He remembered Matthew telling him that Sally’s first child had been born just under nine months after her first wedding, and that had raised a few eyebrows, but ‘honeymoon babies’ were rare. Slowly, as dawn began to make silhouettes of some of London’s buildings through the windows of the elegant flat, the truth began to dawn too.
He woke her with tea and toast, which they ate in bed, then, after a loving interlude in which Phillip was kind and concerned and reassuring, she left for work, his declaration of life-long commitment ringing in her ears. Phillip stared at the back of the door through which she had gone, walking backwards, blowing kisses to him in a very Fiona-like manner.
He had fondled her more knowingly the previous night, and realized that her slender body was already slightly swollen, something he hadn’t been aware of until that day. His suspicions grew, although he intended to keep them from her. As the street door closed behind her he telephoned Matthew. A brief conversation and he was convinced that he had been duped. Fiona had found herself in a tricky situation and had chosen him to play the father for her unborn child.
He was amused and not a little flattered, as he realized he’d been put through a series of tests to decide his suitability. The highly expensive restaurants. The theatre visits and the intellectual discussions that followed. Meeting her rich friends and joining in with the fantasy that he was an artist who had suffered a setback because of his terrible wartime experiences.
‘Don’t be tempted,’ Matthew warned as Phillip told him of his recent social life. ‘She’s wealthy but that doesn’t mean you’ll share it. You’ll be discarded once you’ve made the child legal – or even before. She needs a father, and if you leave before the child is born you’ll be a cad she’ll have sympathy and support. Fiona isn’t likely to be a gateway into a life of ease.’
Matthew convinced him. It was undoubtedly time to leave. Although, he mused, he might as well enjoy Christmas in Norfolk first.
‘When you’re in the area, will you tell my parents that I won’t be home for the festivities.’ he asked during a second phone conversation. ‘Call it pressure of work, a touch of flu, whatever you fancy. Your wife isn’t the only actor in the family, is she?’ he said with a laugh.
*
The approach of Christmas was a confusion of Hope’s plans and Marjorie’s determination to do everything the way she considered proper. Nothing pleased her. The decorations were too gaudy, the tree so large it was vulgar. She straightened cushions, moved ornaments and generally made everyone nervous. When Christmas day dawned Hope and Connie were exhausted.
Davy awoke early and throughout the morning was happily unaware of the continuing disapproval, enjoying the gifts so lavishly presented by a constant stream of morning visitors. Kitty and Bob came and brought flowers, wine and a homemade garage for Davy’s growing collection of cars. Betty Connors, who seemed surprised to see Freddy there, called with a painting book and a box of paints, but made the excuse of a headache and didn’t stay for lunch as arranged.
Stella and Colin brought vegetables and a box of plasticine. Joyce came with her mother, having been invited to stay for lunch, as were Peter and his parents and Geoff. Gwennie Flint had told Hope she was alone for Christmas so she came, too. The borrowed chairs lined up around the table with hardly room to move an elbow once people were seated.
Peter, helping Hope to carry the food to the table, whispered, ‘I see you took my advice and diluted your mother-in-law.’
‘It seems to be working, too,’ she replied, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.
‘If we can top up her port and lemon a few times she might even enjoy the day.’
‘Don’t you dare!’
‘Oh, I dare,’ he threatened, half seriously. ‘I don’t want her spoiling the day for you or for young Dai.’
There were a few small problems as Marjorie insisted on dinner being delayed so they could listen to the King’s speech first then complained that the two chickens and the small piece of pork provided by the absent Betty were overcooked and the vegetables too salty.
Hope was aware of being scrutinized by Peter’s father and stepmother. She saw them whispering to each other, and she suspected their comments were disapproving. Her instinct proved correct when Peter’s father told her he wanted better for his son than a second-hand woman with another man’s son.
Hurt but determined not to show it, Hope said calmly, ‘Don’t alarm yourself, Mr Bevan, I have no intention of remarrying.’ The words were true. How could she think of doing so having driven a man to suicide? Ralph had chosen to die rather than stay with her, so how could she risk hurting Peter?
