A Girl Called Hope

by A Girl Called Hope (retail) (epub)

  He looked around the house, his mind only half on his mother’s excited chatter. Nothing had changed: the ancient leather chairs and sagging couch with patched cushions. The curtains, worn at the edges where the sun had rotted them with its kindly but treacherous touch. Why hadn’t they bought new? They must be able to afford to make the place fresh and comfortable. The shops were filling up with goods for so long denied them, so why were they living with decaying curtains, dilapidated furniture and threadbare rugs over the parquet floor?

  Perhaps, if he had stayed, he might not have been aware of the sad neglect. Happening slowly and being observed daily it might have gone unnoticed. Particularly as his mother had always gloried in the ‘we are poor but respectable’ variety of furnishing. The implication was that everything was of such a high standard it still looked beautiful as it fell into decay. To Phillip, walking into the house after such a long absence, it looked almost as bad as a hovel. Nothing shone, everything looked uncared for, as though the occupants had given up.

  Connie had kept their home cheerful and sparkling clean.

  ‘Well? What d’you think? Nothing’s changed, has it?’ Marjorie spoke proudly.

  Good heavens, was she another Miss Faversham? Leaving everything at his departure waiting for his return? He swallowed the critical words that were souring his tongue and, instead, said, ‘Is there anything to eat, I’m starving!’

  He unpacked his small case in the bedroom that he had once shared with his brother Richard. Some of Richard’s books were still on the book case: The Three Musketeers and Twenty Years After, a ragged copy of Robinson Crusoe, which had been one of Richard’s favourites. Dreams of escape, he wondered idly? In a corner, half hidden by the clutter of a long-gone childhood, was Richard’s tennis racquet. He smiled a sad smile. Richard had hated sports, as he and Ralph had, but their mother had made him practise, and tried to push him into the school team by promising the school financial help towards more sports equipment.

  They sat down to a formal tea at four o’clock with the inevitable napkins and doilies, and with everything carefully set out.

  ‘Tell us what you’ve been doing, dear. You must be a successful artist. Imagine! You earning your keep with your wonderful talent – what an exciting life you must lead. Have you brought any of your paintings for us to see?’

  He lied politely, giving her what she wanted, a talented and successful son, but then he once again allowed himself to drift off and, as his mind closed to the predictable chatter, his thoughts turned to Connie. A smile crossed his lips as he thought of how much his mother would disapprove of her. Suddenly he missed her. Would he go back? The alternative was this place, and, even with her gradually strengthening demands, Connie, and the life of a school caretaker, was preferable. But surely he didn’t have to choose between the two? Either, or. There had to be something more.

  After tea had been cleared away, Marjorie plumped up the cushions on the armchair and they settled down for an evening of catching up. Marjorie did most of the talking; Freddy sat listening and smiling contentedly. Phillip wondered why he had come and how soon he could escape.

  ‘I started by painting local scenes,’ Phillip told an admiring Marjorie, ‘but there are too many already doing that, so I did a few portraits – abstract, of course, nothing chocolate box about my work.’

  In between the story of his ‘successes’, coaxed out of him by Marjorie, he asked about the death of his brother.

  ‘Hope should never have persuaded Ralph to leave his home,’ Marjorie said tearfully. ‘He’d still be alive if I’d been looking after him.’

  Freddy added nothing, but he managed to share a look with Phillip and between them understanding briefly glowed. Throughout the evening, until Marjorie left them to prepare supper, Freddy said the least. He was waiting for an opportunity to ask Phillip why he’d come home so unexpectedly.

  He noticed the rather expensive new clothes his son was wearing and wondered how he had managed to buy them. He suspected that the boastful stories his son had told were for Marjorie’s benefit and were completely untrue. He listened as Phillip recited in a modest, you’re-forcing-me-to-tell-you-this kind of way, the commissions he had won and the satisfaction he was getting from doing what he wanted to do, earning his living by his talent, and didn’t believe a word of it.

