Valley Affairs

by Valley Affairs (retail) (epub)

  ‘I’ll go and change out of my suit, Mam,’ Maurice escaped up the stairs and sat on his bed, meaning to wait until Sheila and her mother had gone. Trouble was, with Mam people usually stayed and stayed. Never let a visitor go without a cup of tea and a bite to eat, would Mam.

  When he heard his mother calling him down he groaned.

  He hadn’t seen Sheila for weeks and hoped never to see her again. But there, he was so happy, he could spare a few moments for her. She had probably brought him a present. Swiftly changing into a pair of tan trousers and a brown sports jacket, he ran downstairs, knowing that if Delina knew of his affair with Sheila it would be difficult for her to understand. He took a few breaths to calm himself before going in. He sat down next to Delina and held her hand firmly.

  Sheila sat close to her mother and her fair head was bent, not looking at anyone. Fear began to twist his insides.

  ‘What is it, mam?’ he asked. Ethel shook her head.

  ‘I don’t know. They wanted to talk to you, Maurice.’

  ‘My daughter is expecting a baby and she says you are the father.’ Mavis said, loudly and forcefully. Sheila burst into tears. Maurice turned to Delina, pleading with her silently not to believe it.

  ‘I don’t think that’s true, Sheila,’ he said. ‘What makes you say such a thing?’

  The girl continued to cry softly. Ethel made a move to go and comfort her as Mavis was sitting coldly by, but seeing the stricken expression on her son’s face she held back.

  ‘Sheila?’ Maurice said, determined to bluff, even if it meant humiliating the girl. ‘What are you talking about? Why are you saying this? Lies won’t get you out of your difficulties.’

  Sheila stood up then and stepped towards him.

  ‘I’m sorry, Maurice. I really tried not to say. I really did. But Mam got it out of me. I didn’t want to tell about us. I know you don’t really love me, not now, since you met Delina and abandoned me.’

  Nothing could have been more telling, and Delina gasped in horror. She looked from Maurice to the girl and back to Maurice. ‘It’s true, isn’t it?’ she said, staring down at the table. ‘You have given this girl a baby.’

  ‘Wait a minute, let the condemned man speak!’ Maurice blustered.

  But Sheila, standing wiping her tears away, added, ‘Maurice, I’m so frightened. I had to tell Mam about the baby coming. I couldn’t cope without help. I’m sorry you had to be named. I did try to keep it our secret.’

  Delina pulled her hand free from Maurice’s and his shoulders drooped in despair.

  ‘Don’t leave me, Delina, please. I love you,’ he whispered, but Delina’s eyes were moist and accusing as she stood up and walked away, to sit close to Ethel.

  ‘You’ll have to give the child a name,’ she said through trembling lips. ‘It’s an innocent child and is entitled to your name.’

  ‘No, I can’t marry Sheila. I love you. How can you even suggest it?’ Maurice stood up but was stopped by Ethel’s hand. He slumped back into his seat.

  ‘I’m sorry Maurice,’ Sheila whispered. ‘I tried to keep our affair a secret, but…’

  Delina sat unmoving, her pale face drawn with shock, her blue eyes brimming with unshed tears.

  ‘They’ll have to marry,’ Mavis insisted. She looked at Ethel, who was sitting stony-faced, her dark eyes troubled. ‘It’s your grandchild my daughter is carrying. Can you send her away to have your grandchild without it’s having a name? Can you?’

  Ethel thought of the unborn child, and she already wanted it and loved it as part of her family. She could not bear the thought of losing anything so precious. But then her deep dark eyes looked at Maurice who was staring at Delina with such unhappiness on his young face. He was only twenty-three and he loved Delina so much.

  They sat through most of the evening, Ethel occasionally making tea or coffee, and since Mavis and Sheila had arrived there were miraculously no other callers. At eleven-thirty Victor arrived to see what had happened to his daughter.

  ‘We were worried, see,’ he said almost apologetically. ‘It’s not like Delina to be so late without telling us first. Very considerate she is and we…’ his voice tapered off when he saw the serious faces. ‘What’s happened? Not burnt the cake you’re making?’ He looked at the cake which had been taken from the oven and which now stood ignored on the small table. ‘Damn, Ethel, that smells good.’

