Fay was a saleswoman who travelled through Glamorganshire, Brecon and even as far as Pembrokeshire, selling hats to small exclusive outlets. She carefully unwrapped the delicate millinery, pausing to admire some and frown at others, then decided to take them all on her last calls of the day.
Dogs barking made her start and when she stepped outside, she found herself staring at Nelly’s two dogs.
‘Go away! Out of here, get out!’
‘Sorry, dearie,’ Nelly said, appearing around the corner of the house. ‘Thought you ’ad burglars. Couldn’t see no car, an’ what with you usually bein’ out sellin’ yer ’ats while the shops is open, well I thought – sorry, love.’
‘Hello, Nelly. Thank you for keeping an eye. I’d ask you in for a cup of tea, but I have to get on.’
‘Don’t worry, dearie, I won’t keep yer. It’s just that I saw one of them tramps up near the castle and thought ’e might ’ave got desperate and broke in. Furtive ’e looked.’
‘I’ll make sure I lock up properly.’ Fay edged a bit closer to Nelly’s plump form, hinting for her to leave, but Nelly stood her ground, it wasn’t often she had a chance to talk to Fay.
‘Been gatherin’ sticks.’ Nelly showed her leather-cloth bag with its load of small twigs and pieces of rotting wood. ‘Want some, do yer?’
‘No thanks, Nelly, you keep it. I’ll manage fine until I leave here.’
‘Not much more than a week now, is it? Gettin’ excited are yer?’
‘Yes. But I can’t talk about it now, I have to go.’
‘’Course. Work to be done. Tell yer what, call in an’ ’ave a cuppa with me, why don’t yer?’
Fay inwardly shuddered at the thought of eating or drinking in the filthy old cottage in the wood, but she smiled politely and said, ‘I’ll do that, Nelly, when I have some time to spare.’
‘Come with Johnny. ’E often comes. ’Is Mum an’ me, we’ve bin friends for years, we ’ave. Little Johnny Cartwright gettin’ married, an’ to someone as posh as you. Can’t ’ardly believe it I can’t.’
Pulling the door firmly closed and edging around Nelly with a distasteful frown on her face, Fay walked down the path to the gate. ‘Goodbye; see you soon.’ She carried the box and put it in the car.
‘Tarra, love, an’ drive careful.’
In the mirror, Fay could see Nelly standing at the gate, a dog on either side, waving as if she were a mother waving off a schoolgirl. Irritated, Fay drove faster than usual towards her next call.
Once she had passed the turning which led up to the council estate, there were open fields on either side and she pressed hard on the accelerator, knowing it was unlikely she would see anyone on the lonely stretch before the town. It was with a gasp of disbelief that she saw the man step off the grass verge, making her swerve and stop with a squeal of brakes.
She stopped the car and got out, her irritation at Nelly’s visit, grasping the excuse to turn to anger. The man stared, pulled his scarf higher on his face and walked away. He slipped through the hedge and began hurrying back up the field he had presumably just left. With an explosive sigh, Fay returned to the car. She was shaken and had to wait a while before driving on. The hedge was thin and bare, lacking the leaves that would make the barrier complete and through it she was able to see him limping across the furrowed field towards the back of her house.
Where could he be going? There was nothing but fields, woodland and eventually hills and sheep in that direction. She guessed he was the mysterious prowler that Nelly had reported and her attitude to the old woman softened. He was acting oddly and she appreciated Nelly’s concern.
When she eventually reached Llan Gwyn, she was thankful to put aside thoughts of the near-accident and put her mind into her work. She did well, the new spring hats were popular, and she was glad she had bothered to unpack the parcel, even if the delay had meant a few shocks. She was in a happier mood when she set off home.
When she reached the beginning of Hen Carw Parc, she was still feeling a benign affection for Nelly so when she saw her walking along the road with her two dogs in tow on the lengths of rope, she slowed and waved. She waited until the woman and her straining, impatient dogs had passed her drive, then went in and unpacked the car.
As she stepped into the house she felt a chill of fear. There was a draught. Something was not right. She dropped her parcels and ran back outside.
‘Nelly!’ she called. ‘Nelly, can you come here?’
