As the train approached their station even the dark, mountainous slagheaps had a beauty of their own, the sun giving them a greenish sheen broken by patches of brighter green where grasses and a few wild flowers had begun to colonise.
The village streets were peopled with shoppers, the schoolyards reminiscent of a Brueghel painting. Balls bounced against walls and were thrown and kicked and argued over by small children. Others played chase, skittering through other games and causing minor battles. Skipping in its many forms, whip-and-top and chanting games he recognised and still knew by heart. He was years away in age but only moments in memory.
As Maldwyn’s excitement grew. Vera’s spirits dropped. Was she really brave enough to walk into her home and say, ‘Hi yer Mam,’ as though nothing had happened? What if Dad was there? How would she greet him? Would she take one look at his furious face and make a run for it? Or was she strong enough now to face him and dare him to take his belt off, and threaten to call the police if he did? When she was in St David’s Well she had been confident. She had lain on her comfortable seat in the railway carriage she called home and imagined how boldly she would walk in and face them all.
Over the past few days she had lived and relived the scene as she stepped into the kitchen and stared them down. Her mother would see how she had changed, and her sisters too would see she was no longer the falsely confident child fearing her father’s anger. She was independent, and no longer needed his support. She was strong now and could say goodbye to the days when she had to conform to standards set by Mam and Dad. Now, as the train slowed to a squealing stop, her confidence seeped away like the steam from the engine that had brought her here. The fire in her eyes dulled and she knew that coming home had returned her to being a child again.
Maldwyn walked her to her door then left, arranging to meet her when it was time for their train back to St David’s Well. She took a few deep breaths, listening to the argument going on inside between her sisters. No sound of Dad, she thought with relief. Pushing open the door, she walked resolutely through.
The first person she saw was her father and her heart began to bump painfully in her chest. To her surprise he smiled and said, ‘Home again is it? And about time too. Auntie Kitty fed up with you is she?’
‘Auntie Kitty? I haven’t been near her.’
Her mother, who had been washing towels in the sink, turned around and stared at her husband. ‘There, I told you we should have looked for her.’
Vera sank into a chair and stared at them. ‘You mean you didn’t look for me?’
‘I thought — Damn it girl, you always go to Auntie Kitty’s when you flounce out of here and you’ve done that enough times!’ her father defended.
It was true. Whenever she and her father had clashed she had always run to be comforted by his sister Kitty, who never seemed to be too busy to spend time with her. As soon as she could walk she had regularly made her way to her auntie’s in the cottage on the hill where there were chickens and cats and a sheepdog and, on occasions, other animals as well, which she looked after for other people.
‘You didn’t go and find out if I was there?’ Vera felt tears well up. She had imagined her parents worrying about her, and causing them concern was the reason she hadn’t written. She had wanted Dad to feel shame at his treatment of her, make him see how unreasonable he had been.
‘I wanted to go, Vera, but your dad thought it best to leave you alone till you felt ready to say sorry,’ her mother whispered, wringing out a towel and shaking it to straighten it. Her face was serene, and Vera knew she wasn’t really aware of what was being said. Accepting the cup of tea her sister Netta offered, she wondered with rising irritation when one of them would be interested enough to ask where she had been.
‘Are you staying home now?’ her father asked gruffly.
‘No, I’m not staying with a family which cares so little, and I’m certainly not going to apologise for doing nothing at all!’
‘Will you have a bit of cake with your tea?’ her mother asked politely, continuing to deal with the washing.
Vera shook her head. ‘Best I don’t stay, Mam. I have a train to catch.’
‘A train?’ Her mother frowned.
At last she’s going to ask me where I’ve been, Vera thought, wondering how much she would tell them all.
‘Time for a bite to eat?’ her mother asked, dashing her hope of a belated show of interest.
‘Next time, Mam,’ she replied, standing to leave.
‘Yes, you must come again. We miss you, Vera, love.’
