The Changing Valley

  Ralph led them to a cafe, where the lunchtime trade made finding a table difficult. He eventually found seats for them in a corner, squashed between a group of noisy school-children on a visit to the shops and some workmen from a nearby building site. Sheila pulled her coat around her as if fearing contamination from the dusty clothes of the workmen or the sticky fingers of the children. This was definitely not her kind of place and her face clearly showed it.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked with a sigh. ‘I have shopping to do for Gran and I’ve only an hour.’

  ‘It’s about Freddie,’ Mavis said and Sheila sighed again, only louder. ‘He’s coming home this weekend but we won’t be staying at your Gran’s, understand that. It isn’t right, you being a married woman, and going out with that Nigel too.’

  Sheila took a bite from the sandwich her father had bought and stared insolently into space.

  ‘Sheila, answer your mother,’ Ralph hissed.

  ‘What’s there to answer?’

  ‘Why don’t you settle down and wait for your divorce to come through? It’s not right to get yourself a name for – carrying on.’ Mavis whispered the last words, which, to Sheila seemed to carry more easily than her normal speech.

  ‘What has it got to do with you, Mam? Or you, Dad? I’m twenty-one and I was abandoned by my husband. It’s for me to sort out. And if you think I’m waiting years for a divorce then you’ve another think coming!’ Her high-pitched voice made several people near them stop eating to listen. Throwing the half-eaten sandwich onto the table cloth she pushed her way to the door.

  She made her way to the bench where she had once or twice met Freddie, but her thoughts were on Maurice. Whenever she was feeling particularly low, as today, she thought of Maurice. He filled her thoughts more and more and even when the way he had messed up her life became more apparent, she still felt a longing for him, a desire to see his face, feel his arms enfold her, to hear him telling her he loved her. She was late back after her lunch-hour but fortunately the manageress was out so there was no further trouble.

  Foolishly, Sheila felt disappointed not to have another complaint levelled at her. Her parents had upset her with their concern for what people thought of them, with no offer of help to her, their only daughter. She would have welcomed a row with someone today, even if it cost her the job she was beginning to hate.

  When the shop closed she did not go for the early bus but wandered around the shops, looking at nothing in particular, trying to decide how she would spend the next few years of her life. Perhaps Freddie was the best offer she would get? After all, he knew everything about her and there would be no need to pretend about anything. That in itself would be a relief. She had told so many different stories, she was half afraid to open her mouth for fear of changing what she had previously said.

  She was confident also, that with Freddie, she would be able to avoid a sexual relationship. He wanted her, she knew that. Her eyes sparkled at the prospect of a little teasing. But it was impossible to take any chances now. If she succumbed to her need for a man’s loving and became pregnant, there would be no possibility of marrying the father, not while she was still tied to Maurice. But then again Freddie had offered to live with her, as man and wife, and who would know the difference outside Hen Carw Parc? But it was with a picture of Maurice in her mind she wandered back and caught the next bus home.

  * * *

  Freddie didn’t reach Hen Carw Parc until early on Saturday evening. He spent the previous night with a friend and on Saturday had been shopping. When he jumped off the bus near his home he ran in and put his kit-bag in his room. He had a brief look at the garden, ate a few welsh-cakes and cycled up to see Sheila.

  It was a disappointment to learn she was still on her way home from work. He wondered if perhaps she had not received his letter. If she had gone to the pictures there wouldn’t be much left of his leave. Disconsolately, he rode back down Hywel Rise and Sheepy Lane and stopped outside his mother’s shop. He saw Amy taking in the vegetables in from outside the shop and went to help her.

  ‘Freddie! Where did you spring from? We’d given you up!’

  ‘I’ve been home to drop my bag, then I went to see Sheila but she isn’t home from work yet.’

  ‘There’s a shame, and she knew you were coming, too.’

  ‘You’re late leaving, Mam.’

  ‘Yes, Mavis wanted the day off and I couldn’t refuse. I think she and Ralph were going into town to meet Sheila. Perhaps they’re all up in the flat?’ Amy knocked on the side door while Freddie carried in the last of the boxes.

