* * *
Helping Amy clear the shop was like a holiday to Nelly. There were people to talk to, the feeling of being important and needed, plus the food that Amy supplied for herself and the dogs. The work was hard: moving all the stock into boxes, carefully marking them in her large handwriting and stacking them in the store room in the yard. Scrubbing the shelves as they came down, ready to be put back when the work was complete. Making endless cups of tea for Harry’s men as they set about knocking the wall down between the shop and the room once used as a dayroom by Amy and her children.
Milly Toogood came regularly to complain about the dust.
‘Putting up the decorations for the Coronation we are. And there’s you lot making the flag filthy before we’ve tied the ends!’ she shouted.
‘Blow on it, yer mouth’s big enough,’ Nelly retorted.
Nelly still went regularly to her ladies, but every spare moment was spent behind the shop, leaving Amy free to serve customers as best as she could from the store-room, with people coming in and out of the back gate. ‘It was an adventure,’ Nelly explained to Oliver. ‘Somethin’ different. Nice to be ’elpin’ Amy too. Ain’t got no one, Amy ain’t. Except Freddy and your friend Margaret.’
One morning when the workmen had reached the stage where rubble, cement and plaster had been finally banished, Nelly was alone. Amy had closed the shop and gone into town to order the new stock for the shelves being refitted in the double-sized shop. The workmen were away on another job. ‘Waiting for the plaster to harden,’ they explained. The door to the house was off, and Amy had asked Nelly to stay until she got back, to, ‘keep an eye’.
Restlessly, Nelly looked around for something to occupy the few hours. The shop was as clean as she could get it. There was nothing to do there. She turned her attention to the small hallway between the shop and the yard. Old oilcloth covered the floor and she knew it was Amy’s intention to replace it. Nelly lifted the lino, tearing it where it had become stuck fast to the flagstones beneath. She would surprise Amy and scrub the flags ready for the new lino.
Boxes lined the wall, piled high, and she had to remove these before pulling up the last of the worn out floor-covering. Then she noticed an oblong shape pressed out by something underneath the thin lino. She tore up the last pieces and picked up an envelope.
It was dirty and partly torn open and, from the look of it, an offical form of some kind. With a guilty feeling that did not slow her fingers, Nelly opened it. It was a death certificate of a child, one day old, she noticed, in 1944. She carefully replaced the form in the envelope and rubbed it in the dirt to make it look as if it hadn’t been touched, and threw it in the corner with some discarded boxes.
She felt the sadness of the unknown child as if it were a death recently happened. She wondered why Amy with three children, one dead, had never married. Wondered at the secrets that could survive in a small, close-knit village like Hen Carw Parc.
Nelly fetched buckets of water and scrubbed at the floor until the dust and grime of years was banished. She was still at it, flushed and sweating, when Amy returned.
‘Nelly, love! What are you doing? You shouldn’t be doing that! Look at you, all hot and bothered. Come on and have a cup of tea in my posh new kitchen upstairs. Look, I’ve brought us a couple of cakes from town.’
‘No trouble,’ Nelly said, climbing to her feet with the aid of a hand on a doorknob. ‘Blimey but it doesn’t ’alf make me hip ache though. Sit outside, why don’t we?’
They sat discussing the next stage of the work, and casually, Nelly mentioned the letter. ‘It’s in the corner where me scrubbin’ ain’t reached yet,’ she explained. Amy opened it as Nelly sipped noisily at her tea.
‘Did you open it, Nelly?’ she asked after a while.
‘Ain’t got me glasses. Don’t need glasses fer scrubbin’. Got any more cake, ’ave yer?’
‘Yes – help yourself. I’ll – just put this upstairs.’
‘Probably some bill. Can’t be nothing important, not after the years it must ’ave bin there.’
Amy did not come back down, and Nelly finished the last of the cake. When the scrubbing was completed to Nelly’s satisfaction, she called out, ‘I’m off then. See yer tomorrow.’
‘Thank you very much, Nelly. Goodbye.’
