‘It’s fine with me, boy. If Nelly wouldn’t mind.’
‘Oh no, she doesn’t mind about anything.’
So Oliver visited George after all.
* * *
To reward him for his bravery in rescuing Margaret, Nelly wanted to take Oliver into town to the pictures and then to a cafe for tea, but Evie refused.
‘It isn’t good for him, all this fuss,’ she said. ‘We’re proud of him, very proud, but now he’s had all the praise and presents he needs and must go back to being an ordinary little boy.’
‘Ashamed to let me take ’im, me an’ ’is grandad.’
‘He isn’t the boy’s grandfather! And yes, I would not like him to be seen out with you two in case you take him to one of your public houses! I can just imagine him sitting outside with a packet of crisps while you and that man drink yourselves stupid inside!’
Nelly walked away. There was no point arguing with Evie, but she and George did manage to arrange a small celebration. When the swing was erected, Margaret and a few of Oliver’s friends from school were invited round to Nelly’s garden to try it out. She and George worked hard collecting wood to make a garden fire and, with so many people involved, even Evie could not say no.
Some of the parents came, including Amy, and Billie and Mary. They ate blackened, half-cooked potatoes with the children and drank some of Nelly’s home-made pop and enjoyed themselves.
The following day, while they were raking over the embers of the fire and digging the garden where dozens of feet had trampled it hard, George found a piece of wood with some Welsh letters on it. He was a more enthusiastic gardener than Nelly and, digging deeper, had unearthed several fascinating bits of debris.
Nelly stared at the wood. ‘Welsh,’ she announced. ‘Don’t understand none of that.’ And it was Mary Dairy who translated for them.
‘Swn Y Plant. Sound of Children,’ she told them. ‘It must have been the name of your cottage, Nelly.’
After that George spent long hours polishing the neglected brass letters. ‘After last night it’s earned the name,’ he chuckled.
* * *
George spent the next few weeks working at Leighton’s farm and stayed with Nelly, sleeping on the couch each night and getting up first to attend to the fire and have the kettle singing before Nelly came downstairs. He was sad when the time came to tell her he would be leaving in a few days. He did not want to be there at Christmas. It was a time for families and whatever differences Nelly and Evie had, they were family and he did not belong.
‘I’ll be back in the spring,’ he promised. ‘I think there’ll be more work with Leighton then. He’s getting old and refuses to employ another man to help Sidney. He’s doing too much and refuses to see it.’
‘Thought of yerself fer a permanent job?’ Nelly asked.
‘Oh no, I’m sixty. He needs a young man. Maurice Davies, d’you know him, Sidney’s young brother? He’s helping out occasionally until he starts with Prue Beynon, but it’s all so unreliable. Poor old chap.’
‘Why don’t yer stay over Christmas? You won’t find much work anywhere else, will yer?’
‘Thanks, Nelly, but I won’t stay. I’ll be back though, in the spring.’
* * *
To celebrate getting the job with Prue Beynon’s business, Maurice took Delina out for a meal in a very exclusive and expensive restaurant. He didn’t tell her why until they were on their way home. This time they were not on bicycles but had gone in Johnny and Fay’s car, both dressed up for the occasion.
Maurice was in his new suit and brown overcoat and a trilby hat. Delina wore a slim-fitting dress in palest green wool, which made her eyes look even bluer than usual. Her coat was a fine check of blue, green and cream. Her matching shoes made her giggle as she struggled to stay upright, unused to such smart high heels.
Half-way home, Maurice stopped the car and they kissed. Maurice felt her lack of desire, knowing his was stronger, but the thought did not dismay him. It only enhanced his protective love for her. To help love blossom in her would be a wonderful thing, worth all his patience and self-restraint now. And it was a constant surprise to him how easily he could hold back from love-making. His whole attitude to Delina was different from with any other girl. When he held her in his arms he was content, prepared to wait forever if necessary for her to waken into love.
