The Runaway

by Grace Thompson

  ‘Like her poor husband?’

  ‘As you say, like her poor husband. Matt Hewitt is such a crude and common, unworldly man.’

  Faith came off the phone feeling embarrassed, inadequate, someone audacious who was trying to mix with people out of her league. Someone she had been considering marrying was suitable for her but he was far below Verity’s expectations, wasn’t that what her mother had meant?

  When Joy came laden with presents a few days before Christmas Day, Faith told her she had warned their mother about Verity’s visits to Matt.

  ‘She’s very sure of herself and if things get unpleasant she’ll walk away. She’s always enjoyed having men admiring her, a gold ring on her finger won’t change her. Put her out of your mind, have a wonderful Christmas,’ Joy urged.

  Despite Winnie’s illness. Christmas was a cheerful time for Faith. There were cards from the newly discovered aunts and uncles and cousins. Letters came from her mother and Verity thanking her for the presents and promising to visit soon. Faith wasn’t sure she wanted them to. Weren’t they just being kind to the peasants in the funny little house overlooking the railway station?

  Vivienne came on Christmas Eve and helped with the preparations. Ian came with his mother mid-morning the following day and they all fussed over a very pregnant Kitty. With Olive Monk and Mr and Mrs Gretorex joining them the table threatened to collapse and a second table was borrowed from neighbours to accommodate them all.

  Olive stayed for three days, telling them of the fun she’d had paying out the Christmas savings and totting up her earnings from the catalogue. She helped to prepare food when Faith went back to work on the 27th.

  Mr Gretorex stayed for the whole of the holiday period but Faith could see that their previous attempts at putting on a brave face were no longer possible. Unable to ignore it any longer, she sat Mrs Gretorex down with a cup of tea when her husband was out and asked:

  ‘What is the matter, dear? Talk about it, that’s much better than holding it all inside.’

  Speaking in a low monotonous voice, Mrs Gretorex said. ‘We had a son and he died. Since then we’ve been trying to rebuild our lives but it’s impossible. These past few months we have been blaming each other, and we’ve drifted further and further apart.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, but why haven’t you told me? In all the months you’ve lived here, why couldn’t you trust me?’

  ‘It isn’t easy to talk about it.’

  ‘Olive told me you were building a house. Why isn’t it finished? Surely a fresh start in a new place is what you both need?’

  ‘It was for him you see. He was injured in a road accident and we designed a bungalow specially for him, but before the footings were in he – he passed away. After that there seemed no point in finishing it.’

  Faith thought for a moment, then, risking an accusation of interfering, she said. ‘I believe you should finish building the house.’

  ‘It’s too late. It was for our son.’

  ‘Then finish it for him. See an end to it, walk through its rooms, remember how well you planned it. Grieving is an essential part of a loss as terrible as yours but it needs to end or nothing changes. Finish the house, let your son rest.’

  ‘It won’t be easy to persuade my husband.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s thinking the same about you.’ She watched as expressions of despair and hope flittered across the sad face, then went on, ‘I’d be very interested in seeing it and hearing you explain how you designed it. Even if your son didn’t see it, it was still a labour of love. May I go there with you one day?’

  ‘Not today, dear. Thank you but I’ll go on my own today. Perhaps in a day or so I’ll be able to show you. It’s a beautiful place.’

  ‘Please. I’d love you to show me, tell me how it was planned.’

  When Mr Gretorex came in half an hour later, Faith casually mentioned that his wife was at the building plot. ‘There’s a bus in fifteen minutes that will take you as far as the farm.’ she said. ‘You could walk home together.’

  Olive was walking across the field and saw Mrs Gretorex sitting on a pile of wood, wrapped in a shawl. ‘She must be frozen, poor dab,’ she muttered and hurried back to the caravan to make a flask of tea and bring her old coat. When she returned to the sad scene, she saw that there were two people there. Mr Gretorex had taken off his overcoat and had wrapped it around his wife’s shoulders and held it in place with a comforting arm. Quietly, Olive crept back to the caravan, fingers tightly crossed.

