‘There’s nice you look, Sheila. I’ll have to find something smart to wear or I’ll be in your shadow, won’t I?’ Bethan smiled. ‘Yes, I’ll meet you outside the shop, shall I?’
It was arranged, and Sheila ran back up the lane and across the road to catch the bus to Llan Gwyn and spend a boring day trying to sell gifts to people still recovering from the spending spree of Christmas.
Bethan went inside and looked through her limited collection of clothes to try and find something suitable to go out with Sheila without being swamped by the girl’s elegance. Bethan would love to be elegant but was convinced it was a skill you were born with and couldn’t learn.
* * *
When Sheila saw her friend waiting for her outside the shop that evening she found it difficult not to laugh. Bethan was wearing a duffel coat with a small felt hat on her head, half-covered by the hood. Her face was flushed with the cold and she clutched a handkerchief in her red and swollen hands like a talisman. Really, what was she doing bothering with this girl? Then she remembered the alternative: to go home and sit listening to the radio with her gran.
She combed her hair and carefully pulled the red-lined hood over it, checked her makeup for the third time and went out to greet Bethan. ‘Have you decided where to go?’ she asked. Silently she thought they ought to go somewhere and hide with Bethan looking like she did.
‘Pictures,’ Bethan said at once. ‘White Christmas is on with Bing Crosby. Hurry up, I’m frozen.’
‘So am I,’ Sheila said, then added sharply, ‘but there’s no need to look it!’
The queue for the pictures was long and they looked at it in dismay. The other cinemas would be the same.
‘A coffee?’ Sheila said resignedly.
The cafe was warm and fairly crowded, but Sheila found a seat while Bethan stood hesitantly at the door. The table she chose was facing the door and the two women who were sitting there moved up for them, dragging bags of shopping from under the table with amiable smiles.
‘Two coffees, Bethan, please,’ Sheila said in her high pitched voice, ‘and a pork roll.’ She slipped the hood from her head and slowly lowered the coat from her shoulders.
Bethan stood trying to catch the eye of the waitress, then gave their order and sat beside Sheila. She took off her duffel coat and under it, Sheila saw with surprise, she wore a glittery jumper that flattered her figure surprisingly.
‘Amy gave it to me after it had shrunk,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve never dared wear it before.’
‘It suits you really well,’ Sheila said kindly, thinking how much better it would look on her.
The shoppers gradually dispersed and the clientele changed to those preparing to go out for the evening. Three boys about nineteen came in, and seeing the two girls sidled over and sat at a table close to them. They were soon bantering and teasing, and before Bethan could think to object, they were invited to join the boys at a nearby pub.
‘I don’t think – they’re a bit young, aren’t they?’ Bethan protested.
‘They don’t think so, come on.’
There was a fire in the bar-room and the girls took off their coats and sat between the three boys, who plied them with drinks. During the conversation they learnt that the boys were in the army and on leave. She gestured for Bethan to follow her to the lavatories and told her, ‘No money, long absences. Come on, let’s go.’
The boys followed them out, pleading for them to stay, promising them a meal later. When this was revealed to be fish and chips, both girls burst into laughter.
It was as they were trying to explain their amusement that Johnny saw them. He ran across the road and pulled Sheila aside.
‘Maurice is back!’ he said. ‘Just seen him coming out of the station. I couldn’t stop, driving the bus I was, see. But it was him all right.’
‘When? Are you sure?’ Sheila looked at him almost accusingly, convinced that it was either a mistake or a malicious joke.
‘I wouldn’t make a mistake, not about Maurice. It was him all right, coming out of the station. I’m off home now to tell Ethel. There’s excited she’ll be.’
‘There was a letter from him this morning, probably to tell her he was coming after all,’ Sheila spoke in a daze.
She would have to write to Freddy, tell him it was over, that her husband had returned to her. Eyes shining, she said to Bethan, ‘Sorry, Bethan, but I have to go. My husband will expect me to be there to welcome him.’ Her heart increased its pumping at the prospect of that reunion. Tonight she would have some real loving, at last.