  ‘Why did you come?’ Freddy asked when the door closed behind his wife.

  ‘To see you of course.’

  ‘Why now, after all this time?’

  ‘I had to get away from someone.’

  ‘A woman? Or are you in worse trouble?’

  ‘No, Dad. Just a woman. Connie is wonderful, but I get suffocated by her. She is getting ideas about us marrying and buying a property and running it as a business. I can’t cope with stuff like that.’

  ‘So you left her?’

  ‘I’ll go back, if she’ll have me, but not yet.’ He was lying, looking away from Freddy’s quiet stare. He didn’t think he would see Connie again. As with others before her, their relationship had run its course.

  ‘Are you planning to stay? Your mother would be pleased if you stayed a while.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ He turned to look at his father. ‘She doesn’t change, does she?’ he said, harshness in his voice. ‘After a week she’d be trying to organize my life, telling me what to do, what to think, which is why I left in the first place. Is that why Ralph finally left?’

  ‘No. To be honest I don’t think he wanted to go. Ralph was too easily content. It was Hope who knew that unless he did he would never really grow up.’

  ‘Dad!’ His father's honesty was surprising.

  ‘When you and Richard left and joined the forces I hoped that being free – especially after the years in the army with all the experiences that offered – you and Richard would become the men you were intended to be, and not what your mother was trying to mould you into being. But Ralph,’ he shook his head sadly. ‘Ralph was too satisfied with the status quo, taking the easy route by doing what was asked of him, being looked after by his mother and pretending at being married with poor Hope.’

  ‘The war was a tragedy, no doubt about that, but it offered an escape for me and for Matthew Charles. He’s never really settled since. He’s married to Sally and has two stepdaughters but he can’t find a gap in their lives that he can fill. He feels irrelevant. For me, I resented the strength of Mum’s determination. The escape from home was a relief to us both – we likened it to men getting out of prison, but the truth is it’s unsettled us and now we’re both misfits and expect to remain so. We can’t go back to how we were and we don’t belong in the situation we find ourselves in now.’

  There was silence for a long moment, then Phillip said, ‘I called to see Hope earlier. Surprisingly, I suspect she’s a match for mother, more strong willed than I’d remembered, and meeting her again she strikes me as an unexpected choice for Ralph to have made. Or did she choose him and he drifted along with it as the easiest option? I’d imagined him with his nervous little wife, behaving like two frightened mice, controlled by Mother, but Hope’s no mouse, is she?’

  ‘Hope has had to be strong, firstly to persuade Ralph to leave, then to cope with the aftermath of that terrible accident, then his death.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Dad. About Ralph, I mean. And not coming home for the funeral.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you heard until it was too late. At least, that was what I told your mother.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Dinner had been a strain and supper was more of the same. Using the pretence of tiredness after a long journey, Phillip excused himself and went to bed early.

  He felt stifled sleeping in the room in which he had spent his childhood. It was over filled with memorabilia, things that brought back memories he didn’t want, everything from which he had run away. The cricket bat and football shirts, which had represented a mild form of torture to him and his brothers, were still there. They had all hated games and whenever possible would h
ide in the shrubbery that surrounded the school grounds until it was safe to come out. The room was a mausoleum and he was expected to sleep there.

  He missed Connie and woke several times to reach out and feel only disappointment.

  At five a.m. he went down the cold stairs and sat looking out of the kitchen window at the brick shed, their only private place, where he and Matthew had dreamed their childish dreams and got revenge on the world by planning to torment others. Guilt for their unkindnesses had been brief, and self-pity had overridden it with ease.

  *

  Connie continued with her day-to-day routine and in her spare time searched for clues that would lead her to Phillip and his parents. A scrap of paper tucked into a pocket revealed a torn letter, but the only visible address was Ty Mawr. In an old diary, abandoned and forgotten in the lining of a suitcase now used to store books, she found a mention of the town of Cwm Derw. It struck a chord. She remembered Phillip explaining that it meant a valley of oaks, although she couldn’t be sure it was where Phillip’s family lived.

