They had just finished eating when she heard the kitchen door opening. Ivor appeared, neatly dressed, his hair combed and his skin glowing. She felt a yearning of love for him, startling in its intensity. His handsome face made her forget all their problems as she looked at him, and saw the real Ivor returned, come home to solve all their problems. She wanted to run to him, feel his arms around her, hear him saying he loved her and only her.
‘Hello, Marie,’ he said, and then as Geoff appeared behind him and echoed the words she felt her spirits drop and a painful disappointment overwhelm her. ‘What’s happened?’ she asked in dread.
‘Boys,’ Ivor said, ‘take Violet in the living room and play a game of Ludo, will you? Your Mam and I have something private to discuss.’
Marie sank into a chair as Ivor began. Behind the door, the boys listened.
‘I’ve been lying to you, from the moment we first met.’ Ivor began. ‘I wasn’t brought up in a children’s home and I’m not an orphan.’
‘I don’t understand—’
‘Let him tell it his way,’ Geoff said, touching her arm, gripping it to show her she had his support.
‘I ran away from a disgusting home and made my own way, and I’d almost convinced myself the life I’d invented was the true one.’
With a few encouraging words from Geoff he told her everything.
‘So the gambling was to try and help your father? Why didn’t you tell me?’ Marie couldn’t take in all he was telling her, the strongest reaction was his being unable to confide in her.
‘There’s nothing to be done about this house, but I wondered whether we could move in with my father,’ he said.
Geoff gasped. ‘You’re crazy to imagine living there!’
‘I have to get help, I know that. I should have done something sooner. But I kept hoping I’d be able to get him straight then walk away. That isn’t going to happen.’
‘I want to see him,’ Marie said.
‘I don’t want you to,’ he said quickly. ‘That’s why I couldn’t tell you any of this. Why I’ve been trying to sort it without you knowing.’
Breaking off to get the children to bed, they then continued to talk until the early hours of the morning. Marie was frustrated by her lack of knowledge. Until she had met Ivor’s father and saw for herself how he was living, she couldn’t marshal any plan, form any ideas of how to proceed.
‘Tomorrow I’ll phone the shop and tell them I’m sick. I’m going to visit your father and if you won’t come with me I’ll go alone,’ was Marie’s final word as Geoff stood to leave.
‘Geoff, wait for me,’ Ivor called and, grabbing his overcoat and hastily discarding slippers in favour of slip-on shoes, he hurried after him. If he heard Marie pleading for him not to go, he ignored her.
An hour later he still hadn’t returned and Marie sat at the kitchen table, wide awake, convinced that the fault lay with her. She must be unapproachable, too difficult for Ivor to talk to when he met trouble. Had her sister been right when she said a man didn’t want a capable woman, but someone who made him feel needed? Would she have been better to leave it to him and hope that he would miraculously find a solution? Even with her new knowledge she found that hard to believe.
*
Geoff and Ivor returned to the house, and while the old man slept they carried away as much as the van would hold and took it to the council tip. They threw the rubbish out and went back for more. As dawn broke they were returning from their fifth load, and a solitary figure was already walking across the chaotic wasteland to see what they had left, perhaps hoping for some wood to mend a fence and maybe a half-full tin of paint to decorate it.
At the lonely house, Ivor’s father still slept. Geoff left Ivor there washing the slate floor with water and a brush he kept in the van and went to find some food. They wanted the place to look as clean as possible before Marie saw it. The saddest thing was that once the rubbish had gone and the floor washed with water, bucket after bucket swishing away the dirt and smells, there was nothing there apart from the mattress on which the old man was sleeping, and one greasy, food-stained armchair.
‘At least there’s plenty of room for your furniture,’ Geoff said. It was seven o’clock when he came back holding a paper carrier filled with food.