Nelly untied Bobby and Spotty from the gate and went home.
Amy sat on her bed, staring at the form. Foolish to be upset. It was nine years since it had happened. Yet the baby’s face was still as clear in her mind as if only nine minutes had passed.
Few weeks had passed without her thinking of him, imagining him beside her, imagining his progress through his baby years, and his growing up. His first day at school and his first bicycle. She imagined him as a companion for Margaret and could see clearly his colouring and build, and how he ran strongly and won all the races in the school sports. How he swam like a fish, and beat all the other boys in reading and arithmetic. Her dream child had never died, but only she saw him.
* * *
When Nelly had gone, Amy did not move. The children came in, found themselves something to eat and went out again. At seven she rang Harry’s office.
‘It’s me,’ she said when Harry answered. ‘Can you talk?’
‘Trouble with the job?’ he asked.
‘No. It’s personal.’
She knew someone was with him when he replied, ‘Usual arrangement.’ Then he added for the benefit of his audience, ‘Cash on completion. All right?’
Amy put down the phone and stared again at the paper in her hand.
At nine she left Margaret and Freddy playing Monopoly with Netta Cartwright and caught the bus to The Drovers. Harry’s car was parked outside and she got in. He kissed her and asked what was wrong. For answer, she handed him the death certificate.
‘Nelly found this today. I hadn’t seen it for years. It – upset me.’
Harry bent towards the car window for light and looked at the form. ‘He’d have been eight, or nine now.’ He folded the form and handed it back to her.
‘But he didn’t live, which was convenient, wasn’t it? The second one you wouldn’t leave Prue for.’
‘I couldn’t. Not with Prue being your sister. If it hadn’t been for that —’
‘There would have been some other reason. Don’t think I’m stupid, Harry.’
‘I love you. How could I think you stupid?’
‘All these years, and I’m still your little bit on the side. I must be mad.’
‘That was a difficult time for me too. Remember that. You left me, and a year later, Margaret was born. I don’t even know who he was, my replacement. But he didn’t marry you either, did he?’
‘I’m not the sort men marry,’ she spoke sadly, her beautiful eyes filling with tears. ‘I worked that out long ago.’
Harry started the engine and drove out of the car park. He headed towards Swansea, along the quiet country road, and when he reached a parking place where many people stopped in the summer months to picnic and enjoy the view, he stopped.
‘What shall we do? Would you like to eat?’
‘Why not?’
He leaned over in an attempt to kiss her but she moved away, staring out of the window at a view it was too dark to see, looking inward at her own thoughts which were even darker. Back through all the years she had loved Harry, forward to more of the same. The years ahead leading nowhere, using up the precious time so there would be little chance of finding a new life for herself. ‘Yes. Let’s eat, and drink, and try to be merry.’
‘Forget it, Amy. It’s so long ago.’
‘Won’t Prue have a meal waiting for you?’ she asked, her voice brittle.
‘It won’t be the first time I’ve had to eat two dinners,’ he laughed. ‘Worth it every time you were.’
Amy ate very little although the food in the restaurant they had chosen was good. She picked at the trout, spreading it around her plate, playing with it, her mind still on the sad little f
orm in her handbag.
‘Not to your liking?’ Harry asked.
‘I’m not hungry after all.’
‘Nine years, love. How can seeing that certificate upset you so much?’ He watched her then added. ‘Was he your real love? The father?’
‘You were his father!’
‘I meant the man you got pregnant by so soon after. Mean more to you than me, does he? Regret not marrying him when you had a chance of persuading him?’ Harry’s voice grew louder and Amy shushed him and stared around, afraid he had been overheard by other diners.
‘Who was he, Amy?’ Harry insisted.
‘I won’t tell you. Not now, not ever.’
‘Did you love him?’
‘No. But he was caring, and kind.’
‘But he didn’t marry you.’
‘I wouldn’t agree.’
‘Married already, was he?’
‘Yes! And he still cared for his wife. I was his loving, but she was his love.’
