He felt sick. His stomach churned alarmingly and he put a hand to his mouth in a futile attempt to stop it. He reached the outside toilet, disposed of the curdled mess and stood sweating and shaking, holding the basin for support. He had made his aunt pregnant. How could he walk out of this small room and carry on as if nothing had happened? He wanted to curl up and hide.
The strange affair with his aunt had happened almost without a thought for the wrongness of it. He relived the wonder of it all, the way the stern-faced woman he had always been slightly afraid of had relaxed in his loving. Even her face had changed, become less stony, filled out somehow so the angular lines softened. He thought of her voice when she spoke words of endearment. It was soft and gentle and completely without her usual harshness.
Freddy washed his face in cold water, the skin reddening and intensifying the blue of his eyes. He put his glasses back on but they immediately clouded over so he removed them and washed his face again. He stood for a long time before he felt able to face anyone, then went into the yard.
* * *
When Freddy had raced off so hurriedly, Amy was puzzled.
‘What’s upset him?’ she said. ‘D’you think he overheard? Young boys are a bit embarrassed at the thought of babies, aren’t they?’ She stopped when she saw that Prue was shaking and had gone deathly white. ‘Prue, what is it? Are you ill? Don’t move, love, I’ll ring for the doctor.’
‘No!’ Prue stopped her as she reached the door. ‘I don’t need a doctor. I – I’ve just realised what this will mean, that’s all.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Ridicule,’ Prue invented fast, trying to cover the real reason for her nervous attack. She had seen the horror in Freddy’s eyes as he had realised what had been said, and she had to prevent Amy from guessing. ‘I saw in that fleeting moment what everyone will think. How they will react to the news. Me, cold, unfriendly Prue Beynon conceiving a child. I have to get away from here, Amy. Will you help me?’
Amy stared at the somehow shrunken figure of her sister, but she shook her head. ‘No, Prue, the only way is to face it. Believe me, any other solution will bring nightmares of loneliness and despair. If I can’t teach you anything else I can teach you that. Face them. People take their attitudes to you from you. You look ashamed and they will treat you as if you’re guilty. Walk with your head high and feel proud and you’ll attract nothing but good will and kind thoughts. I’ll help you. So will others if you only give them half a chance.’
She bent over Prue and touched her shoulder tentatively, unable to show the affection that, with anyone else, would have lead to a hug. ‘I’ll do everything I can to help, I promise. I owe you that,’ she added in a whisper.
Prue stood up to go but Amy pushed her down in her chair. ‘Stay. Your tea’s gone cold. Put the kettle on, will you, and we’ll have another.’ She left Prue seeing to the tea and ran downstairs to the shop. In a corner behind the post office counter was a display of wool. Gathering up a handful of patterns and a few skeins, she went back upstairs. At the door to the living room she paused and leaned back against the wall, her eyes closed to squeeze away a tear. ‘Harry, Harry my love,’ she whispered with a sob, ‘how could you?’
Unaware of how the news had devastated her son, she allowed waves of dismay to flow over her, believing she alone suffered the shock of it. How could Harry have made love to two women and tell each that she was the only one? Grief for his death intertwined with anger. She had been his lover for years but she had not really known him. That he was unreliable was something she had learnt to accept. That he was too much the coward to reveal his love for her and leave his wife, she had also admitted to herself, but sleeping with Prue when he had told her he could not, and giving her a child, was a cruel shock. It was the ruin of the pathetic dream of their love and that false dream was all she had to show for the years of loyalty to him.
She ran down to the darkened shop and combed her hair. Then she carefully reapplied her makeup before returning to her sister.
When she had stifled the tears of hurt she went in, talking as soon as she entered, hoping her moment of self-pity and the feeling of betrayal would not be noticed.