Sadness overwhelmed Vera and she hugged her tiny, vague mother and nodded towards her father. So much for the welcome of the prodigal, she thought bitterly.
‘Where are you going then, if you aren’t with Auntie Kitty?’ her father asked.
At last! But the question was too late. She hid her disappointment, the hurt showing only in the tightness of her jaw. ‘I’ve got a job and a temporary address. I might write when I get something permanent,’ she said casually. As she hugged her sisters, her mother took the towels she had washed, rinsed and put to dry back in the water and began washing them all over again.
‘You can stay if you want to,’ her father said.
She was tempted, not by a need to be home and a part of her family, but by knowing she ought to be there to help her mother. She was the oldest daughter and had a duty to support the rest. But she had only to think of sharing a bedroom with her four sisters, and recall the fight for the kitchen sink and some precious privacy for washing herself, to mentally flee from the idea of returning.
The doctor’s surgery was open and she went in and sat to await her turn. The doctor was sympathetic when she asked if there was any help available for her mother, and he explained that he visited her as often as he could.
‘The trouble is your father,’ he said.
‘Surprise, surprise! When is the trouble not my father?’
‘He refuses to accept that there is a problem and won’t take advice.’
‘Surprise again!’ She looked away from the doctor and asked, ‘Would it help my mother if I stay? I find my father impossible to live with and I’ve moved away. I feel guilty, wondering if my staying would be best for her.’ She held her breath as she waited for his reply. Please make it easy for me to go, she prayed.
‘You have four sisters and they all do what they can and, to be truthful, there isn’t much anyone can do. There are tablets, which I’m told your father throws on the fire, and apart from making sure she is safe from danger, doing everything you can to prevent accidents, all we have left is a home for the elderly and the, er — the sick.’ He hesitated to say the ‘mentally ill’. Mr Matthews was almost certainly not the only one to refuse to accept that evaluation. ‘Your father won’t agree to that either.’
‘I think he’d consider sending her away as his failure.’
‘Where are you living?’ he asked.
‘I’ve got a job in a beach café in St David’s Well. I’m enjoying it. I’ve made new friends and I’m happy. But if you think I should come back home, then I will.’
‘Stay where you’re happy. Miss Matthews. Your staying will only add to the list of miserable and frustrated people. I wish you well.’ He smiled and stood up, dismissing her.
‘You won’t tell Dad or my sisters where I am?’ she asked. ‘I’ll keep in touch, mind, but I want to decide when.’
There were hours to wait before meeting Maldwyn for the journey home, and she wished they hadn’t agreed to travel together. She didn’t want to stay any longer. She needed someone to tease and to laugh with, someone to make her forget her contempt for herself. She wondered what Maldwyn was doing and whether his homecoming had been more pleasant than her own.
* * *
Maldwyn had pushed open the back door and called to Winifred. He no longer called her Mam, as in the early days of her marriage to his father, and unable to decide on an alternative he called. ‘Hi there, it’s me, Maldwyn
.’
‘“Hi there”, indeed. You sound like one of those American soldiers. Nice boys they are mind, so friendly, and such manners you’d never believe!’ she chattered as she came forward and hugged him and took the bag he was carrying, adding, ‘There’s lovely it is to see you, Maldwyn. Is this the washing I asked you to bring?’
Embarrassed, tearful, unable to cope with the first few moments, Winifred was glad she had the clothes to deal with. Giving him a cup of tea and a few biscuits, she busied herself in the small back kitchen and soon had the washing sorted. The whites were put on to boil and the rest were soaking in the big galvanised bath brought in from the garden.
She had saved what food she could and set out the table with a spread worthy of Christmas Day. After they had eaten, replete and glad to be home, Maldwyn flopped into the large, overstuffed couch and felt happiness pouring over him like a ray of warm sunshine.
They didn’t do much besides talk, eat, and drink tea. At four o’clock, while the washing blew cheerfully on the clothes-line in the garden, they went for a walk. They went first to see the owner of the flower shop where Maldwyn had worked, and, to please his stepmother, to the cemetery to put flowers on his parents’ graves. Then they went to sit awhile in the park.