Nothing had been planned apart from a few silly games, which everyone enjoyed. Although Marjorie didn’t join in, she did seem content to be entertained by the stupidity of others without resorting to criticism. Carols were sung and there were a few solos from those who, emboldened by drink, wanted an audience for a few minutes.
Freddy went for a walk at one stage and was away for a long time, although Marjorie didn’t appear to notice. He told Peter he’d been to see if Betty was all right and reported that she was improved and was sorry she’d missed the fun.
It was after midnight before the last visitor left. Connie and Hope looked around them at the ruin of the kitchen and the glasses and plates that were dotted around the ground floor of the house. ‘I didn’t know we had so many plates and glasses,’ Hope sighed, starting to gather them on to a tray.
‘Betty lent us some glasses from the pub, plates as well. I’m working tomorrow so I’ll take them when I go in at lunchtime.’
‘Was it a good day, d’you think?’
‘Wonderful. Even Marjorie was reduced to a sleepy silence. And how you managed that I don’t know.’
‘Port and lemon and too many people here to make herself heard. Poor Marjorie, she’s had such awful luck. Three sons and only one surviving, and him too unkind to come home at Christmas.’ She looked at Connie, about to apologize. ‘Sorry, I forgot you knew Phillip.’
‘You’re right, he is unkind. It took me too long to realize it.’ She frowned slightly, her dark eyes clouding. ‘I wonder who he has supporting him now? There’ll surely be some other stupid woman who believes she’s the one to change him.’
‘Be thankful it’s no longer you, Connie.’ She stood up and placed the tray of dirty glasses near the sink. ‘Come on, I’m for bed. We can do the clearing up tomorrow. Thanks, Connie, for your friendship and your help today. I really appreciate having you here.’
‘I should thank you for sharing your harmonious home and making me feel wanted. Today has been wonderful, I’ll always remember it.’
‘I think we’d better get to sleep before we get maudlin and start to sing sentimental songs and end up crying!’
Hope made sure the fire was extinguished and lit candles in two china candlesticks. She then turned off the gas light by pulling the little chain and listening for the pop. The candle flames bobbed, leading the way in ever changing patterns of light and shadow, the walls resounding with echoes of the singing and laughter of the past hours, as they went upstairs, tired and utterly content.
*
The weather became much colder once Christmas was over. The roads were covered with thin pools transformed into ice that glowed opaquely in the lights of passing cars. The trees glistened with the touch of frost that stayed all day without the strength of the sun to melt it. The grass on the kerb of the lane was brittle underfoot. Gardens were abandoned. The cold was painful to the skin and few people ventured out unless it was necessary. Heads down, wrapped up in extra clothes and heavy boots, shoppers did what they had to do and scurried home as fast as they could.
With clear reluctance, Marjorie and Freddy moved back to their cold, unwelcoming house and longed to be back in the comfort of Badgers Brook. The rooms were hollow without floor covering and with minimal furnishings, and when they slid between the sheets they were shockingly cold to the touch in spite of hot wate
r bottles and extra blankets, bed socks and shawls.
With only a couple of weeks before the house had to be vacated, Freddy spent time looking for a property to suit their needs. It was Marjorie who finished cleaning the house, lifting the last squares of carpet and scrubbing the wooden floors, with the help of fifteen-year-old Hetty Gregory, a young girl who worked for one of Marjorie’s friends. It was Hetty who found the notebooks.
Marjorie took them from her, surprised to learn they had been found under loose floorboards. Marjorie was tempted to read them, but Hetty would have to leave at twelve and they had to finish washing the floors today. With great reluctance she put them aside, promising herself a sad journey into the past as soon as she had prepared and eaten lunch.
Freddy had said he wouldn’t be home until later in the day, and she was glad. She wanted to read Richard’s words alone, imagine his voice as though he were reading them just to her.
When the girl had gone, clutching the few shillings she had earned, Marjorie abandoned the thought of lunch and, making a cup of tea, went to sit at the table and start on the diaries.
