‘Sheila, I want you to come with me to Mam’s,’ Freddie said firmly.
‘No, Freddie. She doesn’t like me.’
‘She doesn’t know you. You lived above Mam’s shop for only a few weeks before leaving home and coming here to your gran’s. That’s the only time she’s seen you. Come back with me now. I want you and her to be friends.’
‘I certainly need a friend,’ she sighed. ‘But no, I can’t go with you. She wouldn’t want to share you with me. Never forgive me for keeping you here on your last leave, she won’t.’
‘Today is all I’ve got, Sheila, and before I go back to camp I want you and Mam to talk to each other, right? I need to know that when I’m not here there’s someone to keep an eye on you, make sure you’re all right.’
‘No, Freddie. Perhaps next time you’re home.’ She flickered her eyes wearily, and seeing his concern, lowered her high voice a pitch and went on, ‘Not today. Anyway,’ she remembered, ‘your mam isn’t there. My mam is in the shop and yours has gone to Mumbles for the celebrations.’
‘Good. You can come home with me and settle in before she comes. When she sees you there with me, she won’t be anything but kind. You don’t know my mam.’
‘I know she won’t like me!’
‘She will. Come on, get your coat. We’ll take it steady and if you get tired I’ll carry you,’ he smiled.
Accepting his determination, Sheila obeyed and, taking a black, bobbly-wool coat that was far too thick for a day in late June, but which she knew would make her look paler and thinner, she followed him through the village to his mother’s house on the road to The Drovers.
* * *
Amy knew there was someone there before she stepped inside. She could not explain how, but there was something about the doors being in a different position and the kettle on the cooker set askew.
‘Anyone there?’ she called nervously, thoughts of the recent burglaries making her heart race. She pushed Margaret behind her and clung tightly to Sian. Into the lengthening silence she called again.
‘It’s me, Mam,’ came a familiar voice.
‘Freddie!’ She hurried into the living room but stopped when she saw Sheila sitting near the fireplace, where a bar of the electric fire burned.
‘Sheila isn’t well so I brought her down for a walk. I thought we’d have some fish and chips and a chat, then I’ll take her back before I go for my train.’
‘Go for your train? Now you’ve just come! Don’t say you’re off already, or have you been home a while and staying up with Sheila like last time?’
‘I was given a twenty-four-hour pass and I’ll have to leave at nine to be back. Special leave, it was. I told them I was worried about Sheila, her being just out of hospital, like.’
‘I see.’
‘Go and fetch the fish and chips, shall I, while you and Sheila talk? I’ll go on the bike, won’t take me long.’ Not waiting for a reply, he left, taking the bicycle out of the shed, giving the tyres a pump and riding back to the village.
When he returned with the parcel of hot food, Sheila still sat near the electric fire, Margaret was practising her piano pieces and Amy was in the kitchen.
‘Had a nice chat?’ he asked, pretending not to notice the strained silence between the two women.
‘Your mother’s been busy,’ Sheila said. ‘She’s been out all day and has to catch up on the work. I offered to help but she prefers doing things herself, her own way. I quite understand.’
Freddie gave the hot, steaming, newspaper-wrapped package to his mother and she began sharing it out between four plates.
‘Mam, I want to talk to you,’ Freddie said.
‘About her?’ she whispered.
‘Yes, Mam, about Sheila.’
They sat at the table and, while Sheila silently ate and Margaret sneaked occasional glances at a book she had hidden on her lap, Freddie explained to his mother that he needed her to look after Sheila while he was away.
‘Still weak, are you, after the baby?’ Amy asked and her voice became less harsh. A sudden memory of the baby she had lost all those years ago came to her and reminded her that the position she had been in then was not dissimilar to Sheila’s now.