‘Delina, my darling,’ he said. ‘I know we’ve hardly known each other long enough for me to say this, but I want us to get married. I love you like I’ve never loved anyone before. I want us to be together for always.’
He stopped her as she was about to reply. ‘No, please don’t say anything yet. I want you to think about it. If you don’t feel the same way I – I couldn’t bear to know just yet.’ They kissed again and this time he felt a stronger response, but still he was afraid to have her answer in case she turned him down. It had been such a short time.
‘Is this the reason for tonight’s celebration?’
‘No, I’ve been to see Prue Beynon and she’s given me a job! And now I want to marry you. I’d always be good to you. I love you so much and getting the job makes it possible. I know I should have waited a while longer, but—’
‘Maurice, I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you in Amy Prichard’s house, when I took her those flowers.’
‘I can’t believe I could be so lucky,’ Maurice whispered against her cheek, soft and sensual to his touch. ‘Delina, my lovely.’
‘Maurice, my own darling love.’
‘Let’s marry soon.’ He released her and stared into her beautiful eyes, ‘I’ll come in now and tell your parents, then we’ll go and tell Mam. She’ll be so pleased. We’ll tell everyone. I want them all to know you’re mine.’
Chapter Nine
Prue rarely went out. Although everyone now knew about her pregnancy and the talk had died down, she was still finding it difficult to face people. She was forty and pregnant for the first time. It was so ridiculous, especially in the circumstances.
When she had discovered Amy’s long affair with Harry, she had stopped buying from her shop, but since then, and especially since she had learned about the baby, she had visited her sister more often and had returned her ration book to her shop. She had a special green one now that she was an expectant mother entitled to a few extras. When she needed something, she would telephone and Margaret would bring her shopping round for her. But today she wanted to talk.
She stood for a while in the landing window, watching the comings and goings in the street. She saw Nelly dragging along her two great dogs, accompanied by that tramp, who she was said to have married. They were crossing the road from the fish and chip shop with a newspaper parcel, obviously their lunch. She saw Phil Davies, who pedalled so fast on his round these days it was difficult to catch him and give him a letter for the post.
At a quarter to one, when she hoped the shop would be quiet, she put on her loose tweed coat and walked down the road. The wind was cold and she pulled the coat around her, bunching it at the front to hide her stomach. At four months she hardly showed, but she felt enormous.
‘Amy, I’d like a word.’
‘Come in, I’ll be closing for lunch in a mo’. Stay and have some, won’t you?’ Amy glanced at her watch and closed the door behind her sister. ‘It’s almost time, I doubt if anyone will come now.’ She offered Prue a chair and sat on the corner of the counter, her tight navy skirt showing a shapely leg.
‘I have to go to the clinic next week, will you come?’
‘Wednesday is it?’ When Prue nodded Amy sighed inwardly. With Christmas approaching fast there were many jobs she had planned to do on her precious half-day. It was more difficult now she didn’t live above the shop. She couldn’t do the odd job in between attending to customers. Last year she had made her cake there, with customers helping to mix it. But she nodded and smiled. ‘Yes, I’ll come. Perhaps we can have a bite of lunch in town?’
‘I really haven’t the time to spa
re,’ Prue said.
Amy sighed. Like so many people, Prue placed a great value on her own time but little on anyone else’s.
‘All right, I’ll have a sandwich before we leave.’
She looked at her watch again and pushed the bolt on the shop door. The kettle in the corner was soon boiling and the sisters, so different in temperament and looks, sat and shared the sandwiches Amy had prepared. Prue, as always, seemed unable to begin what she had come to say, so Amy helped her.
‘What did you really come to talk about, Prue?’
‘I’m thinking of moving away. Perhaps before the baby is born. I can run the business from anywhere, and I thought I might live in Llan Gwyn.’
‘Don’t!’ Amy said firmly. ‘You might think you’re unhappy here, but at least you know us all and we know you. To start again among strangers, well, frankly, you aren’t the type. You’ll go deeper into your shell. Don’t Prue. It would be a mistake.’
‘I’m quite capable of making up my own mind.’ The sharp tone irritated Amy.
