Nothing is Forever

by Grace Thompson

  A woman walked towards him, a spaniel quartering the ground, his nose searching for interesting smells, his tail wagging furiously. He turned and waved, then quickly turned away, hoping she wouldn’t want to talk. To discourage her he took a notebook out of his pocket and perused it diligently until she had turned and walked back towards the village. He glanced at his watch. Seven o’clock. Time he was moving too.

  With no decision made, he walked back to the road then set off to drive slowly back through a village that was just waking, windows lit, garages opening, the sound of engines disturbing the quiet, a few people walking towards the bus stop, a boy delivering morning papers, a bike thrown against a hedge waiting for its owner to return. His mind was drifting lazily, but a dog suddenly ran out of a gateway startling him and making his brakes squeal. The dog began barking at his car and he stopped completely, afraid of hitting it.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ a voice called, and a woman appeared, grabbed the dog, cuffed it and began dragging it towards the gate. ‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated. ‘It’s my daughter’s dog and so badly behaved.’

  ‘No harm done.’ Henry smiled and drove on. He wondered whether a dog would be good company for Ruth; he knew that sleeping in the house alone was not something she enjoyed. But no, it would probably become another reason for her not to marry me, he decided with a sigh. What they needed was time together to really talk.

  He turned away from home again and instead, called to see Ruth. She was hanging sheets out on the line and he stepped across to help her with the awkward task, with the wind threatening to steal them from her hands.

  ‘What about going out for the day on Sunday?’ he said. ‘Just you and me. We’re sure to find a café somewhere for a light lunch and there’s a good restaurant near Carmarthen where we can get an excellent evening meal. Let’s make a day of it.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, Henry. I sort of expect Tommy and Toni, Bryn and Brenda on Sunday.’

  ‘“Sort of”? That doesn’t sound very definite. Can’t it be changed? I’ll put a note in their door, shall I? So they know we’ll be out for the afternoon and evening.’

  ‘No, I – I haven’t exactly invited them yet. It’s whether I can get enough meat to make a meal.’

  ‘I see. Nothing definite, but you are definite that you don’t want to spend a day with me. Right. I understand.’

  He hurried around the corner of the house and, ignoring her calls, drove the short distance to the flats where Tommy and Bryn lived. He knocked, hoping for a reply. A note wasn’t a good idea. A note could be easily removed. Ruth had a key to both flats, he thought with a grim smile. Fortunately Toni was home and he explained his plan for Sunday, before returning to Ruth.

  ‘Why was Toni home?’ she asked.

  ‘How would I know? That’s her business,’ he added pointedly. ‘Now, how are you? You look tired.’

  ‘I’m all right, but I don’t sleep very well these days.’

  ‘These days meaning since you have lived here alone?’ He looked at her; there was something odd about her mood. She was edgy, but perhaps that was because she was trying to find an excuse not to go out on Sunday.

  She was thinking guiltily about her casual attitude to the silver tea-set, which he had taken back because of her lack of interest. She had been so off-hand at his generosity offering replenishments to her home, especially the beautiful silver. He knew she would love it, so why had she managed to be so indifferent to the beautiful gift? Putting aside the thought of how she had hurt him, she asked, ‘Henry, will you change the locks for me? I know it sounds silly but I have the feeling sometimes that someone has been here while I’m out and one morning when I got up I found the back door open. It must have been open all night. Yet I’m so careful about locking it.’

  ‘Are you sure you lock it every night? You do leave it open until dark.’

  ‘After one fright, and now another, and I also found the contents of the dressing-table drawers spilt on the bedroom floor in Tommy’s room; yes, I am sure.’

  ‘You mean someone came in and emptied the dressing-table?’ He frowned. ‘That must have been Tommy, surely? He must have some stuff left here, he can’t have taken everything at once.’

  ‘No, I asked him and he hadn’t been near. Henry, I keep hearing noises and I panic, convinced someone is in the house. But there isn’t a sign of a break-in. When I check everything is the same as when I last looked.’

