Valley Affairs

by Valley Affairs (retail) (epub)

  Workers’ Playtime came on and she tidied up and began setting the table for Amy to eat her lunch, laughing her loud laugh at the comedians and trying to remember the jokes to tell Amy. There were newspapers spread on the floor to keep it clean and when Amy came upstairs she found Nelly on her fat knees, head on fists, reading items she had missed.

  ‘There’s a cottage for sale in a small street in Swansea fer a hundred pounds. Couldn’t never live in a street meself, but fer young Johnny it might be a thought. Fay ’ates livin’ in a small bedroom she does.’

  ‘Most married couples start off living with their parents,’ Amy said. ‘What’s the situation with your cottage, Nelly? I’ve never known whether you rent it or whether you bought it when you first came?’

  Nelly climbed awkwardly to her feet, puffing with the exertion. ‘That kettle boilin’? Gaspin’ for a cuppa I am.’

  ‘I don’t want to pry,’ Amy said when she realised the question had embarrassed Nelly. ‘Come and have your tea.’ She poured water over the leaves and stirred them vigorously. ‘But if you have a problem and ever want to talk…’

  Nelly was peering at the newspaper again. ‘Twinsets thirty-seven and six. Blimey, that’s a lot of money!’

  Amy chuckled. ‘I paid nearly four pound for this one.’ She held up the sleeve of the fluffy, aqua-blue jumper and cardigan she wore with matching earrings and a white necklace and bracelet.

  ‘It’s worth it for someone like you, Amy. People looks at you. Who’d admire my fat body, even if it was in a fluffy jumper?’

  ‘Yet you’re married and I’m not,’ Amy said sadly.

  Nelly chuckled as she remembered her wedding to George, but added seriously, ‘Yes, but you got Margaret and Freddy an’ look at what I’m stuck with, Evie!’

  They were eating a sandwich when Freddy came in.

  ‘All right if I go fishing with Maurice this afternoon, Mam? There’s no room for me here with you two charging about cleaning.’

  ‘Of course, love.’ Amy stood up and began slicing more bread. ‘I expect you’d like a few sandwiches to take with you.’

  * * *

  Freddy left the two women discussing their plans for the rest of the day and the news items Nelly had gleaned from the old newspapers. He strapped his fishing rod to his bicycle and, putting his bag of tackle and the food Amy had prepared into the saddlebag, rode up to call for Maurice.

  ‘Unpack your bike,’ Maurice said with a grand gesture. ‘We’re travelling in style. Johnny and Fay said we can borrow their car!’

  ‘Great, man!’ Freddy helped to load the car and was surprised at what they were taking. A groundsheet and an ancient greatcoat as well as enough food to last them for a week. There were three rods, two bags of tackle and a fork and a spade to dig bait.

  ‘How long we going for?’ Freddie laughed.

  ‘Safari this is going to be. I thought that as Johnny generously filled her with petrol, we could go as far as Gower. How d’you fancy a walk out to the Worm’s Head? I’ve checked the tide and it’s possible but we’d have to stay there all night.’

  ‘No fear,’ Freddy gasped. ‘I like me comfortable bed too much for those larks!’

  ‘Just as well I’ve decided we’ll go to Llangenith then, isn’t it?’ He whistled cheerfully as the last of the baggage was pushed into the back seat.

  ‘Have you ever been on to the Worm’s Head?’ Freddy asked as Maurice carefully guided the car back down the narrow track to Sheepy Lane, bumping wildly as it hit several of the numerous pot-holes.

  ‘Yes, great fun it is too, depending on who you’re with of course.’ He winked. ‘Went over there early one morning with a couple of girls. Duw that was a day to remember. Took fishing rods of course, to reassure their mothers, but we didn’t catch no fish. Went out with the same girls in a friend’s boat once too. Didn’t get any fish that day either, but I learnt a hell of a lot about balance!’

  They went first to a beach where there were plenty of lugworms to be found and each set about the task of filling their bait tins. Maurice dug enthusiastically with a fork, turning over the heavy sand and occasionally pulling out one of the multi-coloured worms. Freddy found a pair of holes and, after removing a wedge from behind them with his spade, dug out a spadeful of sand, broke it open gently and removed a worm each time.

