Valley in Bloom

by Valley in Bloom (retail) (epub)

  * * *

  Throughout the village several hundred fuchsia plants were flourishing. Cuttings taken the previous year and nurtured in a variety of places by many of the villagers were all ready to be moved to their allotted place in the displays which were already set up and waiting to be filled. Coleus seeds grew on a dozen windowsills and each trayful was listed as to its eventual home.

  Geraniums and pelargoniums, those most reliable and beautiful flowers, numbered hundreds as cuttings were strongly developing in their pots to be transplanted into their summer homes once the worst danger of frosts had gone. Then there were the annuals growing in living rooms, kitchens, bathrooms; germinating in airing cupboards and being potted on in out-houses cold-frames and barns. The largest collection was in the barn belonging to Billie and Mary Brown.

  When Dawn arrived at the farm she usually went to help in the barn where she would find Margaret and Oliver already watering or transplanting under the guidance of either Billie or Mary. Today, Dawn went to the small room beside the kitchen and sat to wait for the others. In a corner of the slate-floored room were a collection of home-made instruments.

  With Billie’s help, Oliver had made a tea-chest and a broom handle into a single string bass instrument. It was played by placing one foot on the box and plucking the string, changing the note by moving the broom handle backwards or forwards to tighten or loosen the tautness of the string. Billie had cut holes in the front of the box for the sound to come out.

  Beside it was an old wash-board belonging to Mary, who had recently bought a new washing machine. In a wooden box there were two mouth-organs and a kazoo. A half finished maraca was drying on the windowsill.

  David looked at the Skiffle band with interest. ‘This isn’t any good. What you want is a guitar,’ he said disparagingly.

  ‘We know that,’ Dawn said impatiently. ‘Why does everyone have to tell us what we already know? What they don’t tell us is how we can get one. I expect Margaret could play it if we could get hold of one.’

  ‘I can play, a few chords anyway,’ David said. ‘Mam taught me, a long time ago so we could sing carols together.’ His face clouded at the reminder that his mother was no longer there. ‘I expect I’ve forgotten.’

  ‘I bet you haven’t! Go and get it, David. Please, Uncle David,’ Dawn said with a smile. ‘Go on, the others’ll be here soon and they’d be ever so pleased.’

  An hour later David had managed to avoid the intended visit to town and was sitting with Margaret, Oliver and Dawn trying to remember how to tune the six strings of his guitar. After a frustrating hour, they all trouped off to see if Mrs French could help them.

  * * *

  Amy left early to open the shop and left Freddy poring over seed lists and drawings of how he hoped the garden would look. He had no desire to go out and she knew he was afraid of how he would be received should he bump into either Sheila or Maurice. It was Maurice he feared most. At least Sheila wasn’t likely to attack him in rage.

  Seeing Mavis waiting for her to open the shop door she took a deep breath. Whatever happened, Mavis would soon learn that Freddy was responsible for her Sheila’s condition. Once Maurice told everyone that he and Sheila were still separated every eye in the village would turn accusingly on Freddy. She didn’t know what to do and wondered if she should go and talk to Ethel. It was all right Sheila flaunting her condition for all to see, but another to expect Maurice to remain silent. One day soon, she thought with a frisson of panic, he would just leave again and they would have to sort out the problem of Sheila without him.

  ‘Mavis,’ she said on impulse, ‘I think we should have a little talk.’

  ‘About Freddy? I thought you’d never face up to it, Amy,’ Mavis surprised her by saying.

  ‘You know! I mean, you suspect?’

  ‘I know that Sheila was expecting before Maurice came back. That Freddy is responsible follows from that.’

  ‘But you haven’t said a word!’

  ‘Best you came to me. It’s been hard, mind, for me to keep quiet, but I knew that once Freddy was told and you and he had a chance to talk, that you’d do the right thing.’

  ‘What is the right thing? Your Sheila is married to Maurice. How can Freddy ‘do the right thing’? Mavis, I wish you and your daughter had never come here. She’s been nothing but trouble for you and her father, and for me and my son!’

  ‘But she is going to have a baby and it will be your grandchild.’

