She watched her step-mother leave and felt guilt wrap itself around her like a heavy blanket. What could she do? Marion was expecting too, otherwise she might be able to leave her in charge for a while, but no, there was no one, and she couldn’t expect Julia to carry the burden alone.
* * *
September sidled out towards October, thinning out the crowds. Instead of an equal coming and going through the railway stations and buses of visitors to the town, there was a general exodus. People who had been their friends for a week departed back to their homes and the new school term. Fewer and fewer came to take their places.
Marion continued to come each morning but refused to discuss any further her announcement about the baby. ‘Julia is a doctor. Will you at least tell her?’ Patricia pleaded, but again there was no reply, only a shrug and tight-lipped silence.
* * *
Nelda felt restless. She no longer worked at the school and had been told that it was unlikely that she would be able to return once the baby was born. It angered her to think that because of this unwanted child she had lost the occupation she enjoyed. She woke very early on the first day of term, before Leonard had set off for the school, where the new term mean a flurry of extra tasks. She felt resentful. It was too dark and too early to start lifting rugs and washing floors, so, unable to sit still, she made pastry, completing two apple pies, and then mixed up oddments from the pantry and all the margarine ration and made a fruit cake.
At seven, when a surprised Leonard came down, she had cooked breakfast and handed him his flask of tea and a snack, which he enjoyed at mid-morning. When he left the house she began cleaning. The more work she did the more energy she found. Leonard came for dinner at twelve and, still restless after he returned to work, she put on a winter coat and went for a walk.
With only a month to go before the birth she decided not to walk on the hills alone, and instead she walked through the village towards Rose Cottage. When she reached it she was feeling decidedly weary and wished Julia were home so she could invite herself in for a cup of tea. She turned swiftly to walk back the way she had come, caught her heel on rotting leaves and fell heavily, almost into the ditch at the side of the road. Nelda couldn’t be certain, but she faintly remembered screaming as she staggered.
Julia was at home. All day Sunday and into Monday morning she had felt unwell and had told Patricia she might be in later.
Roland was there too. He still found Rose Cottage a pleasant place in which to work and, with Julia’s willing permission, arranged sittings there on occasions. Today he was finishing a picture of the beach at Castell Newydd, which he hoped to give to Patricia to hang in the ice cream parlour. He looked up, wondering if the squeal he had heard was a skidding wheel or cats involved in an argument. He looked out of the window, heard a repeat, only this time it was a definite call for help. He hurried out to investigate.
Nelda called for help, without much hope, as Rose Cottage was on its own far from the rest of the village. So it was with relief that she saw Roland appear.
He helped her inside and telephoned the headmaster of the school with a message for Leonard. Events swiftly overtook the astonished Roland. Julia’s calm efficiency prevailed and Nelda’s daughter was born, swiftly and without ceremony, in the bedroom at Rose Cottage.
It was three days before Nelda went home. Three days in which Julia cared for her and attended to the stream of visitors who called to see the baby. She was exhausted when on the fourth day, the doctor declared the new mother well enough to go home.
‘You’ll have to tell Patricia to come,’ Nelda said as she watched Julia efficiently prepare the baby for her bath. ‘I can’t possibly manage, I’m too weak to stand, let alone manage Richard and this little one.’
‘You’ll have plenty of help, Nelda,’ Julia said briskly. ‘The midwife will come to see to you and the baby, and the doctor will arrange further visits if he thinks they’re necessary. You are lucky that Leonard is so capable. And he has arranged for someone to help in the house for two weeks. You’re very fortunate.’
‘I’ve lost my job! Patricia is refusing to do her duty and come home for a month or two. And you say I’m lucky?’
‘Patricia has her own life to build.’
‘Her duty is with her family.’
‘And yours?’ Julia said quietly.
‘You should understand if no one else does that my career as a teacher was important to me. More important than having this baby.’
‘I do believe in achieving something apart from motherhood. For one thing it’s the mother who spends most time with the children and the more she has achieved the more she is able to help them. But now your circumstances have changed and your own loyalties lie with Leonard and your children, don’t you think?’