  ‘Nothing missing?’

  ‘No, Henry, that’s what so strange. There is nothing stolen, yet I’m sure someone has been here.’

  He turned then as a sob escaped and which she covered up with a handkerchief and a cough. He looked at her anxious face and felt ashamed of his lack of concern. He wondered just how many times she was waking and coming down to reassure herself all was well. It was no wonder she looked tired. Without asking anything more, he went to look at the door then he frowned. The back door was locked and bolted from the inside; no one could have opened it from without. It was unlikely there had been an intruder but he said nothing of his thoughts to Ruth. If she was telling the truth there was no believable explanation. If someone had come in it would have to be through the front door and for that they’d need a key. The four brothers each had one, and they were used to leaving a mess for Ruth to tidy up. But he said nothing.

  ‘I’ll change the lock on the front door,’ he promised, ‘and from now on, make sure the back door is kept locked. Check and then double check the doors and windows. And a third time if you have any doubts. You’ll sleep all right when you’re absolutely certain everything is safe and secure.’

  She nodded agreement but wondered if she would ever feel secure again.

  ‘What about the drawers? Are you sure you didn’t tip them out while you looked for something? With Tommy and Bryn leaving you’ve been in a bit of a muddle, looking for birth certificates and insurances and all that.’

  She stared at him. ‘I’d have remembered. Unless – Henry, could I have been sleep-walking? I do have some strange dreams these days.’

  ‘It’s possible, but don’t worry, love, it will pass; you’re finding it strange living in a silent house that has always been so full of noisy people.’ He held her for a moment. ‘Just make absolutely certain that everything is locked then you’ll know that no one can get in and you’ll sleep peacefully.’

  When Sunday came she didn’t want to go for a drive and dinner with Henry. But how could she explain that being out in the evening and having to face coming back to an empty house was something she was finding impossible? Guessing the reason for her refusal, Henry put an arm around her shoulder. This time he didn’t ask, but told her he would come in with her and stay the night.

  ‘No arguments, Ruth. I’ll stay. When we get back I’ll settle into the big, soft old couch and stay till morning.’

  She began to disagree but he silenced her protest with a kiss. ‘No creeping up the stairs, I promise. You’ll just know you aren’t alone. Right?’

  ‘Henry, why are you so good to me?’

  ‘I still believe I’ll persuade you to say yes, one day. Hopefully, before it’s too late for us to have children,’ he added in a whisper.

  The drive through Pembrokeshire was delightful. The day was clear with the sun shining and every bend in the road revealing another picturesque scene of green fields, some with crops already spearing through the earth, others dotted with sheep. Neat farms, whitewashed houses, well tended hedges. Home baking at the café where they stopped for lunch adding to the pleasure.

  ‘Henry? Ruth?’ a voice called. To their surprise, Tabitha, the young woman who worked part-time for Henry in his antiques shop was there with her father, George Bishop, and George’s fiancée Martha Howard. They had just ordered and George invited them to join them. Tabitha was embarrassed, and her face began to redden. She was dressed in the same dress she used for work, and it was well laundered which had leached the colour from what had been a dull green to begin with. By contrast, M
artha wore a red dress and lots of jewellery. She glowed with confidence and put Tabitha even more in the shade than was normal. Martha and George talked over her when she made an attempt to join in the conversation and looked bored when the shy young woman managed a few words. Martha wasn’t used to being ignored, and certainly not to being upstaged by the pathetic Tabitha.

  Tabitha stuttered and hesitated when spoken to, didn’t know what to say when Henry tried to include her in the conversation. Eventually he spoke of her rather than to her, telling George how knowledgeable she was and how fortunate he was to have her as his assistant. This embarrassed her even more and she spilt food on the tablecloth and stood up looking as though she were about to run away. Ruth went with her into the ladies room and helped wipe the food stains from her dress. She wondered how the woman managed to deal with customers in the shop.