When Freddy came in about four o’clock, the room had grown dark and the fire had sunk to a grey ashy coldness. She was unaware of how cold she had become. Freddy was alarmed. After switching on the light he revived the fire with dry sticks and fresh coal, talking to her without actually looking at her.
‘Are you all right, Marjorie? Not ill? Why are you sitting in the dark? And it’s so cold in here.’ There was no reply, and he stood, his face reddened from the closeness to the now blazing fire, and looked at her. ‘What’s that you’re reading?’ Alarmed, he strode to the table and picked up one of the exercise books. ‘Richard’s diaries? What is it? What have you learned to upset you?’ As though to protected her, albeit belatedly, he snatched the small pile of books and held them away from her.
‘I’m not upset, Freddy, just sad beyond measure. Why was life so cruel? Three sons, and two gone from us, in such a useless way. Richard only days before hostilities ceased, and Ralph, well, we’ll never know the truth of that, will we? And Phillip, who’s alive but can’t be bothered to come and see us, knowing how we grieve. Was I such a terrible mother?’
‘Of course you weren’t. Don’t ever think it. We all do what we think is best, and no one can do more than that. Come on, let’s eat out, shall we? A special treat before we leave this place with all its memories for good.’
‘No, let’s go for a walk, bring back some of Gwennie Flint’s fish and chips and eat them here, by the fire.’
‘Why not let that be the end of it? Let’s move out of here tomorrow. There’s no point staying on surrounded by boxes and without any comfort. Let’s start the new year in Badgers Brook. Hope won’t mind, she knows how difficult it is for you. She’s a good, kind girl.’
‘D’you really think we could? This place is no longer our home. It’s cold and it doesn’t seem to retain heat no matter how well the fire burns. I’m weary of hovering between being miserable now and feeling anxious about later, living a half-life.’
‘Right then! Tonight it’s fish and chips from Gwennie and tomorrow we’ll arrange to leave.’ He put the books in a box of oddments where he hoped she wouldn’t find them, and they went out to buy their supper.
*
Phillip had a wonderful time staying at an expensive hotel throughout the Christmas weekend. Fiona had been loving and attentive, and bought him clothes and a few luxuries like a gold cigarette case and cufflinks and a pen, the accoutrements of a successful businessman. She constantly flattered him by showing him off as her adored husband, who was in retail, as she was herself. He was silently amused at the comparison between his selling toys for a wage plus commission and her owning a high-class shoe shop, but he enjoyed the subterfuge and acted the part to perfection.
When they got back to the flat she began looking in her diary for possible dates for their wedding.
‘It must be a quiet affair, darling, so we can put the actual date back a few weeks to make sure we’re considered respectable.’ She laughed as he hugged her and shared the joke. After she had left very early to open her shop he carefully packed his better clothes and the gifts she had given him, and, with the suitcase filled to capacity and several other parcels on his arm, he stepped into a taxi and headed for Paddington.
On the way he posted his resignation to the toy shop, mentioning his brother’s accident and suicide as an excuse, as though both had been recent. He was a little ashamed at using his brother’s death, but not enough to rewrite the letter.
There was genuine sadness at leaving Fiona. She was fun, affectionate and generous, and rich enough to keep him in luxury he’d only ever dreamed of. But he knew Matthew was right: once the baby had been born and given his name, he would have been discarded. Someone like Fiona would never shackle herself to someone like him, with no money and no prospects. Handsome and charming, with the gift of the gab enabling him to bluff his way through most conversations, he fitted her needs for the moment, but sooner or later he’d give himself away to her friends and reveal the truth about his far-from-glamorous beginnings. He had arrived in her life at a convenient moment and, good looking, presentable and convincing enough to fool her friends, he had been taken for a mug.
