For better or for worse, wasn’t that what the preacher said? Well it might have been worse but only for a few months, not enough, surely, to have to beg forgiveness? He didn’t fancy doing that. Pity she found out about him and Bethan though, that was always a hard thing for a woman to accept, he realised that. They would have to be more careful in future. He turned into the lane behind the row of cottages, not wanting to pass Bethan’s fish and chip shop. He’d deal with one thing at a time. First he had to face Hilda.
Hilda had been warned of the approximate time of Griff’s arrival. Pete had been in contact with the prison authorities and had been told of his release date and time. Hilda sat in her newly furnished room and waited. The key for the replaced locks was in her hand. She tapped it occasionally as she waited.
She wore a new red and grey woollen dress with a gathered skirt and a shaped bodice. Her hair was freshly set in a becoming style, the expensive cut framing her carefully made-up face where only the slightest hint of agitation showed. She knew she looked smart. Her nylon stockings flattered her slim legs, now free from the marks of sitting too close to the fire after freezing in the cold water preparing chips and fish for Bethan. Her red lips curled in a smile as she imagined Griff’s face on seeing her for the first time for months.
The back gate stuck and she heard the scrape of it as Griff pushed it open. She stiffened slightly but relaxed again. This was her scene and she’d enjoy it.
Griff went to the back door and looked inside. It looked different. The sink was the same but the cupboards were new and such a bright red. He didn’t know if he approved of that. Too gaudy, altogether. Hilda didn’t have much idea but he’d soon get that put right. The door to the living room was ajar and he called but there was no reply. Bolder now he was on home ground he pushed open the door and saw a strange woman sitting in a strange chair beside a grate he didn’t recognise. Damn it all! He’d walked into the wrong house. Then the woman spoke.
‘Hello, Griff, so you’ve called to see me have you?’
‘Hilda? Bloody ’ell, what you done to yourself? And what’s all this?’ He dropped his suitcase and waved his arms to encompass the room with its new wallpaper, carpet and furniture. ‘If you planned to surprise me then you have, I don’t know that I approve, mind, I think you’ve gone a bit too far.’
‘It’s no business of yours, Griff. This is for me, no one else. You can go and share Bethan’s little room behind the fish and chip shop, more in your line that is. I have to ask you to leave now, I have an appointment.’
‘Leave? What you talking about woman. I live here.’
‘No more you don’t. The rent book has always been in my name and I’ve been to check to make sure. This is mine, Griff, you’ll have to shift for yourself. Close the door behind you, will you.’
‘I’m not moving from this room, this is my home and you can stop fooling about, right?’
‘I’m not fooling, Griff.’ She stood up and pushed her way past him to where he had dropped his suitcase. She picked it up and threw it out into the garden.
‘That’s enough, Hilda. Go and fetch that back in.’ He was alarmed. This wasn’t how he had imagined his homecoming. ‘Go on, fetch that case back in here.’
‘You can go out after it and as the locks have been changed, you can stay out, for good.’
‘Hilda.’ He tried a different approach, his voice softened and he began to plead. ‘Stop this fooling, I’m your husband and I’ve come home to you after five miserable months.’
‘I haven’t found them miserable at all, Griff. In fact they’ve been marvellous. The only thing is they made me realise what I’d been missing being married to a poisonous toad like you. Now go.’
‘You going to make me?’ He started to walk towards her and she called.
‘Tommy?’
From the front room the large bulk of Tommy Thomas, a recently acquired friend, materialised. ‘Hello there, Griff, boy. Your wife thought you might be a bit difficult. Asked me to come just in case of trouble, but there isn’t going to be any, is there?’
Bluff, arguments and pleading were to no avail. Hilda returned to her chair and Griff was escorted out through the neat red kitchen by Tommy Thomas who stood and watched the man walk off with some sympathy, but not enough to try and persuade Hilda to reconsider. Then he went back to where he had parked his car near the school. He didn’t get in but walked back across the road and went into the fish shop.
‘Are you Bethan?’ he asked the surprised woman behind the counter.
