Her first job was to clean the grate of the remnants of the previous day’s fire. Putting on the thick gloves she used for the messy work, she re-laid the fire, washed her hands and made herself a cup of tea. Going to the fridge, she found there was no milk.
‘Damn,’ she said aloud. ‘That’s having all those extra people to tea.’ She tried to drink it without milk but curled up her face and threw it away in disgust.
Still in her dressing gown, she considered her life and how she could change it. The way she lived was not satisfactory and surely she was intelligent enough to improve things? For one thing, the flat above the shop would make better sense than living here.
If only they could go back without such upheaval. She sighed at the thought of it all. Renting this house wouldn’t be difficult but all the new furniture, and especially Margaret’s piano, would not fit into the tiny rooms above the shop, no matter how she tried. She looked at the clock and tried to motivate herself to move. It was late and she should be dressed, getting the breakfast cooked and rousing Margaret by now. The baby would be waking soon and would want bathing and feeding.
None of the automatic tasks seemed important this morning. How nice it would be just to sit and spend the day reading a book that wasn’t an order or an accounts book, and be utterly lazy.
A sound outside made her rise. It was the clink of the milk being left on the doorstep and she opened the door to take it and saw Billie walking down the drive.
‘Where’s Mary, Billie?’ she called. ‘Not ill, is she?’
‘No, gone to Cardiff on a bit of business, so I offered to do the round for her.’ He hesitated. ‘Any chance of a cup of tea?’
‘Come on then.’ She picked up the bottles and went inside.
He followed her into the kitchen, filling it with his size. He seemed larger than ever, wearing overalls on top of the coat he had put on for extra warmth.
‘Amy,’ he reached out and put his cold cheek against hers so she gasped at the shock of it. ‘I want us to get married.’
‘Billie, love, this is hardly the time. I have to call Margaret and see to–’ He silenced her with a kiss that again shocked her, this time with its suddenness and intensity. ‘Billie,’ she gasped when he released her.
‘Mary won’t interfere, if that’s what’s worrying you.’
‘I never thought she would. Mary isn’t the reason I’m saying no.’
‘I think I’ve always loved you, Amy, although it took me a long time to realise it. You’re the reason I haven’t married before this.’
‘No I’m not, love. Tell the truth and shame the devil, you’ve been too comfortable, you and Mary. You’ve never had need for a woman.’
‘That isn’t the truth. I’ve wanted a wife and a family like most men.’
‘Not badly enough.’
‘I love children.’
‘I know you do, but as for loving me, well, I don’t want to hurt you, Billie, but I think what I represent isn’t love. It’s a need to have that family other men have. Now you’ve realised it’s getting towards the time when it will be too late.’
‘Isn’t it the same with you? Haven’t you thought how late it’s getting? I know you aren’t forty yet but in a few years – and time passes so fast. Can’t we spend what’s left of our lives together? All right, you don’t love me with a great passion, but we get on so well and the children would be happy on the farm. It’s the perfect place for children. And you’d have the life you wanted, any kind of life. Just tell me what you want and I’ll arrange it.’
‘You tempt me, you really do. But there are so many difficulties, even if Margaret and Freddie were happy about it. How would I get to the shop from the farm? There’s no bus that crosses the fields and goes through the wood!’
‘Amy, you wouldn’t have to work!’ Billie looked outraged at the suggestion.
‘And what would I do?’ she laughed. ‘I’ve got too much to do now, but I’d soon be fed up with nothing at all!’
‘Keep turkeys for pin-money. Mary would help start you off, and you could join women’s groups, things you don’t have time for now.’
‘I’d be completely off my rocker in a month!’
‘What would you want to do then?’ he asked, pouring himself a cup of tea.
His action was so at odds with the important discussion Amy wanted to scream. ‘I want to run my shop of course! It will be for Freddie or Margaret one day, if they want it. I own it you know, it isn’t rented.’
‘We could sort that out. But won’t people think it strange, me sending you out to work and not keeping you as a husband should?’
