A Welcome in the Valley

by A Welcome in the Valley (retail) (epub)

‘It’s what I wanted to discuss with you the night you came in – all upset. I opened the other filing cabinet, the one you usually keep locked. The extra books were a bit of a puzzle at first.’

  Harry stared at her. Any thoughts of leaving her and going to Amy would have to be shelved. He was confused. Could she have known what he was planning to tell her? Was she prepared to squash his dream of a new life without her? It would have to be delayed, no doubt about that. He hoped Amy would wait until he saw her. Hoped she wouldn’t allow her excitement to loosen her tongue. Not now.

  Chapter Eleven

  It was Saturday morning and Prue made a cup of tea for Freddy, who was busy hoeing between the shrubs near the gate. Taking her own, she went to stand at the landing window where she could watch him working, and at the same time, look for Phil Davies the postman.

  As she sipped her tea she saw Phil arriving at the houses beyond the church. He called at Evie and Timothy’s then he disappeared.

  ‘Just the same as last week,’ she muttered in satisfaction. Her cup of tea was finished and still he had not appeared. He should have been at the row of cottages where he lived with his wife and four children, ages ago. Thirty minutes passed, and Prue kept checking her watch, tutting occasionally as she stared down through the village main road.

  When her watch showed that forty minutes had passed since his last appearance she saw him, bag on his shoulder, pushing his red bike, coming out from the side of the church. She frowned. Where had he been? And, much more interesting, what had he been doing?

  Prue spent a lot of time at the window. She watched what went on, who went where, and reported her observations to those who lacked such a well-placed window. She watched Phil continue his round, and glanced at her watch again. It was the same every Saturday. Next week she would call on Netta Cartwright, ask about Fay and Johnny and time her visit with care.

  Taking her cup downstairs, she began to prepare the vegetables for the evening meal. Harry had been late most evenings, stopping for a drink on the way home. But today he had promised to come home early. She sighed. When he did come straight home he spent the evening reading, listening to the wireless, never spending time talking to her. But it was a step in the right direction, she decided. And the fact that he came home early when she particularly asked was proof that there had been nothing in her suspicions about another woman.

  She didn’t regret buying the new clothes though. It didn’t hurt to make him notice her. She had been too long in the same rut. She had even lightened her hair a little. Men noticed these things, she consoled herself, even if they didn’t make any comment.

  She finished peeling the potatoes for the evening meal, washed the cup and saucer that Freddy had left on the door-step as well as her own, and peeling off the rubber gloves, she touched up her makeup. The cherry lipstick Amy had persuaded her to buy was rather pretty, once you got used to the brightness. She checked her appearance in the mirror. Yes, just a touch more rouge.

  She wondered how to spend her day. There were a few more phone calls to make, but that wasn’t enough to fill the afternoon. The house was immaculate as always, and there wasn’t anything to do in the garden, Freddy was a hard-working boy who earned his money for the few hours he spent outside. She watched Freddy for a moment. Admiring the strength of him, the adult way he walked, and set about his work. Strong, and muscular, polite and very handsome. Why hadn’t she been able to produce a son like Freddy?

  She put on her old leather gloves and gave the brass pokers an extra polish. Looking around for something else to do, she decided to wash Harry’s shirts. Seeing washing blowing on the line always gave her pleasure.

  She put some Oxydol powder in the boiler and put the white shirts in to boil, after making sure the back and front studs were out and safely in the stud box beside Harry’s bed. While the washing boiled, she mixed the starch for the collars, and the bowl of blue for the final rinse.

  The shirts needed about ten minutes; leaving time to ring Evie.

  ‘I saw your mother coming home last night, Evelyn, dear,’ she said in a sympathetic voice. ‘I’m so sorry for the trouble you have with her. Talking to some tramp she was.’ The reaction to her words shocked her.

  ‘My mother was with Timothy and myself last evening,’ Evie snapped. ‘In fact, she’s still here.’ As Prue began to splutter an apology, Evie went on, ‘You, Prue Beynon, are a nosy, interfering busybody! You get your pleasures in life from evil gossip! Look to your own before you say any more about mine. Understand that, do you?’

