A Girl Called Hope

  On one occasion six of them went to the theatre and for supper afterwards. At the end of the evening the three men settled the enormous bill and Phillip paid his share without demur. It was easy when it wasn’t his money he was spending. He felt a long way from Ty Mawr, his parents and their neighbours, whom he hoped never to see again.

  The nights when they slept in each other’s arms were sheer joy and Phillip looked no further ahead, just lived for the moment. It was bound to end soon, he knew that and was half prepared for dismissal every time she came home from her business and greeted him with a kiss. It would be cold and abrupt, he was certain of that. He would be dismissed like a servant who no longer suited, and he daily tried to sense from the kiss whether it held a promise of more to come or signalled the end.

  One day when she seemed a little preoccupied and he was more or less convinced she would tell him goodbye, she produced first-class train tickets and bookings for an hotel just outside Norwich. She also gave him money to buy new clothes, and explained what he would need for the several days they would spend there. She went with him to the exclusive menswear department and seemed pleased at his expensive choices.

  Against all the odds, his immediate future was showing promise and, whatever happened in the New Year of 1949, this Christmas would be remembered as one of the highlights of his scrappy life. Christmas Day was a Saturday and they were booked into the hotel from Thursday the twenty-third until the following Tuesday.

  Phillip was a successful salesman, partly because he was handsome, immaculately turned out and well spoken, and also because flirting with young, wealthy mothers came as naturally to him as breathing. Pretending to adore the obnoxious infants who tore around the store causing irritation and creating noise was not quite as easy, but the thought of the commission, which represented an evening out with Fiona, made him hold his temper, even when he was hurt by toys being hurled at him and tricycles being driven over his feet. He would smile, wink at the distraught parent and whisper some flattering remark – ‘Shows a lot of character, doesn’t he?’ Or, ‘Extremely strong-minded, he’ll go far’ – wishing he could send the little monster into orbit with the toe of his well-polished shoe.

  *

  Sally hadn’t heard from Matthew for over a week. Having a telephone in the house because of his business meant it was easy for him to keep in touch. But he rarely did. She had given up trying to contact him. She knew from experience that he was rarely where he said he would be, and having to ask his company office if they could find him was a shame and embarrassment with which she could no longer cope. Christmas was only a few weeks away and surely he’d turn up for that.

  Tonight was the performance of The Lost Children, a seasonal story about a missing child being found by a donkey. Megan and Olwen were part of a group of dancers who appeared twice. The producers had borrowed a real donkey to come on stage at the end, and Twm would be led in by her daughters. The longing for their father to see them perform was heartbreaking, and Sally didn’t think for a moment that Matthew would be there to take the seat booked in his name.

  At six o’clock, leaving the girls with her parents, she went to the hall where the performance was to take place and began to help with the last-minute preparations. This would be the third and final performance. Everyone in the cast or involved in the many backstage activities had seen their families in the audience. Everyone except her. She was taking the leading role, of the shepherdess, their daughters had the exciting task of leading on the donkey at the end, and Matthew couldn’t be bothered to come.

  He had never supported either her or the children. Never appeared at sports day or school concerts, nor was he one of the proud fathers who went to the school to admire work on display. So she was used to being the odd one out; the woman whom new acquaintances presumed to be a widow. Why was this time any different? This time, when she played the lead and their daughters were a part of the finale, why was she coldly, calmly determined that she would make excuses for him for the very last time?

  The local people supported their efforts so it wasn’t a surprise to see that the hall was full, and Matthew’s seat embarrassingly empty. At the last minute she allowed the seat to be filled by someone else. The story ended with a lost child being found and brought home, guided by Twm, the patient donkey. Sally’s two girls walked one each side of the boy and the donkey, at the head of a procession. The roar and applause of the audience didn’t faze the animal at all. He had taken part in many local events and seemed to enjoy the attention. The owner’s only fear, that, typically, Twm might refuse to move, was averted by treats, and all went according to plan.