She ran most of the way up Sheepy Lane, hurrying past Ethel’s cottage, convinced that Maurice would be at Gran’s, standing there, sturdy and handsome, ready to beg her forgiveness and with love for her shining in his beautiful hazel eyes.
The house was in darkness. Gran had obviously gone to bed. Disappointment hit her like a thin steel blade in her midriff. He wasn’t there. Gran would never have gone to bed and left him. She stood at the door, shivering in the bitterly cold night air but hardly aware of the discomfort. What should she do? Was he at his mother’s? Surely Ethel Davies wouldn’t keep him from her? She took a few steps towards the gate, then returned to the door, undecided whether to go in and wait or run down to the cottage at the end of Sheepy Lane.
It was the coldness that decided her. That first sight of her was important. Standing outside his mother’s door, her nose red and eyes smarting against the frostiness of the night, well, it wouldn’t show her at her best. She pushed the key into the lock and stepped inside.
It wasn’t much warmer in the hall and she hurried through to turn on the electric fire in the living room. Still in her coat, she kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet up inside it as she sat in the armchair and began to make her plans.
He might be here at any minute. She ought to get into something alluring. Alluring, she tried out the word again, that was how she wanted him to see her first. She left the fire after a few minutes, afraid to linger any longer, half imagining she could hear his footsteps approaching the house. She took the fire up to her bedroom and plugged it in, and in its thawing warmth, she undressed.
The night dress and matching negligee she had bought for her wedding night were still in the tissue paper where she had replaced them after Maurice had left her. She took them out and shook them from their folds. Shimmering in the yellow firelight they were more beautiful than she had remembered: white satin, insets of delicate lace. The full length figure-hugging night dress was matched by a slightly fuller skirted negligee on which embroidery was added to the lacy splendour. Seed pearls decorated the bodice in a floral pattern that was repeated at the waist. Slowly, ignoring the iciness of the touch, she slipped them on.
The room was cold but she refused to add anything that would detract from the vision she could see in the small mirror on her dressing table. Even though she was alone, she needed to feel glamorous, expecting any moment that knock on her door to announce the arrival of Maurice. The glow from the fire touched the ceiling with gold. She had turned out the over-head light and now she basked in its radiance, picturing Maurice here beside her, his arms opening, his eyes filled with regret for the wasted months.
When she finally eased herself out of the dream for long enough, she glanced at the clock and saw it was after midnight. The shock brought tears to her eyes. Johnny had been teasing, or mistaken. It hadn’t been Maurice he’d seen. If it had been, he would have come straight here to his wife, wouldn’t he?
* * *
Maurice had caught a bus at about the time Johnny told Sheila he had seen him. He jumped off the bus near Amy’s shop with a brief glance towards the flat where his parents-in-law lived and ran across the road. He hid his suitcase in the trees and walked up Sheepy Lane, hoping not to meet anyone he knew. Trilby tilted down to shadow his face, he walked swiftly past his mother’s cottage where, even on a cold night like this, the door stood ajar and voices, laughing and talking, came to him on the still air.
There were still a few Christmas trees to be seen in the windows of the houses he passed as he walked up through the council houses. Through open curtains he glanced into the lit rooms and saw streamers of coloured paper bedecked with sparkling ornaments and balloons, evidence of the celebration just coming to an end and of some families’ reluctance to let it go.
He didn’t go to the house where Sheila lived with her gran but to Delina Honeyman’s home. It was thoughts of Delina that had prevented him from settling to the new life Australia offered, that and the homesickness that kept him awake at night. He wished he had stayed and faced the old biddies in the village and refused to let Delina go. Why had he been so weak? He wouldn’t make that mistake again. It wasn’t too late, it couldn’t be too late. Delina would still love him. It was that thought that had refused to leave his mind since his voluntary exile.