  Paul brought the children on several occasions to allow Winnie to rest. The news of her varied from hopeful to cause for concern.

  On the Sunday following the celebration, Faith and Ian went for a walk across the fields. It was dry and crisp and they remarked how fortunate they were to have fresh clean air while in London people were dying from the mixture of smoke and fog that was now named smog.

  Being so close to Olive’s caravan was too tempting and they knocked on the door to beg a cup of tea. A very loud bark was the response and a rosy-faced Olive opened the door. Struggling to hold the collar of an enormous dog, she invited them in.

  ‘What about this for a present, eh? My boys were worried about me going out at night collecting, so they bought me a companion.’ She looked at the dog and said firmly, ‘Doris, say hello.’ The hound gave a huge bark. ‘Now sit, good girl.’ The dog obeyed.

  Tea was made but went cold as they were shown the dog’s obedience training in the field. With some help from the farmer and a lot of encouragement by the dog’s willingness to learn, Olive had the perfect companion.

  When they returned to No 3, rosy-faced and happy, Paul was sitting on the doorstep.

  Alarmed by his posture, Faith ran to him and he stood up and hugged her. ‘My lovely Winnie died this morning,’ he told them. ‘Our three adorable children have lost their mother.’

  Ian came to them and put an arm around them both. Was it his imagination, or was Paul pushing him aside? He pulled Faith away and placed a proprietary arm around her shoulder, ‘We will do everything we can to help,’ he said. ‘Won’t we?’

  The slight emphasis on the we was not lost on Paul. Once again he pushed Ian aside and hugged Faith, whispering, ‘Thank you, Faith, dear. We need you so much. All of us.’

  chapter twelve

  The following days were so confusing that Faith couldn’t remember their sequence. She looked after the children for several hours each day and took them back to their home once Paul had finished his tasks. There seemed to be so much for him to do, but Faith deliberately didn’t ask to help. Better he dealt with everything himself; that all the arrangements were in his hands alone. One reason was to ensure that he couldn’t berate himself later for not doing more. Another was to keep him busy, with less time to think.

  With Paul’s permission, she, Ian and Vivienne answered the children’s questions when they wanted to talk about what had happened and tried to keep everything as normal when they did not. Faith’s own grieving for her friend was kept until she was alone.

  The funeral, on that cold, dark January day was a sombre affair. People lined the streets to mark the passing of the young mother. Paul was the last to arrive at the church and when the congregation looked back to see him entering the church, carrying Polly, with Jack and Bill beside him there was a murmur of sympathy.

  Faith put on a bright face as she walked out of the church with Ian. She smiled encouragingly as she took the three children and walked them back to their house, ready to serve the food that caterers had provided.

  The dreadful day passed but weeks later Paul was still leaving to Faith the task of meeting the children from school and looking after them until he came home from work. Ian said nothing but Faith knew she had to persuade Paul to let go.

  He habitually kissed her lightly when he arrived with the children and when he left to take them home. When his kiss became more than a peck she began to worry.

  ‘Paul,’ she said one evening when he had calle
d to collect Jack, Bill and Polly, ‘don’t you think it’s time you sorted out a permanent arrangement to look after this precious threesome? Mrs Palmer has been very kind, but I can’t continue to take advantage and leave her to clean the shop every day while I go to the school.’

  ‘You’re not willing to look after them?’ He looked surprised and she felt guilty. ‘I thought you loved them.’

  She almost relented but knew that would be wrong. It had already gone on too long. ‘You know I do, but they’re yours and it’s you they need, not me. They don’t complain about coming here each day but it’s home they want. Bill especially, he keeps asking the time and how much longer before they can go home. They want their home and their father. I don’t think they’ll accept what has happened until they have a settled routine.’

  ‘But I work shifts, and I’ve been working extra hours. How can I cope without you?’

  It was hard but she stood firm. ‘Sorry, Paul, but I need to make plans too. It can’t go on like this.’