‘I’m all right, Mrs Prichard,’ Sheila smiled, ‘but I’m mixed up. I can’t decide whether I’m most sorry about the baby or that Maurice left me. It’s all the upset that’s making me feel so bad. Mam and Dad hardly talk to me or each other. Shamed they are, and blaming me for embarrassing them. Your Freddie’s been a real friend. He’s making me face things and I don’t know what I’d have done without him. I wouldn’t have coped at all.’
‘Well,’ Amy said stiffly, ‘you can come here and talk to me and Margaret if you’re ever lonely. I know there are times when a mother isn’t the one to confide your thoughts to. Good as your mother is, I’m sure,’ she added hastily. ‘If you need to talk things over, you know where to find me.’
‘Thank you Mrs Prichard.’
Amy stood up and pushed the plate away from her. ‘Now, if you two’ll excuse me, I’d better get Margaret pointed towards bedtime!’
‘Let her stay up a bit longer. I’ve hardly seen her,’ Freddie complained.
‘Bit better than last time though. At least you have seen her!’ Amy said, the sharpness back in her voice.
‘Last time I spent my days off with Sheila because she was unhappy and ill and I thought I could help. I should have told you, but – well, I didn’t. If Sheila hadn’t wanted to have me there I’d have come home, but she did and I stayed until my leave was up. I didn’t intend to, Mam, it just happened.’
Sheila smiled at Amy. ‘He’s so thoughtful and kind, isn’t he Mrs Prichard?’
Amy thought how mature he seemed for a boy hardly sixteen years old. She felt proud of him yet sad that the days when she could plan and arrange his life for him were so soon over.
But later that evening as she closed the door behind them Amy found herself muttering crossly, ‘Thoughtful my foot. The boy’s a fool to get caught up with someone like that! A fool to himself.’ She still found it impossible not to blame Sheila for attempting to blame Freddie for her pregnancy. She simply couldn’t help it.
* * *
On that same day, Fay had intended, albeit unwillingly, to go with Johnny to the Mumbles Celebrations. She constantly refused to join in any local activities and tried to explain to Johnny that village life was a trial rather than a pleasure for her. She had finished her work before lunchtime and had stopped in Llan Gwyn for a cup of coffee before the drive home. She went to a local hotel where she sat in the comfortable lounge to relax and prepare for the doubtful pleasures of an afternoon near the sea. She was neatly dressed as always, her clothes immaculate and smart. She considered her appearance a part of her stock in trade, something as important to the prospective customer as the goods she sold. Everyone she met wanted to look as beautifully turned out as she did. She never stepped over her doorstep, or even showed herself to anyone, apart from Johnny, without knowing her appearance was faultless. For most that would have been hard but Fay enjoyed it and did not begrudge the time involved for a moment.
Now, after several hours driving and persuading buyers to order some of her expensive hats and accessories, she was as neat as when she began her day’s work. Still, she went first into the Ladies Room to touch up her makeup and comb her fair hair which she wore in a pageboy style, touching the collar of her beige linen suit.
She chose a table near the window where she could look down on to the main street of the small town and, when the waiter appeared, she ordered coffee and a teacake. She rarely ate at lunchtime and only ordered with the subconscious hope that it would delay her sufficiently to make the visit to Mumbles not worth while. If she could say with honesty to Johnny that she had arrived home too late to go, then she, and he, would be satisfied. She knew that Johnny would be disappointed, for he loved showing her off to his friends, but sitting on a beach or in a small cafe talking boring talk
to such people as Nelly was more than she could bear. She failed to understand the attraction of such times.
The man was already seated at the next table when she sat down and, although he appeared to be reading John Bull magazine as he ate his lunch, she knew he was watching her. It was as if she had extra peripheral vision, seeing at the very edge of her view that his head had turned towards her. Moving her head a fraction she saw with amusement that his eyes were lowered, yet there was the clear knowledge that his gaze had been upon her and with, she was also sure, interest and admiration.
There had been many encounters with men as she travelled throughout the towns of South Wales and many opportunities to flirt, but she had never been tempted. Today, wanting an excuse to stop her having to join Johnny and his friends at Mumbles, she allowed a moment’s pause before she turned back.