The dogs barked and pulled their owner in answer to the call as if they understood her alarm and wanted no delay in assisting.
‘What is it, dearie? Shall I bring the dogs or leave ’em outside. Tie ’em to the gates?’
‘You’d better bring them. I think someone’s been inside. There’s a window open, I think.’
‘Let’s ’ave a look out the back. Perhaps you forgot to lock the door, in ’urry you were.’ Nelly tutted and shook her head in disapproval.
They went around the house and Nelly pointed in triumph. ‘There, french winders wide open. Like me, are yer? Want plenty of fresh air? Never shuts me door, I don’t.’
‘I didn’t open it,’ Fay said slowly.
‘’Course yer did. Didn’t yer?’ Nelly said doubtfully. ‘Will you come inside with me?’
‘Me an’ the dogs’ll be close behind yer.’
The small procession went through the french windows but not in the order intended. The two dogs pulled Nelly enthusiastically and she shot inside before Fay could pluck up enough courage to climb the shallow steps. Nelly charged through the place and with Fay now close behind her, reported that the house was empty.
‘There doesn’t seem to be anything disturbed,’ Fay said, looking at the pile of boxes neatly piled against the wall of the living room.
‘Better tell the police though, you never know.’
‘Yes, I’ll call in tomorrow, but you’re probably right, I didn’t lock it properly, the wind must have opened it.’
‘Be all right, will yer?’ Nelly asked, making for the door. ‘I’ll stay a while if you like, though it’s almost dark and I ’aven’t shut me chickens up.’
‘No, I’m fine now. Thank you very much for coming in. You’re very brave.’
‘Only ’cause of the dogs,’ Nelly laughed. Her loud laugh made Fay shudder with an irritation that was never far below the surface. Why doesn’t she go, she thought, as Nelly chattered on about how glad she was of the dogs’ company.
‘But you don’t need no dogs fer company,’ Nelly went on. ‘Not now you’ll ’ave young Johnny Cartwright.’ She waved her hands at the empty room, hesitating only a moment before asking, ‘Why are you leaving this ’ouse then? It won’t suit you to live in rooms with Johnny’s family fer long, not after ’avin’ a place like this.’
‘The rent is quite expensive, and the furniture was all old and out of fashion. Johnny and I have plans.’
‘You want to live in rooms instead of living with old fashioned furniture?’ Nelly deliberately misunderstood, knowing Fay would take time to explain and put her right. A good gossip was worth trying to hang on to.
‘We want a house of our own; we hope to save enough to buy one of the new houses up to top.’ She waved up through the window at the back of the room, to where fields led up past woods to a distant housing estate.
‘Them’s council,’ Nelly said.
‘Yes, but new ones are planned, to be sold. Johnny and I are going to save up by living with his mother, and buy one.’ She moved closer to Nelly, urging her to go.
‘Tara then. Come an’ ’ave that cuppa one day, why don’t yer?’ Nelly slowly moved towards the door, sensing the girl’s impatience to be rid of her. ‘Come on, boys, time to get ’ome an’ see to the ’ens.’
Fay ran around the house once Nelly had gone, checking every window and throwing the bolts on the doors. Then she sat, still shaken by the suspected burglary, and wondered if the house was really empty. What if she had locked the house up and locked hers
elf in, with the intruder?
She grasped the long poker from under the grate and crept upstairs. When she had looked under the remaining furniture, and opened the wardrobes, and searched between the hangers, she sat down and giggled, fear giving a tearful edge to her laughter. She would never be used to living alone. Thank goodness it wouldn’t be for much longer. She would soon have Johnny. And his mother. She hoped she would be able to cope.
Chapter Two
Amy Prichard’s shop was crowded, even before any customers arrived. Around three sides of the small room, that had once been the parlour of a farm-worker’s cottage, were wide counters of mahogany. In front of them were tins of biscuits, each with a glass lid that lifted on a hinge to allow the biscuits, so temptingly arrayed, to be taken out, packed into paper bags and weighed and sold.