  The celebratory party after the final performance was something Sally always dreaded, feeling the absence of a man at her side, being a single person among so many couples. There were several other people without a partner, but they were always alone because they had no one. Her husband had chosen not to appear.

  She had always made the same excuses to her friends: he was tied up with work, too far away to break his journey, might miss appointments with valuable customers, excuses that no one believed. There would be a blankness on their faces; they would be lost for words, sympathy in their eyes, which she hated. This time she didn’t mind at all.

  The girls, who had been invited to stay and enjoy the party with her for the first time, were given lemonade and biscuits and flattery. She gloried in their success and walked proudly among her friends, smiling and not regretting Matthew’s absence for a moment. For the next few years she would have her daughters to enjoy and, after that, when they had gone out into the world, she would find something else to fill her life, her need for Matthew nothing more than a sad memory.

  *

  Hope was surprised to receive a visit from Marjorie early one morning as she and Joyce sat sewing buttons on to the delicate material of evening dresses in the kitchen of Badgers Brook.

  ‘You’ll have to come and help me,’ she announced as she walked in. ‘Someone is interested in the house and I have to make sure everything is orderly. The boxes we’ve packed are going into store and Freddy can’t manage on his own.’

  Hope turned to Davy and beckoned to him. ‘Come and say hello to Grandmother, Davy.’ She said it pointedly, reminding Marjorie that he was there and expected a greeting, however brief.

  ‘Hello, David. How are you?’ She turned at once to Hope. ‘Well, how soon can you come?’

  ‘Tea, Mother-in-law?’

  ‘There isn’t time. That… horse-and-cart vegetable man, Peter, is helping. Geoff has his van, and your father-in-law is driving a neighbour’s car. The viewing is at two o’clock and we don’t want them to see the place looking like a shunting yard at the station.’

  ‘Shunting?’ Davy picked up on the word. ‘Is Grandfather taking me to see the trains?’

  ‘Don’t interrupt, child. Now, I’ll hurry back and expect you to follow.’

  ‘No, I can’t.’ Hope’s heart was in her mouth but she tightened her lips adamantly. ‘These dresses are promised for this evening and Joyce can’t manage to do them on her own. There are dozens of buttonholes to neaten as well as buttons to make. Joyce is actually making some, crocheting them out of matching cotton. I’ll help another time, but I can’t let people down, not now when the business is just recovering from – from the setback I suffered.’

  ‘Very well. I’ll find someone else. It won’t be that difficult.’ If there was a moment’s guilt at the reminder of her behaviour, which had all but destroyed the business, it didn’t show. Still bristling with irritation at her demands not being met, she left as rapidly as she had come.

  Joyce gave a relieved sigh. ‘That was hard to do, but thanks, Hope. I daren’t think how we’d have pacified the Davies sisters if they didn’t have their new dance dresses. And we’d never be forgiven by Mrs Amby if her outfit was delayed. Going to a christening, she is, on the early bus tomorrow, and she wants to be the smartest one there.’

  ‘She will be,’ Hope
promised. She put the kettle on for tea, needing a few minutes to calm herself before getting back to the intricate stitching.

  Once the day’s work was completed, Joyce stayed to clear up and prepare for the following day, when there would be several more orders to fulfil, and Hope dressed herself and Davy warmly and set off on the bus to see if there was anything she could do for Marjorie and Freddy. The viewers would be long gone but she would feel slightly less guilty if she turned up, even though it was too late to help impress the prospective buyers.

  It was raining, water dripping from the branches of the bare trees as they walked to the bus stop, the once beautiful grass losing its colour, sodden, collapsed and lying like a drab carpet on the verges. The wood on the opposite side of the lane looked uninviting, alien, making it difficult to remember warm sunny days and walks to where the badgers lived. The chuckling stream – which gave life to so many animals and birds – could now be heard, fast flowing and turbulent.