‘Yes, what d’you want?’ Her eyes looked frightened and her helplessness appealed to him. The words he had intended to use to hurt her on Hilda’s behalf were swallowed. Instead, he said: ‘I just thought you’d like to know that Griff is back home and Hilda has chucked him out good and proper. I’d lock your doors if I were you, love. You don’t want any more bother with the likes of him.’ He took a piece of paper from the pile on the counter and wrote his telephone number down. ‘Ring me if you have any problems, I know how to deal with Griff and his like.’
‘Thank you… er Mr, er…’
‘Tommy Thomas they call me, just call me Tommy,’ he smiled.
* * *
Amy and Victor discussed the idea for their wedding with their children. Then, having agreed to leave much of the planning in Mrs French’s hands, they went to tell some of their friends. They went first to see Nelly and George.
‘Nelly, what’s the largest cake we can make in an ordinary kitchen? I want the largest wedding cake ever seen.’
Nelly looked thoughtful for a while then said, ‘Out instead of up. How about that?’
‘Lovely, but what are you talking about?’
‘Well I don’t see that we could go up more than, say, five tiers. But if we was to go out, then it can be as big as the table.’
‘How?’ Victor asked. ‘Don’t cakes have to be cooked in a tin? And where’s the oven as big as a table?’
George began to chuckle, the chuckle ending in a cough as was usual these days, but his eyes were twinkling as he spluttered, ‘I think Nelly might be thinking of more than one oven, eh, Nelly?’
‘Yer right, George. I reckon that if about twenty of us all cooked a cake in our biggest baking tins, then iced them all together, it would cover a table. ’Ow would that do yer, Amy?’
‘Nelly, you’re brilliant! But George, how did you know what Nelly was thinking?’ Victor asked.
‘I often do know what she has in her mind. Living together and sharing things, it has that effect sometimes.’
‘Only in very special cases, George,’ Amy said. ‘You two are the perfect pair. I only hope Victor and I become as close a partnership.’
‘When d’you want me to start on the cake, Amy. If it’s fer June we ought to get it done this week.’
* * *
Maurice did not stay long in London. The job failed to materialise and he returned to Hen Carw Parc and spent a lot of time searching for work. In between he went fishing. He continued to avoid Sheila, needing time alone to consider both what he wanted to do and what he ought to do. There seemed to be no common ground for the two.
He didn’t love Sheila and no matter how he tried to be compassionate it seemed ironic that a baby he had fathered had ruined his chances of marrying Delina and now a baby fathered by Freddy was expected to mend his marriage to Sheila. There was no anger in him towards Freddy and he found that strange. He assumed it was his lack of love for his wife that was responsible for the lack of jealousy.
Coming back from Llan Gwyn early one evening, having spent the afternoon at the cinema, he was caught in a confrontation with Sheila that he couldn’t avoid. He had jumped on the bus and run upstairs without looking at the rest of the people waiting. As the bus began to move off he heard someone climbing the metal stairs and turned to see if it was anyone he knew. It was Sheila.
‘Maurice, now you wouldn’t be so ungentlemanly as to run away and jump off a moving bus rather than talk to me
, would you.’
‘Sheila, hello. No, I won’t run away, but I don’t know what we can find to say to each other.’
‘I have only one thing to say, Maurice and that’s this.’ She stopped while the conductor came and took their fares and gave them tickets. When he had returned to the platform she went on, ‘I’ve been to see a solicitor and I’ve told him to go ahead with our divorce. I don’t want to be married to you and I want us to be divorced just as soon as it can be arranged. I don’t want you to name Freddy, mind. Just keep this between us. If you have anything to say you can write to my solicitor, here’s his name and address.’ She took a card from her handbag then stood up. ‘I think I’ll go and sit downstairs. I don’t like the atmosphere up here.’
Maurice stared at the empty seat beside him and then at the card. He was confused. All the time they had known each other Sheila had been chasing him, displaying her love for him, pestering him. And now this.
On the lower deck, ignoring the attempts of other passengers to talk to her, Sheila sat, pale-faced, wondering if her final shot would have the desired effect of bringing Maurice back to her, or would she lose him for ever.
Chapter Twenty One
Bert Roberts was in trouble with his cricket team. Several of his strongest hopes had faded into disappointments. One of them was George. During early practice Nelly’s husband had shown himself to be both a very useful bat and a reliable bowler. His being ill had robbed the team of what Bert had hoped would be its number two player. He planned to be number one.
