The Runaway

by Grace Thompson

  Faith heard the name and it felt like a blow. ‘Mary Pryor? She could be a relation. My family were from London and lived there until the war.’ Faith tried to keep her voice calm, hold back on the excitement the name created. This was certain to be another disappointment.

  ‘Green her name is now, but she was a Pryor,’ Olive continued. ‘I asked, of course, but she said she had no connection with South Wales.’

  ‘My sister and I were from London, we didn’t come to Wales until we were evacuated in 1939. Do you have an address? They might know something that would help me find my family.’

  Olive shrugged as she reached for a biscuit. ‘Unlikely, according to her. She said they haven’t any lost relatives.’

  ‘A cousin, maybe,’ Faith urged. ‘Cousins lose touch after a generation. How many people keep in touch with second cousins?’

  ‘All right, I’ll ask my boys to give me the woman’s address. And what if I give them yours, so they can offer it to this woman? She might write and tell you about herself. Unlikely, but you might find a connection. Now where’s that tea, before I collapse like a pile of desiccated coconut?’

  For days Faith watched for the postman like a lovesick girl but there was nothing from London. Weeks passed and at the end of March, having been promised a few days off before the summer visitors began arriving and the shop became extra busy, Faith decided to go to London.

  She was checking her minimal wardrobe, trying to decide what to wear, when Olive offered to lend Faith her warm winter coat. As her choice was between an old-fashioned linen swagger coat or the even older black showerproof she wore to work, she agreed. On the morning she left she realized that Olive’s coat was too big and slightly more shabby than she’d been aware, but it had once been very smart. She’d have felt better wearing her own but couldn’t hurt her friend’s feelings, and she was glad of its warmth. As she walked to the station she noticed that a corner of a pocket was torn and on the train a button fell off. There was a faint mark across the front, probably from carrying shopping. She regretted choosing it but it was too late to worry now.

  It wasn’t the first time she had tried the agencies and election registers, but London was such a huge place and in the past she’d had no idea in which area to begin her search. At least this time she had a starting point. She went first to see Olive’s sons, who introduced her to their landlady.

  Gaynor was a large woman, slow of speech and sluggish in movement. She was far from helpful.

  ‘The Mrs Pryor you speak of was only visiting,’ she said. ‘My friend says she’s passed on your address but its up to her whether or not she writes. So there’s no point in worrying her.’

  ‘If I could just speak to her,’ Faith pleaded. A shake of the head was the only reply.

  Fortunately, Olive had given her the name of the person who shared her name and she knocked on doors persistently for the rest of that day and the next.

  She lost count of the number of times she had asked if the person opening the door knew the name but then, during the late afternoon of the last day, she had a response.

  ‘Mrs Green, yes, she lives in number fifteen.’

  Faith gave a huge sigh of relief when she was told the woman had previously been Miss Pryor. ‘But,’ the woman went on, ‘she might be away from home, she travels around buying fancy stuff to sell in that posh shop of theirs.’

  Telling herself not to be too hopeful, that a name didn’t mean they were a part of her missing family, Faith had a job to hold herself back from running as she followed the directions and headed for the ‘posh’ shop.

  Two buses and a walk eventually took her to the address. ‘Posh’ shop was a good description, she thought as she looked in the windows of the place called Beautiful Homes, admiring the expensive wallpapers, glass and china ornaments, and elegant furnishings. Drapes decorated the walls and small areas of the interior were set up to represent rooms. Many of the items on display were from foreign lands and everything looked seriously expensive. Faith took a deep breath and went inside, conscious of her untidy appearance.

  The sales assistant, or Design Adviser, as it said on her label, approached. She was smartly dressed and skilfully made up. Faith guessed they were around the same age and she smiled nervously. The young woman looked at her doubtfully. She can tell before I speak that I couldn’t afford to buy anything from this place, Faith decided, but she held up her head and in what she called her best ‘teachers’ voice asked to see the owner, a Mrs Green.

