A Girl Called Hope

by A Girl Called Hope (retail) (epub)

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Then it’s hospital, Mrs Murton.’

  ‘Williamson-Murton,’ the sick woman insisted weakly.

  The doctor walked towards the door and beckoned Hope to follow. ‘I don’t think it’s serious, yet, but you’re right, it’s an opportunity to get her out of the house. It’s a chance to make her leave, escape from these four walls, as you so rightly say. A rest, a change of scene, meeting people, an acceptance that life goes on, might give her the necessary push to get back into a normal life, or as normal as possible after such a tragedy.’ He patted Hope’s shoulder kindly. ‘You’re so wise and you’ve coped remarkably well with your ordeal. Here you are, with all you’ve had to face, worrying about a woman who – a woman who can be very difficult,’ he amended.

  Pleading with Marjorie to go back with her to Badgers Brook and be taken care of wasn’t going to work. Hope knew that even before she began to put her case. Instead she spoke as though the whole thing had been previously arranged. Ignoring her vicious complaints and determined refusal to leave her home, Hope arranged for a taxi. ‘This way she’ll be less likely to refuse or make a fuss than if you try to reason with her,’ she explained to an anxious Freddy. Turning a firm face to Marjorie she said. ‘It's either this taxi or Peter Bevan’s horse and cart!’

  Packing her cases was difficult as Marjorie threw out everything as soon as it was put in them. It wasn’t until Freddy coaxed her to go back to her couch and rest that Hope finally succeeded in putting together the necessary items for Marjorie’s and Freddy’s stay.

  Later that day, helped by Freddy, Peter and Bob, and with much complaining, Marjorie moved into Badgers Brook. That Hope suffered apprehension was clear from her nervous cleaning and constant rearranging of furniture. She owed it to Ralph to do what she could for his mother and was determined to do her best. Freddy was given the small back bedroom looking towards the lane and the woods beyond, which delighted him. Its smallness was a comfort after the large, rather gloomy rooms of Ty Mawr.

  Hope and Kitty prepared a corner of the living room close to the fire, with borrowed screens to make it cosy, and it was there that Marjorie decided to reign.

  With racing heart, sounding more confident than she felt, Hope firmly put down a few rules. ‘I work on the garden every afternoon after taking Davy for his walk, and in the morning Joyce and I deal with the dressmaking.’

  ‘I’ll need some attention, or why did you insist on bringing me here?’

  Ignoring the outburst, Hope went on, ‘Father-in-law has promised to continue helping on the garden; I really don’t know how I’d manage without him and Bob. It’s earned a useful sum of money towards the running this place and I’m very grateful to them both.’

  ‘And what about me?’

  With a quaking heart and a voice that trembled, Hope said, ‘You will be looked after, I promise you that, but you’ll have to work your wants around the routine of the house. I have to work, the garden has to be maintained, and when a garment has been promised I will not let a client down. As long as you understand that we’ll get along just fine, Mother-in-law.’

  She wondered afterwards how she had managed to be so dominant and brave in the face of Marjorie’s disapproval.

  ‘Kitty, you should have heard me,’ she said, hiding her mouth in cupped hands. ‘I sounded more of a harridan than Mother-in-law on a bad day!‘

  ‘Good on you.’ Kitty was gleeful. ‘Do her good to face someone as chopsy as she is. Now, don’t waver, mind. You’re a businesswoman and the work keeps a roof over your head. Remember that and you’ll be fine.’

  There were a few difficult moments during the first few days, while Marjorie was obviously ill, when Hope began to weaken. She wanted so much to help Marjorie, longed for even the slightest glimmer of a smile. Sympathy for the unhappy woman almost made her forget her own priorities. But then Kitty’s reminders came into her mind and she refused to deviate from her routine. She had so much to pack into her days she knew that if she succumbed to a few days of relaxation she would be overwhelmed.