There were no shops open, it being a half-day closing, but they found a café and Maldwyn treated Winifred to yet more tea and a slice of fruit cake, with mysterious contents they failed to identify. Walking back through the park, they saw Delyth, who was filling the pages of her sketchbook with drawings of children at play. He introduced her to his stepmother, who admired the girl’s work profusely and made her blush.
Near a bench a few yards away, two people were standing close together and obviously quarrelling. The man’s demeanour appeared calm but the girl was waving her arms and stamping her foot in her determination to be the winner of the argument. From their distance the words couldn’t be heard but the attitude and position of the two figures left them in no doubt that the meeting was far from joyous. Maldwyn was amused to see that Delyth was hastily sketching the two figures, glancing at the couple then at her pad as she tried to capture the scene. ‘Careful, Delyth, you could get in trouble here. They might be married, and not to each other!’ he warned jokingly.
Delyth continued to draw, catching the anger as the woman raised a hand to strike the man, who held her hand and leaned forward to talk soothingly to her. Then the girl’s shoulders sagged, her head moved back as she straightened up and she fell silent. Moments later they walked away, arms around each other, her head on his shoulder, unaware of the audience they had attracted.
Maldwyn left Delyth, who told them she had seen Vera sitting on the station platform reading a book.
‘Don’t tell me she’s home again. Vera Matthews! Trouble, that girl is, carrying on something wicked,’ Winifred said, unaware of the startled expression on Maldwyn’s face. ‘Not that I could have done what her father did and send her away from home without a thought for her safety, whatever she’d done.’
‘Specially as she might not have been at fault!’ Maldwyn retorted, his lips tight with anger. ‘She’s seventeen years old; the neighbour is almost forty. Who do you think was to blame? Eh?’
‘The man, without a doubt,’ Winifred said apologetically.
The momentary anger faded and they said their goodbyes with sadness. In some childish, petulant corner of his mind. Maldwyn wanted Winifred to ask him to come back home, only so he could tell her no, that his new life was a happy one. She didn’t, and he was relieved and a little ashamed at his unkindness.
With the freshly ironed washing in his bag, he thanked Winifred and set off to meet Vera to travel home. He asked her why she had been sitting on the station reading that aftemoon, instead of being home with her family.
‘What family?’ she said with a sigh. Maldwyn didn’t ask questions. Better to wait until she was ready to tell him. She went into a shop doorway to wipe away her tears on the pretext of combing her hair and adding powder to her nose.
They were on the road approaching the station when, hearing a voice calling, Maldwyn turned to see Delyth running towards him. ‘Will you look out for work for Madge and me,’ she began, but her voice was drowned out by the sound of an engine. They saw a lorry coming towards them quite fast. They didn’t take much notice at first, although the engine sound might have warned them of its increasing speed. The pavement was narrow, with privet hedges growing over the low wall and impeding their progress, so they were near the edge of the pavement when they realised that the lorry was crossing the road and coming straight for them.
It mounted the pavement and grew larger, the sound becoming more terrifying until their heads seemed filled with the noise and the image of its approach. In the shop doorway, Vera froze. Maldwyn reacted firstly by throwing down his bag. Then he lifted Delyth up and pushed her over the wall and through the dense hedge.
With engine screaming, the lorry careered on, narrowly avoiding a collision with an oncoming car before disappearing around the corner. Vera and Delyth were shaking, Delyth wailing almost silently. The occupants of the house ran out, first to complain about the damage to their hedge, then, on being told what had happened, to comfort them with hot, sweet tea and kind words.
Maldwyn’s bag had burst open; its contents were spread over the road and had already been run over by the lorry and a postal van. The clothes so lovingly laundered by Winifred were ruined. Leaving it to be picked up later, Maldwyn walked Delyth home.