Her tea-cake arrived and she spread the butter, watching it melt into the hot toast, apparently needing all her concentration for the simple task. She became aware once again of the man’s attention. Then, before she could raise the first small portion to her lips, he leaned over and asked, ‘Wouldn’t you like a proper meal? I would be glad of some company.’
Fay frowned and shook her head. ‘Thank you, but if I had wanted a meal I would have ordered one.’ She was disappointed. Surely he could have thought of a more original approach?
‘I hate eating alone,’ he went on. ‘My wife is still shopping and I am sure she would welcome the company of an attractive stranger too.’
‘You mean your wife wouldn’t object if she returned from her shopping to find you entertaining a stranger? Another woman?’
‘Of course not.’ He moved his chair slightly closer to her. ‘We have been divorced for three years and we’re only meeting to discuss something regarding a house she wishes to buy.’
He gestured politely to the chair beside him and, curious, Fay moved to join him, waiting while he carried her simple meal to his table. She observed him as he busied himself with the rearrangement. His hair was reddish and his eyes could only be described as tawny. Like those of a lion, she thought foolishly. He was tall, slim and dressed in an expensive suit, a spotlessly white shirt and a tie that was clearly pure silk. His hands were well manicured and there was about him an air of confidence that pleased her. She guessed he was between thirty-five and forty. Wealthy, assured and sufficiently good company, she suspected, for her to enjoy making her return home too late for the trip to Mumbles.
In less than ten minutes she had told him about her job and where she lived, and about Johnny and the visit to Mumbles which she wanted to avoid. He in his turn described the house where he lived with his mother and a housekeeper and the business which he ran with his brother.
‘Will you meet me again one day when you have an idle hour?’ he asked as she stood to leave. ‘My wife will be so sorry to have missed you when I tell her about what you do. She’s a great one for hats,’ he said with a low chuckle.
It was the sound of his laugh and the remembrance of his eyes, half-hooded, glinting with specks of gold, that filled her mind as she drove home. Remembering, she was conscious of a warmth spreading throughout her body, disconcerting but undeniably pleasurable.
Approaching the outskirts of Hen Carw Parc she slowed the car. It was still early, time enough for her to go in and change into something more suitable and join Johnny at Mumbles. Stopping the car, she looked both ways and, seeing the road was empty of traffic, turned and went back the way she had come. Better call on a few more customers. That way she could tell Johnny that work had prevented her going to the celebrations. Her faced was slightly flushed, her blue eyes glowing with excitement and a guilty pleasure as the car went once more towards Llan Gwyn.
When the shops had closed and there was no further excuse for delay, still she did not want to drive home. It was almost six o’clock and she knew that Johnny would have given up waiting for her and would be on his way home. There was a film showing, ‘The House of Wax’, a 3-D production which necessitated each member of the audience wearing the red and green spectacles which could be bought for sixpence at the cinema box-office. She drove to Swansea with a feeling akin to that of a disobedient schoolgirl.
* * *
Johnny was frantic. He had expected Fay to be at home when he returned, and probably wearing a look of defiance as she faced him with reasons for not meeting him as planned. Finding the house empty and with no sign of a note to tell him she would be late, he began to prepare the meal, watching the clock, first with disappointment, then anger and finally consternation. Propping up a piece of paper listing the places he intended to visit in search of her, he left the house.
He went first to Ethel Davies, but she had seen nothing of Fay. Then to his mother’s, and there he also drew a blank.
‘She probably got to Mumbles late and is still on her way home for there,’ Netta suggested.
Refusing the offer of something to eat, he ran back up Sheepy Lane to St David’s Close to see if the car had returned.