  ‘Dad,’ Delina said in a small voice. ‘Take me home please. There isn’t going to be a wedding.’

  ‘What? But – tell me what’s happened.’ He hugged Delina who had run to him, and looked at Maurice for an explanation. But it was Mavis who replied.

  ‘Maurice has got my daughter pregnant, Mr Honeyman, and he has to do the right thing.’

  ‘How can it be the right thing when I don’t love Sheila? It’s Delina I love and what went before is nothing to do with that. Damn it all, man, we’re getting married in a couple of weeks!’ Maurice’s outburst was received in silent disapproval by Delina.

  ‘Maurice, whatever you decide about Sheila and your baby, I won’t marry you. I can’t, knowing that somewhere in the world there’s a child who was refused a name.’

  ‘Delina!’

  ‘I’ll fetch my coat, Mrs Davies. I think it’s behind the back door.’ She went through to the back kitchen where she had so recently washed up the baking tins and bowls from the preparation of her wedding cake. She took her coat from its peg and went through to the living room and, without a glance at Maurice, walked past him out into the dark, cold night.

  Vic gave an embarrassed good-night to the room in general and no one in particular, unable to look at Maurice’s stricken face. The door closed behind them and Maurice was stopped from going after them by Ethel. On the wall, the old clock struck twelve. It had been a long night.

  Sheila and Mavis left, saying they would be back with Ralph the next morning. Maurice sat on as if unaware of their leaving. His face was curled and twisted in an agony of wretchedness. Ethel went to bed, but Maurice stayed up until dawn crept through the closed curtains and told him the worst day in his life was over.

  Plans whirled crazily through his head. If Delina had not refused to go on with the wedding he would have been as generous as he could to Sheila, given her an allowance for the child. They could have worked something out. But he knew without a doubt that Delina meant what she said. There was no point in trying to see her and persuade her to reconsider. It was over.

  At six-thirty he went into the back kitchen and washed. Then he put on his suit ready to go to work. His mind was made up. He would marry Sheila, but that was all he would do.

  * * *

  The sad little ceremony took place near the end of March on a cold, gusty afternoon. Maurice made his vows without any intention of keeping them. Sheila tried to hold his hand but he found it impossible to touch her. She had destroyed his wonderful new life before it had begun. He was filled with such hatred and bitterness, he thought it must show on the photographs that came from the clicking cameras around them.

  Sheila wore a plain cream dress and carried a white prayer book with a small spray of flowers marking the page of the marriage service. Maurice wore the suit he used for the office, the buttonhole the Powells had sent up had been thrown on to the kitchen table and left there to die, like his hope of a happy future.

  A few people from the village stood to greet them as they left the Register Office and Nelly was one of those preparing to throw confetti, but the look on Maurice’s face stopped her.

  Johnny and Fay drove them back to Ethel’s, and the newly-wed couple waited in silence for the rest to arrive. They ate the cake which Ethel had iced with less than her usual enthusiasm, accepted the good wishes of all who had come in tones more appropriate to a funeral, and as soon as was reasonably polite, dressed to leave.

  Leaving the rest to enjoy the party food which Ethel and Mavis had prepared, Maurice took his bride back to her grandmother’s house and the rooms where he was expect
ed to make a home and a life with Sheila.

  At Ethel’s, the party remained sober and subdued until Mavis and Ralph left, but then the atmosphere became more cheerful as everyone tried to cheer Ethel up. They all tried to give her a few happy moments to remember of the day her youngest son married.

  The following day, Sheila woke to find a note from Maurice telling her he was leaving. He had risen early, cycled into Swansea and caught a train to London, from where he would shortly leave to start a new life in Australia, alone.

  * * *

  Talk about the unfortunate affair filled every corner of the village for days and a constant stream of callers filled Ethel’s kitchen, all bent on cheering her up. Unkindly, most of the blame went not on Sheila and Maurice, but on Mavis and Ralph as the villagers didn’t fully understand the difficulties they had had with their flighty daughter.