  Writing down what she had learned, she checked on a road map, and when she found a town of that name she decided she had enough to start a search for him. The map showed her that Cwm Derw was a few miles from the coast in South Wales, west of Cardiff. It didn’t appear to be a large town, and perhaps, with a name like Williamson-Murton, his family would be easily found. If it really was his name. She was beginning to wonder how much of the little he had told her had been the truth.

  The hyphenated name was something he treated as a joke and he had mentioned it only once during a night out with friends. Normally such a brief reference would have been quickly forgotten, but his secrecy made every snippet of information stay in her mind, snatched up almost without a thought and squirrelled away with the rest.

  An explanation that Phillip’s brother had committed suicide was enough for her to be given a couple of weeks off work. Thankfully they didn’t ask when the tragedy had occurred, so she hadn’t needed to lie. She packed a suitcase and, with some trepidation, headed for the railway station.

  She slept for part of the long journey and when she was awake she rehearsed what she would say, imagining Phillip’s reaction in a dozen scenarios, some gentle and loving, others filled with anger or, worse, embarrassment at her unexpected appearance.

  *

  Peter was growing more and more attracted to Hope, although he knew that the time for doing something about it was far into the future. After the shock of Ralph’s death it would be a long time before she could begin to imagine loving someone else.

  There was no one he could talk to. His father had visited once or twice, without his new wife, and he made it quite clear that he didn’t approve of Hope as a prospective daughter-in-law.

  ‘Of course she’s coping. She’s driven a man to suicide, son,’ he said when Peter began to tell his father how well she was managing. ‘Self-centred people always cope. Putting themselves first, making others twist themselves into a spiral trying to do what they want, that’s how they cope.’

  ‘Hope isn’t self-centred! She tried to do her best for Ralph, but the accident made his life unlivable. How can you blame her for that?’

  ‘His mother knew him better than she did and she told him to stay where he was. She knew that the responsibility of managing a house on his own would be too much for him. But, oh no, Hope had to have her way, didn’t she?’

  ‘You’re talking rubbish, Dad. Ralph was married and he had a son. Surely he could be expected to look after them, provide for them?’

  George went on, repeating what he believed and re-stating what Marjorie had been saying, and Peter stopped listening. Although Hope hadn’t heard the venom of his father’s words he felt he had to make it up to her, ashamed for having listened, even under protest. After seeing his father off at the bus stop at the end of a visit that had been unhappy, he went to see Hope, taking a bar of chocolate for Davy.

  Laughter met him as he reached the door of Badgers Brook, and he hesitated before knocking. To his surprise he heard, amid the laughter, the pompous voice of Marjorie. What could have happened to make her laugh so uproariously? His knock was heard and a smiling Hope came to the door, Davy holding her hand, his face and shirt covered with chocolate. She invited him in and whispered that Ralph’s brother had called with Marjorie and Freddy, and his friend Matthew Charles. Peter put the chocolate bar intended for Davy back in his pocket.

  In the kitchen there was a party atmosphere that he could never have imagined. A couple of flagons were on the kitchen table, glasses and teacups spread around them. He was introduced and Marjorie said loudly that he was the man who went around with a horse and cart selling produce. She made ‘produce’ sound as unpleasant as rotten fish.

  He felt like a stranger in the house where he had begun to feel comfortable. Even Davy preferred the attention of the newcomers, his Uncle Phillip and ‘Uncle’ Matthew. Freddy sat near him and tried to include him in the light-hearted conversation, mainly reminiscences about schooldays and their childhood. Peter said very little; what he remembered of their behaviour at that time it would not have pleased them to have repeated.

  Their language and excessively loud, confident voices put him on edge. They made him feel gauche and clumsy, and to add to his growing discomfort, his vocabulary and his grammar were sometimes quietly corrected. Over the past weeks he hadn’t needed an excuse to call but tonight he was an unwelcome stranger. He said briskly, ‘Hope, if you can tell me what you have left in the garden that I might sell, I’ll be off.’