The kitchen was empty apart from an oven range that was red with rust and a large sink. Making do with the carrier bag as a tray, they set out the vacuum flask of hot tea and bread rolls, still warm, from the bakers. Geoff had brought his cheese ration and a scraping of margarine and when the old man woke they set it before him.
Looking at Geoff, he rolled his eyes and shook his head, pushing away the food. ‘Eat it!’ Ivor snapped, and, giving that jerk of fear, the man began to eat.
Now it was light enough to see clearly, Geoff went upstairs to bring down the first of the rubbish from the bedroom, while Ivor stood over his father in a threatening pose as the food disappeared.
The wide blue eyes, so like his own, watched him, and then he seemed to notice the empty room for the first time and the eyes showed dismay, tears filling them. ‘Where’s it gone, boy? Now I’ll have to start all over again. I can’t stand it empty, see. I can’t stand the loneliness of an empty room.’
‘Where did the furniture go?’ Ivor asked.
‘Sold it.’
‘You shouldn’t have done that.’
‘Had to, didn’t I? How else was I to pay for medicine for your Mam, eh? Tell me that.’
At seven thirty Ivor left his father, after threatening him with ‘trouble’, unspecified, if he so much as moved, and went in the van with Geoff to fetch Marie.
Geoff dropped them off then left them, promising to come at lunchtime with some chips and another flask. They needed time together to deal with this and he needed to open the shop.
Marie, having heard such a disjointed explanation of Ivor’s behaviour, expected to be afraid when she entered the house, but she wasn’t.
It had a smell reminiscent of the stink Ivor had brought home with him when things had gone wrong, but there was also a smell of dampness, clean water and fresh air. All the doors and windows were open and the empty kitchen and living room contained nothing sinister.
There was no sign of his father, and Ivor told Marie to wait there while he ran upstairs to find him. Most of the rubbish had now been moved from the bedrooms, and he found his father sitting on his mattress in the back room.
He knew from his limited experience that the only way to persuade his father to do what he asked was to shout.
‘Downstairs. Now,’ he said, and he pulled at both of his hands, heaved him up off the mattress and guided him down the stairs, alarmed at how little weight there was in that frail body.
‘Marie,’ he called, softly. ‘Come and meet your father-in-law.’
Marie stood frozen with shock at the sight of the old man. Emaciated and shivering with fear as he was, she couldn’t face touching him, even though her heart went out to him.
‘How do you do’ seemed a ridiculous thing to say and ‘pleased to meet you’ was even worse. Compassion for the frightened old man went hand in hand with curiosity, and the knowledge that this dirty creature had all but ruined their lives. She acknowledged the introduction with a slight nod, and went to stand closer to Ivor.
‘I’ll go back and get some cleaning things, shall I?’ she said finally, when the silence became oppressive.
‘No, that’s my job,’ Ivor said.
She touched his arm and said softly, ‘The responsibility is for us both.’
‘You should get to work. They’ll be wondering.’
‘Not today. Today is for you and your father.’
*
‘Where’s our Marie?’ Jennie called as she ran into her parents’ house. ‘She’s not at the shop and old Harries said she’s ill. I went to the house but she isn’t there. What on earth has happened, our Mam?’
‘I don’t know.’ Belle complained. ‘I managed to make a sandwic
h for our lunch, but I don’t know what to do about dinner if she doesn’t come this evening.’ She touched her injured arm. ‘I can’t even peel a potato, this is still so painful, and your father’s worse than useless. Where is she? She knows I need help.’
‘Could something have happened to her?’ Jennie asked. ‘She’s always here at lunchtime.’
‘What are you doing home?’ her mother asked. ‘You usually eat at the flat, don’t you?’
‘We’ve run out of everything. There’s no time to shop, working all day like we do, and the shops closed at the same times as ours.’
