George was thankful that the men stayed a while, allowing Nelly to calm down a little and forget her daughter’s rudeness.
Later, when they were alone, he said, ‘Exciting, isn’t it, Nelly love?’
‘What, ’avin’ young Ollie to spend the night? Yes, we’ll get ’im a real good supper, shall we? Now, what d’you think ’e’ll fancy?’
‘I wasn’t thinking of that, but the fact that he’ll have to have my back bedroom and my single bed. One of us will have to sleep down here, which he might find a bit odd, or I will have to share your bed.’
‘Ooh, George! Yer right! It is excitin’. ’Ere, you going ter buy me a new frilly nightie, are yer?’
‘Are you going to bring me tea in bed?’ he chuckled.
Their marriage had been one of convenience and had taken place to prevent Evie from persuading the local doctor that Nelly was unable to care for herself and should leave her cottage. They had never shared the same bed, George sleeping downstairs on the couch or in the big armchair until they had cleared the back bedroom sufficiently and bought him a second-hand bed. Now, with Oliver coming, they might have to share the big feather bed in which Nelly had slept since she had bought it from Clara, her gypsy friend who had made it from duck and chicken feathers.
The bed cover had also been made by Clara. She had washed the sheep’s wool gathered from the hedges around the fields and after washing it had sewn it between two layers of cotton, and quilted it in a curved pattern of small running stitches during the winter months, with only an oil lamp to work by. Nelly was very proud of it and decided that, for this special occasion, they would both be put outside for a ‘blow’.
The following morning she struggled down the stairs with the feather bed and dragged it out on to the lawn. Lowering the clothes line she threw it across and tried in vain to raise it up and allow the wind to freshen and cleanse it. It was not until Phil came and offered to find a few willing hands to help that she had any hope of success.
‘I’ll round up a few men as soon as I can,’ Phil promised, puffing over his attempt to raise the heavy mattress. When George came home from the farm, it was to see Johnny, Phil, Bert and Victor all swinging on the line and hauling up the bed.
‘I ain’t got the ’eart to tell ’em,’ Nelly whispered to him, ‘but it’s almost time to drag it back in again.’
Chapter Twelve
When Amy arrived for her lunchtime appointment with Billie’s sister, she paused in the doorway of The Drovers and combed her hair and touched her cheeks with a powder puff to calm herself. She looked at herself for a moment or two in her compact mirror, assuring herself that she had done her best to look attractive. She had dressed and made up with great care before leaving the shop but waiting for the bus then the short walk had ruffled her and she needed to feel utterly confident for the interview to come.
She wondered what Mary would say. Would she try to discourage the relationship between her brother and herself? She thought that very likely, considering what Mary had to lose. Or was she going to tell Amy how pleased she was that her brother was facing a happy future? She considered the former the most likely and she took a deep breath and walked into the bar.
Mary was sitting at a corner table and she smiled a welcome and stood to order a drink. Amy asked for a tonic, not wanting to be anything but sharp, while the woman told her what was on her mind. There was a defensive tilt to her chin as she accepted the drink and settled beside Mary.
Billie’s sister was not tall and her plumpness made her appear even shorter. She had on the overalls she wore for the milk round and on her feet were a pair of scuffed and worn black shoes, low heeled and practical rather than smart. Amy wondered if the woman was deliberately making a point. A farm did not go with fashionable clothes. She wished she had not dressed with quite so much care, then realised that she should never pretend to be something she was not. She never had in the past. Why should she now?
‘It’s about you and Billie,’ Mary began after a brief silence. ‘I want you to know how I feel.’
‘There’s no need,’ Amy said quickly. ‘What Billie and I feel is what counts and so far there is nothing but affection and friendship between us.’
‘If it develops into something more,’ Mary continued, ‘I want you to know that I would welcome you and do everything to make you and your family feel at home in my home.’
Amy did not miss the slightly emphasised ‘my home’. ‘Thank you, but–’
‘I’ve looked after Billie for years. He’s younger than me and I’ve treated him like my child in some ways.’
‘He’s looked after you too,’ Amy defended.
‘Of course. But if he should marry and bring a readymade family back to live at the farm, I would be glad to retire from the role of mother and housekeeper and develop my own life. The house is huge, as you know, and I’m sure we can all fit in without treading on each other’s toes. I wouldn’t need more than a couple of rooms. The rest would be yours.’
‘I’m not sure I want it,’ Amy muttered. The thought of taking on the enormous house and the work it must surely entail was daunting, more daunting now the subject had actually been broached in a definite way. ‘I run a shop and even that, together with the small house Harry Beynon left me, is more than I can cope with at times.’
‘But you’d give up the shop, surely?’
‘Mary, I hadn’t thought this far into things. I get very fed up with having so much to do, but I like my life and I’m not sure I want to change it so dramatically.’
‘Oh, I thought you and Billie were…’
‘Billie and I might eventually think along those lines but not yet. Perhaps never. And to give up my shop, well, that I would never do. There might be a time when Freddie or Margaret would want to take it over. No, Mary, I think you’re running too far and too fast.’