  The bus was full, smelling of wet mackintoshes, with people going into town before the shops closed to search for treats and additions to the store cupboard, where a horde of luxuries was secretly waiting for the magic that was Christmas. Davy was surrounded by chattering voices asking if he had written to Father Christmas and whether he wanted a book or a toy as his present. He explained that he hadn’t asked for anything but would wait for a surprise. Kitty was on the bus and she gave him a penny, which he clutched in his hand and discussed with others as to the best way to spend it.

  When they arrived at Ty Mawr, Hope heard Marjorie and Freddy arguing before she reached the back door. Marjorie’s rapid soprano complaints rose in counterpoint to Freddy’s slow bass explanations. ‘Both talking, neither listening,’ she muttered to Davy, as she knocked on the open door and walked in.

  ‘Mind your feet, I’ve washed this floor twice today already because of his carelessness!’

  ‘Sorry, Mother-in-law, but it’s either footprints or we go straight home. We can’t stand out in this rain.’ Since Ralph’s death she had never given in to Marjorie’s bullying and never would.

  She turned to Freddy and asked, ‘Did they like the house?’

  ‘They want to move in immediately after Christmas. It’s all such a rush. We only decided to sell a few weeks ago, and now we’re having to find somewhere quickly or end up in an hotel.’ He was looking at her as he spoke, a straight, unwavering questioning look, and she nodded.

  ‘You can stay with us for a little while, Mother-in-law, just until you find a house you like.’

  Marjorie nodded and muttered a cursory ‘Thank you’, spoiling even that by adding, ‘We might be desperate for a short respite.’

  ‘You’ll have to put your furniture in store, of course. I can’t take that as well; I need a work room and Connie has one bedroom.’ She thought then that Connie might not like having to share a home with Phillip’s parents and perhaps, as it was the festive season, accept his visits too. ‘I’ll have to check with Geoff first, mind, and Connie, of course, make sure she doesn’t object. And you will tell Phillip that there isn’t room for him to stay, won’t you?’

  If Marjorie thought of arguing she rapidly changed her mind. They needed a place to stay and it seemed unlikely that Phillip would be around. ‘He might be home for Christmas,’ she said with little hope.

  ‘That’s all right, you’ll still be at Ty Mawr then.’

  ‘We were hoping that we could share at least Christmas Day with you and Davy,’ Freddy said. ‘Everything packed away, it won’t be very festive here.’

  ‘Of course, but not Phillip. I’m sorry.’

  Freddy shrugged. ‘He’s found a “friend” and will be in Norfolk, I understand.’

  ‘You didn’t tell me,’ Marjorie complained.

  ‘He wrote and asked me to tell you.’

  ‘When did he write? Why didn’t I see the letter?’

  Leaving them to continue their argument in the comfortless house surrounded by boxes and with a fire that seemed incapable of warming the almost empty, abandoned room, Hope and Davy walked back to the bus stop and home. Kitty and Bob had called, leaving some logs and kindling. The fire burst into life at the first lift with the poker, and Hope looked around her and wallowed in the luxury of a home where she felt contented and secure.

  The house was so much her own place, its silent but strongly felt welcome entering her very being and warming her with its feeling of peace. She was soothed by its atmosphere of security and couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. In spite of the tragedy in her recent past, she was aware of being very happy.

  It was daunting to realize that Marjorie would soon be adding her own special brand of supercilious disapproval to what should be a very joyous occasion, but there was nothing she could do about it. Christmas might weave its miracle around her, but somehow that possibility was in serious doubt.

  When she next saw Marjorie it was as Peter was giving them a lift home on his cart. Davy was sitting beside him, holding the reins, Peter’s protective hands over the child’s small ones. Hope was on the cart, sitting on a box and surrounded with parcels of shopping. Slipping from one carrier bag was an assortment of vegetables, which she was trying to confine. Laughter filled the air as she groped with handfuls of carrots and potatoes and sprouts, all determined to escape. Hope heard her call and turned as a red-faced Marjorie approached the side of the cart with clear disapproval.