‘Make yourself a piece of toast. I’ve saved a bit of butter in case you called, and there’s some jam after that if you’re still hungry.’ With only two ounces of butter to last a person for a week, it was unheard of to waste it by smothering it with jam. Belle looked at her daughter and wondered whether Marie had been right and she would be willing to come home. The house was so quiet without her. She made a pot of tea and carried the china and the teapot in separately, her arm still causing a little discomfort. As she poured, she watched as Jennie finished the second slice of buttered toast and began to spread jam on a third.
‘That was good,’ Jennie mumbled as she finished the crust.
‘I don’t think you’re getting enough to eat, dear.’
‘Of course I am, we manage all right. Neither of us is as good a cook as you are, mind. We fill up on bread and scrape. Stale bread toasted mostly. It’s the rationing, it’s so miserable, a couple of ounces of this, that and the other, not enough of anything to make a meal. I don’t know how you’ve managed all these years. I really don’t.’
‘Why don’t you come home?’
‘I couldn’t let Lucy down, Mam.’
‘Isn’t she getting married soon?’
‘Well, yes. But I’ll cope until I can find someone else to share with.’
‘Of course you will, dear, but you don’t have to. And we miss you, Dad and I. We’d love it if you came home. Think about it, will you?’
Hiding her relief, Jennie agreed that she would.
Hurrying from the house, Jennie was heading back to the hairdresser’s shop but she met Bill at the corner and he asked why she was rushing.
‘It’s almost a quarter past two, we have an appointment for a perm. We have to get those started early or we don’t leave on time.’
‘Going somewhere special?’
‘I might be.’ She couldn’t resist mentioning his father. ‘Mr James has taken an interest in dancing and we sometimes go together. I’ll let him know that there’s a dance on at the church hall and he might come.’
‘The church hall? That’s a bit lowly for the old man.’
‘Don’t call him that.’
‘Isn’t that how you think of him?’
‘No, it isn’t. He’s kind and very interesting and I enjoy his company very much.’
‘You wouldn’t prefer someone your own age?’ He was walking beside her and he caught hold of her arm and pulled her round to face him. ‘Like me for instance?’
‘I doubt whether you can give me a better time.’
‘Try me. Forget the twopenny hop in the church hall and come out with me.’
‘Where?’
‘I don’t know. Meet me at seven and we’ll decide. Better still, I’ll meet you at your place. You’ve got a flat haven’t you? Sophisticated woman, with a place of her own.’
She didn’t say no. But she didn’t say yes either, as she explained to Lucy when they had a chance to talk. ‘I can choose to be there when he calls or you and I can be “not at home”. What d’you think I should do?’
‘He’s rather nice looking, but I don’t think he’ll be as gentlemanly as his father.’
‘You think he’ll try it on? Rubbish. I can look after myself.’
‘Don’t ask him into the flat, then. He might take that as an invitation. The doorstep is as far as he should go.’
Jennie laughed at her. ‘Really, Lucy, sophisticated women of the world we are, with a flat of our own. We can’t act like scared kids.’
‘Kids is what we are in spite of being twenty-eight. A few weeks of independence and we’re running back to Mam.’ Lucy smiled to take the edge of disappointment from her words.
*
After talking to her father-in-law for a few hours, Marie said she thought he wasn’t suffering from a serious mental illness, he was just grieving. ‘Grief shows itself in many ways,’ she told Ivor, ‘and with care, the right kind of help, he’ll recover, I’m sure of it.’
She wasn’t sure. In fact, she had no experience of such distraught behaviour, but this wasn’t the time to admit that. Both Ivor and his father needed reassurance, strength, the belief that all would be well.
Ivor nodded agreement but knew her opinion was far from the truth. His childhood had taught him this wasn’t evidence of grief. The obsession with filling the house with other people’s rubbish was only a part of it. Barricading himself in was another of his father’s delightful habits. The reason they had lost their home on several occasions, though, was far more worrying. At least the other – far more devastating – problems had been with his mother, and she was dead. He felt no shame at his lack of grief. With his father it was possible for there to be a happy outcome, with his mother there would have been no chance at all.
