* * *
Sunday morning usually meant a late and lazy start, so it was with a shock, followed by an irritated groan, that Freddy woke to the sound of knocking on the door. He slept at the back of the house and it was from there that the knocking came. He opened his window and looked down. ‘What d’you want?’ he shouted, his voice sharp with annoyance. There were always customers expecting Mam to open up and serve them, even on a Sunday morning.
Maurice walked backwards until Freddy could see him.
‘Work. Remember?’
Freddy closed the window and went down to let him in, calling to Amy to explain the disturbance. While he washed and dressed, Maurice made them both a cup of tea and took out a tin of biscuits.
‘Got time for some toast if you like,’ Maurice said and Freddy pointed to the bread-crock and the stove.
‘Make it while I recover, will you?’
‘Tiring night was it, with Sheila Powell?’
Freddy did not answer. He regretted mentioning the girl to Maurice. Her teasing and the secretive way she had treated his attempts to become friends, or something more, should have warned him to keep it private.
He had lain awake most of the night, wondering whether he should forget Sheila and look elsewhere for a girlfriend. She was too exotic for him. Exciting, and somehow dangerous, but at the same time unreal, and possibly a lot more trouble than he wanted. His thoughts had not been made clearer by Maurice’s intrusion, although there had been nothing more than a normal interest and a bit of leg-pulling, Maurice knowing about it before anything had really begun had only added to his confusion.
It was raining when they set off for the farm, cycling past the gypsy camp where a fire burnt sluggishly and a solitary girl tended it. The girl had a shawl over her head but she allowed it to slide down to her shoulders to release the hair which hung wetly in strands. A voice called something from a vardo and she went back up the steps and disappeared inside.
They spent the morning working with Mr Leighton, a small, white-haired man whose thin wiry frame was deceptively strong. He worked beside them, heaving and pushing rocks and shovelling rubble and soil into the evil-smelling pond. All three wore sacks across their shoulders but the rain gradually seeped through their clothes.
Once they stopped and sheltered under the lee of an old wall that had once been the home of a shepherd, and drank from the flask of cocoa Mr Leighton had brought. At midday the elderly man threw down the fork he was using to drag the last of the rubble to the still deep pond and muttered. ‘Damn, had enough of this. Call it a day? Same time tomorrow.’ They were the first words he had spoken.
‘Chatty old sod, isn’t he?’ Maurice laughed as they climbed on their bicycles to ride down the lane.
On the second night that Freddy waited outside Sheila’s house, she appeared briefly at the upstairs window and shrugged as if to explain that she couldn’t get out. There was a light from the landing shining behind her and Freddy could see the shape of her in a halo. He ached with longing.
The following morning, he worked with Maurice again. Mr Leighton had driven lorry loads of rubble from a nearby demolished house and was already at work, throwing bricks and stones into the stagnant water. The ground all around was too soggy for the lorry to be brought very near and the three workers heaved and struggled with the uneven pieces of broken walls and shovelfuls of gravel. Gradually the water widened as the hole was filled. At twelve, they decided to call it a day.
‘Council coming tomorrow to drain off the water. Pipes’ll do the work then,’ Leighton explained.
‘Nearly had a conversation then,’ Maurice joked as they rode back down Gypsy Lane. ‘In a hurry? Seeing Sheila are you?’
‘Probably,’ Freddy said. He stared ahead and pushed hard on the pedals although it was hardly necessary going downhill. Maurice kept up with him.
‘You aren’t much chattier than old Leighton!’ Maurice complained. ‘Tell me, what’s she like? Good fun, is she?’
‘Fantastic. Now shut your mouth about her, right?’
‘What you so tampin’ mad about? Won’t she give you what you want? Shouldn’t be thinking about things like that at your age. Achyfi.’ Maurice teased.
‘Leave it go, Maurice. I don’t want to talk about her.’
Freddy went home and changed his clothes. He caught the bus into town and was waiting outside the shop when Sheila came out. It was still raining and she wore a pale mauve plastic mac but had on the impractical high-heeled shoes she had worn the previous day. She obviously didn’t feel the cold, he thought foolishly, remembering her out in the night-cold garden wearing practically nothing at all.
