‘There’s no need for you to bother with food, Mrs Prichard,’ Sheila said, ‘I’ve got something in the oven at home.’
‘Oh, you aren’t staying then?’ Amy looked at Freddy, his eyes so blue behind the shining lenses. So much like his father, whom Amy had loved so much. Harry Beynon, her sister’s husband, would never be dead while Freddy lived.
‘I’m going up to Sheila’s for a while but I’ll be back later. Tomorrow, while Sheila’s at work I might be able to spend a few hours on the garden. What’s this I hear about a competition for the best kept village then? I’ll have to get something planned for you, Mam.’
The music from the next room stopped and nine-year-old Margaret, having heard her brother’s voice, burst through the door with a shriek of delight.
‘Freddy! When did you come? When do you go back?’ The lovely young face with its deep brown eyes and thick frame of rich red hair showed no kinship with Freddy, but affection was without doubt. Ignoring the presence of Sheila apart from a cursary polite ‘hello’, she began chattering to Freddy, telling him all that had been happening in school and in the shop.
‘Wait a minute, Margaret. There’ll be nothing left for me to tell him if you don’t stop for breath!’
Exchanging news, sharing reminiscences and making laughter out of the ordinary, made three hours fly past and it was ten o’clock when Sheila finally persuaded Freddy that she, at least, had to go.
‘Sorry, Sheila. But it’s so good to be back home and part of a family. I never realised how much I’d miss it when I signed on.’ He stood up and offered his hands for her to rise.
She stood beside him. The fact that she was put out by not being the centre of attention showed clearly in her face and in the way she snatched her coat from Freddy, refusing his help to put it on. Families! They were nothing but a drag. If she had her way Freddy would forget he ever had one.
They walked towards the village, Freddy guiding her up the hedge-lined lane which led past Nelly and George’s cottage, past the wood and almost to the edge of the old castle ruin, before turning back down to the road leading into the council houses where she lived with her gran. Several times he tried to kiss her but she turned her face away. She was smarting with disappointment, having imagined an evening of Freddy’s undivided attention.
Before they left the last of the trees that bordered the lane to her consternation she was beginning to want his kisses. More than his kisses her body was crying out for loving. It had been so long and, although she had never before felt an urgency so strongly as this with Freddy, there had been many moments when she would have given herself if only there had been someone with whom to share an escape from loneliness for a brief hour.
Gran was in bed and Sheila opened the door and let them inside. The house was dark and they walked in like guilty intruders until they were in the living room. Only then did Sheila’s hand reach for a light-switch. Freddy’s hand covered hers and stopped her.
‘Don’t put on the light, not for a while.’ Holding her hand he pulled the curtains apart and let in the weak light from the street lamp near by. ‘There’s enough light. We’ll have to pretend it’s moonlight.’
A ripple of excitement spread from the centre of Sheila’s body as Freddy took her in his arms. She should stop this now.
Somehow the warning that sprung to her mind only heightened her urgent need of him: ‘I mustn’t’, became, ‘I must’. ‘This is wrong’, became, ‘this is so right’.
She hardly knew how she became naked. Freddy’s kisses sent her into a dazed and wonderful world where she floated on the edge of an abyss that promised utter joy. His slightest touch sent her further into the realms of ecstasy as he eased the last thread of clothing from her. There was still time, her fevered brain told her, but then Freddy’s body was on top of hers his hands gently caressing her and in moments desire reached its height and then there was the slow subsiding of passion and they lay, clinging to each other like victims of a fearful and wonderful storm that had them ship wrecked and then brought them safely to land.
They both slept. Unbelievably, in a house where Sheila’s grandmother could walk in on them at any time, naked and as peaceful as children they slept. At four o’clock, frozen and stiff, Freddy woke and pulling on his trousers and shirt, he carried Sheila to her bed. She roused, clung to him and as the bed was icy cold, he went in with her and wrapped himself around her to warm her. Then she woke, felt him close to her, and the loving began again.
