‘Go away, find yourself a job and look after that wife of yours.’ She spoke quietly, her voice without an edge of anger as she took back the bag of exercise books. But there was a firmness in her expression that dampened his spirits.
So far there had been no sign of a weak spot in the fortification she had built around herself after their wedding plans had fallen apart. But, he promised himself, he would break through, and he might use Tad as the battering ram!
* * *
Amy watched as the gypsies gathered across the road. They looked like a flock of exotic birds with layers of clothes topped with richly coloured scarves draped around their hips and over their heads. She guessed they were setting off to sell their flowers and lucky charms to raise some money to help them through the winter. She waved as Clara glanced her way and the old woman came across.
‘I want a few things, Amy, and I’d like for you to get them ready for me. I’ll call for them later.’
‘I’ll take them up the hill for you if you like,’ Amy offered. ‘The errand boy will be coming in after school, if that isn’t too late.’
‘I’ll leave the money and you’ll send me the change.’ Clara handed her some coins which, Amy knew from experience, wouldn’t be sufficient for what the gypsy needed. ‘Now, I’d like some flour and some butter and some eggs and a packet of custard powder. I have enough cream of tartar and sugar. Yes, I think that’ll be all.’
‘What are you making, Clara?’ Amy asked as she wrote down the woman’s order.
‘Some loaves of bread.’
‘With custard powder?’
‘’Tis very good, you should try some. Our cooking is wholesome and rich.’
‘Do me a favour, Clara,’ Amy whispered. ‘Here’s that Milly Toogood and the Pup, stand in the doorway will you? They won’t come in if you’re here!’
It was almost time for the children to come out of school for lunch and Clara was still talking to Amy, laughing at the casual way Milly turned and pretended to remember something urgent to take her in the opposite direction.
‘I have to close the shop, Clara. Margaret and I have to get home, find some lunch and get back.’
‘I’ll be off. Will you tell Nelly that George will be extra tired tonight?’
‘Why, is he ill?’ Amy looked alarmed.
‘No, ’tisn’t that at all. He and that good Mr Leighton are using my dogs to practice for the cricketing.’
‘This we have to see!’ Amy told Margaret when the door closed behind their visitor. ‘We’ll take a meat pie each and some cakes and we’ll go and see what’s happening.’
* * *
Maurice decided to talk to Tad, and if the talk led to a quarrel, well so be it. He knew that Tad worked odd hours and when he went to the house at ten o’clock one morning he was surprised to find him out. He walked around to the back door and knocked with growing impatience. The door remained closed and he stood looking down the neat but winter-bare garden.
Tad was obviously making preparations for the spring. The rather weary-looking greenhouse was showing signs of life with seed boxes standing empty and daffodils in troughs against the south wall of the house already spearing their way through the soil. Two daphne shrubs were without their leaves but rich in the sweet-scented magenta flowers. Pots of various sizes were stacked against a wall and, near the back gate, there was a pile of leaves swept up, rotting and, he guessed, ready to add to the compost heap further down the garden. Other rubbish had gathered around its edge and Maurice discarded a cigarette end throwing it casually towards the assortment.
As he watched, a small flame showed, pale and almost invisible in the daylight. Almost without thinking he guided another piece of paper towards it and, without bothering to stamp it out, he left, angry that Tad had failed to arrive thinking, unreasonably, that it showed the man’s cowardice. He walked quickly back to his mother’s cottage. Tad would keep. The anticipation was good, it made his anger stronger. The little man would get what was coming to him. He’d learn that he couldn’t steal Maurice Davies’ girl.
* * *
Dawn arrived home on her own. Tad had been delayed and she sat on the back step looking down the garden and wondering how soon he would be home to get her meal. She became conscious of the smell of burning before she saw the thin wisps of smoke coming from the side of the house. At first she didn’t think much about it. People were always having bonfires to burn unwanted rubbish. Specially now as the preparations for the garden displays intensified.
The movement at the periphery of her vision made her turn her head in time to see a sleepy and very confused hedgehog stagger out from under the leaves of the rubbish pile. She stood and gathered him up in her hands and it was then that she saw the flames gaining strength in the leaves.
