Valley in Bloom

by Valley in Bloom (retail) (epub)

  ‘It’ll be a real party, Mam,’ Margaret said, her brown eyes shining with pleasure. ‘Can I wear my best dress?’

  ‘Of course you can, love.’

  ‘And Mam…’

  Amy guessed the next question and said, ‘And of course Oliver can come, too, if his mother agrees.’

  Amy was nervous about the next day. Having invited Victor’s family she began to have doubts at the wisdom of it. Perhaps she and David would have been better to spend an afternoon together without all the rest. He was the one she would find the most difficult to befriend. She admitted to herself that the rest had been invited to ease the situation, make it less likely that she and Victor’s sons would have a conversation of any length.

  Delina would support her, she guessed, but the girl was very cool and rather aloof, unless falling in love with Tad had opened her out. Aloof and cool would describe Daniel too. She pushed aside the cake she had iced and shivered. The more she thought about belonging to Victor’s family the less attractive it sounded.

  Oliver was the first to arrive on Sunday afternoon, his parents taking the opportunity to visit friends without him. He and Margaret sat in the front room where the piano was heard from time to time, sometimes with Margaret’s skilled hands and at others with Oliver trying to pick out a familiar tune. With everything done Amy sat and listened to their laughter, envying them the freedom of being only ten years old.

  Victor arrived looking rather self-conscious, with Daniel and David immaculately dressed and shoes shining. Behind him were Delina, Tad and Dawn. Thankfully, Amy darted into the kitchen to busy herself with the food wondering how she would get through the next few hours.

  The table was set and chairs had been borrowed with Billie’s help, so somehow nine people could cram around the table. After a laughter-filled effort, Margaret and Oliver announced they were going to sit on the stairs and Dawn, though uninvited, followed, dragging David with her. Amy found herself with only Daniel and Delina to deal with, yet she wished the others would return. It was David she needed to get to know.

  In fact the conversation flowed with ease. Delina and Tad began to discuss their plans and Amy realised that for them, too, this might have been a bit of an ordeal. The trouble, she analysed as she poured lemonade for the children, was that the Honeymans had always kept themselves separate from the rest of the neighbours. Their mother had created a wedge that the boys were finding difficult to remove.

  ‘So you won’t be marrying until the year after next?’ Amy nervously tried to add to the conversation. ‘Is it necessary to wait that long?’

  ‘I want to be able to support Delina,’ Tad said quietly.

  ‘Pity.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’ Tad frowned.

  ‘Pity for anyone putting pride before happiness is what I mean. Heaven knows there isn’t much and it so transient, we ought to grab it.’

  ‘I won’t have Delina working to support me and Dawn. It might be different without Dawn.’

  ‘What would, Dad?’ Dawn called from the door as she and Oliver entered to replenish their plates.

  ‘Nothing for you to worry about, Dawn,’ Tad replied.

  Amy said at once, ‘It is to do with her. Who else if not your daughter?’

  ‘We are discussing how soon your father and I can be married,’ explained Delina. ‘He knows that I will have to work and look after you, or wait for about two or three years. It isn’t that we want to wait, I’d love to have you for a daughter, but it’s a question of money.’

  ‘I could do a paper round after school?’ Dawn didn’t wait to hear more, there was a far more interesting conversation going on on the stairs. The others began to laugh as her bright face smiled at them, made the suggestion and disappeared, eating and talking at the same time.

  Tad tip-toed to the door and beckoned Delina to join him. The children were laughing at David’s graphic story of the fight between himself and Maurice. Uncomfortably, Tad tip-toed back.

  ‘Now what about you and Dad?’

  Delina asked softly. ‘Daniel and I would like you to know that we’ll support you and help with David.’ Formally spoken, the smile on Delina’s face softened the words and Amy felt close to tears.

  ‘You really don’t mind, you and Daniel?’

  ‘I’ll be going to university next year and I’ll only need a place to come during the holidays.’ Daniel spoke rarely, but Amy guessed the blue eyes, so like Delina’s, were taking in everything, and behind that smooth fair forehead his mind was calculating what was best for himself. She decided that, difficult as he was, she preferred David.