  ‘That’s the hard way,’ Maurice jeered, but Freddy retorted, ‘You’re sweating more than me!’

  They managed to hook several small dabs as the tide turned and the flat fish fed in the turbulent water, then they relaxed for a while before fishing the in-coming tide. When they packed up to drive home their bag was hardly a full one but they had both enjoyed the day; Maurice amusing Freddy with stories of his five army years, and Freddy giving Maurice the contented feeling of being ‘quite a lad’.

  They came back to the village past The Drovers Arms, and as they left the public house behind they saw a girl limping along at the side of the road. They both recognised Sheila Powell at the same time.

  ‘Come on, let’s try our luck, shall we?’ Maurice slowed down and called across the road. ‘In trouble are you?’

  ‘My heel snapped off my shoe.’

  ‘Give you a lift if you don’t mind a few fish for company.’

  ‘I’m going back there, I’m meeting my parents in The Drovers.’

  ‘Come on, I can turn the car! I’ve been driving bigger vehicles than this these past five years!’

  ‘Might as well I suppose, though Mam’ll be none too pleased.’ Sheila slid into the back seat and, with some struggling which caused her skirt to rise well above her shapely knees, she managed to find room to sit among the assorted tackle. ‘Good God, what you got in here?’

  ‘Fish, rods, slimy worms.’ Maurice started the car, turned in the road and drove off amid Sheila’s shouts of dismay to the car park of the public house.

  ‘What do you do, Sheila Powell?’ Maurice asked, while Freddie sat silently, embarrassed and unhappy at the way Maurice was getting to know Sheila.

  ‘I work in a gown shop in Llan Gwyn, if it’s any business of yours.’

  ‘I don’t work anywhere. Just out of the army see. Maurice is the name in case you forgot. Maurice Davies.’ He held out a hand and the girl touched it briefly and stepped out of the car.

  ‘Don’t fancy shaking hands after you’ve been handling worms, thank you very much. Ta for the lift though.’ She waved at Freddy and limped on her uneven shoes through the open door of The Drovers.

  ‘Fancy a drink, Freddy?’

  ‘Not old enough.’

  Maurice laughed and drove back to the shop. Freddy was in a less happy mood after the brief encounter. He had no reason to feel proprietary towards Sheila Powell simply because he had met her first, but the way Maurice had flirted with her had raised a knot of anger in him. Still, he thanked Maurice for the day out and went around to the back lane and into the flat. Before he opened the door to greet his mother and Margaret he forced himself to shake off the strange mood and, with a smile set firmly on his face, held up the largest of the flat-fish he had brought home, with a flourish.

  ‘Freddy,’ his sister laughed, ‘that’s kidnapping babies, not fishing.’

  ‘Just for that you can eat it for your breakfast. Or, better still, try some of these!’ He showed her some of the worms he had forgotten to throw back into the sea. The shrieks and laughter made Amy chuckle and reflect that it would be strange without Freddy coming in and out, quiet as he usually was. She would have to make sure she kept extra busy in the weeks following his departure.

  Outside, Maurice turned the car and once again headed back to The Drovers. The girl was sitting between a rather surly and anxious looking couple whom he guessed were her parents. He went to the bar and ordered a drink, then went to the men’s room and washed his hands and combed his wiry auburn hair back into some order after the day on the beach.

  He stood at the bar and allowed his gaze to travel slowly over the few customers. When he lo
oked at the girl he saw her blush and look away. Then the father looked up, frowning, and Maurice saw him question Sheila, who shook her head. The mother then seemed to sense the presence of an interested man and she turned so Sheila had to turn also to talk to her. The mother’s curls shook vigorously as she spoke to her daughter, as disapproving as their owner.

  He watched the trio finish their drinks and, with a hostile glare in his direction, walk out. Parent trouble, he diagnosed. Poor Sheila Powell. He’d have to see if he could rescue her. Something in her eyes told him she would be very grateful.

