The Changing Valley
Page 10
While he washed his face and cooled the sting of the damaged nose and mouth with cold compresses Tad spoke in short bursts and again the words were close to saying he was sorry.
‘I’ve got nothing to hide here – Dawn and I manage all right, if people will stop interfering. It’s hard, only being able to work part time. Afraid they’ll take Dawn away.’
‘No chance of that, is there? Everyone can see how hard you’re trying. She’s a handful though, your Dawn.’
Victor stepped away as he said it, expecting another violent reaction but the man hung his head and once again Victor felt a surge of sympathy.
‘She will wander,’ Tad told him. ‘I rarely go out after I finish work but occasionally I have to get away and have a drink and hear other voices around me. Then I leave her with a neighbour, but she always runs off.’ He washed out the basin where Victor had been cleaning his wounds. ‘Punishing me I suppose. Sometimes in the night I wake up and go to look in her room to see if she wants covering up and her bed’s empty. I look out of the window and she’s sitting in the garden. Other times I’ve found her wandering through the streets, looking through other people’s windows.’
‘Stays near though, does she?’ Victor was half afraid to speak in case the man stopped talking to him; he felt in the other a need to share his problem, at least briefly.
‘Several times she’s gone further afield and I’ve had to go looking for her. Frightening, that is.’
Now he had begun to talk he went on, explaining all the difficulties of a man caring for a small child, hardly looking at Victor who sat holding a cold cloth to his stinging face.
‘And there’s school, dozens of things to remember there and half of them I can’t get for her. Costumes for the end of term play. Now how can I make things like that? I know she refuses to take a part when she’s offered it, because she knows I won’t be able to get the things she needs. Then there’s help with homework. My mind is an adult one, used to dealing with adult problems. I can’t bring myself to her level somehow, although I badly want to.’
Victor wondered if his meal would still be waiting for him, cold and congealing on the kitchen table, or whether it would have been thrown in the ash-bin as on previous occasions. His nose had stopped bleeding and, apart from the sensation that his mouth and nose were of exceptional size, he felt sufficiently recovered to leave.
‘Where’s Dawn now?’ he asked.
‘Down with Nelly Luke or whatever her name is. Teaching her to use an old camera they gave her.’
‘Kind old soul, she’ll help you with Dawn, if you try to give up your hobby of clouting people,’ Victor dared to joke.
‘When her mother died I promised her I’d never let Dawn be taken into care,’ Tad went on, not heeding Victor’s remark. ‘You can imagine how easy that seems when you say it. But in reality the responsibility is enormous. Trying to work and, in the few hours available to you, to earn enough to feed us both and make a home, it’s damned near impossible.’
‘Trying to be independent doesn’t help, mind,’ Victor felt brave enough to say. He glanced at the man warily to see if he was taking offence. ‘People round here, they’re great, and they’ll help if you stop quarrelling with everyone, and give up punching noses.’ Seeing Tad calmly listening to him, he went on more confidently. ‘In fact, we’ve got a couple of armchairs we don’t use, out in our shed, they are, and we could bring them down if you like. Only as a thank you for fixing Delina’s bike, mind, not charity. Perish the thought!’ he joked. He risked a smile and was relieved to see Tad smile back. ‘It was you, wasn’t it? You who fixed Delina’s bike?’
‘Delina, is that her name? I never caught it the first time we met. At Nelly Luke’s party, it was.’
‘That’s her. How did you know where to find her?’
‘I do know one or two things about the village, you know,’ Tad answered brusquely. There seemed to be nothing further coming, so Victor left, with Tad’s handkerchief still held over his nose. He would have to explain how, between stepping off the bus and reaching home, late, he had managed to get involved in a fist-fight. Lucky for once that Imogine did not speak to him, he thought wryly. He would enjoy keeping her guessing. Why not? And in any case, he did not intend to let Delina know who was responsible.
Constable Harris was on his way up the hill, gaitered legs wobbling a little as the hill grew steeper and the bicycle harder to push. Victor hoped he was not on his way to complain about Dawn, as he had once wanted to himself. He turned his head away. A third bloody nose would bring Tad Simmons a lot more trouble than a ruined handkerchief.
