A New Beginning

by A New Beginning (retail) (epub)

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Treweather, but your uncle is my client and I can’t do this.’

  ‘My uncle is ill and I am carrying out his instructions.’

  ‘But have there been any discrepancies? I’m sure any queries can be easily explained. There has never been a problem all the time we have been dealing with your uncle’s affairs.’

  ‘All I know is that I need to ask for the papers.’ He waved away the girl, who had returned with a tray of tea, and held out his hand.

  ‘This is most irregular. It will take some time for me to get everything together to my satisfaction.’

  Owen sat for the first time. ‘I’ll wait.’

  ‘No need for that.’ Mr Carter looked offended. ‘I’ll bring everything over at lunch time.’

  ‘And any calls you receive regarding the defunct account will be referred to me.’

  Owen went out, leaving a bewildered and concerned Mr Carter staring at the door in disbelief. He phoned the farm at once in the hope of talking to Tommy but the phone rang unanswered as everyone was out.

  Sophie saw Owen leaving the accountants, and, when he spotted her, darting behind a lorry and then running into a nearby lane at the side of a shoe shop. It was obvious that he did not want to be seen. Pretending to be unaware of him, she walked on, looking into a shop window, watching in the reflection as he left the lane and ran to where the dirty old van was parked. He stood there for a moment, presumably looking for her, and then went into the bank.

  He was behaving so suspiciously that she waited until he had come out of the bank and driven off, and then she went into the accountants. ‘Is Mr Owen Treweather here?’ she asked innocently. ‘Only he left behind a notebook that he intended to bring and I’ve brought it in case it’s important.’

  David Carter came out and rather abruptly said that Treweather business was no longer his concern. Not knowing what to say, certain her questions would remain unanswered, she thanked him and went into the post office for a letter card; then she wrote to Ryan explaining what she had seen.

  *

  In the B&B, the bride-to-be was trying on her simple outfit, even though the time to leave for the church was an hour away. She’d had to deal with breakfast for five guests on her own that morning, and had dropped Ed’s favourite cup. She had cleared the last of the dishes and told the two people who were staying that night that there wouldn’t be any food that evening, but they were welcome to bring back fish and chips or make themselves some toast.

  Many believe that every town, large and small, is a collection of villages. That was also true of Cwm Derw. The area around the main street, with the post office, Elsie’s guesthouse, some large, once-imposing private houses, a garage and a park, and a path that led to the allotments and fields beyond, was an area where everyone knew everyone else. A side street led to Steeple Street, where Geoff and Connie’s ironmongers and paint store and Nerys’s dress shop were located. Most of the locals had lived there all their lives.

  In the other direction there were a few more small shops, including Peter and Hope Bevan’s fruit and vegetable shop, a dairy and Mrs Hayward’s grocery, where most people bought their weekly food rations. Whenever anything important happened, everyone was involved. And Elsie and Ed’s wedding was important.

  Everyone who could get there planned to attend the wedding. There had been no need for invitations. Ed was well known, working in his sister’s public house for so many years, and all his friends would be there to wish him well.

  Although Saturday was one of Geoff’s busiest days, he and Connie were leaving the place in the hands of his seventeen-year-old niece, Joyce, with a couple of lads to help with anything heavy.

  Rachel and Tommy arrived with Gareth, and Sophie walked into the church with Ryan, who had come home again after just one day away, especially for the occasion. Daphne stayed at the farm with Owen, having promised to be at the evening celebration, which would take place at the Ship and Compass.

  Ryan hadn’t received Sophie’s card, so she explained exactly what she had seen. He said nothing to his father – he needed to talk to David Carter first.

  Stella couldn’t close the post office until lunchtime but knew that the evening celebration would be the best part, so she didn’t mind missing the ceremony. She’d hear all about it soon enough. Kitty and Bob Jennings, Peter and Hope Bevan, and many who Elsie and Ed would have been hard put to name, filled the pews. Outside, those who knew neither the bride nor the groom but simply liked weddings stood in the churchyard on graves and walls, and wherever they could get a view of the arrivals.