  Ethel was devastated. Of her four sons, Maurice was the youngest and still her ‘baby’. He had needed her protection and guidance, and she had failed him. Now he was gone and it was unlikely she would ever see him again. It was difficult not to hate Sheila and her mother.

  Mavis gave up her part-time job in Woolworths and seemed hardly to leave the flat. She came down to the shop when it was at its quietest, bought what she needed, and scuttled back upstairs like a terrified dormouse, so in need of shelter and safety she could think of nothing else.

  One morning, while Amy was putting out the vegetables and preparing the shop of her first customers, she heard a knock at the door and, lifting the blind to scold whoever it was for coming too early, she saw Mavis. She was wrapped in an all-concealing loose coat with a hood. She opened the door to her and dropped the blind again in case anyone else had the same idea. Really, she thought, if I opened twenty-three hours a day there would still be someone not suited! ‘I’m not really open yet,’ she said.

  ‘I know. I wanted to ask you something and as it’s private, I thought you wouldn’t mind me coming early.’

  ‘What is it?’ Amy’s voice was sharp, expecting to be told of something more needed for the flat.

  ‘It’s about a job. I wondered if you needed someone to help, part time. Any hours you like.’

  Amy was surprised. Having hidden herself away for weeks, it seemed an unlikely thing for Mavis to do.

  ‘Well, I have been thinking of taking someone on, but I haven’t made up my mind yet, ’ she extemporised, giving herself time to consider. She wasn’t sure she could stand having Mavis around her for hours on end, and she remembered the untidy state of the living room that day she had called unannounced.

  ‘I am experienced in shop work and I need to…’ Mavis hesitated then began again. ‘I know what people think of me and Sheila for what we did to Maurice, but I can’t hide for ever. I thought that by facing everyone and letting them say what they think until they get fed up with saying it, well, it seems the only way if we don’t move right away from Hen Carw Parc.’

  ‘That’s remarkably brave,’ Amy said. ‘Will you be able to cope? Some people can be very nasty. I’m not thrilled with your behaviour myself, mind.’

  ‘I’ll concentrate on doing a good job for you. That will make it easier.’

  ‘Right then,’ Amy said, ‘you can start now. Go on, get yourself tidied up a bit. Shoes, not slippers, and get a bit of makeup on. Does wonders to know you look your best in situations like this.’

  ‘But I wasn’t thinking of—’

  ‘Now!’

  * * *

  Nelly was utterly content. George had been to see Leighton again and was working at the farm regularly. He still hadn’t said he would stay. He still felt uneasy about the way he had found himself a home and did not want anyone to think that had been his plan all along. But each week he said, ‘Perhaps I could stay another week?’

  ‘Or two?’ Nelly would coax and they would laugh and continue to enjoy their simple life in the cottage at the edge of the wood.

  They often sat up late at night and watched the fox wander around their garden, and listen as the vixen called her shrill bark, as eerie as the hoot of the owl who often sat on the branch of a fir tree close by.

  The gypsies had gone, leaving only the pale yellow patches on the grass to show for their winter sojourn. Even these were fading fast in the strengthening sun and soon the strong new growth would hide the fact they had ever stayed. Nelly was not sorry to see them leave. She would miss having Clara to talk to, but their departure meant the beginning of better weather and the end of the long dark nights. The new season was upon them with the promise of flowers and fresh new leaves, and her old gnarled apple tree blossomed for spring as beautifully as ever.

  Flowers had always marked the seasons for Nelly and she and George delighted in each new discovery as the leaves unfolded and buds stretched themselves and burst into colour. Snowdrops and tiny wild daffodils appeared in secret parts of the wood, and on banks where the sun slipped through the green umbrella the gold of celandines spread like a priceless carpet.

  Nelly and George were unaware that their footsteps had been followed by Maurice and his lovely Delina, and that the same happy memories of seasons passing and colours changing were held in the hearts of the young couple with more sadness than joy.

  Coming back from an early walk one morning, a dog fox crossed Nelly’s path and Bobby and Spotty gave chase. Nelly waited patiently until they returned, panting and looking a bit foolish. She was still laughing and patting the dogs at the gate when Phil arrived. He was hot, having rushed through his rounds.