  ‘I’m sorry, miss – er – madam, but Mrs Green doesn’t see anyone without an appointment. May I give her a message?’ The haughty expression, the accent, the hard look in the young woman’s eyes almost made Faith run from the shop, but she took a deep breath and said:

  ‘Not really, there’s something I need to discuss with her, a private subject.’

  ‘Sorry, but in that case I really can’t help.’

  As Faith walked out she saw the young woman brush down her skirt with an impatient hand. As though just talking to me had offended her, she thought. She was disappointed but at least she now had an address and could write again. Her contact, through Olive, mustn’t be lost. She would come again and this time she would be better prepared, not allow herself to be scared off by the over-confident young woman. She would speak with more authority and carry all the information she had on herself, her parents and sister.

  In Beautiful Homes the assistant stared after her curiously. ‘Mother,’ she said to the woman sitting in the office, writing in an order book, ‘a strange woman with a Welsh accent just called and she was dressed, well, hardly better than a tramp.’

  ‘She didn’t come to place an order for refurbishing her town house then?’

  ‘Hardly.’ She picked up an invoice and put it back, her movements nervous. Who was the strange woman who had asked to talk to her mother? Best not to take a chance, there were some very odd people about. ‘She might have been an eccentric millionaire,’ she said with a smile.

  With her mother too far away to hear, the young woman instructed the secretary to hold back any letter for her mother with a Welsh postmark. ‘It must be handed to me in private,’ she explained. ‘Someone is bothering my mother and I want to prevent it going any further.’ Better safe than sorry.

  Faith sat on the train on her way back to South Wales and allowed her imagination to drift, seeing scenes in which she was reunited with her sister, Joy. Although her vision of her sister was completely imaginary, and she simply pictured someone like herself. If she was like the young woman in Beautiful Homes she didn’t hold out much hope of their being instant friends. Had she been wrong to have concentrated on finding her sister rather than her mother? They had all been lost to her for so long it was hard to remember that her mother would still be in her forties and was almost certain to be alive if she had survived the years of bombing. Maybe it wasn’t a sister she’d find but a parent. Just so long as there wasn’t a connection with that awful Design Adviser!

  As the train pulled into Cardiff she began composing the letter she would write to this Mrs Green, who had once been called Pryor. Try as she might to stay calm, excitement was sparkling in her eyes as she hurried to the platform for the Barry train.

  In his workshop Matt stood looking at the statues he had completed. Beautiful, he knew that, but impossible to sell. While business had slumped following the revival of talk about his court case and imprisonment, he had concentrated on the fine work he so loved. There was a mermaid, six feet long and beautifully designed to enhance a garden pond, and a deer, its expression startled, which he envisaged peering out from a shrubbery. These were indulgences, only suitable for large imposing gardens, too expensive to offer for sale, but the more mundane stuff wasn’t selling anyway, so he allowed his imagination free rein.

  His present obsession was a fairy figure, four feet tall and with a smaller figure holding its hand. The delicate carving was painfully slow and he had been working on it between other projects f
or two years, but at present, time was something he didn’t lack, and his concentration was absolute and gave him a rest from his concerns.

  Carol called to tell him his meal was ready but it wasn’t until she went into the workshop and touched his arm gently as he stood and stared at his burgeoning masterpiece, that he was aware of her, or his hunger.

  ‘It’s perfect,’ Carol said softly. ‘You have such a wonderful talent and deserve recognition.’

  A woman came into the yard as they were walking to the house, Matt stopped to attend to her. She went into the workroom and stood in front of the almost finished work.

  ‘Can I help you?’ Matt asked.

  ‘Are you Matt Hewitt?

  ‘Yes. Heard about me have you?’ he asked, expecting her to be another reporter or just there for more gossip.

  ‘This fairy statue, it’s a commissioned piece?’

  ‘No, it’s something I wanted to do.’

  ‘And it’s for sale?’

  ‘It might be,’ he replied cautiously. ‘But it’s very expensive.’

  An hour later, he had made a sale, received a deposit and had given a promise that it would be completed by the end of April.