  ‘Does it have to? I mean, can’t you give up your job and come and live with us?’

  For one, shameful moment she hesitated. A home and children and maybe Paul too one day was so much like her long-held dream, while a future with Ian seemed so remote. He seemed to like her company but showed no sign of ever wanting more. She shook her head and walked away. ‘Come on, kids, time to go home.’

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said as he gathered the children and their belongings. ‘We can discuss it then.’

  ‘Nothing to discuss, Paul.’ Her voice was strong as she said calmly, ‘I’ll give you a little time, of course, a week, maybe two, but we both need you to find a solution.’

  Ian called that evening and picked up a couple of toys left by the children. ‘How much longer before Paul sorts out the help he needs?’ he asked.

  She was thankful then that she could answer honestly and tell him she had raised the subject just hours before. ‘I said I needed to plan my own life and for the children’s sake he has to do the same.’

  ‘I’m glad. I feel very sorry for them, but you’ve done as much as he could reasonably expect. He can’t believe you’ll continue to give so much of your time indefinitely.’

  ‘I think he did. He seemed shocked when I told him I needed an end to my responsibilities.’

  ‘He accepted it though?’

  ‘Well, he said we’ll discuss it again tomorrow. Give him time to think about it and he’ll find a way of coping.’

  ‘As long as it doesn’t include you.’ He looked at her strangely.

  ‘It won’t.’

  When Ian was dropping his mother off at the shops the following day, he saw Paul walking towards the council offices. He got out and met him at the steps. ‘How are things?’ he asked. ‘Is everything sorted now?’

  ‘I still have a few things to do, but thanks to Faith everything is settling into place.’

  ‘She’s a remarkable person, but even she has to say no sometimes,’ Ian said.

  ‘Say no?’ Paul looked surprised. ‘It won’t come to that. I’ve asked her to move in and look after us all. She can rent No 3 and come and be a part of our family, the children will have stability. It’s the perfect solution.’

  Ian was too stunned to say more than. ‘See you …’

  He walked back to the car and didn’t notice Matt walking towards him with Faith’s sister Verity.

  ‘Ian looks lost in thundery thoughts,’ Matt remarked as they passed without any acknowledgement. ‘Perhaps he’s finally found out what a bitch Faith really is.’

  ‘That’s my sister you’re talking about,’ Verity said with a laugh. ‘My dear, long-lost sister who thinks she can walk into a fortune.’

  ‘Forget about her and come back to the workshop. I’ve some new ideas I want you to see.’

  Vivienne watched as the couple crossed the road and got into Matt’s van parked quite near Ian’s. How could such a smart and obviously wealthy woman be attracted to someone like Matt Hewitt? The hint of danger? The rumours of a violent past? She shivered as the van drove away, the young woman snuggling close to the driver. Perhaps she didn’t know? Should she warn her? No. Best not.

  Someone else had seen the couple getting into the van. Matt’s mother Carol also looked anxious. She too wondered whether she should warn the girl. Pretend as he might in front of others, she knew very well how quickly irritation could turn her son’s mood to full-blown anger. If only she could get the girl on her own and tell her the full extent of Matt’s police record. She’d have to be careful; if Matt found out he’d be furious. He insisted that all he needed was a chance, and maybe he thought Verity was the one to give it to him.

  Verity had been staying at a nearby hotel, travelling around the South Wales area buying Welsh blankets, love-spoons and other quality craft items. She had been seeing a lot of Matt, who sometimes drove her and sometimes met her in the evening to eat out or go to the theatre or to a concert.

  When she was leaving, Carol suggested the young woman might catch a later train. ‘We could have lunch and take a walk along one of the local beaches, relax and get some sea air before you go back to London.’

  ‘No, she has to get the ten o’clock train,’ Matt insisted, ‘And I have to go and pick up some supplies.’

  ‘But an hour or two won’t make any difference.’

  Matt interrupted, irritation hardening his tone. ‘Mam, she runs a business and she has to get back.’ More softly, glancing at Verity, he added, ‘Any time off she can manage I want her to save for when I’m here.’