‘Why did you come then?’
‘To tell you.’
‘All right, you’ve told me.’
‘I feel so embarrassed.’
‘I know, love.’ Amy forgot her impatience in her pity for her lonely sister. ‘You want to walk about and face people, not hide away. Show the pregnancy proudly. You – you loved Harry, surely you’re proud of carrying his baby?’
‘It isn’t his.’
‘What?’
For a long time Amy was silent, rocked by the words, unable to believe them. She was overcome by happiness that Harry had not loved his wife as well as loving her; a selfish, honest happiness. Then the surprise of knowing that Prue had had a lover was so ludicrous that she almost wanted to laugh. She waited to speak, unable to trust her voice.
‘I’ll never tell anyone who the father is, so don’t ask. But it wasn’t Harry,’ Prue said eventually.
‘You can tell me.’ Amy badly wanted to know who this amazing man was who had broken through the barrier of Prue’s coldness and given her a child.
Prue shook her head. ‘Can you understand now why I feel only guilt and not joy? I can’t walk proud and boast about my baby, I can’t.’
‘No one knows it isn’t Harry’s, except you. People will only talk if you act as if there’s something wrong with having your husband’s child. Start going to your clubs and committees again. If you tell yourself it’s Harry’s, it will be easier. A child is something you’ve always wanted, enjoy it.’
Prue stood up and carefully shook the crumbs into a waste-paper basket. ‘I wish I could.’ She had a great need to tell someone her secret but there was no one. She was completely alone. Yet if Harry was alive it would have been worse. How could she have faced him with this? Even in such a mess there was some consolation.
Amy watched her sister’s face carefully but hardly guessed at all her conflicting emotions.
‘You carried your babies here and everyone knew you weren’t married, yet no one disliked you for it.’
‘Because I didn’t expect pity. Nor should you.’
‘But it’s what I get. That or ridicule.’
‘Nonsense!’ Amy said, but when Prue left she watched her walk up the road anxiously. Prue was a difficult person to help. She shunned all kindnesses and her severe manner just attracted criticism. For her to have broken the rules so undeniably was hard for her to cope with. What would happen when she had the baby to care for? She’d need a lot of help, and that, Amy thought, means me!
She unbolted the shop door again and, taking a few biscuits from the glass-topped containers, began to eat them absent-mindedly. Prue had eaten most of her sandwiches. At least her appetite is all right, she thought wryly. In a corner of the shop she added fresh lipstick and a dab or two of powder and fluffed out her blonde hair. Prue was a worry that wouldn’t go away, but it was business as usual for Amy.
* * *
It was still quite early when Amy arrived home after the clinic visit. She hurried from the bus stop, hoping to get a few parcels wrapped and out of the way before Margaret came in from school. When she saw someone move in her front garden she stopped anxiously. Who could it be? She moved closer and saw Vic Honeyman busily pushing some disturbed grass back into place.
‘Hello, Amy. Damn, I’d hoped to finish and be away before you came. Saw you on the bus into town, so David and I planned a little surprise.’
A boy of twelve came around the corner of the house with a bucketful of soil, which he handed to his father.
‘This,’ Vic said proudly, ‘is my son, David. He’s been helping me. Off school with a cold, so I thought the fresh air would do him good.’
‘But what have you been doing?’ The lawn, so carefully repaired by Freddy, was now broken up and covered with soil and large footprints.
‘There were some bulbs left over in the warehouse and going cheap. I scrounged some and planted them in the grass in this corner and by the hedge. They’ll look a treat in the spring.’ He shrugged. ‘Meant to be a surprise, like I said. You’ll be able to see them peeping through the grass and watch them grow and flower. Beautiful they’ll look.’
‘Vic, that was a lovely thing to do. Thank you. And you, David. Come in and have a cup of tea. I’ve bought some fancy cakes.’ She was flustered and flattered by the gesture and couldn’t think straight. ‘To plan a lovely thing like that it’s – oh I give up, I can’t find the words.’
