that she wouldn’t discuss the most recent events in the saga of the Masters household.

  Geoff began the conversation by offering her some more decorating work, small jobs, painting a shed and a garage, but she refused. Her sister’s comments, unkind though they were, about her lacking backbone, and other things she’d said in previous arguments, reminding her that she had taken responsibility from Ivor instead of making him deal with things, had made her change her mind about the importance of working to pay off Ivor’s debts. Cleaning and decorating the flats had almost killed her. Jennie was right, or partly so, and although she didn’t hold her sister up as an example on which to model her life, she decided not to do more than work at the shop. She would leave it to Ivor, see where it got them.

  Geoff listened to her reasoning and nodded agreement. ‘If you change your mind, I’ll
help you,’ was all he said. She watched him as he drove carefully along the road. He gave her the impression he had more to say, much more.

  When they reached the house, he held her arm as she prepared to alight. ‘Now, Marie. I want you to tell me what happened when you waited up for Ivor to come home. I know I’m interfering and I make no apologies. If I know all the facts and you need help in the future, I’ll be in a better position to give it. Nothing more than that. And what you tell me goes no further. You have my promise on that.’

  ‘Nothing. He told me nothing. Just made useless promises, telling me I mustn’t worry, that “everything will be all right”.’

  ‘Did he give any explanation for his absences?’ He needed to know whether Ivor had told her about finding his father.

  He listened in silence, still touching her arm as she told him everything that had happened, about the foul stench on Ivor’s clothes and his putting them into a bag for the dry cleaners, and his evasion when she demanded an explanation. He released her arm and said, ‘Give me until tomorrow. I’ll know something by then.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Find out what he’s up to. Don’t worry, if it’s a police matter I’ll talk to you before I do anything, but I doubt it’s anything worse than poaching. He tried to cheer her up by adding ‘What a family. If Ivor’s in trouble for poaching, he could be standing as a good character witness for your sons just before appearing in the same court accused of stealing the farmer’s fish and fowl!’ He was rewarded with an amused smile.