A New Beginning

by A New Beginning (retail) (epub)

  ‘You don’t do anything like this without telling me, d’you understand? I’ve known David Carter for years and I wouldn’t have agreed to the change for a fiddling amount like this. What’s got into you, Owen?’

  ‘Nothing’s got into me. I’m in charge of accounts and spending, and I decided we could save money by changing, so that’s what I did.’

  ‘Then you can change back as soon as you like. Right?’

  ‘That would appear very unprofessional.’

  ‘So what?’

  ‘At least let it stay for a month or two, then I can make the excuse that we don’t work well together.’

  ‘Just get it sorted. Right?’

  ‘Oh, and, Uncle, I don’t think it’s a good idea to take money out for a while. Can’t we just wait until this barn and roadway are dealt with? Can’t Gareth wait? I don’t like the risk of overspending and we need to be sure we know exactly what it will cost.’

  ‘Wait before helping Gareth? How do you know about that?’

  Owen stared at him, before turning the tap on again. Accompanied by the hiss of water through the pipe and the sound of it hitting the floor, he said. ‘I overheard. I listened. It’s the only way I get to know what’s going on.’

  *

  Ryan had booked a tutor to help him with maths revision. He had already missed several days of the three weeks he had arranged. He and a friend had also been given permission to observe at a junior school and he had been absent more than he liked there, too. With the problems at the farm and the search in London for Sophie’s family, he had allowed his attendance to drop. He was fortunate having a friend who wrote his notes making a carbon copy for him, and he was also willing to share with him all that had been discussed. These sessions with his friend, plus a great deal of reading, assisted by a helpful librarian, enabled him to keep up with the rest of the group. So it was with some embarrassment that he asked his tutor if he might finish early on the following Friday. Given extra work to do over the weekend, which he hoped to do on the train journey, he set off again for London.

  He hated appearing unappreciative or unreliable but he had no choice.

  He went firstly to see whether Mrs Brewster had miraculously remembered the name of the lady in the corner shop. Why hadn’t the proprietor used her own name above the door instead of calling the place Victory Stores? he thought with mild frustration.

  Mrs Brewster shook her head and said ‘sorry’ several times, and he left with the vague promise that he would hear from her if she eventually called the name to mind. Without much hope, he knocked on the door of the elderly lady who’d pointed out the woman who had known the family. Perhaps she’d be able to help. Memory can sometimes be completely illogical, discarding useful information and clearly retaining unimportant details.

  She opened the door wearing the same suspicious expression, mouth pursed, brow furrowed with a deep frown as though preparing to say no, whatever was asked.

  ‘You might remember me, I called a couple of weeks ago asking about the lady who used to keep the shop?’

  ‘I remember, but someone else was here asking the same question a week ago. Not you, someone else.’

  Thinking she was confused, and he was the person she referred to, he ignored that and asked, ‘You haven’t remembered the name, or where the lady lives?’

  ‘He asked the same, said his name was Geoffrey something or other. I told him the same as you. I can’t help. But I see her sometimes.’

  ‘On the same day? Does she come here to pick up her pension, perhaps?’

  ‘How d’you expect me to know that? Eh? You’re worse than ’im with yer questions. Look, go and talk to the old woman at the grocers near the post office. If she picks up her pension she’ll get her rations from the shop next door more’n likely.’

  He thanked her and went to find the grocery shop. It was closed for lunch.

  At two fifteen he was waiting with a huddle of women as the bolt was pulled back on the inside and the door opened to reveal a young woman. He looked around hopefully for an older assistant but the girl was on her own. When the shop had emptied he asked his questions. An elderly woman came through at the young woman’s request and told him that the woman he was looking for was Victoria Morgan.

  ‘I see why it was called Victory Stores,’ he acknowledged with a smile. Thanking the two women he went back to the main road. With a name, it should be easy to find her.