  ‘She used to spend hours with my mother,’ George was saying when they got back. ‘With a small car my mother used to go around the area knocking on doors and asking if there was anything she could buy. Talked to Tabitha for hours she would. Then she’d take her to auctions and talk about everything being sold.’ He smiled at his daughter. ‘Best education that was, eh? My old mum – and her mum, they taught you all you know.’

  Looking down at her plate with its minimal amount of food, Tabs nodded.

  Taking the attention from her to ease her misery, Henry talked about the early morning walk he’d taken a few days previously and about the beauty of Gower. As the meal progressed and conversation widened, Ruth learned to her surprise that Martha had known her parents. She, and occasionally George, filled gaps in her knowledge of them with amusing stories about when they were young. There were tales about her grandparents too, grandparents she hardly remembered.

  ‘I’ve got some old photographs at home,’ Martha said. ‘Some of your mother and her sister, Blodwen, and even some of poor Ralph, the son who was sent away in disgrace. Lucky my mother saved them, your grandfather burned all he had. Poor Ralph.’

  ‘You remember Uncle Ralph? I never knew him and whenever I asked about him the subject was quickly dropped. What did he do?’

  ‘Nothing, if you ask me. There were suspicions and accusations and your grandfather wouldn’t help him and he was sent away. Fifteen he was, and treated worse than a dog.’

  ‘Do you know where he is? Is he still alive?’

  ‘Never a word from him. He couldn’t come home, not with your grandfather there. Knew he’d only be sent away again.’

  As they were leaving, Martha said, ‘I’ll look for some photos, shall I? And, d’you know, I think I’ve still got a painting poor little Ralph did when he was at infant school. Throwing it out they were, when your mam and dad died, so I kept it. Not very good, mind, but he was only five when he did it.’

  ‘See you on Monday, Tabs,’ Henry called, as they were leaving.

  In her breathless, nervous way, Tabitha said, ‘I bought something on Friday. A silver tea-set. I was a bit doubtful so I rang Sergeant Miller and he hadn’t heard of a theft, so I paid the three pounds the man wanted.’

  ‘Well done, Tabs. I know someone who might be interested.’

  On the way back Henry parked and asked Ruth what she knew about her Uncle Ralph.

  ‘I don’t even know what he looked like,’ Ruth said. ‘It will be wonderful to see some photographs.’

  ‘What could he have done that turned his parents against him at the tender age of fifteen?’

  ‘I was never told the full story, but he was believed to be a thief and was suspected of setting fire to a house belonging to a retired school teacher. They thought it was revenge for a caning he’d been given years before. It was all circumstantial and very unlikely from what Mam told me. But I don’t remember much about him it’s so long ago; Mam died ten years ago remember.’

  ‘What about Aunty Blod, doesn’t she know what happened?’

  ‘She was eight years old and doesn’t remember him at all.’

  It was quite late when he drove her home and although the evening had been an interesting one, meeting Martha and George and Tabs, he didn’t think he had made much progress in his plan to persuade her to marry him.

  With Henry downstairs Ruth didn’t sleep. Her mind was too busy after the conversation and also she was too aware of his presence. When she thought of him giving up on her she was more frightened than she had been at finding the door open.

  Being alone was far worse now Tommy and Bryn no longer needed her. Was it love? She wasn’t sure. More her foolish need to be needed.

  At 7 Oak Terrace, not far from the shop above which Henry lived, Megan and Mali, the sisters, aged eighteen and seventeen, lived with their mother and Megan’s small son. As he alighted from the car a few days later, Henry heard them quarrelling, their mother’s shrill voice complaining, and the calmer voices of the two girls. As he walked towards his door he heard the little boy begin to cry. It was a regular occurrence and on many evenings he had seen the girls with Mickie in a pram, walking around waiting for their mother to calm down. He knew that the constant arguments weren’t good for a small child.