  ‘No reply,’ she reported, ‘so they aren’t back either. Gone to the pictures, perhaps?’

  ‘I wrote to tell Sheila I was coming. She wouldn’t have forgotten.’

  ‘Go and fetch Margaret, will you, love? Over with Oliver she is. I’ll just gather my own shopping and I’m ready to go.’

  They walked back to the house, where the smell of spices and fresh cake-baking still lingered.

  ‘There’s bake-stones if you want something while I get dinner,’ Amy said.

  ‘Mam!’ Margaret exclaimed, opening the tin. ‘He’s already found them, and you wouldn’t let me start them last night while they were still warm and tasty!’

  ‘And you aren’t to eat any now young lady,’ Amy scolded lightly. ‘You’ll spoil your dinner.’

  Brother and sister muttered their opinion of the nonsensical rule, and taking a handful of the fruit-filled flat cakes that had been cooked on a griddle-stone, they disappeared into the front room and exchanged news.

  It was Freddie’s intention to go back to Sheila’s as soon as he had finished his meal but a knock at the door while they were still eating changed that. Sheila stood there, carrying a basket of shopping and looking, to Freddie, quite beautiful.

  She had found a seat upstairs on the bus home and, unseen by the rest of the passengers, had repaired her makeup and carefully combed her hair. She had not gone straight home but had continued on the bus to alight near Amy’s house to see Freddie and make her apologies for not being home earlier.

  ‘So excited I was, coming to see you, but there was a hold-up at work,’ she lied. ‘Some rearranging to do. You know what a fusspot the manageress is. Then I missed the bus, and had to wait for the next one. Frozen I was, standing in the bus station for ages.’

  Freddie ushered her in and sat her near the fire and Amy handed her a cup of tea and offered food, which Sheila declined.

  ‘Too upset to eat, I am,’ she said in her high voice. ‘I was so looking forward to seeing you and there I was, stuck in Llan Gwyn. What must you think of me for not being home early when there’s so little time?’

  ‘Glad you’re here now.’

  Sheila looked at him, and was surprised to realise that she too was glad. Excitement glowed in him and was reflected in her own sensations of joy.

  Freddie smiled a wide smile, so like his father’s, his glasses glinting in the light, the eyes so blue that for a moment, Amy felt a choking sensation of love for the man whom she had once hoped to marry all those years ago, her brother-in-law, Harry Beynon. With his happy attitude to life and carefree ways, he was brought to life again through Freddie and sometimes it hurt to realise that she would never see Freddie’s father smiling at her as Freddie was smiling at Sheila, ever again. When Harry had been killed she had not even been able to show grief over the loss of her love. She was thankful to at least have Harry’s son. No one could take that joy away. Not even Sheila.

  They walked back to Sheila’s house, Freddie carrying her shopping and pushing his bike. Sheila leaned against him, gazing up so the occasional street light gave him an adoring view of her. Sheila was beginning to think of him not as a boy, but as the man with whom she might be content.

  It was completely black when they left the main road and turned into Sheepy Lane. The lights behind them making the lane into a dark tunnel with no break in the darkness until they passed Ethel Davies’s cottage, where a
fan of light spilt, golden, out of her open door.

  ‘Can’t feel the cold, that one,’ Sheila shivered, snuggling close to Freddie, ‘Never has the door shut. I need warmth, I do.’ He looked down at her and, dropping the bike and the shopping took her into his arms. The kiss was so sweet he gave a sob of disbelief that he was here in the secret dark with Sheila, tasting her lovely, promising, lips. He was shaking when they finally separated.

  ‘Sheila, I love you. I want to look after you,’ he whispered against her hair. ‘Will you let me? I’ll never do a thing to harm you, I promise.’

  ‘Oh, Freddie, if only it were that simple. I’m not free, you know that.’ She turned slightly to glance towards Ethel’s cottage. ‘Him over by there spoilt everything for me. Years it’ll be before I’m free to even think of sharing your life. Go and find someone else, someone who deserves your love.’ She drooped her head and he lifted her chin with a finger and gazed down at her, so small and defenceless.