* * *
Johnny Cartwright swung himself off the bus as it slowed near the bottom of Sheepy Lane, shouting thanks to the driver and the conductor. He had just finished his shift and had taken the bus back home. He began to walk up Sheepy Lane towards the council house he and Fay rented but changed his mind and went instead to see his mother. Fay would still be out. It was rare that she was home before six o’clock and could be even later when she travelled down to Pembroke or up to Brecon to visit her newer areas.
He wished Fay didn’t work. With shift work, he had spare time during the day and it would have been wonderful to be able to go home and spend the time with his wife instead of pottering around the house and garden, constantly watching the time, hoping to hear her car stop outside the gate. One day, when she decided it was time for them to have a baby, then he would really feel they were married. At present he felt that their relationship, although loving and warm, was still precarious.
Netta opened the door as he reached the gate, having seen him approaching. Her once-dark hair was a halo of white around her gentle rosy face and her well-rounded figure was neatly dressed in a cotton frock and an embroidered apron.
‘Mam, any chance of a cuppa and a cwlff,’ he gasped. The slice of bread, thickly cut and covered with jam was his favourite and something his fastidious wife did not approve of. He stopped at the door and sniffed appreciatively. ‘No, changed my mind, I can smell your cooking from here. Bake-stones, is it?’
‘Yes, some bake-stones and a few pancakes. Will that do you?’
‘Like you, Mam, lovely!’
He heard Phil’s voice call him and said loudly, ‘Oh, he’s here is he? Not still delivering them letters, are you Phil Davies?’
‘Catrin is out and he has to shift for himself today,’ his mother explained with a chuckle.
‘Never! Phil-the-Post make his own tea?’
He went into the living room where a low fire burned and settled to enjoy an hour of chatter. Before he could drink his tea, there was a knock at the door and Nelly arrived with her two dogs.
‘Nelly Luke!’ Johnny teased, ‘Might have guessed you’d smell the teapot!’
‘Johnny, I think people ought to call me Nelly Masters now I’m married to George.’
‘I agree, Nelly,’ Netta said in her quiet voice. ‘It’s almost an insult to George that no one uses his name, the name he gave you.’
‘Nelly Masters you shall be,’ Johnny promised. He sat again as Netta busied herself with extra food.
‘Did you find out any more details?’ Netta asked her newest visitor and Johnny asked, ‘What’s this then, something I should know about?’
‘There’s a celebration on the twenty-ninth to mark the hundred-and-fiftieth anniversary of the Mumbles Train,’ Nelly explained. ‘I’m going with Oliver and Margaret.’
‘And you, Mam, are you going?’
‘Of course, Johnny. Why don’t you and Fay come too? It should be fun. There’ll be all sorts of entertainment and some of the passengers are going to dress up in the clothes of years ago.’
‘Yes, come why don’t yer?’ Nelly coaxed. ‘We can all go on the bus an’ we’ll take a huge picnic an’ ’ave a lovely time.’
‘I might be working,’ Johnny said. ‘I’ll have to check. Someone has to do the driving!’
‘Then we’ll invite Fay,’ Netta said. ‘Will you as
k her, Johnny? You’ll see her before I do.’
‘There was talk of hiring a bus,’ Nelly grumbled, ‘but Bert forgot to book, thinking Phil was doing it.’
‘Best keep it simple and make your own way,’ Phil advised. ‘’Specially after last night!’
‘Last night?’ Johnny asked.
Phil settled into the armchair to tell the story, his finger rubbing the side of his nose in a familiar gesture.
‘Someone suggested an outing for the darts teams,’ he began. ‘Good idea that, but then they were persuaded to let Bert organise it. So far, they’ve had four meetings and Bert has been in the chair. He’s tied them up so tightly in rules and formal democratic procedures, they haven’t even been able to decide on a date! Damn, it’s funny, even if it is frustrating for them that’s hoping to go. “Must speak through the chair” is one of his favourite sayings. According to little Archie, Billie Brown stood up and lifted a chair and shouted through the rungs, telling Bert to get on with it.
