‘Tell that son of mine to get his skates on if you see him, will you?’ Ethel called as Johnny waved, ‘Duw annwyl – there’s slow he is.’
‘Take my arm, Fay,’ Johnny instructed. ‘I want us to look like we’re happy when we meet Mam. Eyes like an eagle, Mam has, and would know in an instant if we don’t put on a good act.’
‘It isn’t an act, Johnny,’ Fay said. ‘I want to take your arm. I love you and want everyone to see how proud I am to be your wife.’
‘Peculiar way of showing it, going out with other men!’
‘I wasn’t going out with him, just sharing a pot of tea!’
‘Don’t talk about it now. We’ll get this over with first. Like I said, everyone’ll be here tonight. It’s village fun and I want to enjoy it.’
‘I might have to pretend about that,’ she admitted, ‘but not about us.’
* * *
There were several people uneasy in the hall that evening. Evie found herself near Nelly, who shouted enthusiastically when Oliver trooped on in the third row of the choir. Nelly’s voice was never low and even with the rumble of a hundred conversations, it carried and made people turn their heads to smile. Evie moved. She explained to Timothy that ‘with the best will in the world, I cannot sit beside my mother for two hours.’ Timothy brought an extra chair and sat her in the row reserved for the Board of Governors, which was where Evie had wanted to sit in the first place.
Delina sat at the end of the row just behind Evie and to her consternation, as the time to begin approached and latecomers took possession of their seats, Tad walked in. Seeing there were no spare seats he approached Timothy, who rather than offend the short-tempered man, brought yet another chair and placed it beside Delina, who stared stonily towards the stage. Tad smelt of oil and his hands were stained. He had obviously come straight from work.
They had been given programmes and, being the last, there was not one readily available for Tad. When he asked where he might obtain one, with teeth tightly clenched and an artificial bright smile on her face, Delina offered to share hers. She really must not allow this unpleasant man to make her as difficult as himself, she told herself, but it was hard to stand, hearing his rather pleasant voice sing the national anthem and the introductory hymn so close to her and see his dirty but perfectly shaped hands holding the furthest edge of the programme. She was both repulsed and attracted to him and tried to convince herself the attraction was only sympathy.
For the first part of the concert he did not speak but sat listening to the singing and sang when the audience was invited to join in, applauding the soloists with enthusiasm. She saw him wave to his daughter who was at the back of the choir, having been at too few rehearsals to merit the front rows, small as she was. Delina found her own eyes drifting back time and again to the little girl who seemed to be happy joining in the songs.
‘Dawn looks to be enjoying herself,’ she risked during the second half.
‘Yes, she likes singing. Not very good though, between you and me,’ he surprised her by admitting.
‘But if we all did only what we were good at, there wouldn’t be much done, would there?’ Delina agreed.
Margaret sang a solo and again Tad spoke, this time in admiration of the girl’s lovely voice.
‘Now that is a voice!’ he whispered as the audience applauded. ‘She plays the piano as well, I hear? Does she take lessons with Mrs French?’
‘Yes. Mrs French taught her for nothing for a while, and allowed her to go to her house to practise as Margaret didn’t have a piano.’
‘No piano, with a talent like hers?’
‘Not at first. When her mother Amy moved into the house at the end of the village, she bought her one. She was convinced by Mrs French that her daughter had real talent.’
When it was time for the piano solos, Delina noticed that Tad listened attentively, absorbed in the delicately played Schubert melody followed by the difficult fingering of a Chopin Etude.
‘You like music?’ she asked, curious about the man who seemed to have two faces; one the over-protective father with a foul temper, the other this sensitive and quiet man now sitting beside her and sharing her enjoyment of the music.
‘I used to play once, but like many other things I had to give it up when war began to go and fight,’ he said and at once she saw the change in him. The bitterness stretched his mouth out of the small fullness into a tight, thin line.