  ‘We have a lot more to think about,’ Victor said, reaching out and taking Amy’s hand. ‘Where will we live? Is there room for us here?’

  ‘I think David has already chosen which bedroom he will have,’ Daniel surprised them by saying. ‘I heard them whispering about it when I went past a while ago. He wants the room Margaret now has. The other is too small for him to share with Freddy when he comes home on leave.’

  ‘I think we’d better clear the table and call the children in.’ Amy said firmly. ‘This discussion must include them.’

  ‘When will you get married, Mam?’ Margaret asked when they were all together again.

  Amy looked at Victor then at his family. Victor smiled and said, ‘Before the competition. After it there’ll be a problem getting all our friends to come.’ Imitating known voices he went on, ‘“I’m not coming if she’s coming”. “You can count me out if he’ll be there”.’

  ‘We aren’t that bad,’ Amy laughed, ‘and anyway if that happens we’ll have two parties so no one misses out.’

  ‘Come on, then, let’s name a date.’ With a feeling of being forced, Amy looked at the faces raised expectantly: her daughter smiling; David frowning and Daniel looking as if it were nothing to do with him. Then she saw Delina and the girl’s face was radiant, smiling encouragement. When she hesitated Delina released her hand from Tad’s and blew her a kiss. Amy turned to the calendar hanging beside the fireplace and said, ‘The eighteenth of June.’ She leaned over and kissed Victor on the cheek and repeated, ‘Your father and I will be married on June the eighteenth and my lovely Margaret will be our bridesmaid.’

  The party changed then as the wedding was discussed and suggestions made for their honeymoon, and at first no one heard the knock at the door.

  * * *

  Sheila had tried many times to talk to Maurice. She almost convinced herself at times that she had been wrong, he hadn’t guessed what she was going to say. She went each evening to the house on Sheepy Lane and waited with Ethel for Maurice to appear, but he stayed away from the house until long after she had given up and gone home, even on Tuesday when she had called after going to the pictures with Bethan.

  She began to feel frightened. It was all right having a baby if everything in your life was perfect; if, like Fay, there was a loving husband on the scene to share the joy of it. But for her, nothing in life was right.

  She thought she might have to turn to Freddy again, tell him the truth and allow him to help her as he had before. Then she changed her mind. She wanted everyone to believe the baby was Maurice’s and that meant Freddy, too. At least that way the baby would have a name.

  Mansel Davies, that sounded nice, or Grant Davies, or even Humphrey after Humphrey Bogart, one of her favourite film stars, all tough and masculine. Diana might be suitable for a girl, she thought, thinking of Diana Dors and imagining her child growing up with such sex-appeal. Or what about Muriel? No, they’d call her Moo. She thought of her own name, Sheila. Now if she had been given a name with more charisma, like Isadora, Guinevere or Petronella, who knows what she might have achieved?

  She dragged her anxious mind back to the realities and sighed. If only there was someone she could talk to. Bethan wouldn’t understand even if she did have a son and no visible father. She had better tell her mother-in-law if she hadn’t already guessed. Really, the old women around here were like witches,
calling in day after day, and, wanting so desperately to talk to Maurice, she had given Ethel enough of a clue anyway. At least knowing the baby was her grandchild Ethel would support her and try to make Maurice do the same.

  Rain was falling steadily and with the intent of continuing all evening. Sheila hesitated, almost turning back from her intended visit to Ethel, but something made her determined to face up to the situation and let her secret out into the open. Covering her fair hair with a scarf and sheltering beneath an umbrella, she bent over and hurried down the road to Sheepy Lane.

  The leaves on the trees bordering the lane were hardly unfurled and the street lights were not yet hidden by the growth of early summer. The Lane’s wet surface shone in the pools of light and the rain pattered an accompaniment to her running steps. The light flowed out from the cottage door as she picked her way across the grass to the gate. She called and Ethel invited her in. When she closed her umbrella, took off her scarf, complained about the weather and walked into the warm living room, it was to see Maurice standing beside his mother.

  ‘Mam says you want to see me, Sheila,’ he said.

  Something in his expression made her heart leap with anxiety. There was a coldness about his eyes. She forced herself to stay calm and decided that she would boldly state the facts and count on support from Ethel.

