A Girl Called Hope

by A Girl Called Hope (retail) (epub)

  Four

  Two days later, as Hope was putting the final stitches into a dress she had made for Stella’s mother, there was a loud knock at the door. With needle and cotton in her hand, she opened it to two women. One was her mother-in-law, the other was unknown.

  ‘We’ve called to see David,’ Marjorie said peremptorily as she walked in.

  After inviting the second visitor inside, Hope called, ‘Davy? Come and see who’s here. Come and say hello to Grandmother.’

  Davy ran into the room, carrying a small piece of fabric he was wrapping around a teddy in an attempt to make a shawl. Hope laughed. ‘Davy, I think you need something a big bigger. Here, try this.’ She handed him a piece from the dress she had just finished.

  ‘There!’ Marjorie said, gesturing with a hand. ‘She’s making a sissy of him.’

  Hope frowned, looked at the visitor and asked belatedly, ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m a district nurse, Mrs Murton. I have called to see how young David is getting on.’

  ‘Why?’ Hope asked with a frown. ‘I’ve had no cause to worry. Just look at him, he’s fine.’

  ‘I’ve been hearing worrying reports about the way my grandson is being cared for. David isn’t getting proper care.’ Marjorie spoke with almost gentle concern in her voice. ‘The dear little boy.’

  ‘It’s Davy. He’s called Davy. What on earth are you talking about? Wrapping his teddy in a piece of material constitutes a lack of care?’ She glared at Marjorie. ‘What now, Mother-in-law? Haven’t you harmed us enough?’

  The district nurse, who introduced herself as Brenda Morris, said politely, ‘Thank you for introducing me, Mrs Williamson-Murton, but now I think it would be helpful if you left us alone.’

  It took a while, ploughing through Marjorie’s protests and warnings of the deceitfulness of her daughter-in-law, but Marjorie was finally persuaded to leave. Her last words referred to an evening spent entertaining a man until all hours, and drink being consumed. Hope was too upset for her words to penetrate. She watched as Marjorie walked down the path, staying near the gate, looking back at the house as though prepared to re-enter at the first opportunity.

  ‘A cup of tea would be nice,’ Brenda Morris suggested politely.

  ‘And then?’

  ‘And then I would like to watch Davy play, if that’s all right with you? I love observing children, don’t you?’

  ‘Davy gives me endless pleasure. My only regret is that he’ll grow up without a father, but the town is full of children in that situation; the war robbed many families of their sons and daughters, brothers and fathers, and it will be a long time before the gaps are filled and the wounds healed.’

  Davy brought out his cars and chattered as he played. He demonstrated with loud sound effects the way they rolled up and down a ramp Peter had made for him. Tiring of that game he then picked up his wax crayons and began scribbling with great enthusiasm, telling his mother what his drawing represented.

  ‘What happened the other night when you had a man visiting until eleven o’clock, Mrs Murton? Where was Davy then?’

  Hope frowned. ‘A man visiting?’ Her voice went cold. ‘You must mean when Peter called. Peter Bevan, the greengrocer. He stayed to eat with us. He has done several favours for us and it was a small thank you on my part. When Davy was ready for bed and he was about to leave, Kitty and Bob Jennings came and we stayed in the garden talking. Bob went home for a flagon of beer at some stage. Kitty and I drank tea. Then they all left at the same time.’

  She stared at her uninvited visitor with simmering anger, knowing the happy memories of the evening had been ruined by Marjorie, who had ruined so much.

  ‘Is there something else?’ she demanded, jumping out of her seat and rattling her cup against its saucer. ‘I do have to get on. My mother-in-law might not have told you that besides coping with the shame of my husband committing suicide, we are practically penniless and I have to earn however I can, to keep us fed and with a place in which to live.’

  ‘And you didn’t think it unsuitable to take a two-year-old into a public house while you scrubbed floors?’ Brenda was clearly embarrassed at having to make a further point.