‘Bert banned him! He did!’ he said as the others laughed. ‘Banned him, until the landlord threatened to ban Bert till Christmas if he didn’t behave.’
Before Johnny left, he decided that even if he didn’t go on the outing, it might be fun to sit in on the meeting called to arrange it.
Chapter Six
Amy always rose early. During the weekdays she needed to prepare for opening the shop and on Sundays she liked to get her weekend work finished early so she had some time to spend with Margaret. On this Sunday morning she was surprised to hear the sound of activity in her garden long before six. Curious and a little alarmed, she leaned out of the window and realised that someone was digging.
‘Victor? Is that you?’ she called softly. She waited while the man below her window stepped in to view.
‘No, it’s me,’ Billie said. ‘I’m sorry if I woke you, Amy.’
‘What are you doing at this time of the morning. Couldn’t you sleep?’
‘I’ve been up since five and, as Mary didn’t need any help, I thought I’d come and give these borders a bit of a dig. I’ve brought you some annuals too. Clarkia, verbena, zinnias and some lobelia and alyssum for the edges.’
‘You’d better come in.’ Amy closed the window and, putting on her satin dressing gown which was trimmed with fluffy swansdown, went quietly down the stairs.
Billie removed his heavy boots and washed his hands, then stood as Amy filled the kettle and put it to boil on the electric cooker.
‘You look lovely, Amy.’
‘Without a spot of makeup and with my hair uncombed?’ she laughed.
‘You don’t need anything, in fact. I’ve never seen you like this before and I think you’re more lovely than when you’re dressed for the day.’ He spoke quietly and she was surprised at the earnestness of his remarks. Perhaps she should have made him wait while she dressed. Foolishly she imagined how his sister looked in the mornings. It was difficult to imagine Mary in anything other than her work clothes. She found, glancing at Billie, it was not so difficult to think of him wearing less than the dungarees and cowboy shirt, which was all she ever saw him wearing.
She busied herself with cups and saucers and, as she reached across to get a couple of spoons, Billie moved towards her. He kissed her clumsily, touching her ear with his lips as she turned away from him in alarm. Then he put his arms around her and pulled her towards him and kissed her again.
This time there was no awkwardness about his embrace and she felt herself submit to the lips moving gently over her own. His hands slid lower on her back and he pressed her against him.
‘Billie, I’m not ready for this,’ she protested weakly. ‘Margaret’s upstairs too and—’
‘Amy, you know how I feel about you. Think about it, don’t say anything now, just think about it.’ He released her slowly and went to see to the impatient kettle, his back to her, his presence filling the room as he went about the mundane task.
‘As for Margaret,’ he added, ‘you know I would never do anything to distress her.’
‘It was unexpected, that’s all,’ Amy said.
‘I’ll finish planting these flowers for you then I’ll go.’
‘No need,’ Amy said, ‘I’ll go up and dress then you can stay for breakfast if you like. I’ll call Margaret. She’d love to see you.’
He reached for her again and this time she responded with a feeling of wonderment at the idea of Billie – plodding, quiet Billie – revealing a passionate side. The thought excited her. His hands, warm through the thinness of her dressing gown felt possessive and strong. She eased herself away with some regret and pushed him out through the door with a forced laugh and a threat. ‘Go you, before I call for help,’ she laughed and the laugh sounded harsh with the tenseness of her feelings. When the borders were cleaned and filled with the plants he had brought, he came back inside and joined Amy and Margaret for breakfast. Margaret was pleased to see him and her being there eased the tension and made the meal a relaxed occasion. ‘Uncle Billie, what have you been planting in the garden?’ she asked, and he took her out and described the flowers that would be in bloom in a few weeks’ time.
‘I’ve brought some carrots for Mr Leighton’s horses. Ask your mam if we can go now and feed them. I’ve got the Land Rover. Like a ride in that, would you?
‘Yes please! Oliver will be jealous!’
Leaving Amy to continue her work and think about the sudden declaration of his feelings, Billie took Margaret to the field beside Nelly’s lane. Leaving the car on the main road they walked up to where the horses were leaning over the gate. Nelly was there, offering the large and gentle animals some bread. She had just refilled the bath with clean water, a task she and George had taken on willingly.