  Since the birth of Mickie to Megan, who had still been at school, their mother had refused to help with the little boy. Megan and Mali had managed to find a job they could share, each doing half of the day in a tea shop and the other half looking after the child, who was now aged two.

  Hesitating to interfere, nevertheless once he heard the door slam behind their mother, leaving them standing outside trying to comfort the little boy, he called, ‘Is everything all right?’.

  ‘We’re moving into a flat after Mam told us to go, and now, she’s insisting we stay. But it isn’t fair for this little love to put up with her temper, so we’re leaving.’

  ‘I just wish we had somewhere to go for the two weeks until the flat is ready for us,’ Mali added. ‘Mam is getting impossible.’

  Henry hesitated for a moment then said, ‘Why don’t you ask Ruth if you can stay with her? Two weeks isn’t long and she’s hating living in that big house on her own. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind, and anyway it won’t hurt to ask her.’

  Ruth had a rabbit stew cooking and, as the butcher had found her some suet, there were dumplings ready to add. She stared at the food simmering in the large saucepan and sighed. Once again she had made too much. When would she learn to cook small amounts and not prepare for a family?

  The back door was locked even though it was day-time, and when she heard the knock she hurried to answer. Henry came in first and gave a brief explanation, then Megan carrying Mickie, with Mali following.

  ‘We’ll understand if you say no, mind,’ Mali said, after Henry had explained. ‘Our Mickie isn’t the quietest lodger you could find.’

  ‘Come, and welcome,’ Ruth said. ‘And look,’ – she gestured towards the cooker – ‘I must have known. Rabbit stew and plenty for us all.’

  Over the next few days, ration books, temporary changes of address and the rest of the formalities were easily dealt with. Rota for using the kitchen was agreed, their contribution to the household, all were quickly arranged. The girls helped as drawers and cupboard space were cleared and three days later, with the shiny new lock on the front door and three lodgers in one of the big rooms at the front, Ruth gave a sigh of relief. Perhaps now she would sleep.

  A week later, while the girls were out, Ruth climbed up into the loft to tackle the muddle of papers that had been thrown into a box to be sorted later. She slid down a box of papers followed by a large, ancient suitcase into which she intended to place the things she thought should be kept. The rest would go onto a garden fire. Lifting the battered box she tilted it and allowed the contents to flow like a river across the floor.

  Much of it was family memorabilia. School reports hoarded by their mother, old photographs which she always intended to put in an album one day. There were also some insurance papers which must be of no value as everything had been sorted out at the time of their parents’
deaths. She hesitated to throw them away. Perhaps, one day, a child or grandchild might enjoy perusing them, learning about their grandparents. She kept out one photograph to show the boys. It was of their grandmother Thomas and some people she didn’t know. Distant uncles? Cousins? Why hadn’t she taken more notice when her parents had been there to explain? There was no one she recognized, except Aunty Blod who didn’t believe in living in the past, and would surely recommend burning the lot!

  The gate opened and the two girls came in, a chattering Mickie between them carrying a small bag containing sweets, ‘For after dinner,’ he told her, giving her his wide smile. Ruth gathered the papers without sorting them and pushed them untidily into the suitcase. They could wait.

  That evening there was a commotion at the front door then a banging on the back door. ‘Oh!’ Ruth gasped. ‘I’ve forgotten to give the new keys to Tommy and Bryn!’

  Henry, who was fixing an extra shelf in the kitchen laughed. ‘Forgotten them? Thank goodness for that! It’s a very good sign!’

  Almost as soon as they were inside, Toni asked in her forthright way, ‘Ruth, why don’t you get a job? Getting out of the house for a while each day would be a good thing.’

  ‘What would I do? I don’t have any training.’

  ‘Neither did we,’ Bryn said, ‘but Tommy and me, we have a nice little business. When we finished our two years in the army, we looked around and realized that gardening maintenance and garden planning was an increasing need, and we started small, helping out on farms with seasonal jobs as our experience grew.’ He winked at his brother. ‘We could give you a job if you like?’