The Changing Valley

  ‘I never dreamt Freddie would do such a thing. What will people think?’

  ‘Sorry Amy, but I knew as well but decided not to say anything.’ Victor appeared at her elbow and squeezed her sympathetically. ‘Sorry you had to find out at all.’

  ‘But why didn’t he tell me? Am I such a villain of a mother?’

  ‘Come off it, Amy,’ Nelly laughed, her crooked teeth making her look more a villain than Amy. ‘It was because ’e didn’t want to upset you, not ’cause ’e was afraid to tell yer.’

  Billie was standing at the end of the long rubber mat marking the position for throwing darts, but he turned several times before throwing. Seeing that Amy was upset and hearing a part of what was being said, he wanted to go to her. He threw the darts carelessly, his score jeered at by the good-natured watchers. As soon as the score had been written up he walked through the crowd to Amy as George took his place in front of the dartboard.

  ‘Amy, what’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing really,’ Victor answered for her. ‘It’s just that Freddie came home on leave and spent it up in the council houses with Sheila.’

  ‘Very considerate boy,’ Billie surprised them all by saying. ‘Sheila rang from the hospital and told him she was very depressed and felt utterly alone. He couldn’t refuse to help, even if she didn’t belong to him. For a youngster he’s very mature. You made a good job of bringing him up, Amy, for him to care like that.’ He pushed his way back to the bar and returned with a tray of drinks, including a brandy for Amy. He was glad he had overheard the conversations – it had given him time to think of a suitable comment, even if it had meant him losing his match.

  ‘You really think that was why he did it? Because he took pity on her, having no one who understood?’

  ‘I know for definite. Thoughtful and kind, that’s your Freddie, and what’s more, he knew you’d understand when he explained.’

  ‘Budge up again for George,’ Nelly said, ‘an’ make room fer Billie.’ They all managed to squeeze into the bench seat as George returned from his match. It was Johnny’s turn to play against the players from a nearby village and the noise as supporters encouraged their favourites made it impossible to hold a reasonable conversation.

  Billie happily put his head close to Amy’s as she asked, ‘How did you know? Did you see him?’

  ‘No, Sheila’s gran told my sister Mary when she ordered extra milk. There’s a lot of clues in the ordering of milk, Amy,’ he laughed. ‘He stayed close to her, his large frame threatening to press Nelly into the wall.

  Victor shouted to Nelly, ‘I think Archie wants to go home.’ He pointed to where Archie stood, his cap in his hand, waiting near the door. He came closer as Victor beckoned.

  ‘Leave, shall we, when you’ve finished your drinks?’ he suggested hopefully.

  Nelly had two drinks lined up with the half-empty one she was drinking. ‘’Ere, Archie, ’ave one of these,’ she called.

  To Billie’s delight, they were all pressed closer on the bench to make room for Archie and he ended up with Amy seated comfortably on his lap. Victor watched silently. In the hubbub of the noisy bar it surprised Amy how many people were able to follow what was going on at their table in the corner. Johnny came over when he had won his match and whispered, ‘Sorry, Amy. I knew about Freddie too. Saw him and Sheila arriving. Thought it best to say nothing.’

  ‘Everybody knows!’ Amy said.

  ‘—what a kind boy your Freddie is,’ Nelly finished with a wink for Billie.

  ‘What a fool he is,’ Amy whispered sadly.

  The door opened, making the smoke in the room swirl and eddy like liquid, and Tad Simmons came in. He looked around the room but did not acknowledge anyone. Nelly watched as he ordered a drink and went to stand where he could watch the game in progress.

  ‘I wonder where ’is little girl is while ’e’s boozin’ away ’is money?’ Nelly said, with little attempt to whisper.

  ‘Hush, Nelly love, he’ll hear you,’ George warned. He touched his eye tenderly. ‘I don’t want another black eye.’

  Nelly stood up, pushing Billie and Amy close to the edge of the seat in her haste. She banged her glass on the table and said, again to George, but loud enough for Tad not to mistake the words, ‘I wonder where poor little Dawn is, while ’er Dad is boozin’?’

