‘I can understand why you didn’t mention Freddie,’ said Vera. ‘The school governors would not have given you an interview.’ She shook her head. ‘And that has to be wrong, in view of everything you have done for Ragley School.’
Lily sighed and sipped her tea. ‘Freddie saw the photograph of his father and the questions began. Tom and I had been trying to find the right time to tell him, but we waited too long. He found out the truth last night and this morning we discovered he had gone.’
‘Gone where?’
‘I don’t know. Tom is out there trying to find him.’
‘Tom is a fine policeman,’ said Vera, sounding positive. ‘He will know where to look.’
‘I can’t bear the pain Freddie must be feeling,’ said Lily, wiping away a tear.
Vera looked at her and clasped both her hands. ‘Lily, my dear friend, thank you for telling me. Have faith and all will be well.’
The two women stood up and hugged each other.
‘Let me know when you have any news,’ said Vera as she left.
Tom drove slowly down Ragley High Street and stopped by the village hall. He knew that the cricket field had a special significance for Freddie; it was where he had enjoyed many happy times. Unbeknown to Freddie, it was also the place where, back in 1953, Tom had met Rudolph Krüger. Freddie had been playing cricket and Rudi had come to watch him.
He stared at the track that led to the pavilion. There were recent tyre tracks.
Behind the pavilion was a large area of spare ground where families would picnic in the summer. Lily’s car was there and Tom pulled up next to it. He walked slowly round to the front of the building and saw Freddie hunched on the bench, staring out at the frozen field.
Tom sat down next to him. ‘I thought you might be here,’ he said softly. ‘It’s one of your favourite places.’
Freddie nodded. ‘Sorry, Tom. I just had to get out and find somewhere to think.’
‘I understand,’ said Tom. ‘Lily was worried because you had taken her car. We need to let her know you’re safe.’
Freddie looked at him, sadness etched on his face. ‘You shared the lie, Tom. That hurt.’
‘Then let’s talk about it.’
‘Maybe,’ said Freddie.
Tom put his arm around his shoulders. ‘You’ve scored a lot of runs here.’
Freddie gave the hint of a smile and nodded. ‘I guess I have.’
‘Rudi came back from Germany once when you were small. He saw you play cricket here. I met him then. He was a good man … like you.’
‘So why did he leave?’
‘He wanted you to have a life that he couldn’t provide – a loving home, stability, education. He also knew I was in love with your mother.’
Freddie shook his head. ‘She’ll always be my sister.’
‘Either way, Freddie, she loves you and she must be very worried right now. So let me take you home.’
Freddie sighed deeply. His breath steamed in the frozen air.
Tom stood up and began to stamp his feet. ‘I’m freezing here. Let’s go and get warm.’
Freddie stood up.
‘And I’ll drive,’ added Tom with a smile. ‘We’ll collect Lily’s car later.’
Freddie climbed into Tom’s car and they drove up the High Street and stopped outside the telephone box.
‘Lily, I’ve found him. We’re on our way home.’
‘Oh, thank God!’
The relief was like spring rain, refreshing the earth and healing Lily’s soul. She rang Vera immediately to share the news.
‘That’s wonderful,’ said Vera.
‘Thanks for your support,’ said Lily. ‘And, by the way, why did you phone me this morning?’
‘Oh, I’m busy preparing for that now. We’re having a little get-together here at the vicarage this evening, school staff and friends, the usual. Call in if you wish if things are settled, but I’ll understand either way.’
‘Thanks, Vera,’ said Lily and walked to the window to wait for the return of Tom and Freddie.
At Laurel Cottage it was a morning of silence. Lily was relieved that Freddie was safe, but it was clear he did not want to speak. Neither did he want to be hugged. Lily knew a chasm had opened between them that could not be crossed.
Freddie went up to his room while Tom drove Lily back into Ragley to collect her car. Later they ate lunch together, but little was said and when they had finished Freddie went back to his room.
The phone rang and Lily picked up the receiver. ‘Happy New Year, Mrs Feather. It’s Rose here. I wondered if I could have a word with Freddie?’