  Mavis ended the brief conversation by snapping up the door blind and letting in their first customer.

  ‘I’ll go and see Ethel after the shop closes,’ Amy said between serving stamps to Netta Cartwright and some chocolate to Arthur Toogood.

  ‘Go now. I’ll manage here,’ Mavis said, tight-lipped. ‘Sooner better than later in a case like this with that Maurice Davies likely to dart off any minute!’

  * * *

  Ethel’s kitchen was upside down. Nelly’s fat hips were sticking out from under the table, waggling enthusiastically as she scrubbed the linoleum. The table held four chairs and numerous ornaments and the rag mats which usually covered most of the floor were rolled up near the door.

  ‘Oh, I see you’re busy. I’ll call back, Ethel.’ Amy knelt down and asked Nelly why she wasn’t at Mrs French’s.

  ‘Them kids called and as I’d done upstairs first she asked me to leave the downstairs and do it later.’ Nelly’s red face appeared as she flopped the floor cloth into the bucket of water she had near her.

  ‘Margaret and Oliver? I thought they were at the farm with Billie?’

  ‘And Dawn, and David Honeyman.’

  ‘Oh? What are they doing, d’you know?’

  ‘I know but I ain’t allowed to say nothin’.’ Nelly mimed cutting her throat and made a horrible noise as she said, ‘Cut me throat an’ ’opes to die.’

  ‘Nelly, they aren’t bothering Mrs French, are they?’

  ‘Botherin’ ’er? No, o’ course not. She’s enjoyin’ ’erself. And they ain’t up to anything you’d disapprove of so forget it until they tell you themselves. Okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ Amy laughed. ‘I’ll still leave what I wanted to see you about and come back later, Ethel,’ she said to the woman sitting quietly beside the fire, polishing brass ornaments.

  ‘I expect it’s about Freddy,’ Ethel said. ‘I heard he was home.’

  ‘How did you…? No, don’t answer that. There isn’t much goes on here that isn’t broadcast by your Phil and swifter than the BBC news!’

  ‘Don’t mind me,’ Nelly puffed. ‘I got to wait fer this to dry before polishin’ it again. Get some cups out, shall I?’ She stood up and abandoned the coarse apron she was wearing and dried her red hands on her skirt. She went into the kitchen and Ethel gave a sad smile.

  ‘What are we going to do, Amy?’

  ‘We’ll have no say in any of it. What Maurice does is the main thing. Then Sheila comes next. Freddy is hanging in mid-air waiting for them to make up their minds.’

  ‘I can’t talk to Maurice. He’s my son but I can’t talk to him.’

  ‘Freddy and I can talk but it doesn’t get us anywhere. Sheila is married to your Maurice and whatever we say, that can’t be altered in five minutes. D’you think if Freddy and I tried to discuss it with Maurice we’d get somewhere approaching a solution?’

  ‘Freddy will face him, will he?’

  In spite of the seriousness of their discussion, Amy smiled.

  ‘’Course he will. Maurice ain’t likely to kill ’im is ’e?’ came from the kitchen, where Nelly was unable to resist listening.

  ‘I don’t think anything will be decided until they meet, the three of them: Sheila, Maurice and young Freddy. Sheila has to face up to the two of them.’

  They decided to ask all three protagonists to meet them at Ethel’s house the following morning, Sunday, when Sheila was free and the other two had no pressing plans.

  ‘I’ll go up an’ put a note through Sheila’s door if you
like,’ Nelly offered.

  ‘Where’s Maurice?’ Amy asked ‘We’ll have to tell him as soon as we can.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Ethel. ‘Fishing maybe. He wanders around from early morning until late at night but he doesn’t tell me where he’s been.’

  * * *

  Freddy had put aside his garden planning and put on a coat. He couldn’t spend the whole of his leave in the house. Sheila was at work. Perhaps he would go in and meet her, try to have a word with her. He left a note for his mother and walked towards the bus stop. He glanced at his watch. There was fifteen minutes to wait, so he walked on to wait outside The Drovers. As the public house came into sight he saw Maurice.

  Maurice was watching him and there was no point in turning away. Apprehensively he waited while Maurice walked towards him.