It was six o’clock when Freddy walked home. He let himself into the house warily, knowing his mother was likely to be up at any moment. Whether she heard him or not he didn’t know. He put on the pyjamas his mother had put out for him and slid into the cold-sheeted bed and lay for a while re-living the last few hours. After all this time, he and Sheila were together. Now nothing mattered. All the hurdles would be easily cleared. Her marriage to Maurice would take a while to dissolve but it would happen. He only had to be patient. The army service would come to an end and he could begin to make a career for himself, a career in which he could make a lot of money so Sheila wouldn’t have to work. They’d be so happy.
He would have been devastated to know that up in her grandmother’s house Sheila was crying, knowing that once more the dictates of her demanding body had let her down. She had messed up her life even further and set off a trail of events that she did not want, yet probably could not stop.
Chapter Four
The evening of the meeting to discuss the entry for the Best Kept Village was bitterly cold. A damp mist had fallen on the valley and wrapped everything in a blanket that chilled, not warmed. Skeletal trees loomed out of the mist, wintery and stark. The stage was set for winter.
Nelly and George went down the dark lane wrapped in as many layers as they could comfortably wear and they were not surprised to find seats half empty when they arrived a few minutes before the meeting was due to begin. They found a seat near the back of the hall. Nelly preferred to be able to watch the people in front of her and prepare a laughter filled version of the event for telling to her friend, Netta Cartwright, later on.
‘Not as many as I’d hoped,’ the Reverend Barclay Bevan said to Mrs Norwood Bennet-Hughes.
‘Blame the television,’ Nelly shouted, her sharp ears having caught the remark with ease. ‘These days you ’ave to look at what’s on before arrangin’ a meetin’.’
‘Hush, Mother,’ her disapproving daughter Evie hissed from the front row.
‘Thank you, Nelly, I think that’s something we ought to keep in mind for the future,’ Mrs Norwood Bennet-Hughes chuckled, and Nelly watched with amusement as Evie sank lower in her seat.
‘My Evie’s what some calls a social climber and having me for a mother cuts the growth off at the roots!’ Nelly hissed to George.
‘It’s a pity she doesn’t follow you more,’ George whispered back. ‘She’d have a greater capacity for laughter and that’s a fact.’ They both looked across at the young woman who sat stiff-backed, her hands held neatly on her lap, her expression one of disapproval.
‘An’ young Ollie would be happier, too. She promised to take more heed of him after she’d almost killed ’im tryin’ to learn to drive a car, but she ’asn’t changed. Thunder, flood, world wars an’ earthquake, my Evie would come out of it all with the same prim and disapproving look on her chops!’ Nelly’s rare anger showed whenever her grandson was mentioned in the same breath as his mother. ‘An’ that father of ’is is no better. Look at him, Tedious Timothy, prancing about tryin’ to look important while ’is only son is being minded by Gawd knows ’oo!’
Timothy Chartridge was the headmaster of the village school and very involved in local affairs. With Mrs Norwood Bennet-Hughes and the Reverend Barclay Bevan, he was already planning the competition arrangements. Knowing nothing about gardening didn’t stop him, he didn’t intend to get that close to the action, only be in a position to take the glory should they win. As a prospective councillor the publ
icity would be very useful.
Nelly noticed that the village, even on this small occasion, was separated into several camps. The main separation was between those who lived in the older part of the village, mostly the ribbon of houses along the main road, and the newer council house estate further up the hill. Those from the council houses sat together and apart from the rest. Those from the village were separated less obviously by which ever side of the road they lived. There was one exception she noticed with disapproval. Sheila Davies from the council houses was sitting next to Freddy and sharing glances that showed a lot more than friendship. Amy wouldn’t like that.
Mrs Norwood Bennet-Hughes stood up to begin the meeting and asked them to move and fill the vacant seats in the middle of the rows. ‘Come forward will you?’ She waved her fur-clad arms. ‘It looks much more friendly and that’s what we are, friends. We are gathered here on this cold evening to discuss stretching friendship to sharing our skills and facilities to the benefit of us all. I presume we are all in agreement on the plan to compete?’