‘Of course,’ said Lily, ‘and a Happy New Year to you and your mum and dad.’ She called up the stairs, ‘It’s for you, Freddie. It’s Rose.’
Freddie came down and took the receiver without saying thank you.
‘Hi,’ he said.
‘That new programme starts on telly tonight,’ said Rose. ‘We said we would watch it together.’
‘New programme?’
‘Yes, Top of the Pops. Should be good.’
‘Oh yes, I remember now.’
‘You OK?’ asked Rose. ‘You sound a bit tired.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Well, my dad said he would collect you just after six if you like.’
‘Thanks. That would be good.’
After he rang off he turned to Tom. ‘I’m going round to see Rose tonight and watch television. Her dad said he would pick me up.’
Lily looked up. ‘Tom, we’ve been invited round to the vicarage tonight for drinks and supper with friends. We could drop you off at Rose’s, Freddie, and collect you on our way home.’
‘No thanks,’ said Freddie. ‘I’ll go with Rose’s dad.’
Monday, 6 January, was the first day of the school term and Tom had given Freddie a lift to school. Little had been said during the past few days and Freddie merely gave monosyllabic replies to any of Lily’s questions. Tom hoped things would improve in time.
When Lily drove to school a frigid silence hung over the land. Fresh snow covered the fields like an undertaker’s shroud and all was still.
‘Good morning, Lily. A new term,’ said John Pruett with enthusiasm. He beamed and held open the entrance door for her. Lily noticed that on this cold day he was wearing a Fair Isle cardigan under his grey, worsted suit.
‘Good morning, John,’ she replied, but she seemed to lack her usual vivacity and John wondered if there was a problem.
It was a quiet start to the spring term.
At the end of the school day, Lily was tidying up in her classroom when Vera appeared in the doorway.
‘Call in for a cup of tea on your way home. Joseph is at a meeting and won’t be back until after five.’
Lily smiled. ‘Thank you, Vera. I’ll be there around four thirty.’
Vera was at her kitchen window when she heard Lily’s car crunch over the frozen gravel outside the vicarage. She opened the door to greet her. ‘Come in out of the cold,’ she said.
When Lily came into the hallway the subtle aroma of beeswax and lavender made her relax and in the warmth of the kitchen she felt comfortable. It was a relief to speak freely and Vera was determined to help in whatever way she could.
‘A quiet day in school,’ she said perceptively. ‘So how was it?’
‘Difficult, Vera, but the children helped to take my mind off it.’
‘And how has Freddie been?’
‘Quiet and moody, but at least he’s not gone off again. He’s keeping his thoughts to himself – or, at least, he did until this morning.’
‘I see,’ said Vera quietly.
‘I told him it was an important year for him with A-levels coming up in the summer and his future to consider. I said I would support him in any way I could.’
‘What was his response?’
‘Fortunately Tom was out in the car or he would have been angry. Freddie said he didn’t need any help and that I would always be his siste
r, nothing more, nothing less.’
‘He’s hurting, Lily. Give him time.’
They chatted until Lily looked at the clock. ‘I need to get home and prepare a meal for two hungry men.’ She gave a brave smile, put on her hat, coat and scarf, and walked out to her car.
Vera watched her drive away.
‘Hosea, chapter eight, verse seven,’ she said quietly to herself. ‘They have sown the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind.’
Chapter Eleven
Sweet Valentine
It was Friday, 14 February and the morning was bright and bitterly cold, the dormant trees shivering in the breeze. The land was frozen and the distant fields were empty of life. A monochrome snowscape stretched out to the far horizon and a golden thread of light crested the ridge of the distant hills. The plain of York was still in the grip of winter. As Vera walked past the brittle hedgerows and across the village green, wisps of wood smoke hovered above the pantile roofs. A few snowflakes sprinkled the pavement like north wind confetti and a thin light bathed Ragley School.
Ruby Smith was putting a handful of bacon rind on the school bird table, a residue of Ronnie’s fry-up breakfast in bed. Her unemployed, pigeon-fancier husband had complained he had a cold. ‘Mornin’, Miss Evans,’ called Ruby. Her headscarf was knotted tightly under her chin.