‘You have a very convenient conscience. Twisting everything around to suit what you want to believe,’ said Nelda bitterly.
‘You’re probably right. I am biased where Patricia is concerned. I’m proud of her, glad I have helped her reach independence. I can’t support you when you are trying to destroy what I’ve done, can I?’
* * *
When Matthew knocked at Patricia’s door the following Sunday morning, Patricia greeted him with relief, presuming that after the news of Nelda’s child, Marion had told him about theirs. His wide smile and sparkling eyes confirmed her suspicions. She had been right, Matthew was pleased with the news of a baby on the way. Her sister’s marriage might have been a bit rocky for a while but the baby had changed everything. Her greeting was more generous because of her glad thoughts.
She led him up to the living room and sat in front of the fire, smiling widely.
‘Well?’ she said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. ‘Tell me your news?’
What he did say was an utter surprise and quite alarming.
‘Patricia, I want you to come back to me. My marriage to Marion hasn’t worked out.’
‘What?’ Patricia uttered the word as an explosion of disbelief.
‘I only married her out of loneliness. You must have guessed that. I’ve never loved her.’ He smiled at her reaction, seeing in her startled expression only what he wanted to see: delight and happiness.
‘Matthew!’
‘She hasn’t been a companion to ease away my loneliness. She didn’t understand me at all. Not like you. You loved Vanessa so you understand me so well. I was a fool to let you go and I’ve regretted it so often. Specially over the months I’ve been married to Marion.’ He went on talking, still smiling at what he thought was Patricia’s favourable reaction. ‘I’d have known from the way you greeted me if I’d ever been in any doubt, that you still feel the same. Oh Patricia, we’ve wasted so much time. I want us to be man and wife and live in Vanessa’s cottage.’
‘Vanessa’s cottage,’ she mumbled, then she shouted, ‘Vanessa’s cottage?’
‘You still love me, I know you do. My loving, loyal Patricia. Don’t deny it. This isn’t the time for false pride. It’s a time for complete honesty. I can see in your eyes how surprised and happy you are to see me. I love you Patricia, say you love me.’ He opened his arms to her.
‘I think you must be crazy!’ She stood up and backed away from him. ‘And unkind! To even think of leaving Marion now, with a baby on the way. It’s cruel. And to imagine I’d take my sister’s husband away from her and be happy! You are crazy even to think about it!’
‘What did you say?’
Warming to her theme, Patricia went on, ‘Crazy! That’s what I said, Matthew. How can you think I still love you after you jilted me and married my sister? The only person you love is Vanessa and she’s dead!’ She all but shouted the last word and she saw him flinch as if she had struck him. She calmed down then. ‘Sorry Matthew. I shouldn’t have said all that. But you can’t mean what you’re saying. You must support Marion now, you can’t walk out on her and your child.’
He stood there looking at her, his face whitening so she was afraid he would faint.
‘Not my child,’ he said thickly. ‘If there’s going to be a baby you’ll have to ask Jacky Davies about it. He’s got her in the family way, not me. Marion has never been a wife to me. Not ever.’
Without another word he walked out, his footsteps receding down the stairs and out through the yard. Patricia listened for the sound of the gate clicking shut then covered her face with horror. ‘What have I done?’ she groaned aloud. ‘What have I done?’
She wished Julia were there. She needed to talk to someone, decide on the best thing to do. But she was alone in the flat. Julia spent Sundays at Rose Cottage. Pushing aside the book she had been reading, she put on a warm coat and scarf and went towards the railway station.
The morning was mild but she was shivering. Half way to the station she stopped, undecided whether to take a taxi or rely on the train getting her there before Matthew. She had to find Marion, before Matthew found her. She hailed a taxi. This wasn’t a time to consider expense.