  ‘I’m Julie,’ she said offering her and. ‘Julie Charters.’

  ‘My name is Matt Hewitt and before you go, I have to tell you, I’m the one the papers have been writing about. I’ve been in prison accused of attacking a young woman. So if you want to change your mind—’ He held out the money she had just given him.

  She closed his hand over the money with both of hers. ‘I know all that,’ she said. ‘But if you create work as beautiful as this, why should your past disasters stop me from owning it?’

  They talked for a while during which he learned that she was a widow and owned one of the large houses near the lake and the pebbly beach. They walked around his store room and she praised him, gasping at some of his creations.

  Carol was pleased to see that he was smiling when he came in for his afternoon tea but she said nothing, just crossed her fingers and offered up a prayer.

  The young woman came almost every day to watch the progress of her statue and they talked a lot. She also sent several people to buy from him: mostly, his cheaper pieces, but it was pleasing all the same. After a couple of weeks Matt invited her out, and she accepted.

  They went to the restaurant at the Ship Hotel, not far from the old harbour and afterwards walked along the road to the beach. Standing against the sturdy sea wall, close together for warmth, they braved the cold wind and exchanged details of their lives and other things, finding that they had many opinions and attitudes in common.

  Faith waited every day in the hope of a reply to her enquiry in London, but after two weeks had passed she gave up. Someone with the same name, that was the closest she had come but it was going to end in disappointment like the rest. Perhaps it was time to forget her dream of finding a family, who would be strangers anyway, people she might not even like. She would be wise to accept the contentment of today; living in the pleasant town of Barry, with some genuine friends, and the hope that one day she and Ian might move their friendship on to something stronger.

  Olive Monk, who in her new role of catalogue agent and Christmas Club collector knew everyone’s news as soon as they did, told Faith that Matt was going out with a very charming young lady and it looked serious, even though it was just a few weeks since they had met. ‘Wealthy she is, mind. A widow with a big huge house not far from the lake.’

  ‘I hope they stay together and she makes Matt very happy,’ Faith said, and she meant it. It would ease her conscience considerably if Matt found someone else.

  The fairy statue was almost complete. Matt had taken Julie out several times and she seemed content with his company. Her kisses had become more passionate and he began to believe they had a future together. They arranged to have dinner together at his house and Carol had excitedly cooked the food, then gone to visit a friend. A proposal was in the air, happiness on both their faces. The food was in the oven and as Carol slipped out of the house she saw the girl arriving.

  ‘Matt?’ she heard her call, and she imagined Matt opening the door to her and sweeping her into his arms.

  In reality Matt did just that, but after their first few exciting kisses, Julie became alarmed. He sensed a withdrawal from his kisses and stood back.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ he asked.

  Pulling away from him she said, ‘The food, Matt. Shall we eat? Where’s your mother, in the kitchen?’

  ‘We can eat later,’ he said. ‘Forget about my mother, she won’t be back for hours.’

  ‘Please. Matt, I’m hungry.’

  ‘Later,’ he said and began kissing her again. She pulled away from him with difficulty and after staring at her with a curious expression on his face, his eyes as black as coal, he once again held her close. ‘Julie, you must know how I feel about you,’ he said, between kisses that she struggled to evade. ‘I know we haven’t known each other long but I knew straight away we’d make a perfect couple.’

  ‘It’s too soon, Matt.’

  ‘Marry me,’ he said, staring into her eyes. ‘Marry me. I love you and I’ll care for you, you’ll never want for anything.’

  ‘No Matt!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’d need to know you a lot better before I could think of marriage.’

  ‘But you feel the same as I do?’

  ‘Of course I do. Very much.’

  ‘Then what else d’you need to know?’ He reached to kiss her again, his hands pulling at her clothes, pressing her against the wall then half-carrying her towards the stairs.

  His strength alarmed her. She screamed and pushed him away. ‘You frighten me. I can’t stay here alone with you, I’m scared.’