There was a murmur of approval with the exception of Bert Roberts, who shook his head as if convinced already of the hopelessness of their attempt. His wife, Brenda, dug him in the ribs so he didn’t say anything but continued to shake his head.
Billie Brown and his sister, Mary-Dairy, were there and they offered the use of an old greenhouse to bring on annuals, should anyone need it. Victor at once stood up and made the suggestion that they should start a village gardening club, ‘That way, even those who know nothing about growing flowers would have help and encouragement. If we all contributed the plants we have left from our own gardens, there would be plenty for all,’ he said. ‘And what if we encouraged the children to assist the old folks by planting their gardens for them? Old and young getting together would be a benefit for both.’
The suggestion was received with delight and the murmur of voices swelled as, ignoring the calls for order from Timothy, they each voiced their opinions on how and where it should be arranged.
‘If you will all give your suggestions through me,’ Mrs Norwood Bennet-Hughes pleaded, ‘we would soon have something planned.’ She pointed at Bert who had raised his hand to speak.
‘I think we should start straight after Christmas and make a plan so everyone knows what he’s doing. We don’t want everyone growing the same things, now do we?’
‘An excellent idea,’ Timothy agreed. ‘We’ll get some letters out with the date of the meeting and a few preliminary suggestions as soon as we can.’
Mrs Bennet-Hughes nodded to Phil-the-post next, but Bert didn’t sit down. Given the floor he wasn’t going to yield it up easily. ‘And I suggest we meet here, in the hall, at the end of January.’ Bert sat down, lips pursed as if already thinking profoundly about how he would deal with it all.
‘Gawd ’elp us if Bert’s in charge,’ Nelly muttered.
‘Someone with plenty of time is needed. He does work hard at anything he does,’ George whispered back.
‘’E works ’ard? He’s hard work more like!’
George began to laugh and the laughter changed to coughing which to Nelly’s surprise and alarm soon became uncontrollable. Red in the face, his beard white against the hot skin, his blue eyes wide and spilling tears, he tried in vain to control it.
‘Stop making me laugh,’ he growled between bouts of coughing.
On the platform the three V.I.P.’s called the meeting to an end and, with a pile of notes shuffled together importantly, Timothy jumped down and came to see what could be done to help his father-in-law. Brenda Roberts brought George a cup of tea as his coughing subsided. Others left their seats and made their way to where Milly Toogood, her constant companion, Sybil Tremain, and Amy’s sister, Prue Beynon, were handing out teas and cakes and sandwiches.
There was an air of excitement in the room as everyone began to share ideas with their neighbour. Nelly had wanted to ask a few questions but the coughing had put them out of her mind. Now, as George sat gradually recovering, she made her way through the small gathering to where Timothy and Mrs Norwood Bennet-Hughes were talking to the vicar.
‘Where will the judges go, Tim?’ she asked of her son-in-law. ‘I live right out at the edge of the wood but I don’t want to be missed out. Me an’ George’ll do our bit. Good at flowers my George is.’
‘I don’t know yet, dear,’ Mrs Norwood Bennet-Hughes answered for a hesitant Timothy. ‘But if I have any say, I’ll make sure the tour of judges passes your gate.’
The buzz of a dozen conversations was halted by the loud voice of P.C. Harris asking for a word.
‘I know this isn’t the correct time, but I have a suggestion that I thought you might like to consider.’ There was the chink of cups being replaced on saucers, then he went on. ‘It’s many years since I played, but once we had regular cricket matches in the village. What about organising one between those of us who live in the council houses and the rest of you who live in the older part of the village? It seems to me that Nelly is right and we have to consider what’s on the box these days before arranging anything. A challenge match would bring back a bit of the community spirit that we are beginning to lose.’
‘The village versus the council ’ouses? It’ll be a bloodbath,’ Nelly joked. ‘Look at ’em. They can’t even sit together in this ’all!’
