The House by the Brook

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

  She went to see him to plead her case, pointing out the improvements they had made, and threatened court action knowing she hadn’t a chance of winning.

  ‘Mrs Masters might be dead but Mr Masters isn’t, and surely it was he who signed the agreement?’

  ‘I thought that he too was – I’m sorry, Mrs Masters, I had no idea he was still there.’

  ‘So?’ she demanded, glaring at him, hands on his desk, leaning towards him like an angry terrier. ‘He’s a sick man and as such can no longer be acceptable as a tenant?’

  ‘All right, Mrs Masters, I’ll continue to rent the property to you.’ Relief made her legs weaken but she knew there was something more from the tight smile on his face. Anxiety rising to a pitch, she stared at him, waiting for the blow to fall. ‘But with the improvements,’ he went on, ‘I’ll have to increase the rental by another three shillings and sixpence a week. And only until I can find a buyer, then you will have to leave. The law is on my side, Mrs Masters.’

  It was an effective way of getting her out, as there was no way she could afford to buy the place. No home, no job and she could hardly blame Ivor this time. She should have checked, made sure the house had been transferred to herself and Ivor. She was responsible for five of them and the future looked bleak. How could she keep them together?

  *

  Jennie left most of the wedding plans to Ernie and her sister. The guests at the top table would include Lucy, and an invitation was sent to Gerald, who replied immediately explaining he couldn’t get leave. Bill said he’d be there in the hope of something going wrong. The sister of Thelma, Ernie’s first wife, would be there, and when she and her husband came to meet the bride their disapproval was in no doubt. Jennie was unfazed by the whole thing; concentrated on looking her best, trying various hairstyles and make-up with Lucy, amidst much hilarity.

  *

  Effie had not yet visited Cwm Derw, and she heard about the wedding by chance. She was on a bus heading towards Cardiff one afternoon, going to collect some forms from the printers, when she overheard a conversation between two women sitting in front of her. ‘Fancy that James fellow getting married. Next week it is, and the girl is half his age.’ She listened intently but apart from learning that the church was St Mary’s and the date was April 12th, she couldn’t find out more before the two women, still criticizing Mr James for his inappropriate choice of bride, left the bus.

  It was him. It had to be. She arranged for the day off and on April 12th set off for Cwm Derw very early, not waiting for breakfast. Food would make her sick on a day like this.

  She went to St Mary’s Church and after trying and failing to find someone to tell her the time of the wedding, she sat on a cold slab, leaning against a tombstone, and waited. There was still snow hanging about, although its beauty had long gone. Earth and dead leaves had gathered on its surface, which was pitted with raindrops, and it hid its dirty self in hollows and shady corners.

  She wrapped the swagger coat she had worn tightly around her and sat on the extra woollen scarf she had brought but the chill crept through her until she thought she would have to give up and find a café to warm herself. It was only the thought of why she was there that forced her to stay.

  She would wait for the right time in the solemn service then wake them all up. She’d shout an objection, she’d scream and tell the congregation what he had done to her. No one had believed her before, but this time she’d make sure he didn’t marry and live happily ever after. He hadn’t the right, not after what he’d done to her.

  Revealing her hatred of the man had its risks, she knew that, but once she had heard about his wedding she had been unable to deny herself this pleasurable moment.

  People began to arrive and she didn’t know any of them. But perhaps she did. She didn’t know them well and might not recognize them in their smart clothes, they all looked so different, particularly the women, who usually spent their days wearing crossover aprons and slippers. Even their figures were altered, improved by the well-fitted and carefully chosen outfits. She rose to her feet stiffly, rubbed her cold bottom and stamped her feet a few times. She had to find someone she knew, a member of his family, to assure herself she was at the right place and time. She spread the second scarf, now damp and unpleasant, around her shoulders, lifting the edge a little to conceal her face and wandered around looking under the smart but ancient hats. But she still failed to see anyone she recognized. Had she got it wrong?

  *

  At ten thirty on April 12th 1947, Jennie walked up the aisle and became Mrs Ernest James. Lucy was the solitary bridesmaid in a dress made of muslin washed and tinted a pale green, decorated with a belt of white ribbon. She wore wild flowers in her hair and carried a sheaf of dog daisies picked in the fields that morning.

  Marie had been there to help Jennie get ready. ‘All right?’ she had asked when her sister was dressed and ready to leave. Jennie said, ‘No, sis, I’m all of a doodah thinking about what’s to happen tonight.’

  ‘If you love him and he loves you everything will be wonderful,’ Marie said.

  ‘What if we don’t – love each other – what then?’

  ‘It will still be fine. Be happy, Jennie,’ she said hugging her, trying to ignore the implication of her sister’s words.

  Belle and Howard Jones were tearful, belatedly regretting they had done nothing to stop their beautiful daughter from giving herself to an older man. To stop their anxiety transferring itself to Jennie, Marie packed her mother off to wait for the car with friends and told their tearful father to go upstairs out of the way while the beautifying processes were completed.