  The phone slammed down, but not before Prue heard the unmistakeable laughter of Nelly Luke. Prue took out a duster and began to polish the table angrily. How dare Evelyn speak to me like that! She’s only been back in the village five minutes, and there she was calling me a liar! And she had seen Nelly with a man. Strolling up the lane with him and those filthy dogs. How could she have been mistaken? The words with which Evie had ended her outburst came back to her then. And making remarks about her sister. Amy was past the stage when people gossiped about her. Or – and the thought came as a hammer blow – or was it not Amy she meant, but Harry?

  ‘Harry,’ she whispered. ‘Harry is carrying on, and—’ this worst of all, ‘—and someone else knows.’

  She sat for a while to allow the trembling to cease, then began to make her plans. First, she went into his office and taking out his files, began to make careful notes in her small, neat handwriting.

  * * *

  Evie put down the phone and she too was trembling. Furiously angry with Prue and with herself. I sounded just like Nelly, she thought, humiliation draining her face of its colour. She walked back to the kitchen where Nelly was washing up the breakfast things.

  ‘All these dishes, Evie,’ Nelly protested amiably. ‘Don’t ’alf make work for yerself. You’re like my Mrs French. Now there’s a woman fer dishes! Dish fer jam, an’ pickles an’ everythin’. Even the little scrap of cheese ’as to come out of its paper and go on a dish. Ration’s so small it ’ardly seems worth the trouble.’

  ‘I like things nice, mother.’ Evie’s voice was quiet; she was still conscious of the way she had shouted at Prue.

  ‘I like things nice, Evie, but by nice, I mean comfy an’ easy. Evie,’ she blurted out, ‘I want to go ’ome.’

  ‘We’ve talked about it and you are staying here. Finding you out last night with a man who is obviously a tramp —’

  ‘George is all right. Kind to me, ’e was. Generous.’

  ‘I’d never have a moment’s peace,’ Evie finished. ‘We’re concerned for you and —’

  ‘Concerned! You’re afraid one of Timmy’s fine friends’ll see me with a bottle of gin in one ’and a wrap of fish an’ chips in the other, dancin’ in the street and singin’ rude songs! I’m ’appy with me life, Evie. Very ’appy.’

  ‘All right!’ Evie’s voice rose again as she glared at her mother. ‘So we do dread people seeing you in your old coat and those filthy dogs pulling you along.’

  ‘They ain’t filthy.’

  ‘They’re filthy, and so is that cottage of yours. There’s no running water except for the tap in the lane, there’s no proper toilet —’

  ‘They ain’t filthy! An’ I got the woods, miles of woods. That’s more ’ealthy than doin’ it indoors!’

  ‘Mother!’

  ‘Talkin’ about runnin’ water, I backed an ’orse called that once. Or was it Waterfall?’

  ‘That’s another thing. Your gambling.’

  ‘No ’arm in a flutter. Oh, Evie…’ Nelly threw the tea towel down onto the enamel draining board. ‘It’s no use. Can’t yer see it ain’t no use? I’ve bin ’ere less than a day an’ I’m that miserable. Let me go ’ome. I promise I’ll stay away from town.’ Then she added in a low mutter, her head down, ‘I only went ’cos you made me so flippin’ miserable.’

  ‘You can go back at the weekend. We’ll come with you and sort out things ready to be taken to the rubbish tip. That is final.’


  ‘I like me own place an’ me dogs. I like searchin’ fer firewood an’ comin’ ’ome to a roarin’ fire an’ the kettle singin’ a welcome.’ She suddenly shouted in alarm. ‘An’ me chickens! Me chickens! I’ll ’ave to go quick an’ feed me chickens! You wouldn’t like me ’ad up fer cruelty would yer? Look good in the papers, that would.’

  ‘I’d forgotten those.’

  ‘I’ll go now. Come on, boys.’ The dogs barked excitedly as she wiped her hands on her skirt and looked for their leads.

  ‘Wait until lunchtime. Timothy will go with you after lunch.’

  ‘No need. Come on Spotty an’ Bobby. We’re goin’ ’ome.’

  * * *

  Nelly walked slowly up the lane, savouring the fresh sweet air. ‘Smells better than Evie’s, don’t it?’ she said to the dogs and they pulled and strained up the slight hill pleading to be released. She untied the ropes and they jumped into the field, their long tails wagging in appreciation of the freedom after being so long confined.