  Chapter Three

  Prue Beynon stood at the small landing window looking along the main street of the village. She wondered if she would ever walk along it again without feeling foolish. Anger against herself and a little self-pity made tears threaten and she held them back determinedly.

  She was feeling nauseous again, a weakness she could not accept as normal. The doctor had told her she might expect these miserable bouts for a few weeks, but Prue objected to them and tried to think herself out of them.

  It was mainly the fear of looking foolish, something she had always hated. That she was pregnant at the age of forty was hard enough to bear, and being a widow encouraged sympathy which she did not want and made it worse. To show herself up in front of neighbours would be too much.

  She took deep breaths, held her stomach in, as if by sheer determination she could dismiss the churning and the rhythmical heaving. But she could not, and she ran to the bathroom and leaned over the toilet, tears brimming in her eyes as she was sick.

  Lying back on the still unmade bed, she stared at the ceiling and wondered what to do. There was still time to move away from Hen Carw Parc before the news got out. Ethel Davies had guessed of course; she only had to look at the face of a pregnant woman to know. But she doubted if Ethel would spread the news. People went in and out of that house as if it were a railway station, but Ethel could hold her tongue.

  Perhaps that would be best, to leave. Sell up and live on the other side of the town. She could still manage the business from there. The prospect of such an upheaval was not a happy one. There was no one to help her and now that Harry was dead she was on her own with only his ghost to keep her company in the large, over-tidy house. Tears welled again and she brushed them away angrily.

  At least there were a few men who worked in the building firm and would give their time to assist her, if they were paid of course. She couldn’t think of a single person who would support her for any other reason except money. Amy was her only relative, but the sisters had not been on friendly terms ever since Prue had learnt that Amy was Harry’s mistress. Amy’s son would have been the ideal one, but now that was out of the question.

  There was a knock at the door and she stood up and looked out of the window. Her groceries had arrived from the shop in Llan Gwyn. She opened the window and called down for them to be left in the porch. Since finding out about Amy and Harry, she no longer bought from Amy.

  It was tempting to lie back on the bed but she went instead into the bathroom and ran a bath. While it filled she straightened out the double bed in which she would sleep alone for the rest of her life, still fighting melancholy. She sat in the bath and washed herself, looking at her thin body for signs of the new life within her.

  ‘Life is so unfair,’ she muttered. ‘All my life I’ve dreamed of having a child to rear. That it should come now when I am on my own is so…’ She scrubbed her body fiercely with a small nailbrush as if to punish it for its stupidity.

  She didn’t risk breakfast, but drank a cup of tea with lemon juice and, still in her dressing gown, planned her day. A letter from her solicitor was propped against the teapot to remind her to attend to it. She opened it and read it again, not because she had forgotten what it said, but for an excuse to sit a while longer.

  It was brief, simply telling her that the house Harry had bought and modernised was ready for Amy and her family to take over. Amy’s signature was needed and then the house would be hers. Too weary even to feel the usual anger at the idea of Harry leaving Amy a valuable house, she allowed the letter to fall from her hand, and went upstairs to dress. Better get the visit to Amy over and done with.

  Fortunately the shop was empty as it was almost lunchtime for most people. Amy was standing behind the post office counter, her fair hair falling over the counterfoils she was counting into piles and bundling with elastic bands which she had on her wrist in readiness. Prue waited until she had finished the final pile before moving slightly to attract her sister’s attention.

  Amy looked up and her blue eyes widened warily. Since Harry’s funeral she and Prue had hardly met.

  ‘Hello,’ Prue said quietly, as if trying to get disapproval even into that short word.

  ‘Hello, Prue, everything all right? You look a bit pale.’

  ‘I’m perfectly well, thank you. I have come to tell you that the solicitor wants to see you.’

  ‘Oh? What about? It must be to do with the house.’

  ‘There’s a form of acceptance or something to sign and the house is yours.’

  ‘Oh,’ Amy said again. She was relieved to know it was not another delay caused by Prue who she knew would have held it up for months if she could.