  There was very little time, just three hours the following morning, as most offices closed at twelve on Saturdays. He began with the Citizen’s Advice Bureau, and on to several council offices. By pleading, bluffing and telling a great many lies, at eleven fifty that Saturday morning he had managed to learn Victoria Morgan’s address.

  At the block of flats he checked the number on the paper he’d been given, even though he was certain he’d never forget it, and went up the steps. He paused at the door, preparing what he would say, settling his features into a smile, and knocked. True to form, there was no reply. She was out and he had very little time left.

  An enquiry at the flat next door was both a relief and a disappointment. Yes, it was the lady who had once owned Victory Stores, but no, she wasn’t there. ‘Staying in Wales with friends, and won’t be back for a week or more,’ he was informed.

  ‘Is there any chance of seeing her if I call next weekend?’

  ‘No, she ain’t coming back till after next weekend. I’m looking after her cat,’ the lady added, as though that clinched the matter.

  The name Geoffrey kept entering his mind. Who was he and why was he looking for Sophie, or, at least, one of her relations? Could he be a cousin? An ex-neighbour? Or a lost boyfriend? How could he ask her? He didn’t want to explain that he was in London searching for her roots. Not yet. Perhaps Daphne would know.

  *

  Invited by Rachel and Tommy, Sophie and Daphne went to the farm the weekend after Ryan’s visit, while he was in London. They helped Rachel with some work she still found difficult and Sophie made bread and a few cakes. She enjoyed the luxury of baking with fresh eggs instead of dried with Rachel using the excuse of broken eggs to make this possible. She also made fluffy omelettes for lunch and was praised by Rachel for her skill.

  ‘Omelettes with chopped chives was one of my mother’s specialities,’ she said.

  ‘A good cook, was she? Is that where you learned your expertise?’

  Sophie didn’t reply. The words had slipped from her unguarded mouth, weakened by the praise. ‘I have to go or I’ll be late for Bertie, I’m collecting him from a friend’s house. He’s always hungry and I like to have something ready for when he gets home.’

  ‘Take these,’ Rachel said, handing her two fresh brown eggs. ‘Not a word, mind, or we’ll be in trouble with the ministry.’

  ‘Thank you! He’ll love these, lightly boiled with slices of brown bread.’

  Rachel and Tommy asked about the boy, showing an interest in his school work as well as his aptitude for gardening. Sophie praised Sarah for the way she had changed her life and how much happier they both were. ‘Once they get out of that miserable room they’ll be fine,’ she told them.

  ‘That’s what we think,’ Rachel said, glancing at Tommy.

  ‘She’s looking at two rooms in Barker Street tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s not much better than where they are now, and it’s a long way from the school, and you,’ Tommy said.

  ‘There isn’t a great deal of choice,’ Sophie reminded them.

  The phone rang while Sophie and Daphne were getting their coats. Rachel handed Daphne the receiver, and Sophie went outside to wait in the already darkening evening.

  It was Ryan, asking, ‘D’you know a friend or relation of Sophie’s called Geoffrey?’

  ‘Yes, he was the fiancé that jilted her,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Why, do you know anything about him?’

  ‘I haven’t met him. His name cropped up, that’s all. I’ll explain when we meet. Not a word, though, it
’s too complicated at present. All right?’

  Daphne handed the phone back to Rachel and joined Sophie, who was standing at the edge of the chicken coop, where the birds were searching the ground for food, their bright eyes alert for the smallest item. ‘That was Betty,’ she lied. ‘She wants me to pick up another loaf on the way home.’

  *

  Tommy was worried about Bertie and his mother. ‘A little money would help them a lot,’ he said to Rachel, ‘but we can’t just hand her some.’

  ‘There must be something we can do,’ Rachel said. ‘Neither of them deserves to live like they do. I can’t believe we’ve done nothing all these years.’

  ‘Supporting Owen meant trying to forget Sarah, and when Bertie was a baby we got into the habit of forgetting him, too.’