  Hope sat back down and buried her face in her hands. Then she straightened up and glared at her visitor again. ‘I needed money urgently when we had a flood. A pipe in the bathroom failed and I lost the stair carpet as well as having the decoration ruined. Carpet and decoration could have waited but I couldn’t tell a plumber that, because of my husband’s lack of care and his decision to leave us in the most painful way possible, I couldn’t pay him, could I? Yes, I took Davy with me, and whatever I have to do I always will. He isn’t going to be pushed here and there with assorted “aunties”, he’ll be with me. If you think that’s wrong then there’s nothing more to say.’ She jumped up and opened the door.

  In a flurry of haste and anxiety, muttering apologies, putting down a cup and saucer, reaching for her coat and grabbing her bag, Brenda headed for the door. Without allowing time for her to put on her coat, Hope closed the door behind her. She ran to Davy and hugged him.

  ‘She can do her worst, that grumpy old grandmother of yours, but she won’t tell me what’s best for us. Only you and I know that.’

  It was a day when Hope felt anger towards Ralph. There had been several during which she’d blamed him for their situation, asking herself how he could have been so uncaring, how he could have listened to his mother and not to his own heart. How could he have died and left her to face all this?

  She remembered other things, like the time she had made him a pullover with the most intricate Fair Isle pattern, and when his mother had muttered that it was rather gaudy he had refused to wear it. He had sided with his mother when she had disagreed with the flowers Hope had chosen for their wedding. And there was his refusal to allow her to have a dog. And his unwillingness to allow her to work before Davy came along. The memories became more and more trivial as her mind searched for comfort through his failures.

  Then she was swamped in grief, guilt, shame and an overwhelming sense of loss and loneliness, which ended in self-pitying tears.

  *

  Phillip was feeling put-upon. Connie was increasing her demands on him and he didn’t like it. She constantly referred to other people’s husbands, comparing him to them unkindly. He had never pretended to be like ‘other people’s husbands’ and she shouldn’t expect him to be suddenly transformed into a replica of them.

  Her demands that they should buy a house were alarming. Responsibility was something he had always determined to avoid. Responsibility was a rope around your neck with someone holding the end and threatening to pull. Definitely not for him.

  As she began again to glorify the vision of them running a small guest house, small being an attempt to make it sound enticing and easily achieved, he walked out. He headed for the local pub, where he was certain to find someone to talk to, a stranger perhaps, who would commiserate with him about the wiles of women. He also needed to escape her pleas for him to go and see his parents and comfort them after the death of his brother, about which Matthew had told them. He didn’t want any of it.

  Frustration led Connie to throw things out of the door: chairs, rugs, papers and books, details of the house she wanted to buy, and anything else she could lift. She then took it out on the floor, wielding a brush, swishing water across the flags and scrubbing as though her life depended on it, wishing she had an axe and she could smash everything that belonged to him.

  She rarely lost her temper, although she was never afraid of speaking her mind, but today, when she had hoped they would start making plans for a future, no longer she supporting him, but working together towards success, her temper flared. She went to the door of the room he called his work room and to her surprise and delight found it unlocked. Normally she wasn’t allowed in there.

  The mess was worse, far worse than last time she’d managed to go in, and she stared around her in disbelief. Then she
sobbed at the chaos and the utter waste. Pounds and pounds of her hard-earned money lay in the ruins of a lazy man’s negligence.

  Canvases daubed and abandoned, dozens and dozens of tubes of oil paint opened and left without their stoppers to harden and become useless. Expensive brushes unwashed and ruined. Top quality paper displaying half-finished amateur watercolours a child might do, which she presumed were intended to be “abstract” portraits. She sank down into a paint-daubed chair. No one in their right mind could believe there was any talent here. She must have been crazy to have ever thought it.

  The old wardrobe where he kept his canvases was locked, but she didn’t bother to force the door. It would only be more of the same half-finished, carelessly abandoned stuff only fit for the ash bin, and she’d had enough for one day.