  Tad turned his head sharply and stared at her red-faced challenge, but she might have been a painting on the wall for all the notice he took after his instant reaction.

  Slowly, he turned his head back to the darts players and raised his glass to his lips.

  ‘Looked right through me, ’e did, the cheeky…’

  George smiled and patted his wife’s arm with a sigh. ‘Time we went home, I think.’ To his relief, Nelly gave in, if not gracefully then with a subdued protest, and he guided her out of the crush to the door, the dogs following in his wake.

  Archie, who had been standing anxiously waiting for them to leave, his flat cap twisting in his fidgeting hands, promptly opened the door for them and stepped outside.

  Nelly could not resist a parting shot and, as the door began to close behind her, she burst back in and said, ‘Some people don’t deserve kids! Blimey, you’re worse than my Evie!’ Her voice began to get more and more maudlin as she went on, ‘Poor little Dawn, poor little kid, love ’er cotton socks–’ George good-naturedly dragged her away from the door, her fingers grasping the edge like a child hanging protestingly on to a sweet-shop counter.

  * * *

  Delina Honeyman was angry every time she thought of Tad Simmons. She cycled to the school in Llan Gwyn where she worked each day and had to pass the house in Hywel Rise where he lived. After her attempt to discuss his daughter, she had been tempted to avoid passing his house by using Heol Caradoc instead, but she contented herself with glaring at the door as she freewheeled down the steep hill instead.

  She thought repeatedly of the way she had forced herself to go and try to help with Dawn, only to be told rudely to mind her own business, which had startled and then humiliated her. Her emotions were tender since the sudden cancellation of her wedding to Maurice Davies and she was easily hurt.

  Going down to see the trench-digging in Nelly’s garden was the first time she had mixed with the villagers since that awful occasion when Sheila had announced that Maurice was the father of her child. She had been aware of the hastily turned faces every time she walked from the bus, or had ridden along Sheepy Lane past the house where Ethel, Maurice’s mother, lived. She guessed that as she passed groups of people, the conversation would immediately become a sympathetic revival of the day Ethel forced her son to marry Sheila Powell. It would be a long time before Delina could convince herself she was not the centre of almost every conversation in Hen Carw Parc.

  That Tad Simmons had spoilt her first effort made it worse. She could see his face every time she remembered the incident, the blue eyes starting out of his head as anger exploded from him. The familiar curl of embarrassment twisted her stomach as she tried to force the memory from her. The words she had used had implied interest and understanding and surely had not warranted such an outburst?

  She had not seen him since, but as she rode on her bicycle to the point when she would have to dismount and push it, she felt herself becoming more and more tense. If the sensation of panic did not cease soon she would use the other hill and avoid passing his house. But for the moment, there was enough defiance in her to make her refuse to take the easier option and change her routine.

  She rode further up the hill than usual, puffing with the effort of the steep gradient, and the bicycle began to make complaining noises. She wished she had taken the other hill. How embarrassing it would be if she should break down outside his house. Her imagination flew and she imagined him seeing her and believing she had arranged the whole thing. Anger against him grew until she was having imaginary arguments with him. Her face had lost its usual calmness and a faint blush of colour had become a moist redness which increase
d the blueness of her eyes. She put on as much speed as much as possible, bent on passing his house before admitting defeat and getting off to walk.

  To her alarm the pedals slipped occasionally and the noise became worse. The locking, followed by the slipping of the pedal, caused her to jerk forward and she looked down at the source of the creaking and groaning, wondering if she could make it past Tad’s house. She couldn’t get off now, not until she had passed it. She pushed more determinedly against the pedals in agitation. The creaking and groaning changed, there was a moment’s blessed silence apart from the hissing of the tyres on the road surface, then there was a crack and the chain came off.

  The road, which had been empty, soon filled with people either curious or wanting to help, as she stepped away from the machine and looked anxiously at the chain. She had no idea how to get the chain back on and was grateful when a man came from a house near that of Tad Simmons and offered help.