There was no light showing in her window but he remembered the thickness of the curtains and guessed that behind them the room was occupied. His heart was racing now that he was close to her. He had only to knock on the door and wait and she would open it and see him and… and all his misery would be ended.
He raised his hand to lift the knocker but, at that moment, he heard someone approaching, talking and laughing. A couple, just like he and Delina would soon be. He was aware of the slowness of their progress and guessed they were lovers, reluctant to end the blissful solitude of the walk home. He lifted his hand to the knocker and again he hesitated. He would wait until they passed. But they didn’t pass. The couple stopped at the gate and in the faint light from the street lamp he tried to recognise them. The gate began to move and he slipped away into the darkness of a corner and watched.
Delina he recognised at once. He smiled at how wrong he had been. Lovers! More likely to be Delina and her brother talking and walking slowly simply because of the hill. But it wasn’t her brother. He saw them kiss and then Delina reached out and opened the door and they both went inside. Delina and Tad! How dare he. He’d make the little man pay, oh yes he would.
Maurice stood for a long time, the cold eating into his bones, but Tad didn’t come out. He was tired and very hungry but he couldn’t leave, not without making certain of what he had seen. Then he would go – but where? He hadn’t thought further than seeing Delina, asking her to come back to him and sorting everything out so they could be together.
He didn’t move as the door opened two hours later and he watched as Delina and Tad kissed again, then waited as Tad walked away, short hurried footsteps taking him down the hill to where his daughter was being looked after by Nelly and George.
Only when the footsteps had faded and the door had been closed and bolted did he move. Then he went to his mother’s house and asked for food and a bed.
In the house on St Illtyd’s Road, high above the small cottage where he finally slept, Sheila sat on her bed, dozing and waiting, hope fading but never quite extinguished.
* * *
Ethel Davies rose early. On this morning she made sure her son rose, too.
‘Come on, Maurice love, it’s time you went to see your Sheila. It would be unfair if she learnt that you were home from someone else.’
‘Later, Mam. There’s something I’ve got to get sorted first.’
‘I’d have thought you’d had plenty of time for getting things sorted! Go and see your wife. If you’ve any kind of life ahead of you you must go and talk things over with her.’
‘How is Delina?’ he asked, dreading his mother’s reply.
‘Well enough and happy. She was here at Christmas and she and Tad Simmons announced their engagement. We’re all pleased for them both.’ Her dark eyes watched her son, trying to make the words sound casual, knowing they would hurt but knowing too that they had to be said.
‘She’s going to marry Tad?’
‘Why not? He needs someone to look after him and that daughter of his, and they are well suited.’
‘What about her brothers? She shouldn’t be thinking of leaving them now her mother’s gone.’
‘We can’t live for other people all our lives, and from what I gather Victor might be giving them a step-mother before very long. Delina has her own life to live.’
‘She loved me, Mam.’
‘Love can die and it can be killed. Sheila had more right to your name than Delina. Go now and see Sheila, you’ll catch her before she leaves for work.’
‘I’m going to see Johnny. I’ll see Sheila when she gets home.’
‘Have some breakfast before you…’ but he had grabbed a coat and was gone.
* * *
Phil-the-post usually called in to his mother’s house for a second breakfast. He found Ethel sitting staring into space and no kettle on the boil.
‘Mam? You all right, love?’ he asked, throwing down his bag and pushing the kettle over the fire. ‘A bad night, was it?’
‘An even worse morning,’ Ethel said, rousing herself and reaching for the loaf to cut some bread for his toast. ‘Our Maurice is back.’
‘But that’s great! Where is he? Still in bed? Lazy sod, I’ll soon get him out of there, a glass of cold water will do the trick.’
‘He’s gone out. He hasn’t been to see Sheila and from the little he’s told me, he doesn’t much want to.’
‘Still after that Delina, is he? Well that’s soon sorted, tell him she’s going to marry Tad.’