  ‘Sheila, you’re my love. I don’t want anyone else, now or in the future. You must know that.’

  ‘But it isn’t fair.’

  ‘Come to Devon and find a job there. It will be a wonderful new start. No one need know that we’re anything but a happily married couple. There won’t be much money for a while. I can’t claim for a wife I haven’t got. But we’ll manage and we’ll be happy. Think about it. A small town and a lot of new friends. Lovely it will be.’

  Sheila’s mind was made up and, swept away by the romance of the moment, she agreed. ‘All right, Freddie, if you’re sure, but no pretend marriage, at least for a while, right?’

  ‘You’ll come? Oh, damn, this is great! You’ll never regret it, not for a minute.’ He kissed her again, but this time the excitement of her agreement made it less emotional as plans and ideas teemed through his brain.

  Picking up the bicycle and the shopping, he managed to put an arm around her until they reached the first of the council houses, then they walked with the bicycle between them in case anyone saw them and caused a fuss.

  ‘Can’t be too careful with parents like mine,’ Sheila said. ‘But I feel lonely with this old bike between us. I want you close where I can feel your warmth, Freddie Prichard.’

  * * *

  The house was silent when Freddie went home, the lateness giving the place an air of disapproval. There was a small light in the living room and a plate of sandwiches left for him. He ate them before going to bed to lie awake, imagining life with Sheila.

  The following morning he rose early and, after having breakfast with his mother and Margaret, he walked with his sister through the village, leaving her at the church and going on up the hill to see Sheila, half dreading that she would have changed her mind.

  They came to tea with Amy as planned and Amy was worried to see how close they looked, the exchanged glances and intimate touches, the way each helped the other when no help was necessary. Amy was unhappy at the prospect of her son waiting for years for a girl who was already married and who, she strongly suspected, did not really love him.

  When she went outside to put the empty milk-bottles out for Mary-dairy, she saw Fay and Johnny walking past the end of the drive and called to them. If another couple came in the conversation would be easier. Freddie and Sheila were saying very little, their attention taken up with each other.

  ‘Fay? Johnny? There’s a cup of tea just made if you’re interested,’ she called and Johnny at once guided Fay along the drive to the front door.

  ‘We’ve been for a walk,’ Fay said. ‘Johnny insists that expectant mothers need a lot of exercise.’ She covered her mouth with embarrassment when she realised that Margaret and Freddie were there. ‘Sorry,’ she mouthed to Amy.

  ‘Johnny’s quite right,’ Amy laughed. She helped them off with their coats and Margaret came to take them from her.

  ‘I’ll put them upstairs, shall I, Mam? Glad to get away from those two,’ she whispered, her dark eyes frowning in disapproval in the direction of the living room. ‘Freddie’s very boring when she’s here!’

  Sheila stood as the newcomers walked in.

  ‘Want any help, Mrs Prichard?’

  ‘No thanks, there’s only a bit of extra bread to slice,’ Amy called. It was Fay who followed her into the kitchen and rolled up her sleeves, accepted an apron and sliced the loaf.

  ‘We just saw Evie and Timothy, with poor little Oliver, in their car. Evie’s driving and, in my opinion, a long way from being ready for her test even though she’s had two tries already!’

  ‘I often think it would be handy to drive,’ Amy said.

  ‘Plenty of vehicles on Billie’s farm,’ Fay reminded her. ‘I’m sure he’d teach you to drive the tractor so you can help with bringing the harvest home, or whatever farmers do with tractors.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll ever enjoy anything as mucky as helping on a farm,’ Amy admitted.

  ‘Oh, I thought you and Billie were—’

  ‘Well, we’re not!’

  ‘Nice to have Freddie home for a while, isn’t it?’ Fay tried to change what was obviously a tender subject.

  ‘It would have been nice if he had been home! Spent all his time with her in by there.’

  ‘I suppose he’ll always be fond of Sheila. She was his first love. Special that is.’

  ‘She’s using him again, I’m sure of it,’ Amy whispered.