  The row, when he came home merrily drunk from a pleasant couple of hours with friends, was the worst they’d ever had. She went to bed and lay there, wanting him to join her and at the same time knowing it was best he didn’t, for fear the argument would be resumed with even greater ferocity. She had to stay calm, it was the only way of getting through to him.

  Phillip sat in the living room where the floor was clean – the furniture was still scattered outside – and wrote to his mother and father. He told them nothing of what was happening in his life and never mentioned Connie. His short note consisted of boasts about the exhibition he was planning and the commissions that were promised for the near future.

  Before settling to sleep on the couch near the fire, he hid the clothes he had bought that day in his work room, and this time made sure the door was locked. Shirts, socks, shoes, slacks and a beautiful jumper. Connie didn’t understand his need to buy good quality clothes and shoes. She’d be angry about the missing money, and the debts, when she eventually found out what had happened to their deposit on the dream house. But the thought of her fury would not keep him from his sleep.

  As he sat there thinking about a next step, he was tempted to go home. He knew he’d have a hero’s welcome. His mother would believe anything he chose to tell her and Dad rarely interfered. They would keep him for a time – a long time – if he told them how a gallery owner had cheated him and left him penniless, and too distressed to work.

  It was only the thought of Hope being there that made him hesitate. Hope had always seen through his tall stories. She had a way of looking at him that made her mistrust of him absolutely clear. And there was the awful child. No, he couldn’t go home while they were there. How could he pretend an interest in the child? If only Hope and her brat could be persuaded to leave. He sat thinking for a while. Tomorrow he would write to Matthew. He might need his help in a while.

  *

  Matthew Charles had a job that took up only a few hours of each day. He was a rep for a famous supplier of tinned food-stuff. Strictly on allocation, he had a limited amount of the special items to sell each month and his only worry was to make sure that every shop had a share, so they would remain his customers when the rationing finally ended. Besides baked beans and spaghetti and assorted vegetables, the promise of a few of the luxuries were how he obtained his orders. Salmon and crab, and the rich spreads were what everyone wanted. With the points system for many items, people could choose how they were used. An occasional luxury helped them feel better and his products were always in demand.

  It was so easy to sell what he had to offer that he had a lot of spare time on his hands. With little to do that could remotely be described as urgent, he amused himself watching people, particularly Phillip’s family, so he could write amusing letters describing their antics.

  He called occasionally at the Ty Mawr, making sure Freddy was out, and offered sympathy, egging Marjorie on to bitter comments about Hope, which he passed on to Phillip. The unpleasantness he and Phillip had practised as children hadn’t really gone away.

  *

  Hope saw Matthew Charles again a few days after her encounter with Brenda Morris, the district nurse. She was coming out of the post office with a few reels of cotton when she almost bumped into him. She began to apologize, then, recognizing him, pushed him firmly out of her way. She was holding Davy’s hand and as she walked off the little boy was running to keep up with her.

  ‘Too fast, Mummy,’ he said, stopping suddenly and dragging back.

  ‘Sorry, Davy, I wasn’t thinking.’ She stopped and looked back to where the man was standing, watching her. What would he find to criticize when he reported to Marjorie about her visit to the post office? She wondered vaguely how he had learned about that late-night meeting of friends in her garden. She was convinced it was he who had told Marjorie, and he seemed so very interested in her and Davy. Why should he bother? Why would he be feeding Marjorie with complaints to discredit her as a mother? How would that help Marjorie, apart from giving her a vicious satisfaction? Surely even Marjorie wouldn’t do anything that might affect Davy’s happiness?

  She turned again as she reached the corner and saw that the man was still there. Was he following her? Spying on her? The thought made her shiver as she turned into the lane and he was lost to her sight. Why would anyone be interested in her and her son? This is nonsense, she told herself, you’re being foolish. But the thought of being watched by someone who wished her harm didn’t altogether go away.

  *

  ‘D’you know a man called Matthew Charles?’ she asked Peter when they met near the park later that day.