‘Why don’t you go back to it? Thousands of people have had their lives disrupted and yet managed to pick up the pieces.’
‘How, with Dawn to look after? I can’t even find a proper job. I only work part time so I can be home when she gets in from school. I don’t always manage that, but I try my best.’
‘I think your best must be very good,’ she smiled, ‘but—’
Again the change came in him with startling suddenness. ‘You do, do you? Nice of you to think so. What is it about you people? You’re so condescending and smug. I wonder if any of you would cope if everything in your safe little world fell apart? Not so smug then. Not so self-satisfied and not so sure you know it all, Miss Honeyman!’
Not waiting for the results of the competitions to be announced, he left the hall, bent double as if to avoid interrupting the view for the rest of the audience.
Trying not to be seen, Delina thought sadly. He must constantly feel foolish, she decided, unaffected by his stupid outburst. He always takes offence at the most innocent of remarks and friendly overtures. He must lie in bed at night going over and over the stupidity of the day’s events, angry at himself and not at the people he offended.
She stared up at the stage, decorated by the women of the village with all the flowers of glorious July. Her mind wandered, trying not to think of the empty chair beside her, wondering if she would ever persuade Tad that the local people were willing to be his friends. She noticed that Dawn was missing from the back of the choir, still on the stage, and guessed that she had seen her father leave and had run after him.
Forcing herself to concentrate on the happenings in the hall, she listened as Timothy announced the presentation of the prizes. The first was the trumpet solo and the boy who had won went to stand beside the headmaster to receive his money.
‘The prize money, Mr Evans,’ Timothy said, holding out his hand to the school caretaker. But Mr Evans shook his head.
‘They’ve gone, sir, everyone of them. Someone must have taken them. There’s not even an envelope to be seen!’
Constable Harris stood up in the back row. He hushed them all and asked that everyone stayed in their seats. Delina dreaded someone shouting that Tad had just left the hall, stepping through the entrance where the prizes had been stacked. She thought someone was certain to mention his swift departure but knew that if he were innocent it would be yet another reason for him to feel that the villagers were against him and his daughter. She responded to the atavistic need to cross her fingers and hope that she had been the only one to notice him leaving.
‘That Tad Simmons, he crept out on the quiet, crouching low so as not to be noticed,’ someone shouted. The way it was said gave everyone the image of a man guiltily creeping out, bent on robbing the children of their prize money.
A strong desire to defend the man rose in Delina but when the constable questioned her, she only said, ‘He was sharing my programme and spoke once or twice. One moment he was there, the next he was gone.’
Her eyes were drawn to a movement and she saw that on the front row Mrs Norwood Bennet-Hughes was rising to her feet. She wore a fur coat although it was a warm July evening and carried a large leather handbag. She beckoned Timothy across. There was a whispered consultation and Timothy, smiling his thanks, made an announcement.
‘Thanks to the generosity of Mrs Norwood Bennet-Hughes and other members of our Board of Governors I can announce that the prize money will be given as planned.’
Mrs Norwood Bennet-Hughes opened her large bag and others among the row of dignita
ries did the same. Handing a fan of one pound and ten-shilling notes to Timothy, they sat down amid applause and waited for the interrupted proceedings to continue. After handing the prizes to the musicians, in which Margaret’s name predominated, Timothy prepared to read out the winners of the photography competitions.
‘First prize,’ he said slowly, opening the envelope inside which the names were hidden, ‘goes to Dawn Simmons.’ He glanced around and the choir shuffled as the children looked for her but she did not appear. Timothy had a brief word with the constable and went on. ‘The second prize goes to Arthur Toogood, for an interesting view of the nature garden we planted last Spring. Third is – er – Dawn Simmons again, this one a study of two little boys eating a very runny ice cream and trying not to waste a drop of it.’ He led the clapping for the absent prize-winner then added, ‘All the entries are on view in the school hall and if you would like to proceed there as soon as the constable has completed his enquiries, the ladies of the sewing circle will have tea and biscuits available. Thank you all for coming.’