  It was seeing the small cottage on Fern Street that decided him. He went to see the owner and complained about the state of the place, the need for some maintenance and anything else he could think of. Then he struck a bargain that the rent would be reduced if the new tenant would deal with the redecoration and general cleaning. It was dirty and neglected, and he thought that with help Sarah could make it into a pleasant home. Now he had to convince her.

  *

  A letter intercepted before it reached Owen confirmed the name of the accountant he was using, and Tommy and Rachel went to see him. An hour later, the money Gareth needed had been transferred and an arrangement made that everything had to be countersigned by either Tommy or his wife, and a sample of each signature was recorded.

  Tommy didn’t know whether Owen was being dishonest, and he preferred to think he was not. But it wouldn’t do any harm to keep a closer eye on things. Perhaps he had been slipping. Best he pick up the reins again and prepare to sell. He must try and forget any hope of his sons following on the tradition of generations.

  He took Rachel into a café for lunch and said sadly, ‘Seems we need to start making plans for when we leave the farm, and the sooner the better.’

  Rachel admitted to an interest in some bungalows being built not far from the main road. ‘Handy for the shops when we can no longer drive,’ she said with a twinkling eye, ‘and we walk with the aid of sticks.’

  ‘Damn me, girl, you’ll have me old before my time!’

  Thankful she had made him smile, she touched his arm affectionately. ‘A bungalow with an enormous garden, so you aren’t bored.’

  ‘And a field for some sheep, and a couple of pigs.’

  ‘And definitely a dozen or so chickens!’

  *

  Sophie was working in the garden. Bertie was with her and they were turning the soil, collecting the remaining vegetables for the compost heap and putting roots to dry ready for the bonfire. Bob was cleaning out the greenhouse, washing the windows with a hosepipe, until he offered the job to an excited Bertie.

  Bob waved to someone at the gate, then beckoned. Ed Connors came round the side of the house and Sophie welcomed him before going in to make a tray of tea. It was close to lunchtime, but she didn’t think a couple of cakes would spoil anyone’s appetite after the hard morning’s work.

  Bob left an hour later, but Ed stayed for lunch. It was clear he needed to talk but was inhibited by Bertie being there. When it was time for Sophie to walk Bertie home Ed was asleep in a chair beside the fire, so she left him there and they tiptoed out like conspirators.

  Ed slept through the rest of the afternoon, and it was the tempting smell of casserole cooking and home-made bread rolls warming that woke him. He began to apologize but Sophie waved his words aside. ‘I’m glad to have company for my evening meal, so long as Elsie won’t be worried.’

  ‘I’d better go,’ he said, looking embarrassed. ‘I don’t know when I slept so long – I slept like a baby.’

  ‘It’s this house, it calms people and gives them peaceful dreams,’ she said, serving a dish of the vegetable casserole, offering the plate of bread. ‘Sometimes it solves problems while you sleep, too.’

  He ate automatically, his mind clearly on something else.

  ‘I think it’s sorted out something for me,’ he said. ‘A problem that was tormenting me now seems so clear.’

  ‘I’m so glad.’ From what she’d been told by Daphne and Betty, she guessed the reason for his dilemma. He had made a decision about his sick wife and it had been the wrong one. She didn’t ask, but he told her anyway.

  ‘I was going to work to keep Elsie in a home where she’d be properly cared for,’ he said, talking almost to himself. ‘But it’s in her own home she should be. I’ll run the guest-house and employ someone to look after her. That’s best, isn’t it?’

  ‘Best for you both. You’ll be lonely without her and she’d be unhappy away from you.’

  ‘We laugh a lot. She makes me happy,’ he said.

  She walked with him back to the guest-house and watched him go inside, heard him call his wife’s name, saw through the curtains of the lighted window the silhouette of them coming together.

  *

  Owen was becoming anxious. Now he no longer had a free rein to deal with money matters at the farm, it might be more difficult to do what he planned. He felt utterly lonely and in his melancholy he longed to talk to Sarah. After ten years apart that was stupid. Whatever they once had, it was gone for ever, yet when he saw her something pulled at his heart and he found it impossible to continue hating a small boy.