She ran back to put the hedgehog in the kitchen, changed her mind and picked him up again. Then stared in horror as the flames began to spread and make the leaves crackle ominously. Still carrying the hedgehog she ran through the house, opened the front door and began to scream. Out through the gate she ran, dancing around wondering where to go for help.
Pete Evans was driving up the hill and saw her about to step out into the road in what appeared to him to be foolish and dangerous behaviour. He slowed the motorcycle to tell her off and heard her crying that the house was on fire. He abandoned the bike and went through the house with her.
‘Have you got a hose?’ he demanded.
‘Yes, in the shed,’ she wailed.
‘Stand back and if you see anyone, ask them to phone for the fire-brigade,’ he instructed. Running to the shed he found the hose, connected it to the kitchen tap and had water pouring over the rubbish in moments. Kicking the pile apart, he doused the flames until all that was left was a filthy mess of burned branches and soggy leaves.
Neighbours arrived and tried to calm the frightened girl.
‘Put the hedgehog down, love,’ one of them pleaded. ‘He’ll be all right, disturbed by the fire but he’ll be all right.’
‘He won’t!’ Dawn insisted. ‘He’ll die. He won’t be able to keep warm now he’s been woken up and he’ll die.’ It seemed to her that the most important thing to do was nurse the hedgehog and make sure he didn’t die.
When Tad arrived, breathless at running up the hill, knowing he was late and worrying about Dawn, the house was still full of people. There were hurried explanations and reassurances that no harm was done. He thanked them all and hugged Dawn.
‘What will we do about the hedgehog?’ she asked, sobs revived by his return.
‘I’ll make him a box and a run. He’ll be safe if we keep him warm and feed him well until the weather is warm enough to let him go,’ he promised.
‘Thanks, Dad. Can I go and tell Oliver I’ve got him?’
‘Not tonight, love.’ Tad looked at his daughter, his face frowning and anxious. ‘Dawn, I have to ask this. Did you start that fire, then get frightened and call for help?’
‘No, Dad, I didn’t!’
‘All right, I believe you. Mind, a few months ago I wouldn’t have. It’s been better for us both with Delina helping us, hasn’t it?’
Phil-the-post spread news of the fire and there was a stream of people calling to see if all was well and to look at the hedgehog.
Pete enjoyed the notoriety of being thought a hero and for a while was content to stay in the noisy household of his friend, Gerry. But the thought of his mother carrying on made him more and more miserable. It was bad enough having everyone know his father was a criminal without people talking about his Ma too.
Tad was uneasy since Maurice had returned although Delina had repeatedly assured him that what there had once been between her and the ex-soldier was over, dead without a trace. When Tad walked up the hill with Dawn one Sunday in late February, his heart began to race when he saw Maurice and Delina walking down to meet him, together. Maurice was holding out a book and he was pointing to something on the page and consulting Delina. That much Tad deduced as
they drew closer.
‘Tad, Maurice has just seen some redwings,’ Delina explained as she left Maurice and came to stand beside him. ‘Look Dawn,’ she took the book from Maurice and pointed to the thrush-like bird with the patches of red on its sides. ‘They are winter visitors.’
‘D’you think I could get a photograph?’ Dawn asked.
‘I doubt it, you wouldn’t get close enough. You’ll need a very fine camera if you’re going to try wildlife photography.’
‘Why don’t you buy her one if she’s that keen,’ Maurice said, his eyes glinting with the prospect of some fun as he stared at Tad. ‘Can’t you afford to buy one for her? She’s keen and I thought any sort of father would want to encourage a hobby like that.’
‘One day I will,’ Tad said quietly. ‘One day she’ll have the equipment she needs and deserves.’
‘One day, some day. It’s now she wants it, while she’s keen. I’d get her one if she was my daughter, for sure I would.’ He looked at Delina steadily. ‘Any child of mine, or woman I loved and cared for, wouldn’t go short, I’d see to that.’