‘I’m sorry. I wanted to reassure you, let you know that there wouldn’t be any problems from me. I’d willingly let go of the house and hand it over to you.’
‘Do you want to be free? Is that it?’
‘I’m past fifty. It’s rather late for frolicking, but yes, I would welcome a bit more time to call my own. But you won’t tell Billie, will you? He’d be hurt if he thought I was less than happy looking after him and the old farm-house.’
‘Not a word,’ Amy promised. ‘Now, will you have another drink before we go? Mavis is at the shop but I have some things to see to and I’ll stay there until Margaret comes out of school.’
They chatted amiably for a while, each with their own thoughts under the surface of the polite conversation: Mary convinced she had given Amy plenty of doubts about the possibilities of a marriage to Billie, who, she had reminded her, was well set in his ways; Amy wondering how Billie could have believed for a moment that she would give up the shop and become a farmer’s wife in wellingtons and the dreaded brown overalls? Amy was surprised at how friendly and interesting Mary was, having had very little to do with her previously. Mary worked hard with her cows and her milk round and rarely had time to stop and chatter, giving the impression that she was a surly misery. She wondered how many lost chances Mary’s life had held, loves she had let slip away because of her duty to her brother and the property they had inherited.
* * *
Fay was nervous. She knew the sensible thing to do was to stay well clear of the hotel in Llan Gwyn where she had met the man, whose name she had not learnt. He had said she would find him there every Tuesday and every moment since she told herself that if she did go he would not be there and she would feel disappointed and a little foolish. But the day and the face of the man stayed in her mind and, as she tore off the day on her kitchen calendar, the word ‘Tuesday’ seemed to leap out at her and urge her on.
She looked at her diary and made a mental note of her route round the shops at which she had to call. Her stomach lurched as she noted that, consciously or not, she had planned a morning that would bring her back to Llan Gwyn by twelve-thir
ty. She set off on her round, the back of the car and the boot filled with samples of the late summer and autumn models she hoped to sell.
An excitement filled her. She was more aware of everything around her and an expectancy of something wonderful made her step light, her eyes sparkle. The morning was an exceptionally good one, her confidence helping her to persuade her customers to buy more than they intended, and she drove into Llan Gwyn at twelve-fifteen with an order book filled and the conviction that she deserved a treat. She needed to sit and drink a coffee and eat a sandwich, to sort out her orders, didn’t she? Her footsteps took her to the hotel, where she repaired her makeup before finding herself a seat, quickly, without looking around the room to see if he was there.
Still not looking up, she delved into the capacious bag, in which she carried illustrations of the hats she was unable to carry, samples of fabrics, boxes of assorted feathers and veilings with swatches of dye samples. Pulling out her order book she began to fill it in with her usual neatness, reading the impatiently scrawled notes and crossing them off as they were transferred to the book.
The man came silently over the carpeted floor and asked if he might join her. She looked up and found with warm pleasure that he was as attractive as she had remembered. She moved her things hurriedly and made room for the cup and saucer he had brought with him.
‘Are you sure I’m not disturbing you?’
That, thought Fay, he was most certainly doing! They talked about their day, his eyes with the golden specks showing deep interest in all she had to say. He had a ready laugh and she found herself relating incidents that she had previously told Johnny, but which gained a far greater response from Dexter. She found even the newly discovered name exciting, and repeated it silently to herself. When there was no further excuse to stay, he suggested a walk.
‘We could walk beside the river?’ Dexter suggested with a warm smile. ‘I don’t think I could bear to let you go just yet.’
They crossed the road to go through the arcade of shops and came to the river-bank. The seats along the path which followed the river for a while were mostly filled with people sitting enjoying the watery sun and watching the water flowing gently past, but they found one finally and sat for an hour exchanging details of each other and finding they had a great deal in common. They both loved the theatre although went only rarely, their tastes in music and books coincided, and when they stood to walk back to their respective lives, Fay was flushed with happiness.
She did not see the bus which passed close to them as they stood on a corner on their way to the car park. But the driver of the bus saw them and he slowed the bus, to the consternation and annoyance of several motorists, and watched the couple cross the road, laughing and obviously enjoying each other’s company. He picked up speed again and his heart was weighed down with dread. His Fay, his lovely Fay. Surely she hadn’t found someone else?
* * *
Johnny did not know whether to mention seeing Fay or to try and forget it. The man was probably one of her customers, although he knew that for a man to run a hat-shop was rare. He watched as Fay prepared the fish and salad for their meal and saw she was in excellent spirits. When she told him that her morning had been very successful he tried to put her bright eyes and excited smile down to that. Although he was longing for her to tell him about meeting the man, to pull him out of his misery of suspicion and doubts, she did not mention him at all.
He had never dreamed he could be so suspicious and jealous and believed that if it had not been for Fay’s ex-fiancé turning up unexpectedly to ruin temporarily their wedding plans, he might never have become so. He knew Fay was not completely happy but thought that as time passed and they settled into the easy companionship which most of the time they enjoyed, they would both forget any doubts. When they had a baby and Fay stayed at home to be a full-time wife and mother, that, he was convinced, was when everything would be perfect.