‘I’ve got the half day,’ Sheila said, ‘and Mam doesn’t know. Where shall we go?’
‘Somewhere out of the rain,’ he said, his eyes glowing with the pleasure of walking with her. ‘Pictures?’
‘Pictures? Is that all you can think of for a rare afternoon treat?’ She began to flounce off down the street and Freddy followed and held her back.
‘Where d’you want to go then?’
‘Somewhere we can be private,’ she whispered. ‘Let’s get off this main road before someone sees me and tells Mam and Dad.’
There was a small arcade near and they walked through it and came to the riverbank where seats were placed at intervals. Sheila walked past two that were already occupied and pulled him to sit beside her on the third, sheltered from the rain. ‘Let’s sit here and decide how to spend our time,’ she said, pressing herself closer to him.
‘Shall we just sit here and talk? I don’t know anything about you except you’re smashing looking,’ he said shyly.
She slid down slightly and settled her head against his shoulder. She touched his neck with her lips and, taking his hand, placed it on her knee.
‘Sheila, you’re driving me mad,’ he murmured.
She stopped his talk with a kiss and then they were exploring each other’s bodies, lost in the urgency of their loving. Sheila’s eyes were dark as she gazed at him.
For an hour they stayed there, oblivious to the occasional passer-by and the comments their embrace attracted. Then, as Freddy murmured that they should find somewhere private, Sheila sat up and adjusted her skirt. ‘Freddy, I’ve just remembered, my half day was changed. It’s tomorrow, not today! It’s Monday and I’ve got to help with the new window display.’
While Freddy tried to adjust to the sudden change of her mood, she opened her box-shaped handbag and began to powder her face and put on fresh lipstick. She brushed her skirt and he thought she was mentally brushing away the past hour. She held out her hand to him. ‘Walk me back to the shop, will you?’ she said brightly. ‘Don’t worry, Freddy, there’ll be plenty of other times. Soon we’ll find a place where we can be safe from prying eyes that we can call our own special cwtch, our little hideaway.’
Back at the shop she carefully hung up the plastic mac she had borrowed; less chance of her being recognised that way. She ate a sandwich and retouched her makeup again before getting back to work with a secretive smile on her face.
Freddy caught the bus back to Hen Carw Parc disconsolately. When he stepped off opposite the church he saw Maurice.
‘Where’ve you been?’ he called in his usual inquisitive manner.
‘To town. I’ve got to get back, I’ve promised to help Mam clean up the yard.’
‘Seen Sheila?’
‘Only for an hour, she’s working.’
‘Long way to go for only an hour. Worth it is she?’
‘Look, Maurice—’
‘All right, all right. I won’t ask about her again, but I’d like to know what sort of girl she is, her being at least twenty and you being nearly sixteen, like.’
‘She doesn’t mind about me being younger.’
‘Does she know?’
When Sheila left the shop that evening, it was Maurice who was waiting for her. He brushed away all her protests and insisted on taking her for a meal. She was flattered into
risking her parents’ anger and gave way gracefully. When the bill came to almost ten shillings, she was interested to see that Maurice took out a small bundle of pound and ten shilling notes to pay.
He was very polite and gentlemanly and insisted on walking her home. When they arrived he stood some distance away while she went inside and didn’t even try to kiss her. She felt a bubble of excitement and it showed in her eyes as she tried to convince her mother that she had been talking to a girl friend and had caught the later bus.
A week later, Sheila met Freddy as he left on the carrier bike to deliver orders. She stopped and waved and he pulled over to the kerb.
‘Freddy. I haven’t see you for a while. Fed up with me are you?’
‘No chance of that. But I thought you were bored with me.’
She stroked his hand and looked up at him, her eyes widening in the way he liked.
‘Any hope of you coming out with me tonight then?’ he asked.
‘Don’t know. It’s my dad, see. Very strict he is.’
‘Say you’re meeting a girl from work.’
‘I’d love to see you properly, just on our own without fear of being noticed. Don’t you know of a place?’
‘There’s a barn off Gypsy Lane but it wouldn’t be very comfortable.’