‘Now then, Prue. You’re a good knitter and for once you can knit for yourself. Made dozens of things for charities you have, now it’s for yourself. Here,’ she handed Prue a few patterns, ‘you look through them and tell me what you’d like and I’ll start as well. Then I’ll take mine to the shop and leave it on the counter. Everyone who asks will be told with great excitement about the baby and how thrilled we all are that at last you have what you and Harry only dreamed about, a baby to fill your life and bring you nothing but happiness.’
‘Harry—’ Prue began but the words failed her and at last she cried.
Awkwardly, Amy patted the bony shoulder. ‘Come on, love, we both know that Harry was a swine, but we both loved him didn’t we? No use pretending. Not now. Let’s both enjoy his baby, shall we?’
‘But Harry—’
‘Harry’s gone, and we both have to accept it.’
When Prue finally went home, Amy sat in a chair and shook from head to toe. She had held back from necessity while Prue needed her, but the moment she was alone the trembling shock overcame her. She didn’t hear Freddy come in, but felt his hand touch her gently.
‘Shall I open the shop for you, Mam, tell them you’re not well? It’s long past time.’
She nodded, but did not look up.
The world was blanked off for a while as she sat, gazing into space, her mind empty of everything except the memory of Harry telling her he and Prue never shared the same bed, and that she, Amy, was his only love. Yet in this, as in so many things, he had lied to her – unless Prue had a lover, and that thought was ludicrous! Even to pay him back for his unfaithfulness, Prue could never have defied the conventions and found someone else.
Gradually she became aware of the sound of voices, and she realised that the shop was full and Freddy, who could never remember where things were kept, was on his own. She washed her face and spent a few moments putting on the pancake makeup she always used and without which she could not face the public. Cherry lipstick to blend with the rouge and complement her pink jumper, diamante earrings and a treble row of pearl beads brightened her up. Forcing a smile, she ran down the stairs and began serving.
As the shop closed, at five-thirty, Nelly appeared. She pressed her face to the window as Freddy was about to pull down the blind.
‘She ’asn’t fergot, ’as she?’ she shouted. ‘We’re off to the pictures.’
Freddy opened the door and Nelly entered. She was dressed in her best grey coat, which she had had to struggle to fasten, and on her head was a grey felt hat with a few paste cherries decorating the brim. On her feet were wellingtons.
‘You aren’t going to the pictures in wellingtons, are you, Nelly?’ Freddy asked, amused in spite of everything.
‘Course not. What d’you take me for? These is fer walkin’ back up me lane. Full of mud it is, what with Leighton’s tractor goin’ up and down with muck fer ’is fields and—’
‘Would you like to leave them here, Nelly?’ Amy asked. She had completely forgotten the evening out and frantically searched her mind for a reason to cancel it. Margaret had come in from school and had run upstairs without mentioning it. If she had forgotten too – but almost as the thought entered her mind, she heard her daughter run downstairs.
‘Mam? Is it time to go? I’ve finished my homework.’
‘Yes, love. Just give me time to do the till and we’ll be off.’ She nodded to Nelly, ‘Go on up and make some tea, will you Nelly? I’ll only be about half an hour.’ She smiled brightly and no one would have guessed her recent shock.
Amy finished the till with Freddy’s help and went to change out of the sunray skirt and pink jumper into a princess line dress in pale blue with a set of jewellery in pale green. She tied a green scarf loosely around her neck and was satisfied with t
he reflection that stared back at her from the mirror. Amy had always considered herself strong; these next few months were going to prove or disprove it. Jutting her chin out in a caricature of determination, she smiled bleakly. Oh, Harry, why did you have to die?
Margaret and Oliver were very excited at the prospect of going to the pictures in the evening. With only Amy and Nelly to look after them they would be able to relax and enjoy the occasion. Evie was forever telling them to sit up straight, and keep their feet down and to stop chattering. How could they not point things out to each other, or share a joke? Talking and joining in each other’s laughter was a part of the treat. Sharing sweets too, and by the look of the paper bags in both Amy and Nelly’s handbags, they wouldn’t go short of them.
When they arrived at the cinema they were greeted by the sight of a huge queue following the line of the building and around the corner into a side street. Oliver groaned.