She seemed to have given up thoughts of buying a house and moving out of the village: the council house they rented was comfortable enough and not far from his mother’s home where they had begun their married life. If she gave up her job – he could not bring himself to call it a career – then his wages would not give them any luxuries. But he wanted very little, and, if Fay was really restless, then perhaps, after a while she could find something else to do, something which did not involve her spending so many hours away from home and, he thought with sudden guilt, a job where she would not come across so many interesting men.
‘Meet anyone interesting today, lovely?’ he couldn’t resist asking when they were getting into bed.
‘No one more interesting than you, Johnny,’ Fay smiled contentedly as she opened her arms to him.
And with that he had to be content.
* * *
The following Tuesday, Johnny was off work. But instead of going to his mother’s house to see if there were any jobs needing doing, or spending the day in the garden, he rode into town on the eleven-thirty bus and stood where he could see the hotel where Fay had told him she often had a lunchtime snack. It was nothing to go on, he knew that, but his day off, coinciding with it being the same day he had seen Fay with the man, made it irresistible.
He stood for a while, feeling foolish and rather guilty, wanting to see her but dreading finding her having lunch with the stranger. Why couldn’t he trust her? Since their wedding he had never thought her capable of cheating on him. What was there about seeing her laughing with a man as they crossed the street in full view of the town that distressed him so much?
She went into the hotel at twelve-thirty and he decided to wait for her to re-emerge. He could make the excuse that he missed her. She would believe that for sure. He was always showing her how much he wanted her company. Perhaps he would buy a few pairs of socks as an excuse for coming into town. The thought of how involved the incident was becoming was frightening. Was he going to ruin everything by becoming pathologically jealous? He ought to go home, now, at once.
He hurried to the bus stop but changed his mind again and quickly bought two pairs of short summer socks and a bunch of flowers. Then he returned to wait, his eyes never leaving the hotel entrance. At one-thirty she came out, alone. He walked across the road and handed her the flowers.
‘Fay, my lovely, I was in town and thought I might see you. Never miss a chance of a moment with you, do I? Glad are you? That I love you so much?’
He saw at once that he had done the wrong thing. She tensed up, her beautiful face a pale mask of anger.
‘What are you really doing, Johnny? Checking up on me?’
‘Duw annwyl! No! What gives you such an idea, lovely?’
She knew she had over-reacted to the sight of him, when she had just left Dexter, but she had to continue. ‘How did you know where to find me then?’
‘I didn’t,’ he lied frantically. ‘I saw you going in there by chance, and I wouldn’t follow you in case you were lunching with a client. I waited for you to come out, that’s all. Finished for the day, have you? We can go home together.’
‘No, I haven’t finished for the day. I have several calls to make.’
Still showing her irritation, she walked back to the car park with Johnny beside her, the flowers held under her arm like a brolly. As they crossed the road, Dexter stepped out of the hotel entrance and walked off in the opposite direction.
* * *
If Timothy did not give his son homework, then Evie did. Every evening Oliver had some reading and writing to do and he got into the habit of taking it round to his grandmother’s cottage where he knew he would have the attention he needed to make sense of the tasks. It was usually Nelly who helped him and on that evening she was pointing to the odd word on the page with her dirt-engrained fingers and praising him as he called them out.
When he hesitated, she coaxed.
‘Come on, Ollie, you know what that is. Start with the first bit of the word like I showed you.’ She covered all but the first part of
the word with her finger.
‘It’s – a dirty finger!’ he joked, and laughingly jumped out of his chair.
‘Cheeky little devil,’ Nelly laughed. ‘’Ere that, George? Our grandson’s gettin’ above ’imself.’ She eased herself up, and picked up the dogs’ leads. ‘Come on, let’s take the dogs fer a run.’
They walked up the path and across the lane where a well-used path took them through the trees towards the stream. The dogs drank and paddled, swishing their feet like children enjoying the sound and the sensation of the cold water.
‘Been to yer den lately?’ Nelly asked. Oliver shook his head.
‘Margaret isn’t so keen now. Dawn keeps coming and she and Margaret can’t be friends.’
Their feet unconsciously wandered to the clearing where the tree house was situated and Oliver pulled down the rope-ladder he and Billie had made and he climbed up.
‘Come on up, Gran,’ he teased.
‘No, you bring it down ’ere!’ she retorted.
As he was climbing back down, Dawn arrived and the first they heard of her approach was the clicking of her camera in the still evening air. She took a notebook out of the pocket of her dress and meticulously marked down the time and place.
‘’Ello, Dawn. You still takin’ snaps fer the competition?’ Nelly asked.
‘No, I’ve already entered three taken at Mumbles, and three of people in the village.’
‘Six? That’ll be an exhibition of yer own!’
‘Pity is, Mr Chartridge won’t allow me to enter more than three. He’ll have to chose the one he thinks is best. He might chose the wrong one.’ She moved closer to Oliver. ‘I was wondering. Could you enter one of mine? There’s money offered for prizes and my dad would be pleased if I won it.’
‘My dad would know,’ Oliver said.
‘Not if you said I’d lent you the camera. Go on, Oliver, be a sport.’
The Changing Valley Page 22