He picked up the trowel from the lawn where he had thrown it and continued to attack the daisies.
‘Going to the darts match tonight?’ Amy asked later, when she went out with some tea. She had kept away from him, afraid that she would be persuaded by his wretchedness to allow the affair to continue.
‘Are you?’ he asked hopefully.
‘No, I’ve had enough of darts for a while. They’ve fixed the outing at last. Are you going?’
‘I might as well. There’s got to be something to break the monotony.’
‘I’ll pack you a snack box,’ she promised. ‘Call in the shop before you get on the coach and collect it.’
‘Is Billie going?’
‘He has to. Catrin won’t let Phil go without someone to keep an eye on him. He got lost last time and didn’t turn up till the following day! Too much beer on the coach, if you ask me.’
‘I’ll call at the shop about eight, then,’ Victor said. He looked thoughtful.
* * *
Constable Harris was asking questions about motorbikes. He had gone three times to ask Griff’s son, Pete, if his was working and was proudly shown the bike, shining and, for once, in perfect order.
‘Me and Pete had a puncture last week and we stripped the bikes down and gave them a good greasing and now they’re ready for anything,’ Pete told him. ‘Want a ride, do you?’
‘No thanks, I’ll stick to pedal power. More peaceful,’ Harris replied.
It was Sheila who mentioned Griff’s own bike and when Harris saw the man calling at the fish-and-chip shop he asked to see it.
‘Hang on till I finish work, and I’ll show you,’ Griff promised. ‘Bit of a mess, mind, the exhaust has gone.’
‘I’ll call and ask your missus to show me,’ Harris said and, doubtfully, Griff agreed.
‘She doesn’t know much about bikes, mind,’ he said.
‘Me neither,’ Harris told him.
Catching Hilda as she finished chipping the potatoes for the evening’s frying, Harris went with her through the garage doors to where, in a corner, hidden by old mats and some ancient blankets, Griff’s motorbike was found and brought out into the daylight. The exhaust was hanging off, and, after moving it and hearing an unpleasant sound of scraping, Harris pushed it back and re-covered it. It didn’t seem likely that it had been used lately. Best he looked somewhere else for the mysterious night-rider. Thankful once again that his enquiries led him away from the village inhabitants, Harris went on his way.
* * *
On the day of the darts team outing, Nelly took the dogs and walked to the end of the lane to see them off.
‘Men only!’ she laughed with Constable Harris. ‘A lot of babies without the women to look after them!’ Most of the men carried parcels of food. ‘I bet most of that grub’ll be thrown into the first rubbish bin they pass,’ she prophesied. ‘’Alf the fun of an outing is finding somewhere to eat. Enjoy yer fish an’ chips!’ she shouted as Phil was handed a paper-wrapped package with an apple and a banana. Catrin smiled at her.
‘You’re probably right and they’ll find something more interesting, but you’ve got to make them feel cared for, haven’t you?’
Nelly watched Billie standing behind the coach, overseeing the loading of the beer crates into the luggage department. Head and shoulders above most, she saw him constantly turning to look towards the shop, which was still closed. She screwed up her eyes and peered at the darkened window. There was someone inside, probably Mavis getting things ready for opening, she thought, then she stepped closer. Standing at the kerb she concentrated and recognised the two people inside. One was Amy, clearly recognisable with her fluffy blonde hair and the other was Victor. No wonder Billie looks sick, she thought.
She waited to see if Victor was going on the coach but, as Billie stepped on to the coach beside Phil and the driver began to rev the engine warningly, the shop door did not open and Victor did not appear, inside the coach men were changing seats, arguing about who would sit where, whilst the driver asked Billie to close the door.
Bert was about to be locked out and he banged furiously on the door and called irritably, ‘’Ang on a minute will you! Archie Pearce isn’t here yet!’ He ran his finger down his list as, with a groan, the driver reversed the coach back to Archie’s door with Bert running after it shouting abuse. Archie came out carrying the tuck box he used for work.