  ‘Hope, will you stop a moment! I’m not chasing you all the way through the main road!’

  ‘Why doesn’t she ever speak without a growl in her voice,’ Peter whispered as he and Davy called to the horse to ‘Whoa, Jason.’

  ‘There are a few things we need to bring over for the few days of Christmas. Will you bring Davy’s pushchair so we can manage them?’

  ‘I can collect them tomorrow if you like,’ Peter offered as she drew closer.

  She looked around as though he had made an improper suggestion. ‘Thank you, but no, I don’t want my valuables paraded through the street on a horse and cart.’

  ‘Sorry, Mother-in-law, but I’ve given Davy’s pushchair away.’

  ‘Mummy, I want my pushchair,’ Davy began to wail. ‘I nee-e-d it.’

  Peter suggested a taxi and, with a time arranged and Hope promising to book it, Marjorie left them.

  ‘See what it’s going to be like?’ Hope whispered. ‘For the first time in my life I’m dreading Christmas.’

  ‘Don’t do that. Just make sure there are plenty of people there,’

  ‘Dilute her you mean?’ She laughed and he joined in. ‘That would be a useful trick!’

  *

  Sally was not looking forward to Christmas. She had made up her mind to tell Matthew their marriage was over. She had spent many sleepless nights contemplating this, but every time, until now, she had admitted that she loved him still and that the time they were together was happy. Now she faced up to the truth and told herself that the hours they were together were fewer than any other couple she knew. Everything she did, she did alone, while Matthew also sought other company for enjoyment and relaxation.

  The house was her father’s, some of the money needed to run it was also from him. Why had she been pretending for all this time that everything was fine?

  She began the distressing task of sorting out his clothes and putting them in piles so he could choose what he wanted to take and what to discard, unaware that in Ty Mawr Marjorie was doing something similar for Phillip. She thought about Phillip and wondered whether, if he and Matthew had not remained friends, either one or the other might have settled more easily into civvy street. They seemed to encourage each other in ways that harmed them both. If only Phillip would stay away from them, even now there might be a way back. She went on sorting out the piles of clothes and daydreamed of a happy ending, wondering vaguely where Phillip had gone after they had asked him to leave.

  *

  In London, Phillip was dressing ready to take Fiona out for a meal. He heard the
outside door of the flat open and close and, lacking a shirt, he went into the living room and held out his arms to greet her the moment she walked through from the hall. To his surprise she didn’t run to him for that first kiss, but leaned against the back of the door and stared at him, her face pale, her eyes troubled.

  ‘Darling, what is it? Have you had a bad day? Come, let me make it better.’ As he stepped towards her she turned from him and went into the bedroom. Throwing her handbag, coat and hat on to the bed, she allowed her shoulders to droop and stood with her back to him in silence. This was it, he thought with the beginnings of alarm. This was when she told him they were finished. ‘Darling, whatever is it? Have you had bad news?’

  ‘The worst possible news. I am expecting a child.’

  ‘But, you can’t be. We’ve been so careful… and there hasn’t been time, and… Don’t worry, there has to have been a mistake.’

  She turned slowly, raising her eyes to his. ‘No mistake. And how much time d’you think it takes? You’ve been careless, Phillip. Utterly, inexcusably careless, and now we’re landed with a child neither of us wants. You’ll have to marry me. I’m not bearing all of this on my own.’

  That night Phillip couldn’t sleep. While Fiona breathed softly beside him, her face serene and untroubled, he began to work things out. Leaving the bed, he reached for a dressing gown bought for him by Fiona and, snuggled in its luxurious warmth, sat looking out of the windows. He’d been here a little over three weeks. Surely there wasn’t time to conceive a child and know with any certainty, was there?