  ‘I’ve been trying to talk to you for days, Maurice,’ she said, allowing an edge of sharpness in her voice. ‘There’s trouble and I need your advice.’

  ‘My advice?’ His voice was still cold and held a warning. ‘Why should you need my advice? You and I are separated Sheila and waiting for a divorce.’

  ‘The trouble is, Maurice, I am expecting again. Are you going to leave me to face it alone? Again?’

  Ethel remained silent although her eyes were sad. Maurice asked, ‘When, Sheila? When is the baby expected?’

  ‘Nine months from when you and I first spent the night together,’ she said boldly, staring at him, conscious of his slight surprise and pleased she had thought so quickly.

  ‘I don’t think so. I think this time you are trying to use me. Who is the father? It isn’t me, I’m certain of that. I’ve been very careful for one thing and for another I’ve counted the weeks. Freddy Prichard, is it? Have you found him a consolation for your empty bed?’

  ‘Maurice! How can you say such things!’ Sheila tried in vain to bluster and protest but Maurice was adamant. Ethel said nothing at all, but Sheila felt sympathy emanating from the solemn-faced woman. When there was no more to say she picked up her coat and went out into the night.

  ‘See her home, boy, at least see her home,’ she heard Ethel plead, and in case he was persuaded Sheila ran, still half into her coat, into the trees. She saw Maurice stand in the lighted doorway for a moment and she held in the breath that was choking her with the desire to cry and scream. He went back inside and she dressed, threw her umbrella into the hedge and, in the still pouring rain, walked through the village towards The Drovers.

  At Amy’s house she turned up the drive and knocked on the door. Amy would have to listen to her. She’d tell her everything, there was a pain in her that needed exorcism and talking it out to anyone who would listen was the only way.

  * * *

  It was Victor who left the group and opened the door. Sheila heard the laughter and lively chatter from inside and at once made her excuses.

  ‘Oh, you have visitors. I only called for a chat with Mrs Prichard. Tell her I’ll see her again, will you?’ She ran back to the road without waiting for Victor’s reply.

  As she reached the road she almost bumped into the figure of Nelly, her over-sized coat flopping in the night breeze.

  ‘Sheila?’ Nelly grabbed the girl’s arm as she tried to hurry on. ‘’Ere, you bin cryin’?’

  Unable to control her misery any longer Sheila began to sob. ‘It’s all gone wrong,’ she wailed. ‘Let me go, I want to be on my own.’

  ‘You’re comin’ back with me. Look, I bin to buy a small brandy fer George’s night-cap. Much better ’e is but a drop of brandy at night will do ’im good.’ Nelly chattered without giving Sheila a chance to say anything and she kept a grip on the girl’s arm so she couldn’t run off. From the state of her, she wasn’t safe to be on her own. Desperate she looked and to Nelly that meant she needed a chat and a good cup of tea.

  Wearily, Sheila submitted to Nelly’s determination and went into the cosy room where George sat on the couch drawn up to the fire, wrapped in a blanket. He rose when they came in, looking pleased to see them.

  ‘Sheila, you are welcome, but what a state you’re in, haven’t you got an umbrella?’

  ‘It went inside out,’ she lied, ‘and I threw it into the hedge.’

  Nelly fetched a towel for her to dry her hair and then made the tea from water that had been simmering on the side of the fire. A lump of soot slid from the side of the chimney and Nelly hooked it out of the teapot without any concern.

  ‘We’ll ’ave to ’ave this chimney swept again, George, that’s the second time today a bit of soot’s fallen.’

  For some reason Sheila found this casual approach to cleanliness amusing and she began to laugh. ‘You don’t worry about anything, do you, Nelly?’ she spluttered as she tried to hide her laughter in her handkerchief.

  ‘I don’t suppose I’ve ever ’ad as much to worry about as some, like you.’ She poured the teas and put her head on one side like a curious bird. ‘It’s about the baby I suppose?’

  ‘Nelly, love,’ George protested.