‘Been ready ages,’ he insisted as the driver began to complain. ‘Just waiting for you lot to sort yourselves out. Damn me, you’re more fussy about who you sit by than a pack of school-kids!’ He was hauled on to the bus and, with Billie bending to take one more look at the shop, the bus struggled off. Faces at the bus windows were grinning and arms were waving at Nelly and the others who had come to see them off, stretching for a last glimpse as the women dispersed. Nelly stood after they had all gone, watching the shop which was still in semidarkness, the two figures still visible. She sighed. It seemed that Amy had chosen between Victor Honeyman and Billie Brown and made the wrong decision as usual. She sighed again and went back to the cottage.
* * *
Amy watched the coach go, its exhaust issuing a gust of smoke that all but obliterated it as it turned the bend into the road on the way to Llan Gwyn to pick up the rest of the passengers. Then she turned to Victor.
‘So you aren’t going and Billie knows you are here with me. What are you trying to do to me, Victor?’
‘Stop you making a mistake, love.’
‘I wish people would let me make my own mistakes and not think they know better than me what I need! I’ve made plenty of mistakes and I’ve always coped. What gives you the right to try and protect me?’
‘This.’ He handed her a photograph. It was not clear but it was easy to see the woodland scene and the two people, close together, looking into each other’s eyes. Billie’s large body almost hid the small, delicate figure of Sheila Davies, who was looking up into Billie’s face with obvious admiration.
‘Where did you get this?’ she demanded.
‘Dawn gave it to Delina when they met in the lane. She threw it at her actually. This and others. She’s been going around with that damned camera of hers and taking snaps of everyone she sees.’
‘But not many in such an interesting position,’ Amy said harshly. ‘What’s Sheila’s game I wonder? Surely she isn’t after Billie? I doubt she’s so desperate that she’ll want a man of his age.’
‘Not likely is it? He’s too old for you!’
Amy ignored him and concentrated on Sheila. ‘I’ve always known that girl was trouble. I’ve said it often enough.’
‘Who, young Dawn? I agree with you there.’
‘No, Sheila Powell.’
‘Davies,’ he corrected. He watched her as she efficiently sorted out the vegetables ready for the outside display. ‘What are you going to do about the photograph?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know. I do know that I can’t stay in the shop today. It’s a long walk I need. Something to get the steam out of me before I burst! Why should Billie want to bother with Sheila? In all the years I’ve known him there’s never been any harsh gossip.’
‘There’s dull!’ Victor smiled. ‘They can’t say that about you or me, can they, love?’
‘It must be one of Sheila’s tricks. Perhaps she and Dawn arranged it between them.’
Victor could see she was upset and knew it was not only the photograph. ‘There’s no use speculating. But I suppose we have to give the man the benefit of the doubt, seeing that it’s Sheila involved.’ There was no point trying to blacken Billie any further. He guessed that a wrong word and she would tell him to go.
‘What’s troubling you, love?’ he asked after a few moments’ quiet. ‘I know you well enough to be able to tell when there’s something on your mind.’
‘It’s Margaret,’ she told him. ‘Mrs French has offered to pay for her to go to a private school, where she will be able to concentrate more on her music.’
‘But if it’s best for her?’
‘Trouble is, with those decisions you never know until it’s too late. No, Margaret’s place is here with you and Freddie, when he’s home. How could it be best to put her in among strangers? Growing up away from her home, changing her so she won’t belong anywhere. No. Imogine’s family wanted to do that for Delina and the boys, but that was one time I insisted on having my own way, and none of us have regretted it.’
‘But Margaret is very talented.’
‘According to Mrs French. Get someone else to look at her, and see if they agree.’
She half-nodded, her mind distant. He saw her look again towards the photograph of Billie and Sheila.
‘Billie wouldn’t do anything with a kid like Sheila,’ he said quietly. ‘He’s too fond of you to risk losing you.’