‘Billie, love, I’ll think about it, I promise. And I’ll write to Freddie and talk to Margaret – it’s their future we’re talking about as well as ours.’
‘At least you’ve said “ours”. That’s progress of a sort.’
He smiled at her and in sudden affection for the big, gentle, sincere man, Amy hugged him and he kissed her in a way that gave him hope, and her a glimpse of a life infinitely more exciting than her present existence.
He looked away from her almost shyly and stammered, ‘Got to go. The milk will be late and there’s a row I’ll have from Mary.’ He opened the door but stopped and asked, ‘Will I see you tonight, at the quiz?’
‘It depends if I can find someone to mind Margaret and Sian.’
‘That might be difficult,’ he admitted. ‘Everybody’s going to The Drovers for the quiz!’
‘Margaret says you’re in the Farmer’s team?’
‘Yes, and I hope we don’t win. I gave part of the prize! There’s four chicken dinners, a fowl, vegetables and some fruit for a pudding.’
‘I’ll be there to cheer you if I can,’ she promised.
* * *
Amy was late. She hurriedly called Margaret and prepared a hasty breakfast before setting off for the shop with the baby in the pram. Margaret urged her on, anxious not to miss Oliver, who waited for her at the corner, and when Amy reached the shop she was breathless, Margaret’s impatience having made her almost run the last few minutes.
The shop was already full but Mavis ran out to meet her as she opened the back-lane gate. ‘Thank goodness you’re here. My Sheila is threatening to go off and live with your Freddie,’ she spluttered as Amy lifted Sian out of the pram.
‘What are you talking about? She’s married, and Freddie wouldn’t…’ As she spoke the words she knew with certainty that Freddie would. ‘What’s happened?’ she demanded.
‘Going to live in Devon, they are. Him in the army with not enough to keep a pet mouse, and her finding work in some shop.’ She began to sob. ‘Why is she like this, Amy? Where did we go wrong?’ From inside the shop, voices began to call, insisting on being served.
‘Come on, Mavis,’ Nelly’s voice yelled. ‘Let’s ’ave some bacon before World War Three starts and they ration it again!’
‘We’re coming,’ Amy called back. ‘Hang on a minute, will you?’
‘We’ll have to go back to my mother’s,’ Mavis said, her voice muffled by the handkerchief she hid her face in. ‘First time we’ve been on our own since we were married, and now we’ll have to go back to look after Mam.’
‘You’ll be leaving the flat?’ Amy tried to ignore the chanting from the shop. ‘Well I never! And there’s me thinking I might prefer to live there instead of trekking to and from the house like this.’
‘How can you think of the flat after news like this?’ Mavis wailed.
‘You did! And besides, there’s customers waiting and we have to deal with them first. Now we’ll get a cup of tea made then I’ll see to that lot in by there.’ She put Sian into the play-pen Victor had made for her, looked into the shop and smiled brightly at her customers.
‘Now then, let me see to the kettle then I’ll see to you all in a flash.’
‘Let me do that for yer, Amy.’ Nelly pushed her way unceremoniously though the short-tempered people into the small kitchen behind the shop. Amy w
as standing staring into space as if mesmerised.
‘What’s up, Amy?’ Nelly asked.
‘Do you believe in auguries?’
‘I might be able to tell you if I knew what they were!’
‘Signs to head you in the right direction.’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Mavis is thinking of leaving the flat and I have been undecided about whether to come back. D’you think that’s a sign?’
‘I think if you don’t get servin’ you won’t ’ave no business to live over the top of!’
Amy laughed and went into the shop to be greeted by a storm of teasing about being unable to get up in the mornings. Good naturedly she quickly served the men who had called for the morning paper and some cigarettes on their way to work and then dealt with the rest.
She looked at the clock. Still not quite nine o’clock. What a lot had happened in a short time! She glanced across the road to the school from where the roar of children at play met her ears. She had to tell Margaret and find out what she thought of the idea. As always, she made sure her children were involved in any decision that would affect them. Some might think that foolish but being without a husband, she had determined that Freddie and Margaret would always know they were a family.