‘Good morning, Ruby,’ replied Vera. ‘Are you working with Mrs Trott this morning?’
Ruby shook her head. ‘Edna’s badly. She asked me t’get y’boiler up an’ runnin’.’
‘Well, we’re all very grateful to you. And how’s little Natasha?’
‘Eatin’ for England, Miss Evans. Ah left ’er with m’mother.’
‘How is Agnes?’
‘Like spirit o’ spring. Ah don’t know what ah’d do wi’out ’er.’
Vera pursed her lips. ‘And Ronnie?’
Ruby sighed and shook her head. ‘M’mother sez ’e’s ’ibernatin’.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Vera.
‘’E’s a lazy so an’ so, but when ’e puts ’is mind to it ’e’s faster than a bookie’s runner.’
Vera seemed perplexed for a moment, but assumed this was a neat summary of Ruby’s husband. ‘Well, do send my best wishes to Mrs Trott for a speedy recovery.’
‘Ah’ll do that.’ As she turned to walk home Ruby suddenly remembered an interesting piece of news. ‘An’ guess what, Miss Evans. My Racquel got ’er first Valentine’s card this mornin’.’
‘Really? Isn’t she rather young for that sort of thing?’
‘Mebbe so, but they grow up quick these days. Anyway, it were from that Scott Walmsley an’ she don’t like ’im.’
‘Oh, did he sign the card? I thought they were supposed to be anonymous.’
‘No, it’s ’cause she recognized t’writin’ an’ ’e can’t spell ’er name.’
As Vera walked into school she thought she ought to mention to John Pruett that Scott’s spelling was not as it should be.
Lily parked her car and walked to the school entrance hall, where the neat and tidy Jane Grantham was clutching a handful of birthday cards.
‘It’s my birthday, Miss,’ said Jane, her eyes bright with excitement.
‘That’s right,’ said Lily, who knew the birthdays of all the children. ‘You’re six today. Happy birthday, Jane.’
‘I brought my cards to show you.’
‘Well, let’s go into the warm and we’ll have a look at them in the classroom.’
‘I love my birthday, Miss.’
‘And why is that?’ asked Lily, keen to give the little girl a chance to express herself.
Jane looked up, her rosy cheeks glowing and neat ribboned pigtails sticking out under her bobble hat. ‘Because for one day I’m famous.’
Lily smiled. ‘Yes, Jane, you are,’ and she took the child’s hand as they walked into school.
It was mid-morning and the local refuse wagon trundled down Ragley High Street. Twenty-one-year-old Dave Robinson had obtained his heavy goods vehicle licence and he and his cousin, twenty-year-old Malcolm Robinson, had been newly installed by the council as the local bin men.
The two had been inseparable friends since boyhood and took pride in their work. Dave, a huge man at six feet four inches tall, always looked after the diminutive Malcolm, who was a foot shorter, although built like a Russian weightlifter. Inevitably, they were known in the village as Big Dave and Little Malcolm.
On this bitterly cold morning the intrepid duo, as northern as beef dripping, were going about their usual work, lifting and tipping, then driving on. They worked in silence until they pulled up outside Nora’s Coffee Shop for their morning break.
‘Ah don’t understand women,’ said Big Dave.
‘Y’reight there, Dave,’ agreed Little Malcolm. It was his stock reply to anything Big Dave uttered, as it gave him thinking time. Even so, he was slightly taken aback by this opening confession. ‘What got y’thinkin’ ’bout women, Dave?’
‘That Rita Eckinthorpe from t’fish an’ chip shop ’as been starin’ at me.’
Little Malcolm reflected on their most recent visit. ‘Y’mean ’er wi’ a glass eye?’
‘That’s ’er.’
‘Ah thought she were lookin’ at me,’ said Little Malcolm.
Big Dave considered this before he answered. It occurred to him that his vertically challenged cousin might be too short to be seen by Rita over the high stainless-steel counter. She would only have heard his voice asking for a fish with plenty of batter and a few scraps with his chips.
‘Mebbe so, Malc’,’ said Big Dave.
‘Ernie Morgetroyd reckons she’s ’ot stuff,’ remarked Little Malcolm.