  At the top of the field, at the edge of the wood, rabbits sat and stared briefly at the invaders before showing their white scuts and disappearing into the trees and down into the safety of their burrows.

  As she turned the corner, Nelly stopped. She saw smoke coming from her chimney. That was odd, and as she drew nearer she saw that her door stood wide open too. From the empty space where the gate had once stood, she called, ‘’Ello? Anybody there?’ A figure stepped into the doorway and waved a welcome. ‘’Ello George,’ she smiled.

  ‘I thought you’d never get back,’ he laughed. ‘And me with a meal waiting for you.’

  ‘Mmmm.’ Nelly sniffed appreciatively. ‘Rabbit stew I bet yer. Smashin’, George. Smells like a feast.’ She patted the dogs who had greeted the tramp without the usual preliminary barking and signs of disapproval. ‘What a welcome ’ome, eh boys?’ She chuckled and added, ‘Thought I counted a couple fewer rabbits in the field just now!’

  They ate the stew, with the dogs enjoying their platefuls beside them and Nelly studied the tramp curiously. He had on a neatly ironed shirt, and as before, his shoes were shining like new.

  ‘You look spankin’ smart, George. ’Ow do yer keep so tidy, bein’ on the move all the time?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m afraid I took advantage of your kindness, Nelly. Last night, when you left with Evie, I hesitated about staying, but when I walked down the path and looked inside, the temptation was too much. I came in, and the kettle was full of hot water and I just managed to save the fire. The bowl was easy to find so I washed myself, then, remembering where the tap was, as I’ve used it a few times before, I boiled more water and washed all my clothes.’

  Nelly burst out laughing. ‘Cor, wouldn’t that ’ave been a shock fer you if I’d ’ave come back last night!’ The gales of laughter increased as she added, ‘An’ what if my Evie ’ad come with me! Locked me up fer good then, she would ’ave.’

  When George had gone, Nelly felt sad, but cheered up at the thought of telling Netta Cartwright about her adventures.

  ‘Come on, boys,’ she said later that day. ‘Let’s go an’ see if Netta’s in. I want to find out ’ow things are with young Johnny as well.’

  * * *

  Several times over the next few days Nelly saw the tramp. Once, she was close enough to talk, but he only waved and walked away. She shrugged. If he ever wanted to talk, he knew where she was. Twice, she came home from Mrs French’s to find a pile of wood, chopped and stacked, covered with an old door to keep it dry. She smiled with pleasure. There was enough now to see her through the winter if she didn’t start on it until Christmas, she judged.

  She left a cake out for him twice, but each time it was still there after two days. She was curious about him, wondered where he was, but she didn’t brood on the mystery. Something kept him from a normal life, she mused, even if he did keep his shoes polished.

  She remembered how neatly he had ironed his shirt and decided she ought not to be quite so careless about what she wore. Perhaps if she spent a little more time ironing her dresses, Evie might be less embarrassed. She took out the two flat irons and placed them to face the fire. With a thickly folded cloth to protect her hands from the hot metal, she patiently pressed her navy dress.

  Changing irons regularly, taking the hot one from the fire and replacing the cooled one, and kicking off her shoes half way through, she finished the boring task and was pleased with the result. If George can look tidy, then there’s no excuse fer me, she decided.

  * * *

  The following Saturday, Prue suddenly felt embarrassed at the length of time she had been standing watching Freddy digging out the dead wallflowers and tulip bulbs and planting the bed anew. She decided she would go a little earlier than planned to Netta Cartwright’s and perhaps have a cup of coffee there.

  When she knocked on the door of the cottage, she did not expect to be kept waiting. She had telephoned after all, to say she was coming to have a word about the sewing bee. At her second knock, a deal louder than the first, it was Johnny who opened the door.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Beynon. Mam won’t be long. Putting clothes on the line she is. Come in.’

  ‘Oh.’ Prue looked decidedly put out. ‘I did tell her I intended to call.’

  Johnny swallowed the temptation to say that most people didn’t tell them they were calling, but asked if it was convenient. He gestured towards the front room and Prue sat hesitantly on the edge of an old leather armchair with flattened velvet cushions.

