A Welcome in the Valley

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

  * * *

  Fay ate the meal her mother-in-law had prepared when she arrived home, then went straight to her room. ‘I think I’ll go to bed early tonight,’ she said, and yawned to give credence to the announcement. ‘I’m so tired, there’s so much driving on this rain too, and on top of the actual visits to shops, I’ve been driving around, searching the area for new prospects, for small villages where sometimes there’s a row of good shops. It’s very tiring, trying to oust my opposition and introduce my lines.’

  ‘I couldn’t do it for a million,’ Netta smiled. ‘Go on, it’s past eight and you’ve been out since seven this morning. Work too hard you do, I’ve said as much to Johnny. Go on up and I’ll make you a cup of cocoa in a little while, when you’re settled.’

  Fay washed herself, and came into the living room, wearing a pink nightdress and a matching dressing gown.

  ‘There’s lovely you look, Fay,’ Netta said. ‘If that’s how you look when you’re tired…’ she laughed. ‘Go on, I’ll bring your drink.’ She hugged the girl and kissed her cheek. ‘Lucky boy my Johnny, and he knows it.’

  When the cocoa, to which Netta had added some fresh cream, had arrived and been drunk, Fay lay in the quiet room for a couple of hours. She listened to all the usual noises of the household: the slow footsteps climbing the stairs, the last light switch being clicked, the last bed-spring twanging out its protest. When everything was still, she got up and dressed and went out.

  The sky was still holding on to the last of the light, but rain was falling, and she hoped that most houses would have their curtains drawn against the dull, dark evening.

  She slipped over the fence and through the straggle of trees at the foot of the hill, then climbed up through the closer, thicker trees, passing to the east of Nelly’s cottage and on to where the castle ruins lay shrouded in the semi-dark mists, mysterious and unwelcoming.

  She almost turned back; the place was eerie, with rain darkening the colours of the stones and making strange sounds as it trickled through the openings and down secret gullys and dripped, unseen, into pools in the rocks.

  A long, deep breath and she walked to the old kitchens, where she intended to wait for Alan. She knew, from her many visits that it was usually at the weekends he slept there. The dry bracken and the old blanket were not to be seen at other times.

  She shivered with the cold as the dampness of the rock seeped into her back. Tucking her coat more firmly around her she sat watching the doorway. Tonight she was determined to wait until she saw him and had spoken to him. She had to know why he was here, like a wraith, instead of coming home. Tension kept her wide awake. It was difficult even to relax as she waited. Nothing broke the silence of the ancient place.

  The rain fell relentlessly and she tensed herself even tighter, trying to hear over the shushing of its blanketing sound, for the first hint of Alan’s arrival.

  When the swishing of feet through grass reached her ears she was petrified. What if it wasn’t the man she expected? In those moments she thought of the people murdered by Christie, and of the Towpath murders which had filled the papers for weeks. She remembered all the horror stories she had read as a child and the countless men who wandered lonely places seeking a dry place to sleep.

  The darkness which had seemed absolute when she had first entered the kitchens had lightened slightly as her eyes became accustomed to the light, and now, the darkness changed again as a figure filled the doorway, blocking the faint light that still came from the sky. She gave a gasp of fear. If only it was Alan, she thought, her hands on her furiously beating heart.

  ‘Alan?’ The name was a prayer. ‘Alan? Is it you?’

  ‘No,’ said a voice she knew well. ‘It’s me, Johnny.’

  ‘Johnny?’ Fay’s brain, numbed by the fear of the possibilities of the figure in the doorway, refused to accept his presence.

  ‘Yes. Johnny, your husband who loves you. I’ve come to take you home. No point in waiting here for a man who can’t come. Dead he is, love. But you and me, we’re alive and I’m glad of it. Come on, my lovely, frozen you’ll be, sitting there.’

  Johnny did not use the torch in his hand, but found her, knowing exactly where she would be, although he was blind in the dark, unknown place. He put his arms around her, held her tight to stop the shivering that wracked her body. He kissed her hair, her eyes, her lips, but she did not respond. In his arms she felt like a stone statue.

  ‘Alan’s alive,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve seen him, spoken to him.’