  It was while they were waiting for the bridal car to bring Elsie the few yards from her home that Sophie overheard something that confirmed her doubts about Elsie’s honesty.

  Brenda Morris, still in her uniform, having stolen a few minutes to attend the wedding of one of her patients, was sitting beside Hope Bevan. ‘I saw her this morning and she seemed fine,’ Brenda said in answer to Hope’s question. Once again misunderstanding what was a casual enquiry, Brenda added, ‘She’s coping very well with it, but it will get harder for her.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’ Hope asked. ‘Is Elsie ill?’

  At once Brenda changed the subject. ‘Oh, no, not Elsie. I’m sorry, I thought you were talking about someone else.’

  But a glance at Brenda’s face convinced Sophie that there had been no error. So what was wrong with the bride-to-be, and did Ed know about it? She felt the terror of past mistakes milling around her head, warning her to say nothing. It was far too late and the safest thing was to remain silent.

  Elsie arrived and was joined in matrimony to a proud Ed Connors. Instead of the formal wedding breakfast, they went with a few friends to a restaurant where a simple buffet was prepared. Sophie noticed that the bride firmly refused a drink of any kind. The crowd dispersed, cameras stopped clicking, chatter faded and people went back to their routine, promising to meet later on at the Ship.

  Ryan took Sophie back to the farm with his parents. They walked around the fields, checking fences, looking at the animals and the newly ploughed fields, and stopped at the edge of the wood, looking down at the now derelict cottage where Sophie had once made a home.

  ‘You just appeared one day, and settled, made it a home, and you’d probably still be there if it hadn’t been for the storm,’ Ryan said. ‘Tell me, where did you come from? What brought you to my door?’ he asked, wanting to hear it from Sophie herself.

  ‘Oh, nowhere in particular. I just wandered after leaving the forces.’ Abruptly, avoiding further questions, she turned away.

  ‘I have to go back. I’ve made a cake for this evening’s do, and I want to make sure it’s edible.’

  ‘Will you promise that you’ll tell me one day? Not now, or even in the near future, but one day?’

  She hesitated, staring at him, at his encouraging smile, the affection glowing in his eyes. ‘Yes, one day. Now come on, Ryan. I’ve promised to deliver the cake to Betty before six.

  Ryan and Gareth made excuses about leaving for the Ship until Sophie and Daphne had gone, then Ryan faced Owen about the change of accountant. They all looked at him for an explanation.

  ‘I’ll explain more fully when I have the figures set out to show you. Briefly, he’s become unreliable. There was a mistake in the tax we paid, we underpaid and you know what difficulties that can cause, receiving income and omitting to enter it. I get nervous trying to explain to Uncle Tommy when I’ve overstepped my responsibilities, but I think I was justified. Give me a couple of days to make out a report and I’ll explain.’ He knew the story sounded weak, given David Carter’s integrity, but it would give him valuable time to hide the transfers from any but the closest investigation.

  *

  The potato cake Sophie had made looked strange: crisp on the outside but very un-cake-like inside. It was made with mashed potatoes, a little flour, a small amount of sugar and fruit, with nutmeg for flavouring. The fat content was lard, which Sophie hated, it b
eing an animal fat. She had made the cake but wouldn’t – couldn’t – eat any. With the cake and a sponge carefully wrapped, she made her way to the pub.

  Although the vague plan was for people to arrive around eight, they started coming before six o’clock with offerings of food to swell the feast, and then stayed and gathered around like shoppers queuing at a winter sale. When the doors opened to the rest, the place was stormed and the party began.

  It was Ed’s party, but it was clear he was needed on the other side of the bar, and he served drinks alongside his sister. When Daphne arrived with Tommy and Rachel she at once volunteered to help. ‘I can pull a pint, can’t I?’ she announced, and after a few frothy disasters she spent the evening helping Betty, allowing Ed to sit beside his bride.