Big Dave switched off the engine. ‘D’you think so?’
‘Ernie says she’s fit as a butcher’s dog.’ In Little Malcolm’s world this was the highest praise that could be conferred on a member of the opposite sex.
‘Not sure,’ said Big Dave, shaking his head. ‘Bit skinny f’me.’
‘Ah don’t mind ’em skinny,’ said Little Malcolm, ‘an’ it’s Friday, so we’ll see ’er t’night.’
It was something to ponder as they climbed out, crunched across the frozen forecourt and walked into the warmth of the Coffee Shop.
During morning break Vera was counting the late dinner money. ‘All correct, Mr Pruett.’
I would expect nothing less, thought John as he looked up from a selection of old eleven-plus examination papers. ‘Well done, Vera,’ he said with a smile. It was then that he noted the frown on her face. ‘What is it? You look concerned.’
‘The new ten pound notes will be issued next week and I’m not keen on the idea. Parents will be bringing them in and asking for change. It disrupts my routine.’
The Bank of England had announced the introduction of a new £10 note, the first since the Second World War.
‘I’m sure you’ll manage, Vera. You always do.’
Vera locked the cash in her tin money box and shook her head.
John returned to selecting which brain teasers he would give to the children in his class while pondering the fact that it was Valentine’s Day and another year had gone by without his receiving a card.
Three miles away in the students’ common room in Easington School, Rose was reading her Valentine’s card. ‘It’s lovely, Freddie,’ she said, ‘particularly the “violets are blue” verse.’ She looked again at the envelope. ‘But you shouldn’t have wasted your money on a stamp.’
‘It was meant to be a surprise,’ said Freddie, but without enthusiasm.
Rose had noticed that in recent weeks Freddie had seemed preoccupied, almost sullen at times. She put it down to the extra revision papers they were receiving prior to their A-levels, plus his high commitment to his driving lessons and desire to pass first time.
‘We ought to do something special tonight and give homework a miss,’ she suggested.
‘I’ll check with Sam,’ said Freddie. ‘He mentioned going to see Dr. No this week
.’
Rose gave him a hard stare. ‘When you see him, tell him to wake up and send a card to Joy. She told me she was fed up with him this morning.’
Freddie believed Valentine’s cards were more important to girls than boys. ‘OK,’ he replied lamely.
‘We always go to the cinema, so how about trying out that new Chinese restaurant? It’s supposed to be good.’
‘We would need Sam to give us a lift,’ said Freddie.
‘Well, suggest it and make it a foursome. Joy needs cheering up.’
When Rose walked away Freddie contemplated his life. Time with Rose was an escape from the tension at home but, even so, he was finding it difficult to relax with her. His world was in shadow. There was no trace of forgiveness in his heart for Lily. In consequence there was little communication between them and that morning there had been another subdued breakfast at Laurel Cottage before Tom had given him a lift to school. At least with Tom he could discuss rugby and politics, though never relationships. Lily had become his mother in name only and there was no going back to the life they once had. The sense of betrayal had become his constant companion.
In the far corner of the common room, Joy was sitting alone on the floor. She was aimlessly reading a copy of the first issue of Jackie, a new magazine published last month. One of the younger students had left it on the table in front of the noticeboard. It cost sixpence and was advertised for ‘go-ahead teens’ and featured a cover picture of Cliff Richard plus a ‘Free Twin Heart Ring’. She sighed as she flicked through the pages. There were full-colour pin-ups of Elvis, Billy Fury and the Beatles, as well as an article on ‘Outfits to make you pretty’ that she thought looked dreadful.
She was in a bad mood. Sam hadn’t sent her a Valentine’s card, although she had gone to a lot of trouble selecting one for him and posting it to ensure he received it yesterday so that it would also act as a reminder and give him time to buy one for her.
As she glanced at the remaining pages of Jackie she decided to forego the advice on ‘Super perfume tips for a more kissable you’ and wasn’t in the mood for the ‘Dreamy picture love stories’. Instead she tossed the magazine back on the table whence it came and, as the bell rang, she hurried off to her next class.
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