  She bent to watch as he expertly replaced the chain, but her words of thanks were cut off as he said, ‘Sorry, love, you’ll have to get it mended properly. The link’s gone, see?’ With hands already covered with the grease which coated the chain, he pointed out the distorted link and shook his head sorrowfully.

  ‘Thank you anyway,’ Delina smiled. ‘If you could put the chain in a wrapping of some sort, I’ll walk home and get it fixed.’

  ‘I have a spare joining link,’ a voice said and she stood up from her perusal of the offending chain into the eyes of Tad Simmons. She felt the shock of arriving at a situation she had foreseen and had dreaded. Yet there was warmth too in seeing him looking at her with such interest. She disliked him yet was attracted at the same time. His blue eyes held a promise of something special and now, even the mouth had lost its accustomed tightness and the hint of suppressed anger. She was flustered and her reply to his polite offer of assistance was curt.

  ‘No need, thank you. My father will be able to see to it for me.’ She took the chain, which the first man had had wrapped in a piece of brown paper, and pushed her bicycle up the hill and around the corner into St Illtyd’s Drive without looking back.

  Her heart was racing. The encounter had unnerved her and put her out of sorts with herself. Why had she allowed the man to affect her so? He was rude and ill-mannered and therefore not worth a second’s thought. His offer of help would not change that. But why had she been so angry at what might have been a peace-making gesture? It had seemed genuine – he had offered an open palm on which was a small metal object that she presumed was the link she needed. But no, she had to act like a spoilt child and storm off.

  ‘What’s happened, love?’ Victor asked when he saw her throw her bicycle with unaccustomed anger on to the front lawn.

  ‘The chain has broken on my bicycle.’

  ‘That’s nothing. I’ll get a new link tomorrow and fix it in no time.’ He studied her flushed face, wondering at her ruffled expression. ‘Something else wrong?’

  ‘No, just that Tad Simmons, offering to help. As if I’d let him help me. I wouldn’t take his hand if I were drowning!’

  ‘Upset you proper, didn’t he?’

  ‘I simply don’t like him.’

  ‘Funny that,’ Victor mused, ‘how we have to like someone to accept their help.’

  ‘It’s usually a two-way thing, offering and accepting, but there’s no friendship in either direction between Tad Simmons and me. I feel sorry for the little girl, though,’ she said more calmly as she slipped off her coat and began to wash her hands. ‘If I could find a way of helping her without having to meet her dreadful father, I’d gladly do so.’

  ‘Call and see Nelly. She seems to have taken a liking to the girl. She’ll have a few ideas, I bet you a shilling.’ he covered his face in mock dismay. ‘Whoops! Mustn’t say “I bet” in case your mother’s listening!’

  ‘You aren’t, are you, Dad? Betting again, I mean?’

  ‘Now and then, like,’ he admitted quietly. ‘Life is pretty dull and a little flutter adds a bit of spice.’

  ‘You and Nelly are a fine pair!’

  ‘Now Nelly, there’s a woman who loves the horses. I called there the other day while she was listening to the racing results and she was so close to that wireless of hers I could only see the soles of her feet!’ He watched as Delina’s smile slowly wiped away the frown, hoping he had succeeded in cheering her up as well as taking her mind off his attraction to gambling.

  Victor did not find gambling a problem and it was only occasionally he risked a few shillings on a race, but Imogen, his wife, was a very religious woman who frowned even on the purchase of a raffle ticket, except when it was in aid of some charitable cause when, she insisted, it was to be considered a gift and not as an attempt to win something without paying for it.

  It was his Imogine’s strong determination to live a rigidly straight and honest life that had caused the serious rift in their marriage. Although never a loving couple, they were reasonably content until Victor found himself in court accused of theft. He had stolen from his employer, Harry Beynon, and his wife’s fierce religious beliefs had made her cut him out of her life, except for the basic necessities of food and laundry. From that day, his wife had never addressed a word to him, communicating where necessary through Delina or one of her brothers. She had cut herself off from the village too, bitterly ashamed of what had happened.