At the corner he hesitated. Would it be foolish to go and tell PC Harris that his wife was missing? It sounded melodramatic on a quiet summer’s evening to worry about a grown woman, yet where could she be? Reluctantly he admitted that it was not an unusual occurrence for Fay impulsively to go and visit someone or even just drive around for an hour or two without first telling him. He saw Freddie walk up the road with Sheila and waved, tempted to ask if they had seen Fay but held back feeling that the urgency and alarm were foolish. He walked to the end of St David’s Close and let himself into the empty house to wait.
He had the wireless on but heard the car as soon as it entered the Close. His emotions were tangled as he rose to greet her. Anger, hurt and relief exchanged places in his thoughts and on his boyish face. But it was relief that showed the moment he saw her stepping out of the car. He ran to help her.
‘Fay, my lovely, where have you been? Worried I was. Duw annwyl! I thought you were lost. Not knowing where you were and expecting you hours since. Not trouble with the car, was it? I’ll take it out after we’ve eaten and check that everything’s all right, shall I?’ He was talking too fast, he knew that, and from her face she was already irritated by it. Forcing himself to be silent, he waited for her to tell him what had happened. Busying himself at the cooker with bedraggled vegetables, unable to watch her, afraid of what she might tell him.
He would never feel anything but vulnerable in his relationship with Fay. She was so clever and beautiful and he had loved her since he was a boy, never dreaming that one day she would consent to marry him, a bus driver. He would wake after a terrifying dream, in which she had left him, or else believing momentarily that the marriage had been the dream and the reality was waking and finding himself back in the bed in his mother’s house, alone. He would put his arms around her, breathing in the sweet scent of her, wondering at the fate that he granted his wish and made her his own.
He returned from his thoughts to see her walking down the stairs wearing a silky dressing gown and fur-edged mules. She had cleansed her face and her hair had been brushed and pushed back from her face with a towelling band which she used for her make-up.
‘Sorry, Johnny, but I didn’t finish in time to come.’
‘Come off it, Fay. Working until this time? That’s a bit strong even for me to swallow, isn’t it?’ He didn’t raise his voice but the criticism was there and it added to her irritation and not her guilt.
‘I don’t know why but I didn’t want to come home and hear all about the excitements of a picnic with Nelly and a gang of children!’
‘Boring! Is that it? You find everything about our life together boring, right? What harm would there be in sparing an hour or two to enjoy a bit of innocent fun? Am I such a boring husband and companion that you have to drive around till this time of night rather than face coming home?’
‘I went to the pictures.’
‘Who with?’ For the first time he raised his voice above a whisper.
‘With no one. I went on my own to see “The House of Wax” in Swansea.’ She took out the spectacles to show him.
‘The one we were going to see together? Not so boring with me safely out of the way?’
‘Don’t keep saying “boring”. I love you Johnny, but I hate the way you try to involve me in the lives of people I have nothing in common with. People like Nelly Luke. Even Evie has nothing to say that I find remotely interesting, although she would be horrified to hear me say so.’
‘Nelly’s a good sort and she’s never done you any harm. I don’t expect you to arrange dinner parties and invite her, but a bit of socialising wouldn’t hurt, now would it? Better than going to the pictures on your own, I’d have thought.’
‘Tell the truth, Johnny. You miss being a part of your mam’s life with half the village traipsing in and out of her house day and night.’
‘Yes, I do. There’s always someone to enjoy a few minute’s chat with, swap news with people who care if you have a problem, big or small. Yes, I do miss it. I find this place –’ he waved his arms around the neat and sparsely furnished room ‘– this shell of a place as cold as my bus on a winter’s morning, unless you’re here. When I come here and you are working, it’s got no welcome for me. Mam’s place was never empty.’
‘You like being a part of the community.’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘But Johnny, don’t you understand, I don’t.’
Johnny was startled at the vehemence in her voice and stared at her in alarm.
‘Today I suppose I was rebelling at your attempt to make me mix with people I don’t have anything to say to. It isn’t how I want us to spend our time. I work hard and when I’m free I want us to be quiet and on our own, just you and me, Johnny. I married you and that didn’t mean treating half the village as our family.’
The Changing Valley Page 13