  She stood at once, amid artificial protests about his early departure, and followed him out through the door and a little way down the path. ‘Sorry about this,’ she said, gesturing back into the kitchen. ‘I wish they’d leave, they make me very uneasy.’

  ‘They’re pleasant company; I've never seen Marjorie so animated.’

  ‘Having Phillip home after all this time has made her forget the tragedy of Ralph, for a little while. She’s even forgotten to be unpleasant towards me,’ she added sadly. ‘But I dare say things will be back to normal once Phillip goes back to wherever he lives.’

  He risked a kiss on her cheek but she turned unexpectedly and their lips met. Her eyes looked dark and serious in the dim light flowing through the doorway. Unable to decide what to do, he stepped back and said lightly, ‘Don’t worry, even Marjorie will stop her taunting eventually. At least Phillip has proved she still knows how to smile.’

  ‘Come for Sunday lunch. Just you and Davy and me. Hopefully Phillip will be gone by then and we can relax.’

  He walked away in an uneasy frame of mind. She hadn’t reacted to his kiss any more than she had when her father-in-law gave her a salutatory peck on the cheek. Did that mean he was so unimportant? Or had she moved her head deliberately? That thought stayed with him all the way home and until he slept.

  *

  Connie didn’t find the town of Cwm Derw as easy to find as she’d imagined she would. Stopping in the busy town of Cardiff, she had thought a train would be available to take her there. The man in the ticket office hadn’t heard of it, and there was no railway station listed. The bus stop proved as unhelpful. ‘I’m a visitor here,’ one man she asked there had replied. Another thought it might be near Brecon. A third suggested she ask in the post office, and it was there she had a first hopeful lead. There were buses but not many. She had missed the last one that day and would have to wait until the morning.

  Finding a guest house wasn’t difficult, and with relief she ate and went to bed. She vaguely wondered why travelling, sitting down for hours on end, was so tiring, as she succumbed to the comfort of the feather bed.

  *

  Peter arrived early for lunch that Sunday. Hope had managed to excuse herself and Davy from eating with Marjorie, Freddy and Phillip at Ty Mawr and had the diminutive roast in the oven, already sending out tempting smells. A cursory knock and he walked in, piles of vegetables overloading a trug in one hand. His sm
ile widened as Hope walked in wearing a Fair Isle jumper depicting roses, which he had seen her knitting recently. Her figure was perfect, enhanced by the slim skirt and the new jumper, and he felt an attraction, desire, a growing love for her and a longing to hold her that made him hesitate to remark on it.

  ‘I’ve brought a few vegetables,’ he said unnecessarily, as he put the trug down on the floor near the sink. He turned away, afraid of what she might see in his eyes.

  Davy came running in from the garden, where he had been overseeing the preparation of a garden swing being set up by Bob and Freddy. It would soon be his third birthday and already excitement was growing. His arrival relaxed Peter’s mood and soon he was in the garden adding his assistance to the project. Freddy made an excuse and left, saying he had to spend as much time as possible with Phillip before he moved on. Peter and Bob completed the job and tied the swing up high so Davy wouldn’t use it until the varnish was dry.

  At one o’clock Hope came out, flushed from the heat of the kitchen, and called to them. Peter waved goodbye to Bob and, carrying Davy, strolled towards the house. He wished every day could be spent like this, being welcomed in to share the life of Hope and Davy.

  *

  Connie caught the bus that promised to take her to Cwm Derw at nine the following morning. The passengers had nicknamed it the Rambler, wandering as it did between the smaller villages, picking up people to go shopping or visiting, and collecting them for the return journey at one thirty. It was ten thirty before she stood at last in the town in which she hoped to find Phillip. The first shop she saw was a post office and, as she had learned, that was a good place to start.

  Stella saw her come in and hurried through the few customers waiting, smiling at the stranger, determined to find out as much as she could about her.