  ‘Put the kettle on then,’ he panted, waving a letter as she opened the gate.

  ‘A letter for me?’ Nelly held out a hand.

  Phil put it behind his back, then walked down the path behind her and sat on the chair near the open door.

  ‘Kettle first, then I might give it to you,’ he teased. ‘And what about a bit of cake? Starvin’ I am. Catrin doesn’t feed me proper you know.’

  ‘I shouldn’t think she needs to with all you gets on your rounds!’ Nelly moved the kettle over the fire and put tea in the brown pot. Phil gave her the letter and waited hopefully for her to open it.

  ‘Looks official,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, I’ll leave it fer George to see to. Smashin’ it is, ’avin’ someone to talk things over with. I don’t know ’ow long ’e’ll stay but I hopes it’s fer ever. Sharin’s so good after bein’ on me own fer so long.’

  Phil dug deep into his sack and produced a newspaper-wrapped parcel. ‘Mam sent this,’ he said. ‘They might make a meal. Must be off now, the secret watcher is sure to be on duty. Late I am. It’s your fault, Nelly, forcin’ me to stay for that second cup.’

  Nelly unwrapped the parcel and waved her thanks, smiling her crooked smile at the kind gesture. It was sprout tops, enough for her and George to have with their potatoes and gravy that evening. Roll on Friday, she sighed, when there would be a bit of meat.

  George was late and the letter sat on the mantelpiece while they ate their meal. It wasn’t until they were sitting in the garden in the fading light, listening to the last murmurings of the birds and the occasional shuffle of wild creatures in the grass, that Nelly mentioned it.

  George read it with the aid of a torch, unwilling to go inside and miss the last moments of the dying day.

  ‘They’re going to connect your cottage to the mains, Nelly. You’ll have a tap in the house at last. What d’you think of that?’

  ‘Oh my Gawd! ’Ow am I goin’ to pay for that?’ She stood up and began pacing around the garden, trying to think how she could prevent the work being done. ‘It’s that Evie’s doin’. She’s at the bottom of this, tryin’ to get me out of ’ere. Oh, George, I thought she’d settled for peace and quiet at last. Now this!’ She screwed the letter up and almost threw it away.

  ‘Don’t destroy the letter, Nelly, that won’t do any good. I think we should go and see Evie and Tim. See if they know anything about this before we accuse them.’

  ‘But it’s bound
to cost money and I ain’t got none!’

  ‘Let’s go now and see what Evie has to say.’

  Nelly went to collect her coat, discarding the idea of dressing with care as she tried to do these days when visiting her daughter. She threw on the old navy coat she used for gardening and waited while George built up the fire.

  ‘An we’ll take the dogs,’ she said defiantly. ‘No good bein’ thoughtful in the ’ope she’ll be kinder. Come on dogs, and save some piddle for Evie’s front door!’

  Oliver was in bed when they arrived and the table was set for two.

  ‘What’s this then?’ Nelly asked when they were shown into the living room. ‘Don’t you share with young Oliver? Or does ’e ’ave bread an’ scrape while you eats the meat ration?’

  ‘Hush, Nelly,’ George warned, ‘save the big guns until later, eh?’

  ‘What did you want, Mother? As you see, Timothy and I are about to dine.’

  ‘It’s about this.’ Nelly thrust the letter at her and added, ‘Seems you’re tryin’ to get me thrown out, again! Where d’you think I’d find the money to pay fer a lavatory – supposin’ I wanted one, which I don’t?’

  Timothy came down the stairs, having settled Oliver to sleep with a story.

  ‘Hush, Mother-in-law, you’ll wake your grandson.’

  ‘I want to know why you got me involved in this expense if it ain’t a plot to get me out of me cottage?’

  ‘Evie,’ Timothy said in his quiet voice, ‘you tell her.’

  Nelly looked at George with a suspicious frown.

  ‘Timothy and I,’ Evie began, ‘have arranged to pay for certain improvements to your cottage.’

  ‘You – blimey, you never ’ave!’

  ‘When Mrs Norwood Bennet-Hughes saw your cottage, she convinced me that you deserved some assistance and with the council getting the drains in, we have agreed to pay the rest.’