She bustled them inside and gave the matches to Victor. ‘Light the fire, will you? I’ll see to the kettle.’ Waving her shopping bag she said, ‘Secrets. Christmas secrets. I’ll just go and hide them before Margaret comes in and sees them.’ She ran upstairs and buried her face in her hands, smiling and glowing with pleasure at the kind thought. She spent a moment wondering about Vic’s wife, who must be as generous-minded as anyone would be to have her husband and son do such a thing. She must thank her, or at least write a note.
David was a serious boy, not unlike Delina but less fair, his brown hair more the colour of Victor’s. He drank his tea and ate the mock-cream cake then took his cup, saucer and plate and washed it. Well trained, Amy noticed with a smile at Vic, who nervously smoked continuously.
‘Have you heard about our Delina and young Maurice?’ Victor asked. ‘Getting married and before Easter too.’
‘That was quick, wasn’t it? He’s only been home a few weeks!’
‘These things sometimes are,’ he said, and looked at her with such intensity that she had to look away. ‘Yes,’ he repeated slowly, ‘these things sometimes are.’
‘I’ll – I’ll go and thank your wife sometime soon,’ Amy said hurriedly. ‘I must thank her for sparing you both to plan such a lovely surprise, and for the miniature roses she sent me.’
‘Yes, do that. I’d like you to meet her.’
Instead of tackling the chores she had meant to get done that afternoon, Amy sat after they had gone, wondering why she always attracted the wrong men. Married men find me irresistible, she thought, but when will I ever meet an attractive man who’s free?
* * *
Oliver was aware of the disagreement between his parents and made sure his father was there when he asked if he could go for a walk with Margaret. Evie refused, saying that if the two children went out alone she wouldn’t have a moment’s peace of mind until they returned, safe and sound. But Timothy for once overruled her.
‘Oliver,’ he said, rather pompously, ‘you can’t expect your mother to be anything else but worried after what happened the other day, but I think it will have made you more careful, if anything. It was an effective lesson in self-preservation.’
Oliver was quiet, trying to work out whether this meant he could or could not go, and failing.
‘I see,’ he said, hoping that would suffice.
‘So, I think you should be allowed to go.’
‘Thanks. I will be careful and I promise I won’t go anywhere near the river. Can we go and see Bi
llie? He’s got lots of hens. Lots and lots more than Gran.’ He hardly took a breath. ‘He’s going to let me feed them.’
Evie made him put an extra layer of clothes on and when he left he could hardly move. He went along the road, whistling cheerfully and unwrapping himself as he went.
He called for Margaret and they walked back towards the village and up Gypsy Lane. They stopped at the gypsy camp for a while and watched as the women sat preparing vegetables for the stew beginning to heat on the open fire, and the men smoked their pipes and talked together in soft voices.
The girl leaned over the half door of Clara’s vardo, waved to them and came over to where they stood. All three continued their walk together and Oliver, who dreamed of living a life as carefree and fascinating as George when he grew up, listened avidly while she told them the secrets of the countryside. George had taught him a lot, but the gypsies seemed even better able to survive on what they found in the wildness around the towns.
‘Do you really eat hedgehogs?’ Margaret asked, with obvious distaste. ‘I don’t think I could do that. They’re such beautiful creatures.’
‘Do you really call them hotchwitchi!’ Oliver asked. ‘Hotchiwitchi cooked on a yog. Sounds great,’ he said, using the gypsy word for an outdoor fire.
They reached the top of the hill and looked down towards Billie and Mary’s farm. Here the girl stopped.
‘If you’re going down there I’ll leave you. Don’t like the farmer. Caught me stealing eggs once and gave me a hefty clout.’
‘He might give you some if you ask,’ Oliver said confidently, ‘he’s a friend of ours.’
But the girl ran off without another word.
‘I don’t think we’d better go any further,’ Margaret said. ‘We’ve walked so slowly and I have to get home because we’re going visiting this afternoon. Sorry.’
Valley Affairs Page 18