* * *
They were all subdued when they reached the small terraced house. The apparently deliberate attack had frightened them, and even though Maldwyn insisted it had been someone fooling about, or at the very worst mistaking them for someone else, Delyth wouldn’t be comforted.
When they finally reached St David’s Well, Maldwyn knew he had once again missed supper so they stopped in the town at Bleddyn Castle’s fish-and-chip shop and walked towards the railway sidings as they ate them. Hardly looking up, their feet took them to where the carriage was parked, and it wasn’t until they were within yards of it that they realised it was no longer there.
‘My clothes! My suitcase, it’s all gone!’ Vera sobbed. ‘What am I going to do? My ration book! The clothing coupons you gave me! Everything!’
‘Come back with me. I’ll smuggle you into my room while the landlady’s in the kitchen. It’ll be all right,’ Maldwyn soothed, holding her tight. ‘Whatever happens. I’ll look after you. I’ll take good care of you, I promise,’ he told her, determined to make her feel less afraid. ‘For tonight, the best thing is to get you somewhere warm and safe. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re all right.’ They stood for a long time between the rails, hugging each other, Vera’s sobs subsiding as Maldwyn described how comfortable his bed would be while he slept by the side of the wash-stand with a jug for a pillow. He succeeded in making her laugh at last and he happily added to the nonsense as he wiped away her tears. ‘I’ll stuff it with socks to make it nice and soft.’
Voices called, whistles blew and they looked up to see three men running, jumping the rails, heading towards them. Carelessly grabbing his battered bag, he took Vera’s hand and they ran. Clothes, stained with tyre tracks, fell as they ran, leaving a trail of neatly folded but filthy garments in their wake. They outran the men and hid, panting, laughing, behind a line of trucks until they were gone.
They went into Maldwyn’s lodging house without being seen, and he spent a very uncomfortable night curled up in a corner, while Vera slept peacefully in his bed. In the morning, very early, Maldwyn went down and stood at the bottom of the stairs ready to beckon when it was safe for Vera to leave. He quietly opened the door to a morning dark with rain. She was leaning over the stairs, looking down and awaiting his signal, when a firm hand touched her shoulder. The face of the landlady showed no inclination to listen to explanations.
‘I’ll give you five minutes to get out of here,’ she said, glaring down at Maldwyn. ‘This is a
respectable house and there’s no room in it for the likes of you!’
He ran up, intending to plead, but she slapped his ration book into his hand and insisted that the week’s rent was due. As they collected their few possessions, the only sound was the woman’s impatient breathing and the rain. It was coming down relentlessly and with no sign of ever stopping. Looking at the useless paper carrier bags Mrs Prosser had provided, he began to ask. ‘D’you think I could borrow a bag or two—’ A glare was the only reply.
They stood in the porch outside the swiftly closed door and he looked gloomily at Vera. ‘And there’s me thinking I can look after you. I can’t even look after myself!’
Her response to that was peals of laughter and, carrying the assorted luggage, they went down the road, apparently oblivious of the downpour, singing, ‘It ain’t gonna rain no more no more, it ain’t gonna rain no more.’
Four
Maldwyn struggled to gather together his clothes and books and tuck them into the suitcase that was already over-full. He looked up at Vera and began to apologise, but quickly realised she was again laughing. It was still early and Maldwyn offered to go the beach café with Vera to explain the reason for her arriving in such an untidy state. ‘I’ll put a note in through the flower-shop door,’ he said. ‘Mrs Chapel will understand. Thank goodness she goes to the early-morning market, not me.’
‘I can’t serve in a café in this state.’ Vera complained, trying to brush wet strands of hair from her eyes as the rain continued relentlessly.
‘Perhaps Mrs Castle will let you wash and clean up before you start work?’
‘What’s the point if I have to put wet clothes back on? Oh, Maldwyn, what will I do? I’ll have to go back home. I’ve lost my clothes and I don’t have any money or clothing coupons to get more.’
Holidays at Home Omnibus Page 97