‘Yet he would have married you?’ Disbelief curled Harry’s full lips, distorting his features into those of a stranger. He was becoming irritated. He could do without evenings like this. He wanted Amy for sex and fun, not gloom and misery over something that happened so long ago! He sighed his exasperation.
‘Yes! He would have married me. If I’d agreed. He was concerned about me and about the baby.’
‘And I wasn’t? Is that what you’re saying? That I didn’t care about you?’
‘You left me alone to face it. And the baby, our baby, he died, didn’t he?’
Harry looked at her curiously as a thought filled his mind. ‘This man who cared so much, yet didn’t marry you. Was that how you got the money for the shop?’
‘Damn you! I won’t be questioned! You’ve no right! I’m not tied to you in any way. Had your chance for that twice but you hadn’t the guts. Twice you left me to fend for myself. Opt for safety every time you do, Harry Beynon. No guts! Call yourself a man? You, you left me to face it all, twice!’ She stood up and, taking her duster coat from the clothes stand, left the restaurant, her throat tight with her determination not to cry. Harry hurriedly paid the bill and ran after her. She was standing beside the car and when he opened it, she got in without a word.
‘Come on, Amy. We needn’t quarrel.’ He tried to kiss her, and put his arms around her but she fended him off with surprising vehemence.
‘Take me home, Harry. You’re unfeeling and callous. I hate you for your lack of understanding.’
Something about her fury prevented him from trying again to calm her. Instead he asked coldly, ‘True about the shop then, was it? Paid you off, did he, this caring, kind man? You’ve had more than that from me, Amy. Years of fun and excitement. Yes, that’s what you need more than caring and kindness. Sex and fun, and a bit of illicit excitement. Forbidden fruits is what you enjoy, not marriage, or you wouldn’t have stayed with me all these years without any persuasion for me to divorce Prue and marry you. The other woman is your role, Amy, not the quiet, faithful wife!’
Amy slapped him hard, and he gasped at the pain of it. Then the slaps and punches came fast and he held out his hands to stop them reaching their target. She growled in rage and fury, kicked, and hit out, and grabbed his protective hand and bit it until she tasted the saltiness of his blood.
The one-sided fight went on longer than he expected. Each time he thought she was calming down, anger flooded through her and she attacked him again. It was useless to try and hold her off and finally, out of desperation, he opened the car door and got out. He was panting with the shock of it as he stood in the shadow of the restaurant wall.
The car had been parked in the darkest part of the car-park. He was trying to bandage his bleeding hand with a handkerchief when he heard the car start. Too late, he ran towards it to stop her. The car backed dangerously close to him and roared out into the road. Harry was left, swearing, feeling in his pockets for a coin to ring for a taxi. For a brief moment, his anger was so great he was tempted to ring the police and report his car stolen. But he did not.
The following weeks were miserable for Harry. He missed Amy more than he had imagined. Her light-hearted ways had become dear to him. He wondered if he could leave Prue. The upheaval would be enormous and he would have to contend with weeks and months of upsets. Harry was not a man to cope with upsets and he knew it. Perhaps if he waited until Amy had calmed down, they might revert to the pleasant life again.
He tried several times to see her but she refused. On the pretext of examining the work in the shop, he called during the hours when it was open, but she treated him coldly and in a purely business-like manner, giving no hope of a return to their previous relationship.
After spending a few hours in his office one evening towards the middle of May, on a hard chair reading a boring book about an amateur thief and an unbelievably inept detective, Harry went home early.
‘Prue,’ he said, ‘are you still willing to help with the books? I’m sick of working all the hours I do. If you would help I could be here with you more of the time. Like that would you?’
Prue was pleased. But all she said was, ‘If you like. I’ll start now, shall I? You’ll have to go through them so I follow your methods.’
Having Prue attending to his book-keeping, which she did well, meant Harry could arrive home early each evening without having to explain why he had not done so in the past. But it also meant he had even more time to kill.
He missed Amy terribly and one day, out of desperation to fill the empty hours, he called to see Barclay Bevan and offered his services to assist with the forthcoming Coronation party. His muscle and his lorry were both gratefully accepted.