‘He knows.’ She held the thick slice of bread in front of the fire until it browned, then spread it thickly with butter and handed it to him. ‘And from the look on his face he isn’t greatly pleased.’
Phil went on his way after trying to reassure his mother that a few weeks would see the end of Maurice’s misery. He told everyone he met and, although there was no letter for Nelly, he went down her path to be greeted by the barking dogs and the chorus of chortling chickens and told her, too.
‘When’s the party?’ she asked, passing him a plate of cakes. ‘Your mam’ll ’ave a party to welcome ’im back like the prodigal son, won’t she?’
‘Between you and me and the gatepost, Nelly, I’m not sure Maurice is in the mood for parties. I think he expected to come home to Delina and finding out she’s promised to Tad, well, it’s put him in a bit of a mood, like. Not a word, though, best let him sort it out for himself without everyone knowing.’
‘I’ll only tell as many as you’ve told, Phil,’ she laughed.
‘That’s it then, half the village’ll know by dinner time!’ he groaned. ‘Got any more of them cakes?’
‘Young Dawn was ’ere last night while Tad took Delina out for ’er birthday. She ate most of ’em, but there’ll be some more ready fer tomorrer.’
* * *
Wednesday was half day for Sheila and she usually stayed in town for a while to do some shopping. Today she wanted to hide. Three people she met asked about Maurice and, unable to admit that as yet she hadn’t seen him, she was forced to hurry on and pretend she was shopping for his dinner. Almost without intending to, she bought a joint of beef and some vegetables as if the dinner was a reality. She stepped off the bus with two heavily laden bags, ignored her mother calling her from the doorway of Amy’s shop, and hurried home.
She went in hoping against hope that Maurice would be there or would have left a message for her, but there was only Gran sitting in front of the fire reading a library book.
It was only half past three yet there was need for a light as she set about preparing to cook the meal. She did too many vegetables, some foolish faith making her believe that he would come. She resisted the temptation to take off her shoes and put on the slippers she habitually wore at home, and the cardigan she felt the need of was hung over her shoulders, ready to be dropped when Maurice arrived. She touched up her makeup and combed her hair until she was satisfied it was looking its best. The satin night-wear was
draped across her bed.
The meat was sending out delicious and tempting aromas, the table was partly set, the rice pudding out to cool, when there was a knock at the door. Sheila froze in the act of carrying a bowl of fruit through to place on the table. She was afraid to answer the door, afraid of another disappointment.
‘Door, Sheila,’ Gran called, unnecessarily.
‘I’m going as fast as I can,’ Sheila hissed, and she dumped the fruit bowl down and hurriedly hid the shapeless cardigan under a cushion.
Taking a moment to calm herself, she walked slowly towards the door. Maurice was raising his hand to rap the knocker again. He stopped, stared at her, and said softly, unsure of his welcome, ‘Hello, Sheila, can we talk?’
‘I’m just in the middle of getting dinner.’ She was proud of her calm response.
‘I’ll wait – if I may?’
‘You can join us, there’s plenty.’ She turned and walked away from him towards the kitchen, while he closed the door and removed his coat.
In the kitchen she took another deep breath. He was still as handsome as she had remembered, but so untidy. He hadn’t even shaved. Tears of disappointment sprang into her eyes and she looked at the meal in dismay, she didn’t think she could eat a thing. She sensed rather than heard him come into the room behind her and without looking around, said: ‘Carry the meat in for me, will you?’
‘Sheila, I—’
‘We’ll eat first, Maurice, Gran won’t enjoy a cold meal.’
Gran was pleased to see him and said so. She didn’t ask any questions but chattered between mouthfuls of the delicious meal about mutual friends. Sheila was shaking inside and was thankful that she needed to say little apart from the occasional yes or no.
‘Are you staying with your Mam?’ Sheila asked, as she abandoned the small amount of food she had put on her plate and stood to fetch the pudding.
Valley in Bloom Page 14