Constable Harris, assisted by Phil and Bert, made a list of everyone who had attended the concert and the crocodile of people made their way across to the school. Timothy stopped Delina as she approached the door in the slowly moving queue.
‘I realise this is an imposition, Miss Honeyman, but do you think you could deliver these prizes to Dawn on your way home? You might also tell Mr Simmons what happened after he left us, to explain the absence of the card that should have been with it. I thought as you pass his door and you seem to be on friendly terms with him, you wouldn’t mind my asking,’ Timothy added.
‘I’ll put this through the door, certainly,’ Delina said taking the money from him, ‘if you would write a note of explanation. But, far from being on a friendly basis with Mr Simmons, I have no wish to talk to him, or explain the reason for the lack of a card!’ She walked towards the diminishing group waiting to give their names to the policeman and, pushing her way through, hurried over to the school.
There was an anxiety about the crowd as they walked from the church hall. The reminder that there were burglars active in the area made them impatient to get home and reassure themselves that their property was safe. Nelly and George were among the last to leave the hall and George stopped to have a word with his employer, Mr Leighton. Billie was there too and he made his way over to the two men.
‘This is worrying,’ Billie said. ‘I didn’t tell the constable – I might have been mistaken – but that Sheila Powell, as was, she told me there had been motorcyclists watching my place from the woods up near the castle ruins, and I had a vague impression that someone other than me and Mary had been in the yard a few mornings ago. The dogs didn’t bark so I might have been wrong, there was no damage done so it seemed daft to mention it. Only a feeling it was, nothing for definite.’
‘I think you should tell Constable Harris,’ Phil’s brother Sidney said. ‘He needs to know everything if he’s to catch the bugger.’ He nodded to where Harris was talking to Timothy in the corner of the almost-empty hall.
‘Come on, George, I want to see the rest of the photographs,’ said Nelly pulling on George’s coat, and he laughingly went with her. When they reached the school, the place was in uproar. Laughter and shouts of anger mingled and it was some moments before Nelly and George could find out the reason. Then they reached the wall where Timothy had made his display and understood what had happened.
Someone, and they could only presume it was Dawn, had added about twenty new pictures to the ones chosen by Timothy. There was Nelly in that embarrassing position in the woods and Sheila apparently about to kiss Billie Brown. There was one of Griff Evan half-crouched as he slipped out of the back gate of the fish-and-chip shop looking very sly, with alongside it a picture of his wife Hilda in her curlers and without her teeth. Milly, closely followed by Sybil Tremain had a lead and collar added as a caricature of their nickname, and there was one of Evie, stepping out of a car, with her skirts blown up by a gusting wind. Another showed a figure in the woods, clearly identified to many as Griff. He had a gun across his arm and a bag over his shoulder. ‘No wonder young Dawn ran off before the fun started!’ Nelly laughed. ‘I bet there’s a few here who’d like to get hold of her.’
* * *
Dawn was hiding up in the den made for Margaret and Oliver and, as the early morning light showing across the hills and giving the village a touch of gold, she crept out and climbed down the ladder. It was still early and in the distance she could hear Mary-Dairy’s bottles rattling against their crates. She walked around to the top of the estate, behind St Hilda’s Crescent and walked through one of the gardens to the front of the houses. She found milk money left out at three of the houses and put the coins into her coat pocket. At the third house, she had hardly reached the gate when her shoulder was held in a tight, painful grip and although she struggled, she could not escape.
It was Phil Davies who held her and from the porch his brother Sidney appeared, having stood there for several hours.
‘Got you proper this time, Dawn, and with a couple of witnesses too, so there’s no pretending you didn’t take the money.’
Dawn threw the coins on to the pavement and watched them scatter. ‘I didn’t touch any money!’