  ‘If you give him a ring you can arrange the time between you. It’s nothing to do with me any more.’

  ‘Oh.’ Amy put away the counterfoils and came to stand nearer her sister. ‘Prue, I want to say—’

  ‘You don’t have to thank me.’ Prue’s voice was sharp. ‘It was Harry’s wish to help you. I only did what he wanted.’

  ‘Well, thanks anyway. I’m sure you could have made difficulties and delayed things if you’d had a mind to.’ Amy politely glossed over the way Prue had initially fought against her having the house and the sudden change of mind. She felt deeply sorry for her sister whose prickly, stand-offish ways had resulted in her loneliness and wished there was some way she could open her out to the warmth of friendship.

  ‘Perhaps you’ll come there with me one day soon and we can look at it together. You’re better at choosing good things than I am,’ she coaxed. ‘I’d be glad to have your opinion of what to buy.’

  Prue wasn’t taken in by the attempt to flatter her. ‘I’m sure you’ll choose to suit yourself,’ she said. ‘You and I differ so much it would be impossible for me to choose for you.’

  Still Prue stood there, and Amy pulled the blind down on the door. She felt in a drawer and brought out a price list she was preparing.

  ‘Look at this then. I’ve been to see what I can afford in the way of new furniture.’ She read from the list, ‘A piano. That’s a must but please don’t tell Margaret, it’s a surprise. Monica French is quite impressed with her talent and has been giving her free piano lessons, but she’ll have to have a piano of her own if she’s to do well.’ Still no comment from Prue. ‘A very nice bedroom suite will be thirty-nine guineas, but I can manage without that, make do with what I’ve got.’

  She was beginning to feel she was talking to an empty room and embarrassment almost made her stop. But looking at Prue’s drawn face and the sad, cold eyes, she forced herself to continue.

  ‘Then there’s a three-piece suite. Got to have one of those, that’ll be about thirty guineas. Leather-cloth and velvet to be practical.’ She looked nervously at Prue who seemed not to hear anything she said. She prattled on, her voice sounding strange to her in the silence of the empty shop. ‘Dining suite would be nice too, but there again, I think I’ll make do, use the old scrub top kitchen table and cover it with a pretty cloth. What d’you think?’

  ‘Amy, I’m going to have a baby.’

  ‘What? You can’t be!’ Amy stepped back as if her sister had struck her. Harry hadn’t slept with his wife for months, even years. He had assured her of that. How could this cold, unemotional woman be expecting his child? She wanted to cry.

  ‘Prue, you must be mistaken.’

  Prue, white-faced, did not r
eply.

  Someone tried the shop door. Amy saw Milly Toogood’s daughter poke her head through and she pushed her roughly out, ignoring the woman’s pleading and turning the key in the lock.

  ‘Come upstairs, there’s no one in. We can talk.’ They hardly heard the angry banging or the complaints shouted at the shop door.

  Prue sat on a chair and stared into space while Amy made tea and opened the biscuit tin. Her hands were trembling and she had no appetite for the lunch already prepared and waiting for her. With shaking hands she placed a cup and saucer in front of Prue, who sipped it without speaking.

  ‘How will you manage?’ Amy asked to break the oppressive silence.

  ‘The same as always, capably and on my own.’

  ‘You don’t have to be on your own, Prue.’

  ‘It’s something I’ve learnt to expect. And accept.’ She turned her pale blue eyes towards her sister and Amy tensed for the outburst to come. ‘How can you help? You or your illegitimate children?’

  ‘Because they’re illegitimate of course! I managed alone and without even the comfort of a wedding ring!’ Amy snapped. ‘Who was there when I needed help? No one.’

  ‘You were young. I’m forty and pregnant for the first time.’

  * * *

  The door creaked and Freddy stood in the doorway, the colour draining from his face as both women watched.

  ‘Go downstairs for a moment, will you Freddy? I’ll make your lunch when Auntie Prue and I have finished talking, all right?’

  ‘Don’t want anything,’ Freddy blurted out, and he ran back down the stairs as if he had seen a ghost.