  The evenings were when she concentrated on entertaining Marjorie, once Davy was in bed and the house was quiet. For a few days Marjorie was too ill to argue, but as the days passed and she grew stronger her protests increased. She wanted attention. She would make a provocative statement, usually about the untidiness of the house, and when Hope tried to explain she would reach over and increase the volume on the wireless and blot her out. Playing her at her game became a joke between Hope and Freddy, and she refused to rise to the criticism. To Marjorie’s intense irritation, she simply agreed.

  The house was a busy one and Marjorie complained that it was exhausting her having riff-raff bursting in with their trivialities. Hope just smiled and, when she had the chance, explained that it was a business house as well as a home. Most who called greeted Marjorie politely but received no word in response. If Hope had imagined that a stay in the friendly Badgers Brook household would change her she was mistaken. The calm, quiet restfulness that overcame most visitors when they entered the old house didn’t work on her irate and pompous mother-in-law for a single moment. After a few disappointments, the stream of callers ignored Marjorie completely, which gave her cause for even more complaints. Stella was the exception. She was not a woman to be ignored. She burst in after the shop closed and chattered away about the events of her day and insisted on Marjorie joining in the gossip.

  A greater understanding arose as Hope watched her mother-in-law during those early days. The anger that so alienated her from others was aimed more at herself. It was Stella who had put it into perspective.

  ‘Marjorie didn’t have much of a life, with non-achieving parents who quarrelled all the time and gave her very little attention. I believe that was why she became twisted in her thinking about the way children should be reared,’ she said one day as she was leaving the house. ‘She set out these rigid rules and stuck with them, and now, besides losing Richard so cruelly at the end of the war, there’s Phillip, running away like an ill-treated puppy, and Ralph killing himself rather than cope as a less than perfect person. She must feel bitter, wondering if all these years she’s been wrong. Poor dab,’ she added. ‘Pity for her, but she doesn’t encourage people to like her, does she?’

  Hope hadn’t suffered disapproval from the local people as Marjorie had. For reasons she couldn’t understand, her mother-in-law was blamed for what had happened, the feeling being that Ralph’s mental health on that fateful day was less to do with the dreadful injuries he had suffered and more to do with the way Marjorie had behaved towards her boys during their childhood.

  No psychiatrist was needed to tell the majority that continuous harsh criticism, a lack of affection and too much urging to succeed did not make for a happy, well-balanced child. Marjorie had encouraged her three sons to produce better and better results at school, but Ralph, being the brightest and the more malleable, as well as the youngest and her last hope, had been under the greatest pressure.

  Hope had been offered sympathy from the moment the news of Ralph’s accident had broken and continued to receive constant offers of help, so it was with shock and disbelief that she was woken late one night by the sound of a window being smashed. She ran to Davy’s cot to make sure he was safe, then, with a torch showing the way, ran down the stairs. Her first thought as she ran to deal with whatever had happened was that she wished Peter was there.

  The living room was no longer in darkness. Marjorie had a battery lamp which she shone towards her as she called for Freddy to help her.

  ‘It’s all right Mother-in-law,’ Hope called as heavy footsteps followed her down the stairs. ‘I’ll soon turn on the light and we’ll see what happened.’

  *

  Peter had been walking through the wood on his way back from a visit to a local farmer, and had heard the unmistakable sound of smashing glass as he reached the lane. Anxiously, convinced Hope was in trouble, he hurried towards the dark looming shape
of the house. A man was just hurrying through the gateway as he burst out of the trees edging the lane and all he had was a glimpse of a tall figure, heading away from him. He was limping slightly, but travelling swiftly using the grass verge to deaden the sound of his footsteps.

  The sound could only have come from Badgers Brook and he ran up the path and knocked on the door. Inside, a light was flickering as the gas light in the kitchen was lit, its glow widening as the chain was slowly adjusted. Through the jagged hole, he called, ‘Hope? Are you all right?’ Inside he could hear Marjorie calling to Hope and Hope’s reply, promising to come as soon as she’d found out what had happened. The loud complaining voice of Marjorie demanded to know when someone was going to come and attend to her.

  ‘Peter!’ Hope said with a sob of relief. She was so relieved to see him. He had appeared as though by the magic of her thoughts. Through the broken pane she asked, ‘Did you see who did this?’