Within two days the old man, who insisted Geoff and Marie call him Rhodri, was in hospital, and after a few examinations the hospital decided to keep him there for a few weeks, to feed him up and allow him to get to know his son and daughter-in-law. They had been told an edited version of the truth. Ivor had made the excuse of the war separating them. His story was easily believed as the bombing and moving from one place to another had caused many hundreds of families to lose touch with one another.
Marie and Ivor went every day to see his father and the doctors told them that Rhodri was confused, his mind sometimes going back to a situation about which he refused to talk. ‘Can you think of any traumatic event that might account for it? Did he serve in the first war?’ Ivor shook his head. How could he admit that since he’d been old enough to think his only interest in his father was how soon he could get away from him? ‘Until we can persuade him to talk, we must presume his mental state, his confusion, has been exacerbated by malnutrition, grief, loneliness and an understandable inability to cope. He’s a sad old man and he needs loving care.’
Marie promised he would have all the care and love he needed. Glancing at Ivor expecting agreement she saw disappointment. Realizing how the embarrassment at his lies must have affected him, she squeezed his hand and whispered, ‘We’ll cope.’ There was no returning pressure and when she let go of his hand it fell into his lap like a dead thing.
When the doctor suggested that a home might be the answer Marie and Ivor spoke at the same time, but Marie shook her head in protest, Ivor nodded agreement. The doctor noted the difference of opinion but Marie said, ‘I could never allow my parents to be cared for by strangers and I feel the same about Ivor’s father.’ Aware of the silence from Ivor, who had hoped this would be the end of a miserable time, she couldn’t condone him abandoning the poor sick old man.
*
The house that had been so filthy surprisingly needed very little to make it liveable. It had been Marie’s idea, and Ivor and a willing Geoff painted the walls and scrubbed and varnished the floorboards upstairs, papered the walls and scoured the slate floors downstairs. They refused to allow Marie to help, insisting that her job was packing in preparation for the move. From time to time she went to check on their progress, taking measurements to ensure that the curtains they had would fit.
When Geoff cleaned the small back bedroom, he noticed signs of burning on the floorboards. He said nothing; it was possible the confused old man had brought something burning up there in the hope of keeping warm. When the floor was painted, the stain was hardly visible and there was only a shallow depression in the floorboards to show where it ha
d been.
A second-hand shop provided a few rugs and some thick curtains for the living room, their only expenditure apart from fuel. The coal man delivered their allotment of coal into the coal house outside and they bought two loads of logs from a farmer. Unhappily, but with no alternative, Marie paid for them with the money she had earned decorating the flats to pay off their arrears and handed to Geoff for safe keeping. Their debts would have to wait.
She handed the papers relating to the arrears to Ivor.
‘I will pay this,’ he promised.
‘We will,’ she emphasized.
He just looked at her with huge, sad blue eyes and said. ‘Thank you.’
His thanks gave her an uneasy feeling. Spoken like a stranger. All their conversations were like that now, formal, polite, with no indication of the love they had shared.
On the day of their move, Roger and Royston, with a willing and very excited Violet as their assistant, shovelled the coal left at the old house and wheelbarrowed it to the new. They got dirtier and dirtier and even Ivor made no comment. They would be cleaned up at bed time and there was no way to get this day over without getting in a mess.
Neighbours stood in doorways and watched as load after load of their possessions was taken to the new address, Ivor and Marie turning away in embarrassment when something fell from the hastily packed vehicles. At the new address there were other people doing the same outside the few cottages dotted along the lane, watching with undisguised curiosity.
Marie hated that more than anything else, the disapproval and the gossip, people whom she had thought of as friends staring at the items that made up her home as they were dragged out of the house to which they no longer had any right. As Violet rode on top of the last load on the fruit and veg seller’s pony and cart, singing happily, Marie, unpacking as the goods arrived, met her first problem.
The House by the Brook Page 12