  Ernie was dressed formally and he looked older than usual, his face pale, straight grey hair sticking out in a small fringe from beneath his top hat. He was a colourless contrast to the heavily made-up Jennie with her flowing dress and veil. Her blond hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders. She carried a huge bouquet of spring flowers, which showered down in a display that descended almost to the ground, especially made by the local florists to Jennie’s own design. Hopeful young women in the congregation wondered how she would manage to throw it and whether they’d be lucky enough to catch it without being knocked to the ground unconscious.

  The church was well attended; more than thirty relatives and friends had been invited and few had declined. They all wanted to see the wedding that had been the source of gossip ever since news of it had first been whispered just weeks ago. The churchyard was scattered with groups of onlookers come to see for themselves the ‘spring and autumn’ wedding of two well-known families.

  Watching everyone walking into the church and hearing the organ music swell, Effie realized to her chagrin that due to her wanderings she had missed the arrival of the groom. As the last of the guests found their seats and the doors were being guarded by attendants watching for the bridal car, Effie made her way into the dimly lit building.

  The pews were full and the back of the church was crowded but she moved forward to have a view of the place where he and his bride would stand. She waited for her eyes to become accustomed to the dull light and looked for the man she had come to see. He was seated and out her of sight but would stand when his bride arrived.

  As long as she was in time to stop the wedding, it didn’t matter where she stood. All she had to do was shout. There was no chance of not being heard at the moment that everyone superstitiously dreaded.

  She didn’t have much room to move, squashed against the back of the last pew in the church with those who had not been invited but had pushed in as soon as the guests had been seated by the attendants. Like so many of the crowd, she was wearing a large hat that shadowed her face and acted as disguise, although she attracted little attention. Everyone’s eyes were watching the door for the arrival of the bride. A few of the congregation gave her mildly curious glances, wondering about her connection with the families, a question half formed then quickly forgotten.

  The organist stopped the melody and
struck up ‘Here Comes The Bride’. Effie didn’t look towards the back of the church; she waited for the groom to stand so she would get her first sight of the man she had come to see. She stared in disbelief when the man on the right-hand side of the front pew rose to greet his bride. It wasn’t Bill James. The groom was his father and his bride, coming down the aisle with a demure smile, was a girl no older than herself.

  Behind the bride and her still tearful father walked someone she did know. Bill had been sitting beside his father and was standing to take his part in the ceremony.

  In stunned disbelief, she left the church before the bride and groom left the service to sign the register, and hurried to the bus stop. As she waited for it to arrive she tried to think of other things to hide her disappointment at failing to embarrass and hurt Bill James.

  She concentrated on Ivor and wondered if she should stay and learn something that would enable her to help him. She forced herself to think through everything Ivor had told her, but she had learned nothing that would help her recognize his family. She had no idea what his wife looked like and no names had been mentioned in the whispered conversations going on around her.

  *

  She wondered whether to tell him about her visit and the wedding she had witnessed, but as she would be unable to tell him who was there it seemed pointless. He’d hardly be interested in Ernie James and his stupid bride. Perhaps she would buy a newspaper in which the wedding was reported and leave it out for him, just in case he wanted news of his home.

  A few days later she placed the newspaper report on the wedding in front of him. ‘I don’t know whether you know anyone there, but as it’s an apparently important occasion in a town you know, I though you might like to see it,’ she said. ‘I was looking at some of the churches in the area and happened to see this wedding,’ she added as she walked away.

  He looked at the grainy photograph then ran after her and wanted to know everything she had witnessed.

  ‘I can’t tell you anything because I didn’t know any of the guests, I’m sorry,’ she said, avoiding mention of Bill James and his father, the reason for her going there.

  He pointed to a group at the side of the photograph. ‘That man is my father. What was he doing there?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t he be there? It seems half the town was out that day.’

  ‘I thought he was in hospital,’ he said, half to himself. Effie waited for him to tell her more.

  ‘I wanted the house for them. I spent days cleaning it up, for them. I wanted him to stay in hospital. He’s unwell, you see, unwell and I didn’t want him near the boys and little Violet. She mustn’t be near him.’ He stared at her as though she might answer his question and asked. ‘What shall I do?’

  ‘You’ll have to go there. You won’t find any answers standing here staring at a photograph.’

  *

  Marie had to find a way to pay the extra rent. She didn’t want to uproot the family again, and, besides, she had to stay in case Ivor came to find them. They’d been told they had to vacate the house temporarily, to allow more work to be done, and an unbelievable few weeks since moving in they packed what they needed and left.

  Geoff had insisted on them staying with him.

  They squashed into three rooms, with Rhodri confused and shaking uncontrollably. Marie took him to the doctor, but whatever happened in the privacy of the doctor’s room, there was no suggestion of him going back to hospital. He had to sleep on a bed-chair in a small room cleared of brushes and mops and buckets and bowls, next to the store where Geoff kept paint, white spirit, paraffin and candles.

  *

  When Jennie returned from honeymoon she was smiling and telling everyone who asked that it had been wonderful, but a glance at her face told Marie that she was far from happy.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked when they managed to find a few moments alone.

  Jennie blustered for a while, insisting everything was perfect, but as her sister waited patiently for her to stop repeating the automatic responses, she admitted that it was ‘Hell.’