‘Mind the shop for a minute, Nelly. Mavis is outside. I won’t be long.’ She ran across the road.
She reached the railings – wooden replacements for the old iron ones taken down during the war – and asked one of the children to find Margaret. Looking anxious, Margaret ran to her, glancing back to where the children were already beginning to form lines ready to go into their classrooms.
‘Margaret, love. Would you prefer to live above the shop again, or with Uncle Billie on the farm? Mr and Mrs Powell might be leaving and we now have a choice.’
Still looking anxiously at the children trooping into the building behind her, Margaret said seriously, ‘It would be nearer to Oliver if we were in the flat, but where would I put the piano?’
‘If that could be arranged, love?’
‘Well, there’s more room and lots to do on the farm, but d’you think Uncle Victor would still be able to come and see us? He’s very good at Monopoly.’
‘That is expecting a lot, love. Uncle Billie might be jealous.’
‘Wants us all to himself, does he?’ She looked at the disappearing tail of the line of children. ‘Mam, I’ll have to go or I’ll get a late mark.’
‘Bye, love, we’ll talk about it later, right?’
At lunchtime Margaret wanted to go and live at the farm, but by the time school finished for the afternoon she had changed her mind and thought she would prefer the flat.
‘Margaret, you’re more mixed up than I am!’ Amy laughed. ‘I’ve written to Freddie and asked him to phone and tell us what he thinks.’ She did not tell Margaret about Sheila’s intention to live with Freddie; she did not trust Sheila not to be inventing the whole thing. Besides, there were some things even she thought too complicated to discuss with a ten-year-old.
There was no time to talk further about the move as it was the night of the long-waited quiz show, which Bert had decided to call ‘Chuck It In Charlie’s Churn’. Charlie was Mr Leighton, the quiet farmer who was supplying the fifteen-gallon milk churn to receive the money exacted as penalties for wrong answers.
Evie had agreed to mind Margaret and baby Sian, although Amy had needed to put pressure on Nelly’s socially minded daughter by reminding her of how often Oliver spent time with Margaret, while she and Timothy went ‘gallivanting’.
The baby was put to bed in Evie’s and Margaret and Oliver were given some colouring books so they could play quietly and not disturb Evie, who was studying the meanings of road signs ready for her third attempt on the driving test. Amy set off for The Drovers in Timothy’s car, as he was one of the village team-members.
The bar was already crowded, with the other five team-members looking very respectable in smart suits which rarely saw the light of day. Billie wore a brown tweed suit that he occasionally wore on market day; Sidney, Phil’s brother, who, like George, worked for Mr Leighton, was in a newly knitted pullover and grey trousers, and George, who to Nelly looked the smartest of them all, wore a neat grey pin-striped suit which they had bought from Mrs Greener, the second-hand clothes dealer in town.
The village team consisted of Bert, in a formal navy suit and a dashing heather buttonhole, Johnny, in sports jacket and grey trousers, and Timothy, who, as always, looked held together in a dark grey suit that fitted him so precisely Nelly whispered to George, ‘That explains why he can never get ’is ’and in ’is pocket to pay ’is round!’
A low rostrum had been placed in a corner of the room and in front of it stood a polished milk churn with, standing beside it, Farmer Leighton. It was Timothy who explained the rules and Bert who insisted that the audience, on cue from him, should all shout out ‘Chuck it in Charlie’s Churn’ every time someone had to pay a forfeit.
‘So, it’s one point for every correct answer, and two pennies in the churn for every wrong answer,’ Timothy summed up. ‘So let us begin.’
Nelly sat beside Netta Cartwright and they laughed and they called encouragement for opposing teams. Nelly looked around the room, which was already filled with smoke, and saw Mrs French sitting with Fay and Delina. Standing near the bar was Victor. When Amy arrived she had found a place near the churn facing Billie’s team, but close to Victor. Nelly thought the time must soon come when Amy would have to make up her mind about the two men in her life.
‘Thank gawd I’ve got George and no complications,’ she said with a loud sigh. Netta agreed, although not understanding what her friend referred to.