‘Too close to the village. If we were seen, Mam and Dad would kill you.’
Freddy laughed. ‘They can’t keep you wrapped up in cotton wool all your life! Don’t they want you to have fun? I bet they did.’ Although, he thought, remembering their glum expressions, that was doubtful. ‘Shall we try the barn?’
Sheila shook her head. ‘No, I’ll tell them I’m going to the pictures with one of the girls. At least it’s dark in there.’ She went back to the shop, where she had been dropping off a few house-plants and ornaments in advance of the move, and Freddy went up the lane to Ethel Davies’ to give her groceries.
As he arrived, Nelly and her dogs were just leaving and she beckoned him over. ‘’Ere Freddy,’ she whispered, ‘who’s Ethel knitting that baby shawl for? You must know, you bein’ in the shop an’ ’earin’ all the gossip. She won’t let on who it is an’ I’m bustin’ to know.’
Freddy felt himself colouring and he began to shake his head, but then changed his mind and whispered, ‘Don’t tell Mam I said will you?’
She crossed her heart and put on a serious expression and he smiled in spite of his embarrassment at broaching the subject. ‘It’s my Auntie Prue.’
‘It never ain’t?’
‘I expect she’ll be telling everyone soon, so don’t let on.’
‘Not me.’
Her brown face wrinkled up into something resembling a walnut as she added, ‘Cor, makes yer wonder that does, someone like ’er bein’ capable of a bit of love.’
‘Auntie Prue is all right,’ he defended.
‘Well there I ’ave to disagree with yer. Sorry, you bein’ related an’ that, but I think she’s a nasty bit of work. Tarra and thanks fer tellin’ me. Who’d ’ave thought it eh?’ She chuckled as if he had told her the best joke in weeks.
Freddy was ashamed, but knew he had to talk about the news unless he wanted suspicion to fall on him, although, he reassured himself, who would imagine that he and Auntie Prue could have… He shuddered and walked on, his heart racing guiltily. He wished he hadn’t said anything but he had to try to treat it as if it were nothing to do with him, difficult as that was.
Nelly was bursting to tell someone the news. She couldn’t head for home and lose the chance of a good gossip and a laugh at Prue’s expense. ‘She owes me that for all the trouble she’s made for me,’ she muttered. ‘Tellin’ my Evie about me trips to town.’
Amy’s shop was closed for lunch so she walked on up to Gypsy Lane without any particular goal in mind. She let the dogs off their ropes after they had passed the gypsy camp. The place was silent, neat and orderly, the caravans empty. Only one dog barked as they passed. Her friends must be out selling flowers, she thought, or telling a few fortunes.
The lane became steeper and she was glad to stop and rest when Mr Leighton and his horse-drawn plough came into view. She stood for a long time watching the two powerful animals and the perfectly straight furrows they left behind them. As the plough went past her she studied the process like a child, even though she had seen it many times before: the coulter slicing through the heavy ground followed by the share making the horizontal cut and the mould-board turning the slice over. ‘Magic!’ she applauded, waving to the man guiding the plough.
She knew it was useless to expect him to stop and talk. Talking was something he rarely did. But to her surprise and delight, he did stop, his voice calling the pair of horses loud and clear in the silent air.
‘Have you seen that tramp fellow. George I think he calls himself?’
‘Not fer a while, why?’
‘I’ve got some work for him.’
‘What sort of work?’ she shouted, but it was too late, he had called the horses and a wave of his hand was all she had.
‘Damn,’ she muttered. ‘I wanted to ask what was ’appenin’ to ’is pond. Dozens of frogs there in the spring. Killin’ ’em off ’e is. Murderer!’ she shouted after him. ‘What’s wrong with frogs then?’ she yelled, but this time she didn’t even get a wave.
She climbed through the hedge and went to look at the rubble piled where the pond had been. Water still seeped out of it and a small runnel of coloured water had begun to make a channel from the pond down past the hedge and joined the stream. Thank Gawd it won’t run into my stream, thought Nelly, could kill all the fish!
She walked a while longer, past fields now empty where Mr Leighton had grown his mangels and beet for cattle food. She remembered watching the corn being planted and cut, and the hay meadow with a thousand colours as flowers grew up among the grasses. ‘Who needs a calendar?’ she mused.