‘Sorry, but we both saw you and the people who live in this house saw you go to three other places and pick up money that was put out for Mary.’
‘What you going to do? Don’t tell my dad, will you?’
‘It’s your father we’re taking you to first and it’s up to him, depending on how he behaves, that will make us decide what else we’ll do with you. Now, march!’ The solemn little procession walked along the crescent which joined Heol Caradoc and Hywel Rise at the top of the estate, both men holding on to Dawn to prevent her running away. This time Tad Simmons would have to face facts.
Tad had just woken and gone in to call his daughter, whom he had found sleeping, curled up under the covers on his return from the concert. He had looked in through the bedroom door but had not disturbed her, thankful that she was there and he did not have to face searching the street for her as he often did. Now, he smiled as he saw that she had hardly moved since the previous night. She must have been very tired. He touched the covers, called her and then shook the heaped up blankets before realising to his horror that she was not there.
He had dressed and was just leaving the house when he saw Dawn firmly held by Sidney and Phil, and followed by the owner of the last house she had robbed. ‘What’s happened?’ he called, running to hug Dawn. ‘Found her wandering again?’
‘Not wandering, taking money left out to pay for milk!’ Phil said. ‘Now before you start denying that she’s a thief –’ he emphasised the word deliberately – ‘both Sidney and I have been waiting to catch her, and these people saw her too, so let’s not waste time arguing, all right?’
Tad was shaking with shock.
‘Dawn? Is this true?’
‘I wasn’t going to keep it, Dad. I was teaching them a lesson for being daft enough to leave money outside like that.’
‘Dawn! If this is true then say so. You’re in enough trouble without adding lies to the list.’
Dawn puffed up as if to bluster but suddenly her face seemed to collapse and she began to cry, softly and deep inside herself so the sound was little more than a moan. Tad did not move to comfort her.
‘You’d better come inside.’ He led them to the front door and they all trooped in. ‘Now, what are you going to do? Tell the police? She’s only a child, and if she starts with a criminal record at her age – I don’t suppose I’ll be allowed to keep her, she’ll go into care.’ Tad seemed to be speaking more to himself than to Phil and Sidney.
‘Trouble is, Tad, there’s more than just milk money being taken and if Dawn is involved in those thefts as well, then we have to report what we’ve seen,’ Sidney said.
‘No way that she’s broken into houses, man!’ Tad said.
&
nbsp; ‘If you could believe a word she says, that would be enough for us, but she’s such a little Tom Pepper,’ Phil said. ‘Tells lies for the fun of it, she does.’
‘I’ll give up my job and manage on the dole,’ Tad said. ‘I’ll be here all the time and I’ll keep a tight rein on her, I promise.’
Dawn stood white-faced and looking far younger than her ten years. Her eyes never left her father and she wiped an occasional tear from her eyes. It was Phil who noticed she was shivering.
‘Best get her warmed up, she’s cold and probably hungry.’
Tad nodded, he did not tell them she had probably been out all night, he was too ashamed for allowing it to happen.
They agreed to do nothing, but threatened Tad that if Dawn stepped out of line again, the constable would be given the full facts. ‘Even if it means we’re in trouble for keeping them from him, we’ll tell him everything, you can be sure of that,’ Sidney said. ‘Mam had money taken from the kitchen and I’m sure that went into Dawn’s pocket as well, didn’t it?’ he asked the girl, who nodded.
‘I’ll pay it all back somehow,’ Tad said.
‘Just keep her out of trouble in the future and don’t make us regret giving her this chance.’
When Phil and the others had gone, Tad put Dawn over his knees and slapped her until his hand stung. She did not cry, but went up to her room and dressed for school. Strangely, the violence was a release for her: she could stop stealing now her father knew. Now he would be there, like other children’s fathers. She wouldn’t have the lonely hours to fill with mischief, wouldn’t have to do things to prove to the other children that her life was more exciting than theirs.
The Changing Valley Page 26