  ‘No, love. Seen a man wandering about the village, but he isn’t Alan. Probably that tramp that Nelly was accused of having a riotous time with. He’s often about here, see him now and then from my bus, walking about, lonely and homeless. Glad it isn’t like that for us. Got each other we have. Never no need to be lonely, you nor me.’ He tried to help her up. ‘Come home, lovely, home with your Johnny.’

  ‘Johnny, I’m not crazy.’

  ‘Far from it! Anyone who says different and I’ll sock ’em.’

  ‘He is alive. He sleeps here, at weekends. I came to wait just so I can talk to him; find out why he hasn’t come home.’

  ‘No, love. If it was Alan, he couldn’t have stayed away from someone as lovely as you. Never.’

  ‘I want to wait. Will you wait with me?’

  ‘All right, if that’s the only way you’ll be convinced. But if it is that tramp of Nelly’s, there’s an ’ell of a shock we’ll give him, poor dab.’ He put his jacket down for her to sit on, and wrapped his arms around her and together, they waited.

  ‘Johnny,’ Fay whispered after a while. ‘Why did you come? How did you know where to find me? Why weren’t you working?’

  ‘Stopped the bus and called in to see if you were home. Left it on the main road I did, dreading to be seen and reported by the nosy old bugger in the window. But I had to see you, I knew you were upset. Seen you walking through the field many times. There’s a lot I see from my bus. People don’t think it’s got eyes. Better than the nosy old bugger’s window it is.’ He kissed her gently. ‘I guessed where you were, and why.’ He held her more tightly. ‘Went back to the depot and reported sick after I found the bed empty. Sleep now love, I’ll wake you when I hear him coming.’

  ‘Johnny, you’re so good to me.’

  ‘Don’t be daft, girl. I love you, don’t I? Love isn’t only for the good times, now is it?’

  ‘Have there been any, Johnny?’

  ‘Yes. And there’ll be plenty more once we have sorted this. A partnership we are. Damn, there’s nothing we can’t settle, you and me together.’

  She relaxed and rested her head on his shoulder. He held her more tightly and felt her body soften into sleep. There was a frown on his face as he sat there in the almost total blackness, seeing only the faint shape of the entrance. He promised her they would sort this out, but he wondered secretly if they ever would.

  He turned his head and kissed her sweet-smelling hair. Was his lovely Fay unbalanced? It seemed crazy to believe that a man like Alan would not return to tell his family and his fiancée that he was alive. It must be someone who only looked like him. That would be more likely. After eight years she could easily be mistaken. Fay couldn’t have been driven to insanity by believing she was married to the wrong man, she couldn’t. He shifted slightly to make himself more comfortable, and sat, staring at the doorway, waiting for the dawn. He kissed her again. Whatever happened, she belonged to him now and he would never let her go. Never.

  Unseen by either of them, Alan crept towards the castle ruin, a sixth sense warning him of danger. He slipped through the tumble of stones and edged his way towards the kitchen. There, he slid his eyes around the thick wood of the doorpost, where once a heavy oaken door had hung and, in the blackness, gradually made out the uneven shapes in the corner. Slowly he moved away until the night swallowed him up, and the grasses sprang back to hide the signs of his passing.

  * * *

  Amy put a notice on her s
hop door to the effect that she would be late opening after lunch, and ran for the bus into Swansea. Harry and she had agreed not to risk meeting during the day, when his car would be obvious, but today he had said it was important.

  ‘If anyone sees you, we’ll have met by accident and I’m giving my sister-in-law a lift home. That’s fair enough, isn’t it?’ he had said.

  She sat on the side of the bus furthest away from Prue’s house, bought a ticket for the town, then alighted a mile past The Drovers. But the public house was not her destination. An empty house stood back from the road, and ladders and bags of cement and piles of sand and gravel were evidence of the presence of workmen.

  Harry’s car was parked in the driveway and she walked past it and went inside the house. She wore a tapestry cape which was very long, and this, plus a scarf worn over her hair was, she hoped sufficient disguise for other than the closest of scrutinies.