  ‘Well then, how about you? Are you getting excited at the prospect of being a mother?’

  ‘I find myself getting caught up in Johnny’s excitement,’ Fay laughed. ‘He’s like a child on Christmas Eve. I was upset at first, but I’m coming around to the idea.’ Fay stopped and Amy guessed she had something more to say. She waited while Fay cut the last of the sandwiches into neat quarters.

  ‘But you have moments of doubt? Of panic even?’ Amy asked gently.

  ‘Oh, why do I feel trapped?’ Fay said at last.

  ‘I know a lot of married women who experienced that. Happily married, wanting a baby desperately, and then feeling as if life had locked them into an irrevocable situation. Felt it myself of course, but it was different for me. I was trapped. And afraid. I wasn’t in a marriage, happy or not. I was alone.’

  ‘Like Sheila,’ added Fay, reflecting that other people had been in far worse positions than herself.

  ‘Like Sheila.’ Amy paused, then added, ‘She is coping with it all, isn’t she? Starting back to work, facing all the tittering that goes on behind her in that shop where all the girls know what happened. She’s trying to make a new life for herself, like I had to.’

  ‘You just wish it wasn’t Freddie.’

  ‘I wish she was a thousand miles away from Freddie. He’s so young. She’s twenty-one and he’s barely sixteen.’

  ‘He’s mature though, and so sensible. I hope I make as good a job as you have when I bring up my baby, Amy.’

  Amy smiled her thanks and laughed.

  ‘Don’t use me as an example of how to live!’

  Amy finished putting the sandwiches on a plate, then suddenly relenting in her attitude towards Sheila, took them off and called for Sheila to help.

  ‘Sheila, I would be glad of your help. Come and arrange these sandwiches, will you, there’s a love.’

  It was an uneasy evening for Amy. Seeing Fay and Johnny so happy and excited about their baby, and Freddie with his arm possessively around Sheila made her feel old, as if life had already discarded her in favour of the young. She was so relieved when Victor came that she had to remind herself of Margaret’s presence and force herself to act as casually as she would if it had been Nelly who had walked in. And it was such an effort she found herself overacting.

  Victor was puzzled by her apparent indifference. Even with Margaret there she did not usually treat him so coolly. He beckoned to Margaret and invited her to play for them to calm the atmosphere.

  Freddie had to leave at eight and it was Sheila who walked him to the bus stop. Fay and Johnny left at the same time and soon
after Margaret went to bed.

  ‘Do you want me to go?’ Victor asked.

  ‘I don’t want you to, that’s the trouble, but I think you must.’

  She sat alone in the living room, watching the fire slip lower and lower until it was just a grey bed of ash with the faintest lining of red satin hiding in its depths. The shapes of the dead coal did not make any pictures for her. There were no pretended dreams of a church and a steeple, with herself a bride, coming out of the ancient doorway amid flowers and confetti, to be greeted by her friends. She could not imagine Billie at her side, and there was no possibility of Victor ever being free. The red faded and there was only greyness.

  * * *

  It was dark when Delina walked up Hywel Rise one evening after school and knocked on the door of Tad’s house, waiting for him to answer, with little hope of him doing so. The house appeared to be empty. The curtains were open and the fire glowed and sent a rosy pattern over the walls, yet it was still apparent that the place was deserted. There was a hush, like that of a long-neglected ruin, that made Delina shiver.

  She waited a moment, fingering the pile of papers on her arm before walking round to the back door. She was still half-afraid of starting off on the wrong foot with Tad who, when angered, rarely gave anyone a chance for explanations, and this time, it was important he listened.

  The back door was propped open and inside there were the makings of a meal, half-prepared: a loaf of bread, a packet containing margarine and an opened tin of meat. A few tomatoes were beside the meat and it looked as if someone had been hurriedly called away. She stepped closer to the door and called but again there was no reply. She still had the impression that the house was empty.

  She scribbled a note and placed it near the loaf to say she had called and would like to speak to them both. She stayed a few more minutes, first at the door, then at the gate and finally at the top of Hywel Rise, but neither Dawn or Tad appeared.