  ‘No, but you shouldn’t have shown a light in case he was still here. You’d have made an easy target. It’s all right,’ he added quickly as her hand moved to pull on the other thin chain to turn off the gas. ‘I saw a man hurrying away seconds after I heard the crash of glass. Tall, he was, and limping. I didn’t recognize him. Shall I go to the phone and call the police?’

  ‘It can’t have been a grown man who did this. Surely it’s more the act of small boys challenging each other for a dare?’

  ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘Sorry. I’ll open the door.’ She unbolted the door and let him in. He went straight to the hole in the glass.

  ‘I‘ll get a piece of cardboard. That’ll have to do until the morning. Then I’ll measure up and get the glass.’

  Freddy came in then, with Marjorie hanging on his arm. ‘Marjorie had to come and see what had happened,’ Freddy explained. ‘She wouldn’t sleep unless she saw for herself.’

  If Hope expected sympathy she was mistaken. Marjorie stared at the broken pane for a moment, then, turning to Freddy, she said dismissively, ‘What does she expect, riff-raff wandering through the house at will? Who knows what will happen next. Really, Freddy, I’d be safer at home.’ As Freddy gave Hope an apologetic glance and led his wife back to her bed, Marjorie went on, ‘It’s peace I want, not neighbourhood hooligans threatening me. Take me home, Freddy. I want to go home.’

  As her tremulous, complaining voice faded, Hope gave a sigh and looked at Peter. Lowering her voice to a whisper that brought him closer to her, she said, ‘I had hoped that a few days here might soften her, but she’s worse if anything. The only time she smiles is when she’s with Davy, and even with him she‘s critical.’

  ‘Critical of a not-quite-three-year-old?’

  ‘She tells him his manners are poor, and he doesn’t speak properly, and even that he doesn’t try hard enough with his drawing.’ She felt a tear falling as she went on. ‘He’s so proud of the pictures he gives her but every time she tells him to do better, that they’re untidy. How can she be like that with a baby? So I try to be there when they’re together, to interrupt or add a word to soften her words. It’s so sad. She’s lonely, even with a lovely husband like Freddy, but she doesn’t seem able to stop herself from spoiling every relationship she has. I want to help her, Peter, I really do. She’d have me for a friend if she’d only come halfway.’

  ‘The way she is with Davy must be the same as her so-called “training” with Richard, Phillip and Ralph.’

  While they were whispering, Peter had taken a pile of fabric remnants from a cardboard box and, using the box, had tacked a cover over the broken windowpane.

  ‘Sorry, Peter. I shouldn’t be telling you all this.’

  ‘Why not? You have to talk to someone and I’m always here.’ He looked at her thoughtfully and repeated, ‘I’m always here, remember that, Hope.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, looking away from his intense stare. It was only then that she became aware that she was wearing only a nightdress and gown, both flimsy items she had bought for her honeymoon. The thought unnerved her and she hurried away with less grace than he deserved.

  ‘Peter saw someone running away, a man with a limp,’ she told Freddy when she had added a winter coat to her attire.

  ‘How very convenient,’ Marjorie remarked. ‘Disguising his own actions, no doubt.’

  ‘Mother-in-law, how can you think Peter did this? Why would he?’

  ‘Hope, you’re so gullible. Bordering on the stupid at times. I wonder what my dear son ever saw in you.’

  The words stabbed Hope in her heart; she longed to run away and cry out her misery, but she said nothing, aware of Freddy’s anguish and shame, determined not to add to them.

  Peter heard them, and saw how distressed Hope was after such venom. Her face was white, and as he left he hugged her close to him and kissed her cheek. He referred to it only briefly. ‘Try not to take it to heart, it’s misery talking.’

  He walked home wishing he had made the effort to chase after the man he had seen hurrying away from the sound of the breaking glass. Although hadn’t his instincts been right, making sure Hope was safe? She had to be more important than catching the man responsible. He stopped and looked back, although he couldn’t see the house anymore in the darkness. She was filling more and more of his thoughts and with a stab of excitement he wondered whether she felt the same.