Of the area remaining, much of it was filled with sacks of vegetables. Potatoes and carrots and onions were displayed by rolling down the sacks as the contents were sold. Dog biscuits and meal, and food for chickens added to the scents that filled the air. Amy tried sometimes to stand the sacks outside on the narrow pavement, but the village constable insisted the path be kept clear, and no matter how she tried to sweeten him, he remained adamant.
This morning, new supplies had arrived and she was struggling with the half empty sacks of potatoes and carrots to pile them on top of the new, and make room for customers to come in and buy them. She sighed. Somehow she would have to find the money to extend the shop.
She satisfied herself that she had made as much floor space as possible and began tidying the shelves. New tins behind the old, her mind almost unconsciously checking on items she would need to order for the following week. She did not hear Nelly come in.
‘Got any of them beans with sausages in have yer?’ Nelly asked, sitting on one of the boxes placed to support a crate of cauliflowers.
‘Oh, Nelly, don’t sit on the caulis,’ Amy grumbled.
‘I ain’t! It’s just a box put ready, with nothing on it.’
‘Oh, sorry. I haven’t brought them through. There’s me thinking I’d made some extra space. Watch for me, will you, while I bring them in?’
Nelly watched her go, a plump, very pretty woman, carefully made up, and with her blonde hair fluffed out, and earrings, dangling and sparkling, almost reaching the shoulders of the pink overall she wore.
Amy hurried through the cluttered back room, which was a store as well as a living room which she used during the day, settling into one of the large, leather arm-chairs whenever there was a lull. When she struggled back with a large crate of cauliflowers that seemed determined to catch on everything she passed, the shop was full.
‘Go on, you.’ Nelly waved her hands at the impatient customers. ‘Me time’s me own. Serve me last, why don’t yer?’
Amy quickly dealt with the requests and smiled at the complaints, refused a bit of extra on the rations, used greaseproof to pick up the cheese which was cut with a length of wire, and an old leather glove to pick up the potatoes. She was quick, and neat and soon there were only two people left to serve.
‘Mrs French?’ she smiled. ‘How can I help you this morning?’
‘Isn’t Nelly before me?’
‘Not in any ’urry, dearie. You get what you want.’
‘I would like to add to my Friday order. I’ve invited Fay and Johnny for Sunday lunch and I’ll need some extra vegetables.’
As Amy opened her mouth to recommend some of her selection, Nelly said. ‘Them caulis look good. Just look at the ’eart. All fancy, like it’s been knitted.’
‘French they are,’ Amy explained. ‘Expensive I’m afraid. But in February they aren’t that plentiful.’
‘I’ll have one.’
‘It’s the war,’ Nelly said dolefully. ‘All the farms messed about an’ told to grow things then the men took away an’ only them bits of girls to see to it all. No wonder we ’ave to buy from the French!’
‘They fought a war too, Nelly,’ Mrs French laughed.
‘Yes, but they didn’t win it, did they?’
The logic of that escaped the other two and they smiled at each other, and at Nelly.
The dogs were becoming restless and as Mrs French left, Amy shouted, ‘Nelly! Your dogs have peed against the sack of dog biscuits!’
‘That reminds me,’ Nelly said unconcerned. ‘Biscuits is what I want. Got any broken ones or mis-shapes?’
‘There’s some tins of Marie mis-shapes if you want one.’
‘Can’t afford a whole tin, Amy.’
‘I’ll put it on your bill and you can pay me something off each week. It’s half the price of perfect ones.’
‘Smashin’, Amy, you’re a pal.’ Tucking the tin into her large, leather-cloth bag, Nelly trundled off through the village and home.
Amy defied P.C. Harris again and dragged two sacks outside, and balanced the caulis on top. If they were seen they would sell more quickly. At least up high, they would avoid the salutations of any more canine callers.
She stood outside for a moment, looking westward towards the house where her sister lived, behind that of Mrs French. She could see the landing window where she knew Prue spent a lot of time staring down through the village street, observing all that went on. Key-hole Kate, she had been nicknamed, years ago.
She went back inside and tried again to re-arrange the stock to allow a fraction more floor-space. She would have to do something to make more room, and soon. Harry would do the work, she knew that, but how to set about arranging it? Harry Beynon, Prue’s husband, was a builder and had agreed to knock the back room wall down and double the size of the shop, but in the difficult circumstances, it was Prue who she had to ask.