  He was on his way to the bank to raise the money for the week’s wages. The two part-timers had not been a success and, now Tommy knew his side of the story about the survey, there was no reason not to re-employ Harry Sutton. He had called and left a note in the small cottage where Harry lived with his wife and youngest son, and hoped for a favourable response.

  On impulse he went into the café for one of their popular doughnuts and Sarah came in with Bertie and sat near him.

  ‘There are angels in the place where we’re going to live,’ Bertie told him.

  ‘Angels?’ He looked at Sarah for an explanation.

  ‘Angel fish.’ Sarah explained. She was carefully made up, her hair worn in a sleek under-roll and her coat open to reveal a smart skirt and V-necked jumper that hinted at the attractions beneath.

  ‘Angel fish?’ he asked, wanting to continue the conversation, something he usually avoided.

  ‘We’re looking at places we can afford to rent, and one we looked at yesterday had a large aquarium with angel fish and the name appealed to Bertie.’

  ‘Where is it? This place you want to rent?’

  ‘Barker Row. It’s only two rooms but there are places for Bertie to play and grow things.’

  ‘Not a very suitable place, is it? A long way from the school and the shops and a long walk for you to get to Nerys Bowen’s shop, too.’

  Irritated, Sarah said, ‘We don’t exactly have a choice, do we? It’s what I can afford, not what I’d like.’

  ‘Pity the old farmhouse is such a mess… We were happy there, weren’t we?’

  ‘Once! A very long time ago!’ She pulled Bertie away from his chair and he grabbed the cake he had half eaten, spilling crumbs down his jacket, protesting as they left.

  He saw her again later the following day, having managed to be near the dress shop as it closed. ‘The van’s around the corner if you want a lift,’ he offered.

  ‘No thanks. I’d rather crawl on hands and knees.’

  ‘Don’t be like that. We’ve both been hurt, but it’s worth at least trying to be civil, isn’t it?’

  ‘Why? After all these years, why?’

  ‘Because I regret how I dealt with what happened. I have for a long time.’

  ‘And it’s taken you ten years to tell me this?’

  ‘It was a mess, for both of us.’

  ‘More for me and I had to deal with it alone.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I really am sorry. I was a fool.’

  They were walking towards the corner, where Geoff and Connie we
re closing for the evening, pulling down blinds, taking in the advertising board. Connie waved then ducked out of sight. ‘Can you believe it, they’re talking!’ she whispered to Geoff.

  Sarah was relieved to see the bus coming and, although she was some way from the bus stop, she waved a hand and the driver slowed for her to get on.

  ‘Extra for a taxi service, mind,’ the conductor said cheerfully, handing her the ticket.

  She sat on the bus looking out at the gathering dusk and tried to settle her confused thoughts. Why would Owen decide they should be friends after all this time? Did she want to take the friendship he was offering and risk being hurt all over again when he let her down? He’d never accept Bertie and she would never let her son suffer a moment if she could avoid it.

  *

  Tommy went to see Sarah and told her about the cottage. ‘It’s a right mess, mind,’ he warned. ‘But I’ve spoken to the owner and she’s agreed to drop the rent if you’ll do the decorating and cleaning up. I’m sure you have friends who will help. At least come and see it.’

  They went together, Tommy, Sarah and Bertie. She could see through the mess and muddle that there was a pleasant home there for the two of them, but she frowned at the rent.

  ‘I’d have to stay where I am until it’s cleaned and I couldn’t afford two payments. I haven’t saved enough yet. It’s too soon,’ she said sadly.

  Tommy went to see the owner, and handed the woman a month’s rent, insisting she mark it in the new rent book he had brought with him. Then he told Sarah she needn’t pay rent for a month whether or not she moved in, and the deal was done.

  *

  It was by sheer luck that Geoffrey Francis, Sophie’s ex-fiancé, found Daphne’s mother. And extreme good luck that Mrs Boyd could tell him her daughter had found Sophie.