  ‘Yes, I’m going to have a baby and I’ve tried telling Maurice it’s his so at least the baby will have a legal name and…’ Tears held precariously by the almost hysterical laughter, fell again. ‘And he says he knows it isn’t his and… Oh, Nelly, I’m in trouble and on my own again.’

  ‘No you ain’t. You don’t ever try to make people like you, Sheila, and the way you keep poor Freddy ’anging on makes some of us mad with yer, but you ain’t on yer own. Are you goin’ to tell me ’oo the real father is?’ She crossed her fingers, knowing the likelihood was it was Freddy, but hoping she was wrong.

  ‘It’s Freddy,’ Sheila said in a low murmur. ‘Believe me, Nelly. I don’t want it to be him but it is. I realised just as Maurice came back and I thought, I hoped—’

  ‘Who knows, apart from Maurice and Ethel?’

  ‘You guessed didn’t you? I suppose others have, too.’

  ‘I think that Maurice owes you something fer the way he treated you last year. Perhaps if I had a chat with Ethel and made her see the fairness of a little ’elp now, he might be persuaded to at least let everyone think the baby is his.’ She looked at George, wondering if he would guess that her protective attitude was more for Amy and Freddy than the unfortunate girl sitting here hoping for some miraculous solution to her troubles.

  ‘I think you should say as little as possible to anyone until Maurice and Ethel have had a chance to think about it, Sheila,’ George said. ‘Least said, soonest mended, is good philosophy.’

  ‘’Ow d’you feel about the baby, Sheila? Want it do yer?’

  ‘I do. I find myself thinking about it, wondering if it will be a daughter or a son, and feeling protective and determined he or she will have every care.’

  Nelly exchanged a look with George and they smiled. This wasn’t the usual fanciful talk of Sheila Davies, this was a young woman already enfolded in the aura of motherhood.

  Sheila, relaxed by the warmth and the concern shown by the two people she usually ignored, went home with Nelly and the dogs for escort feeling less unhappy and in full agreement for Nelly to talk to Ethel.

  ‘Come to Ethel’s after work tomorrow, I’ll be there,’ Nelly promised.

  Inside the dark house, with her gran in bed and no one else to greet her, tears returned. This time they were hardened into anger against Maurice, then Ethel and finally, as sleep overtook her, against Delina, the real cause of it all. Delina who with her ladylike ways, had stolen Mauric
e from her and begun the disasters then casually found herself another love, leaving Maurice and herself with the mess of her disloyalty.

  * * *

  ‘It’s all secrets! Wherever I go I’m told to clear off there’s secrets to discuss,’ Phil-the-post complained to Nelly the following morning. ‘I went to Mam’s last night and found her and Maurice sitting there like two victims of a bomb blast, and although I begged them to tell me what was wrong all they’d say was, “nothing, Phil”. Nothing Phil my foot!’ He looked hopefully towards the teapot and asked, ‘Want another cup of tea, George?’ As Nelly re-filled their cups he went on, ‘What with all the secret garden plans, with greenhouses being painted to keep seed labels hidden from spying eyes and plants being nurtured behind barricades, I haven’t a chance. Do you know, that Frank Taylor in St Hilda’s Crescent cut a hole in his fence so he could see what his neighbour was growing? And another bloke waters his cuttings with fertiliser, at night? Boys Own Paper could get some good plots from what’s going on here in Hen Carw Parc lately and no mistake!’

  ‘There’s always plenty goin’ on ’ere, Phil,’ Nelly said. ‘What about the cricket match, are the teams chosen yet?’

  ‘Our Maurice is talking about going to London to work. Pity mind, he’d be a useful bat. Still, I suppose he and that Sheila have to accept they can’t live together. Fancy a divorce in the family, never thought I’d see the day.’ If he noticed that Nelly and George weren’t adding to his chatter he didn’t mention it, putting their silence down to the fact that George was still unwell and finding it hard to get the breath to talk.

  ‘I’ll ’ave to go an’ talk to Ethel, George,’ Nelly said when Phil had taken another cake and gone on his rounds. ‘I promised Sheila, and although she ain’t my favourite person I’ll ’ave to keep me word.’

  ‘Go straight after finishing work,’ George said. ‘I’ll get dinner in the oven, meat left over from yesterday will make a nice casserole.’