  Netta came in, her arms full of white, sweet-smelling washing. She was a small, plump woman, rosy cheeked and very pretty. ‘Sorry about that, Mrs Beynon,’ she said, her Welshness very pronounced. ‘It was too good a day to waste. The last is out now, drying lovely it is. Best day for washing for ages yes, indeed.’

  ‘Yes, well, as long as you’re ready now,’ Prue said with a frown. ‘I have things to do.’

  ‘Don’t let us keep you then,’ Johnny said with a smile. ‘Call another day, when Mam isn’t so busy. She has a lot to do too.’

  Prue stood up and looked out of the window towards the church, hoping for a glimpse of the postman’s red bike before she replied, ‘Yes, with Fay as well to look after and wash and cook for.’ She looked pointedly at the expensive and lacy underwear among the washing, that certainly did not belong to Johnny’s mother. ‘How is Fay?’ she asked, ‘better now?’

  ‘She’s fine, thank you,’ Johnny said sharply.

  ‘Very happy they are the pair of them.’ Netta smiled at her son fondly. ‘Two love-birds they are for sure.’

  ‘Oh, I wondered, seeing her wandering around the lanes on her own late at night, and early mornings. And meeting that tramp fellow, I wondered…’

  ‘What tramp fellow would that be then?’ Netta asked softly, with a glance at Johnny.

  ‘I’ve seen her with him a couple of times and I wondered if she was trying to help the poor man. I know how compassionate these young people are, but with no thought for what people will think.’

  ‘Been looking out of your spy-hole again, Mrs Beynon?’ Johnny asked. He ignored a warning gesture from his mother, begging him to be quiet. ‘See too much altogether you do, Mrs Beynon. There’s no tramp, or any other man in Fay’s life except me. Right?’

  Prue was surprised at the violence showing on his face.

  ‘Why did you come? To talk about the charity work was it?’ Netta’s voice asked. ‘Like a cup of tea? Johnny bach, go and make a cup of tea for our visitor, will you? There’s a good boy.’ She ushered him into the kitchen. ‘Now, dear,’ she said to Prue, ‘what about the new project? Squares for blankets, wasn’t it?’

  ‘I came to ask if Fay would like to join. I could take her along and introduce her. But after that outburst —’

  ‘Introduce her? To who? Lived here all her life Fay has. Knows everyone.’ Her quiet voice sounded surprised.

  ‘I thought she might be a bit shy and be glad of someone to begin with.’

&nb
sp; ‘Our Fay, shy? Never. Sells hats she does; you need a lot of confidence to sell hats.’

  ‘Well,’ Prue moved away from the window, ‘tell her I called and I’m sorry to have missed her. If she would like to come with me and meet some of my friends, tell her to telephone me.’

  ‘Very well, but I don’t think she will, she works a long day you see.’

  ‘If she ever needs a friend, someone to talk to, seeing that she’s so lonely, tell her I am always available.’

  ‘Get enough gossip as it is, you do,’ Johnny said, coming in with a tray of tea and biscuits. ‘And my wife is not lonely.’

  ‘Hush, Johnny,’ his mother admonished in a voice that was little more than a whisper. She looked apologetically at her visitor, her brown eyes rolling in the small round rosy face. ‘Children,’ she tutted. ‘Get you hung they would.’

  ‘I – wouldn’t know.’

  * * *

  ‘There’s rude you were, Johnny,’ his mother scolded when Prue had gone.

  ‘Deserved that and more. D’you know what she’s been saying about Phil Davies next door?’ Johnny said angrily. ‘She’s noticed through that window of hers that he goes to the row of houses next to the church, then doesn’t get to her house until half an hour later. Spread rumours she has, that Phil is visiting some woman.’

  ‘Well, so he is. Old Mrs Thomas! He gets her coal in and chops sticks.’

  ‘That’s not what Prue Beynon, nosy old bugger, has been suggesting!’

  * * *

  Fay was still not back when he set off for the late shift, and he left her a note, propped on her pillow, telling her he loved her, and with it, a small posy of flowers he had picked.

  His first route brought him past the village and as he looked up, as he often did, to the landing window of Prue’s house, he saw her face. He stopped the bus, tooted on his horn and waved wildly at her. Then had the satisfaction of seeing the curtains snap shut. He laughed, but there was little humour in it; the stories she spread were likely to be very un-funny if they were believed.