He helped her to carry the vegetables outside and arrange them under the window. She was angry and hurt and her fingers worked quickly as she untied strings of cabbages and pulled onions free from their net sacks. Her face was flushed slightly and he thought her the most beautiful and desirable woman he had known. He had to play fair with Billie, to the point of not accusing him of something he was certainly innocent of, but he would not be noble enough to help him, or be stupid enough to miss a good opportunity.
‘Ask Mavis to do the morning shift for you,’ he said eagerly. ‘It isn’t often you have a Saturday off.’
‘I couldn’t, Victor. But I must admit I don’t feel like being pleasant to customers today.’
‘Then ask. She can only say no.’
Amy went to the side door which led up to the flat and knocked. Mavis had her hair in curlers and still wore her dressing gown when she opened the door but she agreed at once to manage the shop in the morning as well as the afternoon.
‘Saturday morning isn’t too bad and I’ll be able to catch up with my work tomorrow, but don’t tell the vicar,’ she joked.
‘Right then,’ Amy said, her hands on her hips. ‘Now, what are we going to do with the day?’
‘Fetch Margaret and Oliver and ask them to come with us. Where, is up to you.’
‘They’re already going out. Nelly has invited them to have a picnic up at the old castle ruins. Dawn as well.’
A smile lit Victor’s face, his blue eyes glowing with pleasure. ‘Lovely. I’ll have you all to myself for a whole day.’
‘But—’
‘Definitely no buts! There’s nothing you can do about it. Fate has played straight into my hands.’ He gave a huge wink and handed her the coat she had thrown across the counter. ‘As soon as Mavis gets her hair out of them old tin cans, we’re off.’
‘I’ll have to go home for Sian’s food first. I didn’t bring enough for the whole day.’
‘Lovely,’ Victor said again.
They walked down the road to the house, the baby propped up a little so she could see something more than the sky above, Victor talking to her all the way, pushing the pram in sudden bursts of speed to make the child laugh.
‘She’s too young for games,’ Amy laughed.
‘You know that, but does she?’ he replied, watching the little face show a wide toothless grin of delight.
The plan was for them to take the food Amy had packed for him, plus extra she had brought from the shop, and walk along the lanes towards Llan Gwyn, but in fact they did not leave the house.
Amy prepared the food for Sian and made them a cup of tea. Victor seemed in no hurry to start and at twelve o’clock he amused Amy by spreading her seersucker tablecloth on the carpet and setting the food out on it.
‘We’ll have our picnic here,’ he said with a grin. ‘Then we won’t have to bother carrying it.’
Amy chuckled and sat down beside him but as his arms wrapped around her and he pulled her gently to him, the smile faded and tears came instead.
‘Amy, what is it? I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to, although how you expect to smile at me like that and me not go to pieces I don’t know.’
‘I’m crying because you’re such a fool and you make fun out of simple things and I love you and I can’t see any point in even starting to think where it will all end.’
He kissed her then and the tears dried as need of him overcame her despair. Leaving the baby sleeping peacefully in her pram, he carried her upstairs. She guided him into her bedroom where the bed lay temptingly smooth and icily cool, its satin cover creaseless and untouched.
They kissed, resting on the soft bed, exploring each other until their clothes became impossible to bear. He undressed her slowly, kissing each newly revealed splendour with reverence and with wonder on his face at the perfection of her skin. His kisses began on her shoulder and gradually encircled her throat and face and down over her warm body. When they had finally made love they relaxed and slept.
Amy woke first to hear someone knocking at the door.
‘Victor,’ she whispered and he was awake in a moment.
‘Let them knock, love, there’s nothing that will get you fit to open the door in less than three minutes and whoever it is will have long given up.’ He put an arm around her, pressing her against him, his lips touching her eyes. He felt her lashes flutter.
‘Hush, love, there’s nothing we can do,’ he whispered as the door knocker went again, this time with so much force that Amy jumped up. ‘They’ll wake Sian.’ Amy’s eyes were wide with anxiety. ‘Best I go and see who it is.’