  ‘What have you been doing messing about with my wife, Freddy Prichard.’ Maurice’s voice was low and threatening.

  ‘I want to care for Sheila, Maurice, and—’

  ‘I care for my wife, it’s my job, not yours. You snivelling apology for a man.’

  ‘You weren’t doing a very good job of caring for her. She would have had that baby of yours all alone last year if I hadn’t been there. And she had to face the death of it alone. Where were you? Caring d’you call that? Funny way of looking after your girl, that is.’

  Freddy felt the tension rising and threatening to choke him as Maurice took another step towards him. He knew this would end with blows but he was determined to have his say while he could still talk clearly.

  ‘Someone had to befriend her after you ran like a coward just about as far as anyone could run.’ He thought his voice was higher and was afraid he sounded like a frightened girl. It added to his defiance and he almost shouted, ‘Coward you are, Maurice Davies, running from a woman after ruining her life. I’d have looked after her proper.’

  When Maurice ran it was as if he had flown towards him. Suddenly Freddy was facing a heavy and fit opponent whose eyes were wild and twice their normal size and whose hands seemed like battering rams. He bent in a semi-protective stance and waited for the pain. He was no fighter and all he could do was try and dodge the blows and hope that Maurice would change his mind about injuring him.

  ‘What’ll this prove?’ he shouted as he danced first one way and then the other. ‘This won’t make what you did any better.’

  ‘I’ll make you wish you’d left my wife alone,’ Maurice growled.

  The first fist to hit Freddy caught him against the chin and he was shocked by a sensation of numbness that was quickly followed by an excruciating agony that engulfed him. He wanted to curl up and recover but Maurice took advantage of the boy’s confusion and hit him again and again, to the chest and the face: the pain came in waves and Freddy staggered around unable to stop Maurice from showering him with ferocious jabs and punches.

  Then it stopped and he tried to open his eyes to see why he had been reprieved from death. His eyes felt sticky and swollen and unwilling to open but when they did it was to see a furious Tad holding Maurice in a vice-like grip, his arms behind his back, bent against one of the man’s knees.

  ‘Freddy is almost a part of my family,’ Tad was grunting. ‘If you have any disagreements with any of my family, you come to me. Right?’

  ‘Right.’ Maurice was afraid of the man’s strength, imagining his arms being dislocated. When Tad slowly released him, he stood up and brushed imaginary dust from his clothes and said, ‘What should I do? He’s got my wife in the family way.’

  ‘Where were you when all this happened?’ If Tad was surprised by the announcement his voice gave no sign of it. ‘On your way back from Australia was it? And what were you doing there? Running away from your wife, was it? Go home, boy, and grow up. Ask your wife to forgive you. You’ve behaved far worse than she has.’

  In the doorway of The Drovers several heads were peering around doors. The wild-eyed one sticking out the furthest belonging to Phil who was being restrained from going and assisting his brother. He was shouting, ‘Leave him, Tad, he’s bigger than you, mind!’ Which brought forth a chorus of laughter from those holding him back.

  When Tad had stepped away from Maurice, he and Freddy looked at each other, Freddy through eyes that were red and already beginning to swell. Tad looked from one to the other, decided he could trust Maurice not to re-start the fight and said, ‘Take him home, Maurice, and clean him up before Amy sees him. I don’t think you’ve done any real harm. Luckily for you.’

  Maurice walked over to Freddy and nodded his head towards the boy’s house.

  ‘Sorry, mate. That’s no way to settle things. Come on, you’d better get that face of yours sorted before your Mam sees it or my face’ll get a battering from her.’

  The doors of the pub opened and the small audience spilled out into the car park. Discussions went on for a long time but Tad didn’t take part. He was smiling, imagining telling Delina how he had stopped the violence without becoming involved himself. He had stepped in to help one of his future family, had acted calmly and properly to prevent Freddy being hurt without losing his temper. Delina would be pleased. His step was almost jaunty as he set off to find her.

  * * *

  The intended meeting between Sheila, Maurice, Freddy, Amy and Ethel didn’t take place. Maurice was told of it, but he and Freddy went fishing instead.