  When Ed was persuaded to give a speech, Elsie reached out to move his drink, and it slipped from her hand. Sophie watched as she grasped one hand with the other, as though sharing the strength. Ed laughed. ‘She’s lovely, my wife – Mrs Ed Connors,’ he said to a ripple of laughter, ‘but heck, is she clumsy!’ Elsie joined in the laughter, which Sophie could see was forced, the woman’s eyes filled with sadness.

  The evening consisted of sing-songs and joke-telling and a lot of teasing, but Sophie and Ryan seemed set apart from it all. They sat in a corner near the fire and talked. Or, rather, Ryan did. He explained about wanting to teach, and not staying on the farm, and how he was torn by feelings of guilt that he wasn’t there where his parents wanted him to be.

  ‘You have to do what’s best for you, don’t you?’ Sophie said.

  ‘You mean I should stay at college and insist my parents realize that I’ll never want to run the farm?’

  ‘No, no, I didn’t mean that!’ Sophie looked alarmed. A sudden and painful reminder overwhelmed her of how her insistence that she knew best had resulted in the deaths of those she loved. ‘I can’t tell you what to do, you must make up your own mind! I must never persuade anyone to choose. It has to be your choice.’

  A little puzzled by the emphatic response, he said softly, ‘Not ever, Sophie, love? Not even when the decision affects you too?’

  ‘I won’t advise anyone, then I won’t have to live with my mistake.’

  ‘Some decisions have to be shared, especially if they affect the lives of two people. Sophie, you know I’m more than a little fond of you. Why does that frighten you so much?’

  ‘It’s a responsibility, loving someone and telling them what they should do.’

  ‘Sharing isn’t telling,’ he corrected.

  She tapped her empty glass on the table, a tattoo demonstrating her agitation.

  ‘Look,’ he said, ‘guard my chair while I go and get us another drink. I think it’s time we talked this through.’

  When he returned, pushing his way through the lively crowd, Geoff and Connie were sitting at the table. Sophie had gone.

  He had to find her, make her talk about what troubled her so much. Was she afraid of being let down again? Did she believe he was capable of leaving her at the church to wait in vain? How could he reassure her when he wasn’t supposed to know about the man who had jilted her? Was it his family’s occupation? His mother had shown disapproval of her, but that was owing to her unsuitability as a farmer’s wife, something he had no intention of making her. He had to see her. Grabbing his coat, offering the drinks to his father and mother, he hurried out. He would go to Badgers Brook and wait for her.

  Eight

  Sophie was fighting an urge to run and run, leave Cwm Derw and find another place to live secretly and alone, as she had so many times in the past. It was hopeless to try to return to normality, make friends, find work, fall in love and settle into the life most women expect.

  Thoughts tumbled around in her head like knives, hurting her: the faces of people she had harmed – Mam and Dad, her brother Frank and sister Carrie, her grandparents; all of them shadowed by the memory of the man she had once dreamed of marrying: Geoffrey, pushed away by her bulldozing her way through his doubts and hesitations, convinced she knew best.

  Geoffrey had seen her for what she was: a pushy, over-confident young woman. He had been able to walk away, but not so her family. They were all gone for ever, and had lost their lives because they had followed her emphatic advice. By stopping her grandparents going back to their own home and taking her brother and sister with them, she had condemned them all to death. The dramatic words hit her like hammers, beating her shame into her brain, but the pain was not lessening by repetition.

  She wandered in the dark, rain-threatened evening, unaware of where her feet were taking her, and found herself in the wood close to Treweather Farm. The horizon, lit by the last rays of a setting sun, seemed to tempt her, encourage her to set off and search again for a place where she might find peace. Suddenly she knew she needed to get back to Badgers Brook. This wasn’t the time for running away, especially in the middle of a gloomy, late-summer evening. She’d be better to try to sleep, then, in the light of a new dawn, make her decision.

  She wore soft-soled shoes, light sandals chosen for the wedding, and was little more than a pale, silent shadow as she passed between the trees and headed for the lane. She didn’t make a sound as she walked up the path, and was able to see someone standing near the back door before being heard. She knew at once that it was Ryan and slid backwards using the shadows to hide. When she reached the lane she moved across the grass verge and into the trees. Leaning against the knobbly trunk of a birch she stood and waited for him to leave.