‘Go down looking like this?’
‘Well at least look through the window!’ The alarm was rapidly turning into laughter.
‘All right then,’ he crawled off the bed and along the floor to peer through the lowest part of the window, wishing it was not mid-summer and bright daylight. He saw a woman walking away to where a taxi growled good-naturedly at the roadside.
‘It’s your sister,’ he reported, ducking low as he crawled back. He put his head on one side, listening, then added, ‘and no, she didn’t wake Sian, so we might as well make the most of it.’ He began kissing her again, this time starting at her toes.
* * *
Prue instructed the taxi driver to turn around and take her to Netta Cartwright’s house in the row near the school. Instructing the driver to wait once again, she knocked and this time had a response.
‘Went to see my sister but she was out,’ she said without preamble. ‘Give this money to the driver, will you?’ She walked in to sit on the armchair near the fireplace. Putting down the small leather bag she carried, she took out some knitting. ‘I can’t seem to concentrate long enough to get this pattern started,’ she said, handing it to Netta. ‘Sort it for me will you?’
Used to Prue’s rude manner, Netta took the knitting, undid a couple of rows and gently explained to Prue where she had gone wrong.
‘Now we’ll have a cup of tea, shall we?’ she said to her uninvited visitor, but Prue’s head was deep in the pattern book and did not answer.
‘Prue, why don’t you come back to the knitting circle?’ Netta asked, returning with the tray. ‘Good you are with handwork, and we need a few to get the others started.’
‘There’s no chance of me returning to this village,’ Prue announced firmly, in between counting stitches and glancing at her pattern, ‘and that is definite.’
‘Best not to be definite about anything in this changing world,’ Netta replied mildly. She watched as Prue finished a few rows of knitting and seemed satisfied that she had now mastered the intricate lace-like design. Prue was looking much better. The fact that she was grumbling and back to her usual off-hand and thoughtless ways was encouraging. She thought she would try a different tack and said quietly, ‘Shame about your house, isn’t it?’
‘What’s a shame?’ Prue asked quickly, her thin hands stilled.
‘Well, it can’t be as clean as when you were there, now can it? Nelly does her best, in fact
she does more cleaning than you pay her for, but it isn’t the same without someone to keep an eye on it. Last week I went there myself to brush out a lot of mud from the front porch. Courting couple someone said it was, standing there and marking your lovely red porch tiles scuffing their heels. Shame it is.’
‘Perhaps I’ll just go and look, before the taxi comes back. You can take me.’
Netta picked up a coat and they went out. Prue stared ahead of her as if determined not to see or speak to anyone who passed, but no one did. Saturday was a day when many of the villagers went into town for a look at the shops. Only Johnny in his bus saw them and he tooted enthusiastically at his mother, not recognising Prue at first. Then he slowed down and called, ‘Back in the village, are you? Best for you too.’
Prue did not reply and he waved and drove on. He had always disliked Prue but, knowing how ill she had been, he was genuinely pleased to see her back. Something to tell Fay, he thought, as he turned the bus gently into the curve in the road and the two women were lost to his mirrored view.
Prue was surprised at how neat the house looked after her long absence but she said nothing of this to Netta. Instead, she rubbed a finger over the surfaces and tutted.
‘I don’t know what I pay Nelly for. She was always too busy chattering to get on with her work.’
‘For five shillings you get good value, I’d say,’ Netta admonished gently, her soft voice hardly loud enough to be heard. ‘She’s a good, kind sort and I think there’s a lot of people undervalue her.’ She was surprised at the effect of her mild criticism on Prue.
‘I didn’t mean to criticise her,’ Prue said. And Netta turned to her as her voice shook with anxiety.
‘I know that. It’s a habit with you and we all know you don’t mean it,’ Netta soothed. But Prue was still upset.
The Changing Valley Page 24