It was Wednesday and half-day closing, so perhaps it would be an idea to visit her sister. It was weeks since they had met for a chat, although they lived so close. The shop filled again and for the next hour she put the problem out of her mind and coped with the difficulties she hoped to ease.
‘Heard about the new Headmaster at the school?’ Milly Toogood asked, selecting some carrots. ‘Seems it’s Nelly’s son-in-law. What d’you think of that, then? Nelly’s Evie coming back to grace us with her presence!’
‘Are you sure? Nelly didn’t say anything when she was here. Funny for her not to say,’ Amy frowned.
‘Funny-osity that one,’ Milly Toogood sniffed. ‘Londoner come down here to escape the blitz. Why didn’t she go back I wonder? Funny-osity,’ she repeated. ‘Got one of those paper carriers, have you? I hope the string handle’s stronger than the last one!’
Amy stifled a sigh and handed the brown paper carrier to Milly, who pulled on the string handle and examined the cardboard strengthener on the top before handing over the money for her purchases.
At one o’clock Amy closed the door and went upstairs to make herself a snack. The children ate at school so she usually made do with a sandwich. She put a piece of bacon, that no one would accept as their ration as it was too fat, into a casserole with some vegetables. Leaving it simmering gently she renewed her make up, fluffed out her hair and left by the back door.
She followed the lane that separated the small gardens from the field behind, and came out almost opposite the lane to Nelly’s cottage, crossed the road and headed for the houses behind Mrs French’s large house. The houses in what had been Mrs French’s grounds had been built by Harry Beynon, Prue’s husband, and he had bought one for himself.
‘Prue? Are you there? It’s me.’ Amy waited until she heard her sister invite her in, and wondered why they were always so formal with each other. Among her friends, there were none who expected her to wait to be invited in, yet she knew her sister, her only family apart from her children, would have been strongly disapproving if she had knocked, called and walked in. She thought one day she would curtsey, but decided the sarcasm would be wasted on her stony-faced sister.
Prue was writing a letter when she went into the front room. She did not look up or greet Amy, but contin
ued working until whatever she was doing was completed. A wave of irritation passed through Amy’s face. It’s as if she’s expecting me to apologise for disturbing her, she thought.
‘Harry in?’ she asked. ‘I wanted to talk to him about knocking the two rooms into one and extending the shop. It’s far too small.’
‘You carry too many lines,’ Prue said. ‘There’s no room for some of the stuff you insist on selling. No profit either. All those cottons and pins and mending wools. How often do you sell any?’
‘Not often, but there’s many who can’t get to town and would be stuck if I didn’t stock odds and ends.’
‘They’d manage. You don’t want to spend out money making the shop bigger if you could cut down on your stocks instead. Besides, Harry’s busy now. Bungalows over near Swansea. Out all day he is, working very hard. It would be months before he could consider it.’
‘You don’t want me to ask him, do you? I’d pay the going rate,’ Amy snapped. Then more slowly she added, ‘If I speak to the bank manager I’m sure he’ll arrange something. The shop does well.’
‘It’s always Harry you come to when you want help. He’s only your brother-in-law. You shouldn’t have bought the shop if you can’t cope.’
It was on the tip of Amy’s tongue to retaliate and walk out but something stopped her. ‘Prue, what is it? Is something wrong?’
‘I’m forty next week, that’s what’s wrong.’
‘But I’m thirty-seven. So what’s so terrible about being forty?’
‘The realisation that I won’t be a mother. I’ve been the sensible one, the strong one, yet I end up with nothing. And you have the nerve to come yet again and demand help. I’ve always helped you, right from when we were children, so why is it that I’m forty and have nothing?’
Amy was shocked. That the declaration that Prue had helped her was blatantly untrue was ignored. It was the expression on her sister’s face; cold eyes in the thin and lined face. She looked like an old woman; her hair, usually so carefully set, was pulled back and fixed savagely with three slides at each side, the ends fallen from the roll at the back of her head.
A Welcome in the Valley Page 2