  ‘Harry?’ she called, and he came out of one of the rooms which gave a view of the distant road. She threw off her cloak and went into his open arms.

  ‘Amy, what do you think of this?’ He gestured widely, his arms encompassing all the rooms visible through the open doors.

  ‘All this space,’ she said in awe as he showed her around. ‘Compared with the top half of a small cottage, like I have to share with two kids, it’s a palace.’ She went from room to room, admiring the views of the green hills from the back of the house. At the side a small stream wandered through the garden, before the fields rose up to steep fields where sheep grazed. ‘It’s heaven,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve bought it.’

  ‘You and Prue are moving? But she won’t like this, it’s too far from the village. She likes to know what’s going on.’

  ‘Not for Prue. For you, and later on, for me.’

  ‘Harry.’ Strangely her only emotions were fear and guilt. ‘How can we explain to Margaret and Freddy? What would people think if you bought me a house?’

  ‘Amy,’ Harry laughed. ‘You have two children and no husband. What can they say about you that they haven’t said loudly and repeatedly before?’

  ‘Telling Prue you wanted a divorce was somehow clean and straight. But to give me this and still pretend we aren’t lovers, it – it would be impossible.’ She kissed him and added, ‘How we’ve kept it a secret all these years I’ll never know.’

  ‘We haven’t,’ Harry replied. ‘Nelly knows and I’m sure she isn’t the only one.’

  ‘But wouldn’t your business suffer if people began to talk?’

  ‘It’s only for a little while longer. I don’t want to tell Prue until I can get rid of the evidence she found. A bit of fiddling. She spotted it and I think she would report me if she had the chance.’

  ‘Her own husband?’ Then she smiled. ‘No, I don’t blame her really. I’d do worse if you were mine and someone tried to take you away from me.’

  ‘Not a chance. And as for losing business, I’m a damned good builder and people put that first, even in small villages where approval is as important as a good breakfast. Aren’t you pleased?’ He frowned anxiously. ‘I thought you would be… Amy, you do love me? It wasn’t all talk? I mean, after all this time, you haven’t changed your mind, have you?’

  ‘Harry. It’s what I’ve always dreamed about. But now I’m faced with telling my sister that I’m taking her husband from her. The reality is frightening and—’ she held him close – ‘Get the books sorted, let’s tell her soon. I can’t go through weeks and weeks of having it on my mind.’

  ‘I could take a risk and tell her tonight. Trust her not to use what she knows about my “extra business deals”. But I can’t protect you from her anger and her wrath. You’ll have to take it and take it. Prue isn’t the type to accept this easily. The embarrassment will be what she hates most. I wish I could save her that, but I can’t move away; my work is here, your shop is here. The kids are settled and it would be a great upheaval for them. It’s one versus the four of us I’m afraid.’

  ‘Perhaps Prue will leave if we give her time. I think she would prefer that.’

  ‘I’ll ring you tonight, when I’ve told her,’ he said.

  ‘Give her time,’ Amy said softly. ‘It’s a terrible thing we’re doing to her.’

  ‘I know. But I can’t live the rest of my life half alive. I want you, Amy. My constant regret is that I didn’t have the courage years ago, when you asked me.’

  ‘Perhaps the baby would still have died. I tell myself that it wasn’t the stuff you made me take that killed him, but I wouldn’t have felt so alone and bereft of any comfort. It’s over now, only revived at all because Nelly found the death certificate.’

  ‘From now on, we’ll look ahead at all the good years, not back. That way we won’t waste any more of our lives.’

  ‘Are you expecting any of the workmen today?’ she asked suddenly.

  ‘Yes, in an hour or so. Why?’

  She took his hand and led him to the staircase. ‘Then there’s time to christen a bedroom or two.’ She went slowly up the stairs, shedding clothes as she went.

  * * *

  Harry drove her towards Swansea and waited with her until the bus came. ‘I’ll ring you,’ he said, and drove off, leaving her to get on the bus alone. She found a seat, but dreams about living in the beautiful house with Harry were constantly punctuated by stabs of guilt.

  She reached the shop to find Prue waiting for her. Amy gasped. Could she and Harry have been seen? She said nothing, waiting for Prue to ask where she had been, but she only bought the items she needed and went home.