  Then he laughed aloud. How could she feel anything for a man like himself? He had a small business selling vegetables door to door, not even a premises, unless you counted Jason’s stable. Compared with Ralph and his family, he didn’t stand a chance of her thinking of him other than as a helping hand. Yet he knew that no matter how cruelly fate had treated him, he would never have allowed himself to become so despairing that he’d have killed himself, leaving her in such a mess. If she had trusted her life to him he would never have let her down.

  Over the next few days he watched people passing, looking out for strangers and particularly for a tall man who walked with a limp. Like most, he believed the attack had been directed at Marjorie, not Hope, even though he couldn’t understand the reasoning behind it. It was too much of a coincidence for it to happen while Marjorie was staying. The only stranger he saw was Matthew Charles, who wasn’t exactly a stranger, as Peter remembered him from school. He had been a close friend of Phillip and both had been very unpleasant. Peter had suffered slightly from their behaviour, which they excused under the heading of humour, encouraging others to enjoy the humiliation they inflicted on younger, weaker boys.

  Peter watched now as Matthew strolled along the main road, pausing occasionally to look in shop windows before going into the barber’s and sitting on the bench. He tried to compare him to the man he saw running away from Badgers Brook. It had been dark and now they were in bright sun, so it was difficult to visualize. Matthew was tall and thin but there was no sign of a limp. Besides, boys who behaved as badly as Matthew and Phillip usually grew out of it and became model citizens, protesting about the unpleasantness of today’s youth like the rest. He clicked to the horse and moved on.

  *

  Matthew stared out through the doorway of the barber’s shop and watched with distaste as a shopkeeper darted out to gather up the steaming pile left by Peter’s horse and carry it around to his back garden. What was he doing here? Surely Phillip couldn’t seriously be thinking of coming back? He was a free man; if he’d had enough of Connie he only had to walk away.

  While he waited for his turn in the small, crowded barber shop, he drafted out in his mind the letter he would write to Phillip. Mother ill and still an absolute pain, father as weak as always, sister-in-law a drudge with a boring child. Nothing to come home for, surely? Even for a fatted calf which during this time of rationing might only be a tin of dried egg!

  It was time for him to move on. His allocation of quality food had been ordered. He glanced through his appointments book. Nothing urgent for three more days. Perhaps he would go home and see his wife. He counted the number
of people before him in the patient queue and took out a notebook. He began a letter to Sally telling her he would be home in two days’ time.

  He looked out through the shop door. Strange that this had once been home and now he was a stranger, no one recognizing his face. He and Phillip had moved on after coming out of the army, determined to make a better life somewhere else. He had succeeded, by getting an easy job and marrying Sally, a wealthy widow, and Phillip… well, perhaps being supported by a succession of women was his idea of success. At least he had escaped from his awful mother.

  *

  Phillip’s ‘awful mother’ was sitting in the garden of Badgers Brook, wrapped in a blanket, sipping a glass of port. Beside her was Stella from the post office, and her husband, Colin, who had brought the port. At Colin’s feet sat Scamp.

  Marjorie didn’t like port. She drank an occasional sherry and sometimes port, but she didn’t like it. She drank it because it was the thing to do, like having parsley and thyme stuffing with chicken, when she preferred sage and onion. Keeping up a pretence was second nature to her. She sipped and murmured approval, hoping there would soon be a chance to throw it amid the chrysanthemums that bordered the path where they sat.

  ‘Looking better you are,’ Stella said, when Colin asked about her health and she was afraid they would have to suffer a minute by minute report. ‘Have to think positive, that’s what Colin always says, don’t you, Colin, love?’

  ‘Yes,’ Colin said, a bit bemused.

  ‘Colin always says it’s no good going on being miserable, or people soon lose any sympathy they feel. That’s right, eh, Colin?’

  Stifling a grin, aware of Stella’s intention, he could only nod.

  ‘Now,’ Stella said, slapping a hand on her knee. ‘When are you going back home? Another week, is it?’

  ‘I need to be fully recovered, because I need to take a hand in the care of my grandson.’