‘Look at all these people. We’ll never get in!’ Nelly gave them a packet of Liquorice Allsorts and they all munched contentedly for a while, but the children began to fidget more as time passed and there seemed little improvement in their position in the queue. Then at last the cinema emptied and the line move forward in a surge and they were in, running across the patterned tiled floor to the ticket kiosk and then through the spring doors into the darkness. Holding hands, they followed the thin beam of a torch and settled into their seats.
As their eyes grew accustomed to the poor light they recognised a few familiar heads. Megan Owen and her two grown-up daughters, Bronwen and Sian. And Bert Roberts looking around for something to complain about. Over in a corner they saw Maurice and his latest girlfriend. Oliver nudged Margaret as Maurice’s arm slid around the girl’s shoulders, and Tarzan was forgotten for a moment while they chuckled over the stupidity of adults.
Amy’s mind was not on the film. Abbot and Costello’s antics filled the cinema with laughter but she was oblivious to it. From time to time she tried to concentrate on the film and keep her mind from Prue’s visit but her thoughts returned to it regardless of what was happening on the screen. The thought of Harry’s double dishonesty brought an almost physical pain to her heart as she imagined him going from her to share a bed with Prue. The agony nearly made her cry out.
Her thoughts turned briefly to Freddy and his embarrassment at hearing of Prue’s pregnancy. She wondered if she should speak to him. If he was going into the army as innocent as that, not even able to hear someone talking about an expected baby, then he would be in for a lot of teasing. She didn’t want that. But what could she say to him? Perhaps her attempts to discuss it would only make his embarrassment greater.
She tried to think of ways of approaching the subject and persuading him to discuss it. If he was unable to talk openly about such a natural event then she had let him down. She consoled herself with the thought that he was unlikely to be as shy with his friends as with his mother, but still he needed to open out. She had never pretended with either of the children and some people had been more shocked by that than by her being an unmarried mother!
The film ended, the Tarzan film began again, and when it came to the point at which they had come in, she touched the children and ordered them to come out as quietly as they could. Oliver and Margaret and Nelly chattered all the way home on the bus, reliving the best parts of the show, and she was glad to be able to relax and allow her thoughts to dwell on how she would talk to Freddy.
He was in bed when they got home. Amy said good-night to Margaret, then tried to talk to Freddy. He was lying facing the wall on his small bed and the light from the landing shone across him. Amy did not persuade him to turn around, thinking it might be less embarrassing for him if they weren’t looking at each other.
‘Do you find it embarrassing to think of men and women making love and producing babies, Freddy, love?’ she began. ‘I only ask, because if you’re going to act all shy in front of people every time the subject is mentioned, well, the army is going to be a bit hard for you. It’s natural and it’s something men and women enjoy. I know you’re innocent at present, but when you meet someone and you love them, you’ll know what I mean.’
‘I wasn’t upset. Just surprised, that’s all.’
‘You seemed upset.’
‘I wasn’t.’ He pulled the pillow around his head. ‘Mam, I don’t need this and I want to go to sleep.’
‘I don’t want you to feel soft in front of strangers and find yourself the butt of jokes and teasing, that’s all.’
‘I won’t.’
‘Good-night then, Freddy.’
‘Mam, why were you so upset when Uncle Harry died?’
‘He was my brother-in-law. Why shouldn’t I be sad?’
‘You were more than sad.’
For a moment Amy hesitated. Freddy was so young, could he be expected to understand? But what the hell, she had always tried to be honest and it couldn’t hurt anyone now.
‘I loved Harry. I always have. We were to have been married once, but when I was expecting you, it – it all went wrong.’
‘You mean that you and he…?’
‘We loved each other, Freddy, and all that means.’
‘What a mess! Don’t tell me any more.’ He pulled the blankets over his head and Amy closed the door and went to her own room not fully understanding the extent of the ‘mess’ but convinced she had only made things worse. She shrugged and began to remove her makeup. Freddy will have to learn about life by living it like the rest of us, she told her reflection.