  ‘In what way?’ Marie coaxed, handing her a cup of tea she had made in Geoff’s kitchen.

  ‘He treated me like a child, and apart from a chaste kiss before turning over and going to sleep, he might have been my brother.’

  Marie didn’t want to listen to details of the private side of the marriage but her sister was in such a state that she encouraged her to talk. ‘Better to tell me and be sure it won’t go any further,’ she said, taking Jennie in her arms. The story was a simple one. There had been no loving embraces, and the days were spent sightseeing, the nights in lonely isolation, Jennie on one side of the bed and Ernest on the other.

  ‘He seemed perfectly happy.’

  ‘It may be that he wanted to wait until you were home. I’ve heard of some men who are afraid to show their love in someone else’s bed,’ she went on, inventing the story but convinced that nothing was impossible.

  ‘We’ve been home two nights and nothing has changed,’ Jennie sobbed. ‘He must think I’m ugly.’

  Marie laughed. ‘Come on, Jennie, leave the dramatics to film stars, it will only make you feel worse.’ She tried to comfort her sister but in her heart she wondered whether Ernest had intended the marriage to be unconsummated. He might have thought the relationship, which had not involved sexual desire before the wedding, would be all Jennie needed. Jennie had behaved in an exaggeratedly coy manner towards him, avoiding declarations of passion, of a longing for his loving, afraid that he would readily believe any story of her previous behaviour that Bill might tell him.

  Marie sadly thought that this was one time when things hadn’t turned out for the best for her lively sister and regretted the brief moments of jealousy she had felt towards her. Neither of them had been blessed with happiness, or at least it had been short-lived, she mused. Was there a plan all mapped out for life that was immutable? Did parents sow the seeds of their children’s future? Was there no such thing as self-will? She shook defeatist musings aside and went back to Geoff’s shop determined not to surrender to such cowardly thoughts. Opportunities were there, they cropped up in every life she was sure of that, and it was only the weak who ignored them.

  She went to the Labour Exchange determined to take any job she was offered, no matter what. Her parents would look after Violet if she worked beyond the school day so there was no excuse for turning anything down. ‘Apart from decorating.’ she said to Geoff. ‘I don’t think I want to do any more of that, not since working on those flats.’

  A small dress shop was opening on a corner of the main street opposite Geoff’s hardware store and the owner needed a manageress. Nerys Bowen seemed seriously lacking in interest when she went for an interview, saying she had others to see, but the following day Marie received a letter offering her the job. The wage was less than she had earned at the gown shop, but it would be sufficient to get them back on their feet.

  ‘I am grateful to you, Geoff,’ she said when she told him the news. ‘We’ll be out of your way next week.’

  ‘Stay here as long as you wish,’ Geoff said after congratulating her. ‘I’ll be sorry to see you all go but when you’re ready to move out I’ll help you to get settled in, even though I’ll miss you.’ He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the cheek.

  ‘Geoff, I’ll never be able to thank you for what you’ve done for me. For us.’

  ‘Be happy, that’s all the thanks I need.’

  With Ivor far away and having lost the home they had loved and thought was theirs for ever; taking on the responsibility for his father; finding Badgers Brook and losing Ivor… she wondered how happiness could ever be achieved. ‘I’ll try,’ she said.

  *

  Ivor was increasingly afraid. He visualized Rhodri sitting in that rubbish-filled room and feared for Marie and the children living with the crazy old man who was his father. In his confused state he was capable of anything. The only consolation was that he wasn’t a fire-r
aiser. That had been his mother’s entertainment. He covered his face with his hands. He’d had to lie. How could he have told Marie about the bad blood he had inherited and maybe passed on to his darling child?

  After what the wedding photograph had revealed he had to go to Cwm Derw, at least to reassure himself. Perhaps Rhodri had been allowed out just for the day. Or had run away and been taken in by Marie until he could be returned to the hospital. He couldn’t be free, he told himself. He was seriously sick. He borrowed a car from one of the other insurance agents and drove to a spot some distance away from the house where he had left all his happiness.

  Badgers Brook looked different. The garden had been neatly dug, the grass mown and flowerbeds carefully cut out in an orderly arrangement that pleased his eye. The windows shone in the sun that had finally melted the last of the snow, and everything glistened with the freshness of spring. Trees wore mantles of new leaves and birdsong filled woodland. Hawthorn blossom perfumed the air with its sweet scent.

  He was surprised to see the name on the gate. Badgers Brook. He wondered whether Marie or the boys had found it or had made it. On closer inspection it looked shabby compared to the rest of the place now the mess had all been cleared.

  Taking a deep breath, wondering whether Marie would greet him with relief he didn’t deserve or whether he would be sent away, an unwelcome and unwanted intrusion, he walked towards the door with a racing heart and shaking legs. The path had been cleared of the overgrown grasses and wild flowers that had infiltrated around the paving. They had worked hard and he felt shame like a shower of icy water slide down his back. If he had been honest he might be still here, working alongside Marie, surrounded by a loving family. Why had fate led Jenkin Jenkins to him that day? Why of all the people had he been the one man who could tell him where his father was living; as soon as he and his father met his life had been ruined.