‘Just too late to ’elp carry the buckets,’ she complained light-heartedly. ‘Lovely, ain’t they? My George is buildin’ ’em a shelter.’ She pointed to the top of the field where, protected by a small stand of trees, a wooden shed was receiving the finishing touches from George, assisted by Oliver.
‘Goodness, is everyone awake early today?’ Billie laughed. ‘I thought it was only farmers who rose with the sun.’
‘Some days is too good to waste,’ Nelly said.
Margaret climbed over the gate and called to see Oliver who was sawing a piece of wood to finish the doorway of the new shelter. Nelly stroked the velvet noses of the horses and laughed with pleasure as they took the carrots from the children’s open palms.
‘Gentle giants, ain’t they?’ Nelly smiled. ‘Peaceful things to ’ave about.’
‘Come on, young Margaret. Time I took you back home. I don’t want your mam shouting at me,’ Billie said with a smile. The smile widened as he remembered Amy’s kisses. ‘I’ll come and fetch you later and you can have tea with Mary and me. How’s that? You and Oliver?’
‘I’ll go and ask Mother straight away. Can I ride down to the main road in the Land Rover, Uncle Billie?’
‘An’ me,’ Nelly shouted, ‘I ain’t never ridden in one of them.’
Billie loaded up his passengers and, after going up the lane a short distance to turn, drove back down to the main road. He was in a mood of elation. Amy had not refused to consider him as more than a friend and the morning was full of beauty and calm contentment. Then, as he turned the vehicle left to take Oliver home, everything changed.
There were two policemen outside Netta Cartwright’s house, and this being such a rare occurrence in Hen Carw Parc, Billie knew something unpleasant had happened.
Netta Cartwright was short and dark-eyed like her son Johnny, but she was round and rosy-faced, while he was slim and boyish. She always spoke quietly and people found her presence relaxing and restful as her brown eyes showed a calm and gentle expression. But today her face was bright with shock, the dark eyes anxious and afraid. One of the policemen was Constable Harris and when he saw Billie he signalled him to stop.
‘Another burglary, I’m afraid, Mr Brown.’
‘No! Not
Netta?’
‘Makes you angry, doesn’t it? That someone could break into the home of someone like her and take the little she has.’
‘Go and fetch Johnny shall I?’ Billie offered.
‘Will you? That will save time.’
So Oliver, Margaret, Nelly and the dogs had an extra long ride as Billie went up to the council houses to tell Johnny about the robbery.
‘It must have been last evening when I was out visiting Prue Beynon,’ Netta explained when they got back, bringing an anxious Johnny with them. ‘I came in and went straight to bed. No need to check the doors, as I’d locked them before going out. It was this morning when I went to go outside that I noticed the lock was broken.’
Nelly put an arm around her and, together with Johnny, guided her back inside. ‘Makes yer want to kill ’em, don’t it, Johnny?’ she grumbled. ‘Fancy all this upset fer seven pounds. ’Oo could do it, eh?’
‘Someone wants money badly enough not to care what it does to their victims, Nelly. Someone in Hen Carw Parc.’
Nelly shivered. ‘I ’opes they get caught soon, Johnny. We’re all gettin’ a bit jumpy.’ She wandered back home after Billie dropped her again at the bottom of her lane, and tried to think of who would be in need of money urgently enough to steal for it. Dawn was the first name that came to mind but she discarded that idea. This was not the work of a child. Victor was always broke and Griff seemed desperate enough to cheat on the betting slips he carried to the bookies. And what about those boys with the expensive motorbikes? And that miserable Tad Simmons? He needed money, no doubt about that. But by the time she had reached home she had discarded all the names. Surely none of them would cause such distress to people like old Archie and gentle Netta?
* * *
Billie drove Margaret back to get ready for Sunday School and stopped to tell Amy about the robbery. He did not stay this time. Amy’s polite, but firm ‘I have to see to Margaret now’ was enough to warn him not to risk spoiling what was an encouraging start to this new stage in their relationship. With Margaret’s promise to bring her mother for tea, he drove back home well-contented.