  Chapter Nineteen

  News that Freddy was responsible for Sheila’s condition spread quickly and Amy was at the receiving end of comments ranging from the amused to the outraged. Of the latter, the most outspoken was her sister Prue.

  ‘What’s this I hear about your son,’ she demanded coming into the shop one day with her one-year old, Sian, in her arms. ‘Like mother like son! I don’t know how you can stand there, serving people as if nothing is wrong, Amy! Your own past is bad enough, but for you to pretend all is well with a married woman bearing Freddy’s child, well, it’s enough to make me want to leave the village because I’m your sister.’

  Amy took a deep breath for her intended retort but when she saw her sister’s face she let her breath out and instead asked, ‘Prue? What’s the matter?’ Her sister’s thin face was white and her eyes were wide and full of… Amy couldn’t decide whether they showed anger or confusion. ‘Freddy has been taken in by a pretty face and a gorgeous figure. He isn’t the first and he won’t be the last. You hardly speak to him these days so what are you getting all upset for?’ She glared at her sister then and added defiantly, ‘It isn’t as if you aren’t used to dramas where me and mine are concerned. This is another one. I don’t suppose this will be the last, either!’

  Prue was fidgeting, her long fingered hands twisting one inside the other, her shoulders hunched, her jaw stiff. Sian was standing near her, looking around the shop and touching things that interested her. Prue was clearly very upset and unable to relax. Amy wondered why and was concerned. Since her sister had been seriously depressed last year, she was always afraid of seeing the symptoms returning. But how could anything Freddy did be the cause of a relapse?

  ‘Where’s Florrie today?’ she asked.

  ‘She’s gone into town for some shopping. Sian needs a few more things for her birthday party next month. I’m making the cake tomorrow and I’ll want some decorations.’

  ‘I sell those, Prue! Have a look in that box and take anything you want. Candles, as well. Just help yourself. I can’t let my little niece lack anything for her first birthday cake.’

  ‘She isn’t your niece!’ Prue snapped, and before a surprised Amy could ask what she meant, she picked up the little girl and hurried out.

  When Mavis came to take over at lunch-time Amy went across to see if Florrie was home. Sian was sleeping in her pushchair near the back door, her little form covered cosily with a beautiful blanket. She peeped at her then called through the kitchen, ‘Florrie, are you there?’

  ‘No,’ Prue said, coming into the room and looking her normal self. ‘What is it? Sh
e won’t be long, I expect her back on the next bus. Stay for a cup of tea if you like.’

  Amy was confused. Her sister seemed just as she always was, curt and unwelcoming but not fraught as she had been a few hours earlier. Perhaps it had been nothing more than a mild temper. If someone had upset her, and that was easily done, Prue always let everyone know how she felt.

  ‘Thank you. Yes, that would be nice. I can’t stay long, mind. I have to get back to…’ About to say ‘Freddy’ Amy stopped. Whatever had upset her sister earlier might be revived if his name was mentioned. She sighed as she watched Prue taking out the cups and saucers and setting a tray neatly and with almost painful precision. It seemed as if it was ‘walking on egg-shells’ time again.

  She had seen little of her sister since Prue had come out of hospital and Florrie had moved in to look after her. She had presumed that all was well, that Prue had returned to her previous good health and ill-tempered ways, but perhaps she had been wrong. Perhaps the illness hadn’t left her and Florrie had simply been covering up.

  She drank the tea and ate a biscuit and talked casually about anything that came into her mind, anything that is except Freddy and Sheila. Watching her sister she was reassured. Prue seemed a different person from the angry woman who had entered the shop a few hours before. Her thin hands dealt with the tea without any sign of stress, her face was less angular as she smiled easily at some of Amy’s remarks about her customers and people they knew, her eyes were calm and not darting about in anguish. Anguish? Amy chided herself, what could Prue be anguished about where Freddy was concerned? Convinced she had overreacted, she wondered if she could leave before Florrie came and she had to invent some reason to talk to the woman.

  The gate chinked as it closed and both women looked expectantly at the door. Florrie entered and smiled at their visitor.