Chapter Thirteen
Matthew’s first instinct was to go home and seek out Marion. He rehearsed what he would say, his face curling up as the words grew in his head. Tart. Slut. Whore. He’d march in and tell her he knew about the baby. He’d shake her and tell her how ashamed he was that a wife of his could allow a bastard to grow inside her.
Then, as he reached the station, his footsteps slowed and his angry thoughts did a complete turnaround. His face cleared of its anger. This was a wonderful thing to happen. It was a heaven-sent opportunity to be rid of her.
He would tell everyone that the child was not his; he’d say Marion had never been a wife to him, that she had constantly refused him. Then, once the divorce was underway, he’d be free and Patricia would no longer have any qualms about stealing him from her sister.
Stealing him, he mused, as the train left the station. That made him sound like a valuable commodity, someone talking about ‘stealing’ him for another. Patricia had ‘stolen’ him from Vanessa and now Patricia was going to ‘steal’ him back from Marion. She must really love him, he decided, with complete lack of reality. If she was going to ‘steal’ him a second time she must be crazy about him.
The train chuntered on towards Nant Cysgu and he continued to explore and expand his fantasy. In his mind there was no doubt. Patricia adored him. Adored. He savoured the word. Thinking over what had been said, he convinced himself she had already spoken of her love. He was whistling cheerfully as he left the crowded railway carriage. Patricia and Vanessa had been close friends. He wouldn’t have the dreaded cloak of guilt wrapping itself around him if he married Patricia. He should have realised it before. It wouldn’t be like it had been with Marion. Sex-crazed Marion. He would be able to make love to Patricia without fear.
First, he had to clear the way a bit, help Patricia to ‘steal’ him. He again smiled at the idea. Funny how things could look bad then, from a different angle, turn out to be a miracle.
He had to see Roland first, tell him about Patricia. Let him know that she belonged to him. Roland was not at home, nor was Mrs Drew, and Matthew felt a blistering disappointment. He had wanted to tell them immediately, to start things happening.
Where would Roland be? Rose Cottage? He hurried there, passing people who greeted him and not seeing them. Roland was cutting Julia’s lawns, the stop and start growl of the mower was a regular rhythm in the quiet of the Sunday morning. He called from the gate and Roland stopped pushing and walked over.
Roland didn’t like Matthew. Although his dislike didn’t go as far as his mother’s for Patricia, he did blame the man for not caring enough for his sister.
‘D’you want Mrs Llewllyn?’ he asked.
‘No. Something wonderful has happened and it’s you I want to tell.’ Matthew was smug.
Roland wondered idly what Matthew Morris could have to say that would interest him, but he put his head on one side questioningly and waited for Matthew to tell him.
‘It’s Patricia,’ Matthew said with a wide smile.
‘Patricia? Is she all right?’
‘She’s fine. I thought I should tell you we’ll soon be back together again.’
‘What are you talking about man? You’re married, or have you forgotten Marion?’
‘I haven’t forgotten. How could I forget months of misery? No, Marion is going to have a baby and there’s no possibility that it’s mine. Whoring tart she is and always has been. Thought I’d change her with my love, but she’ll never be any different. She’s never been a wife to me, refusing me from the moment we married, and all the time she and that Jacky Davies have been carrying on. Everybody’s known about it, mind. Including me, and there was nothing I could do about it. Nothing. Well now she’s finished and Patricia and I are free to be together, where we belong.’
Roland said nothing. He was stunned. He watched as Matthew walked jauntily up the road to the shops. He was whistling, kicking an occasional stone, hands in pockets, like a schoolboy who had been reprieved from a caning. Leaving the half-finished lawn, Roland went inside to talk to Julia.
* * *
Patricia sat in the taxi wishing the driver could cut across the fields and get there quicker. It was like a film in slow motion, the driver politely allowing other vehicles to go first at junctions and stopping for every pedestrian who seemed even slightly interested in crossing the road.
She thought of the number of times she had travelled this way during the past weeks. At every opportunity she went to help Nelda: cleaning the house, washing the baby clothes and cooking meals. She became so involved with the new baby, who they were calling Caroline, that on occasions she found herself resenting the time spent at the ice cream parlour.