  He was honest enough to admit to himself that even if his homelife were not barren and loveless, he would still have been attracted to Amy. But coming from the emptiness of his marriage she was like a dream to him, a hope that kept him sane. Amy, so cheerful and loving, who he could imagine sitting opposite him while they chattered through relaxed mealtimes, and who would share his lonely bed.

  On the following morning, Delina opened the front door and looked towards the lawn where she had thrown the bicycle, but it was not there. It was standing against the hedge and when she stepped closer she saw that the chain had been mended and the bicycle cleaned and polished like new. She went back and called to her father.

  ‘Dad, thank you! What a lovely surprise. You must have been up since the crack of dawn to fix it for me.’

  ‘Fix what, love?’ Victor asked, shaking on his overalls ready to leave for work.

  ‘That bicycle. The chain is on and you’ve cleaned it so the chrome gleams. Thank you!’

  Victor looked confused.

  ‘But I didn’t, haven’t, I mean. I intended to buy the link today and see to it this evening.’ Still puzzled, he went out to look at the shining machine, then turned to his daughter with a frown. ‘Someone’s fixed it, love, but it wasn’t me, unless I’ve been working in my sleep!’ Delina looked at the secure chain and her face wore a frown to match her father’s.

  ‘I wonder if the man who came to help me did it? But why should he?’ Then her face changed, tightened in anger. ‘Oh, no! He couldn’t have—’

  ‘Who are you thinking of?’ Victor asked. He smiled teasingly as he guessed, ‘Not that awful Tad Simmons!’

  ‘Why would he? If he thinks this will make me forget his rudeness he’s mistaken.’ She felt a childish impulse to kick the bicycle but satisfied herself with only glaring at it before walking out of the gate, head held high. ‘I’d rather walk!’

  Victor thought he’d have another word with the man who had upset his daughter so badly and, on the way home from work that day, he stopped at Tad’s door. There was no reply to his knock and he walked around to the back of the house and peered through the window to see if anyone was home.

  He could see that the house was very bare and lacked comfort. There were only hard chairs, no big soft armchairs drawn up near the fireplace, which, it being summer, lacked even the normal cheer of a glowing fire. A table stood against a wall and two wooden chairs were near it, askew, as if the occupants had risen suddenly and had left in haste. Victor felt a sudden rush of pity for the man who was trying to make a home for his daughter and himself.

  He felt the stirrin
gs of a need to help and wondered how he could offer assistance without offending the man who, he knew, had a short temper. His gentle thoughts were interrupted suddenly by a slap on the shoulder and when he turned around, a smile half prepared to greet Tad, he was punched once and fiercely in the face.

  ‘Get out! I won’t have snoopers nosing about!’ A low, almost growling voice muttered the words, which Victor heard through a humming mist of pain. His nose felt distorted and huge, the blow had made his eyes water profusely and he could see nothing. It was moments before he could make out his attacker standing before him, arms on hips, raised on the balls of his feet as if preparing for retaliation on Victor’s part. Nothing was further from Victor’s mind. All he wanted to do was get past the man and hurry out of the gate.

  In a voice Victor hardly recognised as his own, he said, ‘I came to thank you for mending my daughter’s bike. If it was you.’

  ‘Came to see what was to be seen, more like,’ the man snapped.

  Victor fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief to quell the blood now beginning to flow. His lips felt like rubber tyres as he explained, ‘Looked in to see if you were there, that’s all, man.’

  Tad handed him a handkerchief. He didn’t apologise but, as Victor later decided, he came as close to it as he was able, when he muttered, ‘That’s what everybody round here does, poke their noses in. It’s what I expect.’

  ‘Damn me, there won’t be any noses left to poke, the way you’re going on!’ Victor gasped, bending his head back and trying to hold his nose firmly as he spoke.

  ‘You’d better come inside and clean up.’ Taking a key from under an old flower pot, Tad opened the door and gestured for Victor to enter. Victor hesitated.

  ‘Will I get another swipe if I don’t keep me eyes to the floor? Shut them, shall I, and let you guide me?’ he said sarcastically.