But the idea was met with obvious approval as men smiled over memories of their successes and women thought of the teas they used to supply so generously.
‘Can we leave you to make enquiries and perhaps sort out a team, Constable?’ Barclay Bevan was at his most animated, his round, plump face beaming at the thought, his imagination already showing him taking a century to loud applause. ‘And for the village, perhaps I can be the one to select a team?’
‘Select!’ Nelly muttered. ‘Finding twelve men that can manage to hit a ball would be an achievement!’
‘Nelly, love, don’t start me coughing again,’ George chuckled.
‘And who,’ Nelly added thoughtfully, watching the young couple in the corner, ‘who would young Freddy play for supposin’ ’e’s home? The village for ’is mum, or the council ’ouses for that Sheila Davies? ’Er that’s married an’ carryin’ on as if she wasn’t!’
It was only nine-thirty when the meeting broke up and people began to scurry out hurrying through the bleak cold night to their homes. Nelly and George waited until Freddy and Sheila came out.
‘Going to your mother’s are yer, young Freddy?’
‘Yes, for an hour, then I’ll have to take Sheila home,’ Freddy smiled and hugged Sheila close. ‘She has to get home and to bed early with having to get to work by nine in the morning.’
‘We’ll walk down with yer as far as the lane.’ She grinned as she imagined the look of disappointment on their faces. They looked as if they wanted to be alone to drool over each other and tell each other how wonderful they were. ‘All right, we’ll let you off. I want to call in to Netta Cartwright’s anyway and tell ’er what’s been said. I bet her Johnny’ll want to be in the cricket team.’
* * *
Sheila and Freddy walked a little way towards the end of the village where Amy lived, but when they reached Nelly’s lane they changed their minds without discussion and turned right and strolled through the dark lane, stopping at intervals to kiss and hold each other tight. They were oblivious to the chill air coming from the trees, touching their faces with still, glacial air and making their faces turn to marble; the dampness underfoot that rose and stiffened their muscles. Though Sheila was less happy than Freddy.
She wanted him so much, felt the urgent need of his loving draining her of self-control, and she knew that as soon as her gran was safely asleep she would again allow him to share her bed. But deep inside was the knowledge that it was a mistake, that her over-powering need of a man’s body had destroyed her common sense and she was going to regret the weakness. All these months she had held Freddy off and now, when she thought she was safe f
rom such urgent longings that sent level-headedness winging out of the window, she had given in to his pleading and her own frailty.
It was the letter that had caused it; Maurice writing to say that he was delaying his home-coming on some pretence about a job. She knew that with him there was almost certainly a girl involved. She hadn’t been the first girl and she held no innocent views on how he felt about the sanctity of their farcical marriage. He had left her with a marriage unconsummated, yet she had been pregnant by him. The irony of it was almost funny. Getting her pregnant while in love with Delina, then leaving her immediately after the ceremony that made them man and wife.
The plea to her and his family to send money so he could come home had been a moment of excitement and hope but that had soon been dashed. She knew he didn’t love her, and whatever happened in the future she would never be conned into believing he did. The need for Freddy’s love became more important and she increased her pace, anxious to be in his arms, to blot out all thoughts of Maurice, knowing that for Freddy Prichard, at least, her happiness was paramount.
* * *
Hilda was momentarily anxious. She looked at the money in her purse and realised she had spent almost forty pounds of Griff’s money. The foundation garments the woman in the dress shop said she needed had cost more than she had expected, and there was the new hair-do and the three dresses. And the winter coat from C & A had cost five pounds nineteen shillings and sixpence. Her new shoes, too, had been far more than she normally spent. She looked in the window of the shop she had just left. Nearly three pounds on makeup and she had paid the bill without turning a hair, pretending she spent that amount all the time. It was unbelievable. She went into a nearby cafe to sit and recover. It was making her feel quite breathless but she had never enjoyed herself as much in all her life.
Valley in Bloom Page 5