‘Please hurry,’ she said, as she brought herself back to the present and worries about her sister. The driver looked offended and took his foot off the accelerator.
‘Your life is in my hands, lady, and I don’t take risks for no one, right?’ He dropped to second gear and crawled along. A paper boy on a bicycle overtook him at the corner before the bank where he eventually staggered to a stop. She declined to give the man a tip.
She burst into the flat above the bank and called anxiously for her sister. Marion was coming out of the bathroom, her face rosy, her long hair tied in a bunch and pinned high on her head. She wore a man’s dressing gown around her slim figure.
‘Hiya, sis,’ she said. ‘Put the kettle on, will you? Sinking for a cuppa I am. I haven’t been up long. Sundays are so boring, aren’t they?’
‘This one isn’t! Matthew has been to see me and I presumed he knew about the baby and—’
Marion sank into a chair and stared at her, distress on her pretty face. ‘And you told him.’
‘Sorry I am, but when he arrived, looking so pleased and happy, I thought he knew. Marion, he’s behaving a bit odd. He insists the baby isn’t his and that you and he have never been man and wife. Nonsense surely?’
‘True,’ Marion said crisply. ‘All true. Did he tell you who the father was likely to be?’
‘Jacky Davies. But I’d have guessed anyway. You and he are more than friends, I’ve known that for a long time. But a baby…’
‘Jacky Davies. Right. Matthew knows about us seeing each other and has lacked the interest to complain.’
‘Oh, Marion.’
Marion looked at her sister with asperity and said, ‘I did try to tell you. But you kept on and on about how wonderful it all was and you wouldn’t listen.’
Remembering the occasion, Patricia nodded. ‘I’m sorry. I thought my role was comforter, not confidant. Sorry.’
Marion shrugged. ‘It would have come out anyway, but I might have handled it differently, that’s all.’
‘I dashed here to tell you before Matthew got home. I took a taxi and he’s probably coming by train.’
‘I’d better get dressed then. He’ll be here soon, sure to be.’ She left the room and disappeared into the bathroom. ‘Make that tea,’ she called through the half open door.<
br />
* * *
From Rose Cottage, Matthew went towards his flat but he didn’t go in. He crossed the road and went again to the Drew’s house. Then he remembered what day it was. Church, that’s where Mrs Drew would have been earlier. She habitually went to the morning service then stopped to have a cup of tea with a friend before returning home to cook dinner. He glanced at his watch, ten-to-one. He was sure to find her there now.
Mrs Drew answered the door but didn’t step back to allow him to enter.
‘What is it, Matthew? I’m just about to serve dinner,’ she said.
‘Won’t keep you, but I’ve always considered you a friend and I’d like you to hear my news.’
‘What is it?’ Mrs Drew still didn’t move from the half open door.
‘Patricia and I are getting back together. Marion and I are – well – sufficient to say it never worked. She was completely wrong for me, Vanessa would have known that. Too flighty she is. Other men,’ he added behind a cupped hand. ‘I should have known. Patricia will be different. Vanessa and she were good friends. Vanessa will be happy knowing we’re together again.’
Without a word Mrs Drew shut the door. She could see Roland’s face in her mind, showing shock and hurt and anger. Anger directed at her.
She shouldn’t have been so determined to drive Patricia away. Roland was reaching the age when hope of a wife and children was fading. She had thought something might come of his friendship with the woman from London, Miss Swinton-Jones. Posh she was, and a wealthy career woman too. But it was only Patricia he wanted. She knew now she had prevented him finding happiness with the girl he loved because of her spiteful tongue and her obsession with Vanessa.
She remained standing behind the front door and in the kitchen, gravy simmered and boiled away, dried and burnt black. The roast potatoes crisped and stuck to the serving plate. On top of the stove the greens cooked to a soggy mess and peas went yellow. She neither noticed nor cared.
Ice Cream in Winter Page 25