  ‘All right, dear. I just thought it would be nice for Verity and I to spend a few hours getting to know each other.’ She gave a childish pout. ‘You monopolize her completely when she comes. Can’t you spare an hour or two?’

  ‘It’s all right, Matt,’ Verity said. ‘I’ll stay. I’ll just phone my mother to tell her I’ll be a bit later getting home.’

  Carol didn’t feel safe talking about Matt at the house. It was as though the house was eavesdropping and he would hear the echoes and know what she had done. Instead she made coffee and led Verity into the garden behind the workshop.

  Matt was curious. There had been an unusual insistence in the way his mother asked Verity to stay. Why did she want to talk to her while he was out of the way? Suspicion brought a frown to his face. Surely she wouldn’t tell Verity about his sometimes uncontrollable temper? That was all it was, a sudden rage that he immediately regretted. He eased his foot off the accelerator, touched the brake and the vehicle slowed to a stop. Pulling on the handbrake, shutting down the engine he jumped from the cab and walked swiftly back to the workshop.

  Carol felt traitorous, and tension was banging in her throat as she began to talk about Matt’s temper. It was a risk, even though Matt was nowhere around. There was a chance that Verity wouldn’t believe her and she might even tell Matt what had been said. ‘My son is a wonderful, talented man, but like many artists, he does have a dark side,’ she said.

  Verity laughed. ‘Oh how dramatic that sounds. If you’re going to tell me about the girl who supposedly had his child after he’d assaulted her, then I already know the full story and accept Matt’s version.’

  ‘Perhaps you shouldn’t.’

  Verity stared at her. ‘Are you saying you don’t believe him? What sort of a mother are you? Don’t you feel any loyalty towards your son?’

  ‘I love my son, but that doesn’t blind me to his problems.’

  ‘You think he assaulted that girl and she had his child? Surely he’d have wanted to be involved with the child if he were the father. He would love to have a child and that alone convinces me he was innocent. He’d never behave as though she didn’t exist if she were his.’

  Carol bent her head, undecided whether or not to go on. She could see from the stubborn expression on the girl’s face that she wouldn’t be easily convinced. There was a real danger that she’d go straight to Matt and tell him everything she had said and th
e probable result of that was too frightening to contemplate.

  ‘You don’t have to tell me this,’ Verity said. ‘I’m not about to take your son from you. I have a husband and I only came here to buy a few new lines for our business. I’ve finished here and next month I’ll probably be in Cornwall to see what remains from the Newlyn school of design.’

  ‘I think you’re playing with him and he doesn’t take kindly to being an amusement.’

  ‘I think I’d better go.’ Verity stood and began to walk towards the house.

  Carol pulled up her sleeves and showed her where old bruises, yellow and purple, were visible on both upper arms. ‘These were from the last time he lost his temper with me,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ve also suffered a broken arm and a dislocated shoulder.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Verity said, but with less certainty. ‘You’re making it up.’

  ‘He loved Faith, so she was safe. He wanted to protect her and he would never have harmed her. Never. Even when she stole his child and ran away. But his feelings for you aren’t love. When you anger him he’ll lose his temper as he always does. Anger and frustration are emotions he can’t control. Please, don’t be there when he gets angry.’ She stared at the young woman, willing her to believe. ‘Verity, I want you to stay away, I know my son and I’m afraid for you.’

  ‘I think I’ll go now.’ Verity’s voice was hardly more than a whisper. Tearfully, Carol followed her into the house.

  Against the wall of the yard, hidden by a stack of stones and piles of cement bags, Matt stood, his neck muscles taut, his eyes glittering with rage. He waited until the two women left the house, Carol carrying Verity’s small travel case and heading for the station, then he walked to where he had left the van and went to find his cousin, Gwenllian. He needed sympathy, a way of dissipating his anger.

  Gwenllian was at home and welcomed him inside. ‘You look upset, Matt. Is there something wrong?’