* * *
Saturday was not Evie’s favourite day. Oliver usually hung around the house and got in her way, and when Timothy wasn’t in his study preparing school-work, he was always around her feet untidying the house. It seemed such an unstructured day – a phrase she had come across in a crossword recently and had adopted as her own. But today was the start of better things.
‘Oliver, why don’t you go and see if Margaret wants to go for a walk?’
‘She’s going to Mrs French for a piano lesson,’ Oliver replied, thankfully putting aside the book his mother had insisted he tried to read. ‘I could go and see Gran,’ he suggested.
‘She’ll be finished her work by now.’
‘No, dear, not your grandmother. I will have some friends calling this morning for coffee. I don’t want you walking in on us like a tramp.’ Immediately she said the word it was regretted. She tried hard to forget that her mother had married one.
‘I wonder if George will come again soon?’ Oliver asked. ‘He did promise to call and see us as often as he could.’
‘I would prefer that he didn’t!’ Evie said firmly. ‘Your grandmother is a constant embarrassment to me, and her – husband – even more so.’ She pushed Oliver’s chair towards the wall so she could reach with her dustpan and brush to collect some crumbs he had dropped from his breakfast toast.
‘Who’s coming for coffee?’ He lifted his thin legs in the air out of the way of the dangerous brush, which was darting in and out at a furious rate.
‘Mrs Morgan from the school committee, and of course Mrs Norwood Bennet-Hughes.’ She smiled, ‘Important people, friends who can help your father in his career. It’s very important to make the right sort of friends, dear, remember that.’
Oliver groaned quietly.
‘I think they are rather nice, Mother, but I’d rather talk to Gran – Grandmother,’ he corrected hurriedly as Evie stopped brushing and bobbed up to glare at him.
‘Your grandmother is a… a… character, but not someone who should be an influence in your life.’
‘What’s an influence?’
Evie tried to think of a way to explain but lost patience and said with some irritation, ‘Look it up in your dictionary, Oliver, that’s why your father bought it for you.’
She emptied the dustpan in the bin outside and, after washing her hands, went to the shelf and handed Oliver the large, red dictionary he had been given for his eighth birthday when he had
hoped for a bicycle.
‘An—an—a—fluence?’ Oliver struggled to remember the word and with no extra assistance from his mother, came up with affluence. ‘Mother,’ he called, ‘does it mean that Gran is rich?’
‘Oh do be quiet, Oliver. I’m busy!’
Oliver wandered upstairs and sat looking out of his bedroom window at the hill behind the house which had been ploughed with a new tractor during the week. He had watched the smoky funnel going across the field, changing it from pale yellow stubble to dark rich brown ridges of soil. Now that it was Saturday he might have been able to go and watch more closely to see how it worked, but the field was just about finished. He had been told that the bottom was traditionally left for the village bonfire celebrations the following month.
‘Can I go to the field and watch the tractor if I put on my wellingtons?’ he called down the stairs.
‘Don’t worry your mother, Oliver, can’t you see she is busy?’ Timothy’s quiet voice came from the spare bedroom which he used as a study.
‘But can I go?’
‘Yes, but don’t get in a mess. Don’t forget to wipe your boots when you come in and be polite to your mother’s guests.’
‘Yes, Father.’ Oliver put on a school Burberry coat which had been relegated to a play coat and, slipping his feet into the black wellingtons that stood, clean and polished by the back door, he went out.
He walked up the side of the field, running a while until he reached the start of the ploughing. He ran faster then, trying to make the pattern of lines whirl into a moving fan like they did when he passed on a bus. He decided it didn’t work because he couldn’t run fast enough.
The woods at the top looked eerie and alien. The night had been stormy and rain had filled the dips at the edge of the field with muddy puddles. He splashed happily through them and watched as the mud rose higher and higher on his boots. When he reached the top of the field the misty air had gone from the trees but hovered instead around his house below him.
Valley Affairs Page 6