  ‘That’s what you wanted, was it? To see what it would be like to be with a dangerous man?’

  ‘Yes, it was!’ She ran from the house across the yard and at the gate she called back. ‘Keep the statue. I don’t want anything more to do with you. I’ve heard the stories but I didn’t believe them. But they’re true. You’re an animal, Matt Hewitt.’

  He slammed the door, took the food out of the oven and threw it into the sink. Then he grabbed a coat and went out.

  Carol heard him coming in at 3 a.m. and went down, expecting to be told of his engagement.

  ‘She was playing with me,’ Matt said bitterly, ‘playing with danger, thinking I was a dangerous animal. That was what she called me, an animal.’

  ‘This is all down to Faith Pryor. She spread this gossip and she won’t let it rest.’

  ‘It isn’t Faith, it’s me.’ His voice rose and she tried to calm him.

  ‘Matt, there’s nothing wrong with you. Faith lied about the baby and put her where we’ll never see her. How can that be your fault? It’s all Faith’s fault.’

  He stood over his mother, glaring down at her. He held her arms tightly and she gasped at the pain. ‘Stop it! Stop it!’ he shouted. ‘Stop pretending. I lose my temper and that’s the truth.’

  ‘But you never did with Faith. She was the one who let you down.’ Carol went on talking, trying to soothe him, make him stop blaming himself, but he wasn’t listening. ‘Let me go, Matt, dear, you’re hurting me,’ she said softly. He threw her from him and she fell against the table.

  ‘She’ll have to come back to collect the fairy statue,’ he said after a while, unaware of her distress. ‘Or I’ll have to arrange for its delivery. Perhaps I can put things right.’

  ‘Leave it for her to arrange.’ Carol tried to keep her voice normal, ignoring the pain of his fierce grip and the fall. ‘The woman’s a fool. She had it at a ridiculously low price anyway. If you count up the hours you worked on it, besides the skill you have to make such a beautiful thing, it’s worth far more than you told her.’

  ‘You’re right,’ he said after another silence. ‘She’s crazy. I’ll keep it. I doubt that she’ll be back. She didn’t really want it, she just wanted to see what it would b
e like to be with a man who – who was accused of attacking a young girl.’

  ‘Accused, but not guilty.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll ever sell it. Perhaps I should smash it up.’

  Carol looked thoughtful, then suggested, ‘Why not put it on the plinth above the door of the workshop? It would be a wonderful advertisement, everyone passing would see it and realize how talented you are. It’s too lovely to be destroyed or hidden in the workroom.’

  ‘Too dangerous. If it fell on you or me, it would kill us.’

  ‘Brace it with strong rope from behind. Setting it up can’t be a difficult job for someone like you.’

  ‘It’s a nice idea. It isn’t as though anyone around here is likely to buy it. Certainly not now my reputation is in tatters. Although what has a brief moment all those years ago got to do with my work here?’

  ‘Nothing, dear. Nothing at all, and the accusation was a lie, wasn’t it?’

  He glanced at her but said nothing.

  ‘It’s so long ago. My first grandchild and I’ve never seen her. Now another grandchild lost to me.’

  Matt was staring into space, visualizing the fairy statue above the entrance for everyone to admire. They might dislike him but they’d have to admit that the fairy statue was a fine piece of work.

  He spent the rest of the day working out the stresses and making a frame on which to fasten it. Then he arranged for a contractor to come and lift it into place and to check the safety of his supports. By the end of the week it would be on display and if anyone wanted to buy it the price had doubled.

  At Ian’s suggestion Faith wrote another letter to the people called Green. As before, she addressed it to Beautiful Homes. She wrote more fully, listing every address she remembered, with names of foster-parents and children’s homes together with approximate dates. She waited every day for the postman to call, but weeks passed and there was no reply. She followed the letter with a third, three for luck, as Olive promised. But there was no response to that one either. Time to forget the dream about what she might have had and settle for the good things in her life, like good friends, a home and a pleasant enough way of earning her keep.