As the train made its way towards South Wales he tried to remember whether he had left any clues to enable her to follow him, as Connie had so easily done, but decided that she wouldn’t bother to try. He wasn’t that important to her; there must be plenty of men in her life who’d oblige by marrying her, then leave with a generous parting present. Perhaps, he thought briefly, he’d have been wiser to have gone along with it a while longer, stayed and been paid for his trouble. He had been paid: with gifts of clothes and the expensive luxuries she had given him on Christmas morning, as they lay in the hotel bed, feeding each other the breakfast that had been left at their door. He glanced at his gold watch. Twenty more minutes and he’d be in Cwm Derw. He idly wondered whether there would be a porter available to carry his overloaded suitcase.
Unable to leave the dream too abruptly, he took a taxi to his parents’ house and stood while the driver struggled up to the front door with his luggage. Leaving his suitcase on the front porch he knocked, and, having no response, walked around to the back. A glance through the window showed him that the house, Ty Mawr, his home, was completely empty.
He felt offended and filled with self-pity. His parents had moved without even telling him. What mother would do that? Now what could he do?
Marjorie was inside but she didn’t open the door. It was her son, obviously wanting something. In need of a place to rest his idle head no doubt. Well he could go and find somewhere else. The house was no longer theirs. Hope might be kind but she wasn’t stupid: she wouldn’t ask Connie to leave Badgers Brook to accommodate a worthless waster like Phillip. She walked away from the window after watching him leave, struggling with too many pieces of luggage. Then she went back into the bedroom that had been his and Richards.
At that moment, as she sat on the floor in the bare bedroom, holding a final exercise book in her hands, she hated everyone, including her son. Within the pages of Richard’s diaries she had just that moment learned that Freddy, whom she had trusted completely, had been involved in a long-time love affair with Betty Connors.
Eleven
Marjorie sat with the diaries in her hand until she became aware of how cold she was. Stiffly she rose from the bare floor of the bedroom and replaced the loose board. Underneath she had searched with a hand and a torch, just in case there were other hidden treasures, secret items that would bring back some memory of her son. She wanted to hold things he had held, pretend she was touching him, telling him she loved him.
Having found the last of the exercise books filled with his neat handwriting she wished she had not made that final search and had remained in ignorance. Freddy and Betty Connors. It was so obvious, now she knew. She wondered how many others knew and were silently s
ympathetic, or smug that it had happened to her, Marjorie Williamson-Murton, who put on such airs. Other people knowing was one of the worst things. Privately she could cope – shouting and raging and making sure Freddy never forgot – but knowing she was the subject of gossip was unbearable. Oh, how she hated Freddy for doing this to her.
She was shivering as she went down the stairs and at the door she stopped. Where was she going? Not back to Badgers Brook to pretend nothing had changed. But, with the house sold and no replacement found, there was nowhere else. An icy wind was blowing and her coat felt as thin as gossamer. The chill that was partly the weather and mostly the cold shock of betrayal seemed to find its way to every part of her. She stepped back inside but knew she couldn’t stay, she no longer had the right to be there, the place was no longer hers. She belonged nowhere and with no one.
She was surprised at how much she wanted to go to Badgers Brook, to its safety and warmth: feel the security of its walls wrapped around her, and relax in its calm peaceful atmosphere. She needed to talk to someone, but her friends were few and not close enough to listen to this. There was no one, except Hope.
She caught the bus and got off at the end of the lane. Darkness was absolute after the illuminated bus and she paused a moment until her eyes could make use of the starlight. The trees moved slightly in a soft breeze that was adding to the chill of the evening. Foraging animals were heard from the wood on her left, startling her from time to time, but she was too lost in her thoughts to be afraid.
As Badgers Brook came into view with its kitchen light shining like a beacon, she felt a relief, a momentary glimmer of optimism; the house had that effect and she vaguely wondered why. Then she slowed her steps. If Freddy were there what would she do? Not confront him, that much was certain. Not yet, and certainly not with David there while Hope listened, tried to help, reassuring her, promising that everything would be all right. Nothing would ever change how she felt at that moment, filled as she was with hatred and humiliation. Cold and friendless.
A Girl Called Hope Page 24