  The phone went late in the afternoon and again she felt the surge of fear and shame for what she and Harry were going to do. But it was Mrs French; would she deliver a loaf of bread. Amy said Margaret would bring it after school. Her hand trembled as she replaced the phone.

  Chapter Twelve

  Nelly was late finishing at Mrs French’s that day. It was one of the times when there were several extra jobs to be done. The curtains were washed and ironed and re-hung and Nelly cleaned the windows and washed down the cream paintwork ready for them. They had eaten a snack lunch and worked until the children came out of school, and Amy’s daughter arrived with the extra loaf of bread.

  ‘Come in, dearie,’ Nelly said as the girl hesitated at the back door. ‘Mrs French’ll want to pay you for certain. Mrs French!’ she yelled at the top of her voice as the girl stepped inside. ‘Go on, pretend you’re a caller an’ wait for ’er in the front room.’ Nelly coaxed and pushed Margaret into the comfortably furnished lounge with its fat armchairs and the grand piano. ‘Mrs French won’t be long. Sit down, why don’t yer?’ She winked and left her.

  Margaret stood uneasily looking around her for a few moments, then the piano drew her and she stepped over to it, staring at its keyboard. Giving a surreptitious look to see that the hall was empty, and listening for the continuing sound of the vacuum cleaner from upstairs, she was emboldened to try a few notes. She became less aware of where she was as she picked out a tune and experimented with combinations of sounds.

  Mrs French watched her unseen for a while, then moved over and said, ‘You have a good ear, Margaret. Have you had any lessons?’

  The girl jumped and looked ready to run, but Mrs French’s hand held her and the woman smiled. ‘Don’t run away. I don’t mind you trying the piano. Do you have music lessons?’ she repeated.

  ‘No, Mam says there’s no room for a piano above the shop.’

  Mrs French drew up a chair and sitting beside her, showed Margaret the notes, naming them and encouraging her to play. ‘Come over on Saturday mornings, while your brother is working for Mrs Beynon, I’ll teach you a few simple tunes. Would you like that?’

  Margaret’s eyes lit up, their deep brown depths glowing with pleasure. ‘Could I, Mrs French? Really? I’ll ask Mam, but I’m sure she won’t mind.’

  ‘I’ll ring and ask for you, shall I? Perhaps you’d like to stay for a while now?’ She didn’t wait for
a reply, but picked up the phone.

  When Margaret left, Nelly was polishing in the hall. The young girl was flushed with the thrill of discovery. The piano spoke to her; she had been given a magic key so she could begin to unravel its mysteries. She chatted happily to Nelly about what she had learnt, and of the promise of Mrs French to teach her more. Nelly nodded knowledgeably.

  ‘Likes music Mrs French does. ’Er ’usband ran music shops; ’er daughter still does. Alan played beautiful, pity ’e was killed. Yes, I expect she’d enjoy teachin’ yer.’

  In the window, far above them, Prue was watching them and was struck for the first time of the similarity between her niece Margaret, and the daughter of Mrs French, now grown up and moved away. There was the same rich auburn hair and dark brown eyes. She watched them walk away, then went downstairs to look through the carefully filled photograph albums.

  She found what she was looking for and went across to Mrs French. So excited was she at what she discovered, she did not wait to phone first, but ran across and knocked on the door.

  ‘So sorry to bother you, Monica; but do you have the number of the bank in Greenfield Street? I seem to have mislaid my telephone book.’

  Monica French looked at her visitor doubtfully. Prue was not the type to mislay anything. The book, she was certain, was in its allotted place on the hall table. She wondered what the real reason for Prue’s visit might be.

  ‘Do come in, Prue. I’ll have it in my book. Trouble, is there?’

  ‘No, just a slight discrepancy in Harry’s figures. I like to have everything correct.’ She took the number that Monica gave her and went towards the door. As she passed the table in the hall, something fell and Monica bent to retrieve it.

  ‘Prue, you’ve dropped something—’ she stared at the photograph. ‘It’s my daughter, Rosemary. Why were you carrying that?’