She turned back, past the gypsy camp again and down the road to Amy’s shop. It would be open by now and she and Amy could have a gossip about Prue. It was then the thought came that Amy might not be amused at the knowledge of her sister’s pregnancy, or the thought that Harry, who she had loved, had also loved his wife. Confused and disappointed, she turned back towards home.
She was almost at the bottom of her lane when she saw Sheila Powell. She was a little ahead of her and Nelly quickened her pace trying to think of a way to begin a conversation. Sheila glanced back but ignored Nelly, looking down the road. Nelly turned to look and saw Maurice approaching on his bike.
‘Hiya, Maurice,’ Nelly shouted, expecting him to stop, but Maurice rode on and stopped near the girl.
Nelly slowed her pace; this was something new. She recognised the girl who was coming to live in Amy’s flat. She knew she lived at the top of the council houses with her grandmother and her parents. Flighty piece she looks, Nelly decided. Trouble, that’s what her sort is. She couldn’t have explained what she meant by ‘her sort’ or even ‘trouble’ except her instinct warned her that Sheila Powell would not live unnoticed in the village for long.
She watched them walking close together, then Maurice obviously offered the girl a lift and she struggled to find a comfortable place to sit on the crossbar of his bicycle, giggling flirtatiously. He took off his jacket and used that to make a cushion before she finally agreed to ride. Then, wobbling and laughing, the pair of them rode off down the road, and Nelly turned up the lane for home.
When Nelly had disappeared behind the hedges, Maurice turned the bicycle in a circle, sweeping round and around in the road near the bottom of Sheepy Lane.
‘Take a short cut, shall we?’ he asked.
‘No fear, I know what you army types are like,’ she giggled. ‘Never be safe on a short cut with you!’
‘Who wants to be safe?’ he whispered, rubbing his cheek against hers. ‘Come on, up the lane and through the fields. If it’s too muddy we’ll leave the bike and walk.’
‘All right then, but if it’s wet you’ll have to carry
me,’ she said, pouting. ‘I can’t go home with mud on my shoes. Mam would need a good explanation for that!’
The lane was steep and Maurice dismounted and began pushing Sheila, still on the crossbar, one hand on the handlebars and the other across her hips. He began stroking her thigh and gradually his hand rose higher and higher. He watched her face for any sign of disapproval and saw none.
When the hill became too steep for him to push her, he helped her off and held her close against him for a moment before continuing up the lane. He stopped now and again and kissed her, the kisses becoming more and more urgent. This was going to be easy, he thought.
‘What’s a beautiful woman like you doing, going out with a boy like Freddy?’ he asked, touching her ear with his tongue. ‘Only a boy. You need a man.’
‘Come on, I need to get home,’ Sheila said, pulling herself free.
They reached the part where the lane forked off to Nelly’s cottage. On their left were trees thickening into woodland and further up the lane were the castle ruins. Propping his bicycle against a tree, Maurice gestured towards the woods.
‘Come over here a mo, I’ve got something for you,’ he said.
‘Oh yes?’ she jeered.
‘Yes, look.’ He took a small package from his pocket and helt it tantalizingly high above her head while he walked backwards towards the trees.
‘Maurice, I’ve got to go.’ For the first time she began to look a bit worried. But as he removed the paper wrapping and revealed a red-plush jeweller’s box, she pushed her anxiety aside.
‘Only come into the trees a bit,’ Maurice coaxed, ‘Don’t want anyone to see when you thank me.’ He held the box at arm’s length and allowed her to take it. ‘All right, take it. You can thank me later. All right?’
Sheila grasped the box and slipped around behind the oak tree where his bicycle rested. Maurice stood still while she opened it. When the necklace glinted up at her, the rhinestones catching the light in a million rainbows, she gave a cry of delight and ran to him, her arms stretching up, reaching around his neck, her lips searching for his. ‘It’s beautiful!’ she said when she had to stop for breath, her eyes shining and her head thrown back. Maurice felt a catch of his breath at her wild beauty.
Valley Affairs Page 8