  ‘Tall, skinny and with a lot of black hair? Talks with a plum in his mouth? He was a friend of Ralph’s brother Phillip at one time, until he moved to Cardiff and Phillip went to live in North Wales. They’ve probably lost touch after all this time. I haven’t seen or heard of him for years.’

  ‘He approached me when I was washing the steps of the Ship and Compass and accused me of deliberately embarrassing Ralph’s parents by accepting such menial work.’

  ‘Always an odd bod. He and Phillip were…’ his face curled with repugnance. He stopped and looked embarrassed, changed his mind about what he was about to say, then amended ‘…close friends. Very close for a while, but I suppose they outgrew each other.’

  ‘You didn’t like him.’ It was a statement rather then a query.

  Peter looked at her seriously as he tried to make up his mind whether or not to tell her the truth. When he spoke the words sounded angry as his memories grew. ‘He and Phillip were partners in viciousness, always together. They bullied many of the younger kids and were inseparable, egging each other on to greater cruelties. The other kids, specially younger ones, were scared of them.

  ‘Phillip used to boast a lot, and hated it if someone had something he did not. He threw my sister’s bike into the stream once. New it was, and he couldn’t bear her having something so wonderful.’

  ‘And what about Ralph, was he Matthew’s friend too?’

  ‘Oh, don’t think Ralph was a bully! He was a gentle soul. No, I think that for some reason Phillip and Matthew liked having him around. To show off to I suppose. Ralph was a nervous child and was probably thankful to have their protection. He was gullible, easily impressed, you know what some kids are like. Nervous ones that try to hide but can’t. They stick out, so bullies spot them immediately. Some people are bullies and some are victims. Victims hero-worship bullies if they befriend them. Make excuses for their excesses.’ He shrugged. ‘Phillip has probably grown into a decent enough man, like most of us.’ Softening his words with a smile, he added, ‘When I remember what a lot of hooligans we were its a wonder we didn’t all end up in borstal.’

  ‘You remember Ralph well, then? I didn’t realize you were at school with him.’

  ‘I was a bit older, but I had a younger sister, and a couple of cousins, and, well, you know what it’s like, the ages overlap more easily as the years pass.’

  ‘Was Ralph sociable, friendly?’

  ‘Of course he was, we didn’t know how not to be. A small town, everyone knowing everyone. He was cleverer than most of us, mind. Instea
d of kicking around the roads looking for trouble, wasting time on daft and often dangerous games, he spent a lot of time at home, studying hard. Under his mother’s thumb we used to say. Wouldn’t help us with our homework, though. He didn’t have the patience to explain stuff when we couldn’t understand something that came to him with such ease. When he became an accountant and was taken on by one of the big firms he was absolutely out of our league. I don’t think many of the rest of us could have achieved anything so grand.’ He laughed deprecatingly. ‘It’s as much as I can do to tot up my incomings and outgoings at the end of each day.’

  ‘I don’t suppose many of us need more than that.’

  ‘I won’t. I’m not a great achiever, more’s the pity. Although, perhaps if I tried…’

  ‘Don’t change, Peter. You’re perfect just as you are,’ she replied seriously.

  The few simple words gave them a feeling of closeness that lasted as they walked on into the park where Peter pushed Davy on the swing and encouraged him to climb the big slide and whoosh down with screams of delight. Hope was left with a feeling of regret when they parted.

  As she walked home she thought about their conversation and began to feel a worm of worry. The talk about Ralph had made her uneasy and she didn’t know why. She hadn’t known Ralph as a small boy. They had been about fifteen when they noticed each other amid the group of people that filled their lives. Ralph hadn’t been a great talker, and they had spoken of little else but their love and the home they would share and the children they would have. Always their wonderful future, never the past.

  Marjorie and Freddy had only spoken of his brilliance at academic subjects and his near genius when it came to mathematics. Now, after his death, Hope was alarmed at how little she knew of his inner self. Killing himself as he had, Ralph had become even more of a stranger. A chill drifted over her as though a cloud had hidden the sun. But the sun was beating down on her back as she walked towards the bus stop; it was a perfect late-summer day, but still she shivered.