* * *
The houses along the main road were decorated with flags and flowers and a few odd items, like draped curtains in the appropriate colours on Milly Toogood’s chimney, and red, white and blue fish on the chip-shop window. Rosettes sprouted on Johnny’s bus, the church door and lych gate were both surrounded with flowers and the vicar was not pleased, until he discovered it was his wife’s work.
Nelly was not to be outdone. She wound red string and white string around her gate and added some blue sugar bag paper to complete the effect. Her windows were bright, being criss-crossed with twists of crepe paper and a few doilies she had bought in town.
Amy’s shop window was like a shield, with crepe paper forming a frame for a large photograph of Queen Elizabeth. Everyone made an effort and the village was a colourful sight.
It was a perfect excuse for Amy to overdo the cheerfulness she had showed to everyone since parting from Harry. She was determinedly happy. She sang as she worked, gathering smiles from all her customers. Nelly was the object of her generosity as Amy sorted out and discarded clothes which she associated with Harry. She also gave her some tins which had been in the shop a long time and showed no signs of becoming suddenly popular.
‘Here you are, Nelly, take some of these home with you. Some sound a bit fancy, but they’ll probably be all right. Tinned melon. How does that strike you, eh?’ She threw the slightly scruffy tin to Nelly who caught it and nodded enthusiastically.
‘Bit of rust on the top but I’ll open it upside down. Do me a treat that will. Ta, Amy. You’re a good sort.’
Amy shuddered dramatically. ‘God, that sounds awful! A good sort. It’s what you say about someone when there’s really nothing good to say!’
‘That’s not what I meant at all,’ Nelly protested. ‘Wish I could say my Evie’s a good sort. Always on at me she is. Bought me a new dress last week and keeps askin’ why I don’t wear it. It’s pink! I ask yer. When am I goin’ to wear a dress what’s pink? Feedin’ me chickens?’
‘Handy if the Queen invites you to the Coronation, Nelly,’ Amy laughed, her necklace and earrings sparkling in the sun which shone through the open door.
‘Hope this sun keeps shinin’,’ Nelly said. ‘I don’t think me sugar bags’ll stand too much rain.’
Which ma
de Amy laugh even louder as Nelly explained.
A group of people came out of the church hall almost opposite the shop and Amy and Nelly waved to them.
‘Bin to another meetin’ about the party, they ’ave,’ Nelly said. ‘Plannin’ Committee they calls themselves.’
‘Monica French and my sister seem close friends lately. I wonder what they have in common?’
‘Not a lot, I should think. Real lady is Mrs French. Ooo, sorry. I didn’t mean —’
‘I know what you mean, Nelly. My sister has money but she hasn’t been brought up to it.’
‘Yes. You can certainly put things in the right words. Never could meself. Always comin’ out wrong.’
The two women in question came across the road and into the shop. Nelly hurried back into the store room to sort out the last of the stock as she had been instructed.
Later, as she collected her dogs and the bag of tins Amy had given her, Johnny walked through the shop and out into the yard.
‘Leave that, Nelly. I’ll bring it up for you later. There’s more tins in the shop for you. I’ll bring those as well.’
‘Oo ta, Johnny. Bring ’em up on yer bus, will yer?’ she laughed. ‘Kind of Amy, ain’t it? Amy’s a good – Amy’s a kind ’earted woman. That’s what she is.’
* * *
The population of the village was expected to almost double during the day of the party and preparations for the visitors meant that the lane which passed Nelly’s cottage was well used. She enjoyed the unusual activity, waving at people as they passed and watching the cars driving to and from the castle with items for the various tents and stalls to be built.
Some of the children called to see the chicks, now spiky with feathers appearing through the soft down. She knew that Oliver was asked to give a regular report on their progress and the small importance was helping him overcome his shyness. Teasing was less now his grandmother was no longer merely Dirty Nelly, but the woman with the chicks.
A Welcome in the Valley Page 8