‘Come on, Tad, aren’t we going for that walk?’ Delina moved away from the other three, sensing trouble in the way Tad’s small hands clenched and unclenched. It was a long time since he had hit out at anyone, but the need was very close to the surface. ‘Come on, Dawn, who knows, we might see a redwing for ourselves.’
Maurice didn’t move as they walked towards the woods near Nelly’s cottage.
‘Near Billie Brown’s farm they were,’ he called after them. ‘Down the bottom of that steep hill. Mind, I wouldn’t go if I were you, Tad, the climb back up might be too much for a little chap like you.’ He laughed as he saw Delina grab Tad’s arm as he began to turn back to face him. ‘Enjoy your afternoon together playing happy families,’ he muttered to himself, ‘you won’t enjoy many more my quick-tempered friend.’
Chapter Fourteen
Sheila was becoming worried about the forthcoming baby but at the same time, strangely excited. She wanted it. That came as a surprise. Since the death of her baby the previous April she had felt a loss that nothing would fill. But only in her secret inner self. The small ache was something she would never have admitted, even to that secret self. How could she, Sheila Davies, with a life to live and fun to find, be glad she was going to have a child? It was crazy. But crazy or not it was the truth.
Even more crazy was the thought that it was nothing to do with persuading Maurice to stay. Maurice and the need for him to stay with her was a completely separate thing. Whether he stayed or not, she wanted this baby.
She longed to tell someone and thought regretfully of the girls who had worked in the gown salon, who shared every secret with each other. There was no one she could trust with such news. Her thoughts went around the village, trying to think of anyone who would care enough to listen, let alone keep the knowledge to themselves. There was Bethan, but there would be no excitement in allowing her to share the secret. Freddy’s mother, Amy who, although having been in the same situation herself, wouldn’t offer any comfort. It was Freddy she should be telling, he was the father and would support her whatever she decided. She smiled at the reminder of his unselfish love. But it was Maurice’s name she wanted on the birth certificate, both for herself now, and for the baby in the future.
Sighing, she stretched languorously under the bed-covers then began to rise. So far no sickness. That was a blessing. At least her gran wouldn’t suspect. She could tell people when she chose, not have the announcement forced on her. But, she decided, she must talk to Maurice soon. Not about the baby, but to try and persuade him to come back to her in more subtle ways.
The mornings were gradually lightening, the fumbling about in the darkness as she prepared for work no longer a dreary routine. It was still cold though and she was glad to stay in her dressing gown until her regular tasks were finished. Automatically she began preparing breakfast for gran and arranging things ready to cook the meal when she returned.
She stepped out over the step, lifting her umbrella to protect her head from the steadily falling rain, a scarf and the hood of her coat protecting the curls she had spent so much time and discomfort achieving. She was in plenty of time for her bus. It was worth leaving a little early in case she should see Maurice on his early morning wanderings.
On impulse she went the long way around St Hilda’s Crescent and down Heol Caradoc. She would pass the Honeyman’s house and perhaps meet Maurice, and pretend she had a letter to post if she saw anyone she knew. Her fingers touched the crumpled envelope in her pocket reminding her she ought to write to Freddy. Until Maurice was persuaded back to her, it was wise to keep Freddy tied to her with that invisible string.
‘Hello, Maurice,’ she called brightly when she reached the house and saw him standing looking up at the window of the bedroom. He wore the belt of his brown overcoat tied in a knot, the brim of his trilby slouched forward to protect his face from the rain. ‘Waiting for Delina are you?’ she asked, her head on one side questioningly. ‘What will Tad Simmons say?’ Her voice broke the silence of the early morning and startled him into scowling as he turned to face her.
‘What do you want, Sheila?’ he demanded in a low whisper.
‘What do I want, Maurice? Nothing from you, why?’
‘Why are you walking this way round. You’ll miss your bus.’ She showed the edge of Freddy’s letter, explaining.
‘Posting a letter I am. Not a crime, is it? Better excuse than you’ve got, standing looking up into a girl’s bedroom for a sly peep.’