  *

  Ryan slid down the wall on which he was leaning and sat on his heels. No matter how long it took, he wouldn’t leave until Sophie came home. After half an hour he became uncomfortable and wondered if she was already inside and just refusing to answer his knock. He stretched his cramped muscles and began to move around the house, intending to look through the windows of the living room and dining room.

  Sophie had been allowing her concentration to drift, and when she screwed up her eyes and stared at the doorway she saw that he was gone. She waited a moment then crossed the road and walked up the path again, in time to bump into Ryan, who had walked around the house. She turned to run but he grabbed her, held her arms and pulled her round to face him.

  ‘Sophie, talk to me. Just talk to me. If you don’t want me to bother you again, at least tell me why. I can take rejection, but I would like to understand why.’

  ‘I can’t talk to you. I can’t talk to anyone, so will you please go. I’m tired and I want to go to bed. Please, Ryan,’ she pleaded, as he refused to release her arms.

  He dropped his arms and lowered his head, defeated. ‘I was beginning to think we might have a future together. I thought, once you learned to trust me, believe me when I promise I’d never hurt you, you’d feel the same.’

  ‘It isn’t you, it’s me,’ she almost shouted. ‘Why don’t you listen? I can’t share my life with you, I’d make you miserable. It’s what I always do!’ She pushed him aside and ran into the house. Ryan heard the sound of the key being turned and the bolt being thrust home and the harsh sounds were like blows.

  Hurt and bewildered, he crossed the lane and walked through the wood here and there without purpose. After an hour, when he was reasonably sure his parents and Owen would be in bed, he went back to the farm, but the house wasn’t at rest. He found Owen in the office working on some forms, which he put aside when he heard his cousin come in.

  ‘Hello, Ryan. I didn’t hear the car.’

  ‘No, I left it near the post office. I’ll collect it in the morning.’

  ‘Too much to drink?’

  ‘No. Not enough.’ Without another word he went to bed.

  Owen waited a few minutes to make sure Ryan wasn’t coming back down, then returned to the forms he was filling in with his careful, neat writing. Before he, too, retired, he slid them into a briefcase, which he put in the back of his wardrobe hidden under a couple of ancient jackets. Tomorrow he would meet the new solicitor and his
new life would begin.

  *

  In the morning, although she had slept very little, the house had performed its magic and Sophie was calmer. She wouldn’t run away; she had a house where she was comfortable and, although she hadn’t enough money to live with ease, she would stay and maybe build a new life. New beginnings were always hard even without the memories and pain she was dragging along with her, but this time she would hold firm.

  Throughout the summer she had been busy filling jars with her preserves. Instead of offering everything she had made to Peter and Hope to sell in their shop, she decided to take as much as she could carry to Maes Hir market. She knew that hiding away was the wrong thing to do, and she needed to be among people. Besides, money was getting low and with luck she’d earn enough to pay a couple of weeks’ rent to Geoff and Connie, and maybe find a few bargains – perhaps a pair of shoes suitable for wearing at school.

  She required very little money for food, taking what she needed from the garden and buying little more than the small ration allowance at Hayward’s grocery shop. Like many others she bartered what she didn’t want for other things and in exchange for her meat ration she gratefully accepted sugar and sometimes cheese.

  She saw Sarah waiting for the bus, talking to Connie Tanner and Betty Connors. She felt the panic that accompanied the thought of having to sit and talk to someone on the half-hour journey. She wished she hadn’t come. It was foolish to expect people to be friendly sometimes then allow her privacy at others. When would she relax and enjoy living among these lovely people?

  She stepped back and allowed the small queue to find their seats before struggling with her laden baskets and finding a seat where she could have the baskets beside her. She waved towards the people she knew but turned quickly away, signalling her disinclination to talk. Taking out a notebook, she began to browse through the almost empty pages.