‘You’ve got to admire ’er nerve,’ Nelly went on. ‘There’s Billie wanting to marry ’er and there she sits, smilin’ at ’im and playin’ footsey with Victor under the bench!’
‘Hush, Nelly, they’ll hear you,’ Netta chuckled.
The greatest laughter and applause of the evening was when Timothy became over-confident and rattled off the spelling of ‘parsimoniously’ at great speed and got it wrong! He joined good-naturedly in the laughter and added extra coins to Charlie’s Churn, as the crowd chanted in delight. ‘Just to show that meanness simply isn’t in my vocabulary,’ he joked.
‘’Ow do yer spell that then?’ Nelly shouted.
Later, Timothy was asked what number came next to twelve on a dart board and he was wrong again.
‘Blimey! My Ollie would’ve got that one right, and ’e’s only nine!’ Nelly shouted in delight.
Billie surprised them all by being able to name the seven dwarfs and Sidney by spelling ‘autocratically’, but it was Timothy’s team who eventually won the chicken-dinners supplied by Billie and Farmer Leighton.
It was almost impossible for Mrs French to push her way through to present the prizes, but, amid much good-natured teasing, she reached a place near the bar where the prizes were displayed. There was one each for Bert, Johnny and Timothy and everyone waited to see who was to be given the fourth.
Mrs French looked around in the expectant hush. ‘We decided on an extra prize to add to the fun,’ she said. The hat which had been so neat when she arrived, was now tilted at a saucy angle across one eye and her face was rosy and shiny with the heat of the room and the generous offers of drinks she had received throughout the evening.
‘We have decided to give it to the person with the loudest and happiest laugh.’ All eyes turned to Nelly.
‘To Nelly Masters, whom we all love.’
Nelly hugged George and laughed, her excited, gap-toothed smile distorted by the uneven light into a grimace.
‘Smashin’. Thanks very much. Me an’ George will feel like king and queen eatin’ this!’ She sat down quickly as her head began to spin. ‘George,’ she said, urgently, ‘take me ’ome!’
But the evening was far from over. Leighton shook the churn and there was a call for more contributions. The landlord threw in a handful of coi
ns and people began to throw money across the heads of others while Leighton struggled to retrieve the coins. Several customers were unseated in the scramble and the landlord called for order as the door opened and Mr and Mrs Norwood Bennet-Hughes came in.
‘Anyone willing to make an offer for the contents of Charlie’s Churn?’ the barman shouted, after nodding a greeting to the newcomers.
Offers began to come in and there was the murmur of voices as people tried to guess how much the churn contained. Eventually the impromptu auction reached thirty pounds, offered by Mr Norwood Bennet-Hughes.
Constable Harris, squashed in a corner, tried to stand up and protest that the proceedings were not legal. But Phil put another drink in front of him and threatened to sit on him if he didn’t pipe down, so he closed his eyes and pretended not to know what was happening.
The contents of the churn were counted and the amount announced, as Mr Norwood Bennet-Hughes handed over the thirty pounds. ‘Thirty-three pounds, seven shillings and threepence.’ Timothy announced and Mr Norwood Bennet-Hughes stood with difficulty, to say he was handing it back to the fund.
More money was thrown and the amount reached seventy pounds. With the tickets sold for the evening’s entertainment the final amount was almost eighty.
The Reverend Barclay Bevan, who had arrived late and stood near the door where he could gasp an occasional breath of fresh air, tried to give a speech of thanks, but no one was listening. In fact several, including Nelly and Archie Pearce, were fast asleep.
* * *
In the council house she shared with her grandmother, Sheila was busily making preparations to leave Hen Carw Parc. She had joyfully given her notice at the gown-shop and, after working her week’s notice, had begun to sort through her clothes before packing her suitcase ready for the journey to Devon.
She had spent the morning washing and, having dried her clothes around the fire, was selecting which were worth ironing and which could be discarded. On a chair were a pile of nylon stockings awaiting repair. She hoped to persuade her grandmother to deal with that tedious task.
The Changing Valley Page 41