He turned again and, leaving the hedge beside which he had been trying to shelter, he walked with her, guiding her away and down the hill.
‘Come on, I’ll walk you to your bus.’
‘Thank you, d’you want to come under my umbrella?’
Their closeness was a necessity and Sheila took advantage of it, clutching his arm, pretending it was to make sure he stayed under the protection of the umbrella although, she had to admit, it was rather late for him to worry about keeping dry. He must have been standing beside that hedge for ages.
‘D’you fancy coming for a meal tonight?’ she asked. ‘We’re having chicken stew and dumplings.’
‘No, Sheila, it’s best not.’
‘Why? No one need know, if you’re ashamed of me. We ought to talk about – things.’
‘Well, all right, but I won’t be able to stay long.’ His eyes glanced at her smiling face and he added almost nervously, ‘Meeting Phil for a game of darts I am.’
‘I’m not bad at darts myself, Maurice,’ she replied happily.
When she had sailed off on the platform of the bus, with the irate conductor telling her to hurry along inside, Maurice went back up the hill. He was in time to escort an unwilling Delina down for her bus and muttered to himself as he returned to Ethel’s house, ‘I’m like a flaming yo-yo. Up and down that hill twice every morning!’
‘Talking to yourself, boy? Bad sign that!’ his brother Phil laughed as he placed his bicycle against Ethel’s front wall.
Maurice went inside following his brother and found the house full. Even for Ethel that was rather unusual so early in the morning.
‘Mam are you starting a morning shift in Sheepy Lane Cafe now?’ Phil asked, then turned and touched Maurice’s arm and said, ‘Look at this, boy, look at this. A houseful of Davies’!’
Squeezing in, Maurice saw to his surprise that his three brothers were all present. Sidney was standing with Mr Leighton and George. Teddy, who worked in a factory in Swansea, was sitting on the couch next to Johnny Cartwright.
‘Someone’s birthday?’ Maurice asked.
‘No,’ Phil laughed, ‘I think I can guess what this is about. Cricket, lovely cricket?’
‘We have to think of a way of playing for the village,’ Sidney explained.
‘I live up on the council houses,’ Johnny added. ‘But, see, I want to play for the village proper. We were wondering if Bert has
made any unbendable rules that makes that impossible?’
‘The way Bert writes rules for a game, you’d think he was planning for World War Three! Sorry, but if Bert’s got anything to do with it, I think you’ll have to play for the council houses, boy,’ Phil said sadly.
‘Mam!’ Johnny said firmly. ‘I’m playing for Mam. She lives next door to you, Phil, if you’re playing can’t you put me down as a neighbour?’ He grinned widely. ‘Or better still, put Mam down to play, then I can go in as a substitute when she remembers her gammy leg!’
‘Worth a try,’ Phil grinned, ‘but what about Teddy? He lives in Swansea, how can he play for the village?’
‘I’m playing for our Mam! Put her name down and I’ll come in as a replacement at the last minute!’
With Ethel chuckling as she poured fresh tea and topped up the diminishing plateful of toast the men planned ways of beating the rules and playing for the village proper.
‘What about Victor?’ Teddy enquired. ‘He’s played a bit, so he tells me. Years ago mind, but at least he’ll know which end of the bat to grab hold of. We can’t let the council houses have him, now can we?’
‘Write down Amy to play and he can play instead of her,’ Johnny laughed. ‘Damn me, the council houses’ll think us a walkover when they see the list of players.’
Sidney, Teddy and Phil all had the same thought at the same time. In unison they turned and looked at their youngest brother.
‘What about you, boy?’ Phil asked with a quizzical look at his young brother. ‘You playing home or away?’
‘If there was a team for Sheepy Lane, I’d be in it,’ Maurice said sadly.
‘Put him down for the village proper, and Maurice,’ Phil added in a whisper, ‘don’t go back to Sheila until the match is played, there’s a good boy.’
‘Damn me, boys,’ Johnny laughed, ‘when Bert Roberts hears of this he’ll have a boundary half way up Sheepy Lane and insist on passports!’
Valley in Bloom Page 18