The practice sessions in the field behind Evie and Timothy’s were unsatisfactory affairs for Bert, troubled as they were by a chorus of jeers from supporters of the council houses team who had discovered their secret. All the usual jokes were repeated plus some new ones; the favourite chant with some of the younger children was, ‘Bert’s Wearing A Skirt’, when he tied his pullover in the approved manner around his waist.
‘I can sympathise now with some of them keen gardeners who feed their plants at night,’ Bert snapped to PC Harris after the ball had been stolen for the seventh time that evening. PC Harris who, in spite of living in the council houses, used his official capacity to play for the village he served sighed and once more went up to the top of the field to plead for the ball’s return.
‘I wonder if Griff will play for us?’ Bert suggested when Constable Harris came back with the ball and prepared to bowl. ‘He isn’t so fat and useless as he was, him being forced to eat less and take some exercise like. Give him a try, shall we?’
‘I think he might play, but not for us. Hilda threw him out and he’s got lodgings up in St Non’s road.’
‘Play for the council houses you mean?’
‘I expect so.’
‘Traitor! I hope he slips and cracks his fat head.’
‘Now, Bert, this is only a game.’
‘A game? A game? Who told you that yarn? This, boy, is war!’
Maurice appeared at the edge of the crowd and Bert irritably waved him over.
‘Come on, boy, thought you’d never get here. Go and stand by the wicket and see how you fare against Constable Harris.’
‘Sorry, Bert, but I’m playing for the council houses. Me being married to Sheila and that being my official address.’
‘What?’ Bert exploded.
‘I said I’m playing for the council house, me being—’
‘I heard what you said. I just didn’t believe my ears!’
‘Are you deaf, ref?’ the kids shouted.
The session lasted until Bert officiously shouted that light had stopped play and they all dispersed, most to chuckle over Bert’s organisation, Bert to pore over the lists of players trying to make a team out of them. He had eleven players including old Archie Pierce who insisted he was a deadly fielder, and old farmer Leighton who had played once or twice in his youth. He wished he had chosen the date for the cricket match during the week he and Brenda were visiting his sister in Bristol.
At the edge of the crowd watching the practice, Griff Evans stood some distance from the rest. The children were in awe of him being a criminal who had been in prison, and the adults, most of them victims of his various thieving activities, were unwilling to respond to any of his attempts at renewed friendship. His son, Pete, was the only one near him.
‘Coming for a pint, Dad?’ Pete invited, as they walked home.
‘You aren’t old enough.’
‘That’s right, I’m not. You coming then?’
They walked up past Nelly’s cottage towards Sheepy Lane then, when Pete thought his father had chickened out and was about to say so, Griff turned right at the bottom and they strolled passed the church and the school. Tad was on his way up the lane with Dawn holding his hand when he saw them and called, ‘Griff? Can you spare a minute? I’d like a chat.’
Griff and his son stopped and waited for Tad to reach them.
‘What is it?’ Griff tried not to smile in pleasure at the prospect of talking to someone. Since his release from prison few had exchanged more than a begrudging word.
‘It’s about the cricket. You living up at the council houses I wondered, we wondered, if you’d play for us? That is unless the village have already asked you?’
‘No no, they haven’t asked. Yes, I’d love to play, I’ll need a bit of practice, mind, won’t I Pete? Haven’t played since he was a lad.’
‘We’ll give you all the practice you need.’
‘I’ll play for you as well if you like,’ Pete offered. ‘I’ve put my name down for the village team but, well I’d like to play on the same team as Dad.’
‘Bert won’t like it if you’ve agreed to play for the village,’ Tad said hesitantly.
‘I live up on the council houses, too, and with Dad playing like—’
‘Great!’ Tad grinned. ‘Who’ll tell Bert, you or me?’
‘I will!’ Pete chuckled, throwing an arm around his father’s shoulders. ‘I love a bit of a laugh. Go and do it now shall we Dad? He’s bound to be propping up the bar.’ Thanking Tad they turned and headed for The Drovers.
As they walked past the cottages they saw Archie Pierce struggling to lift a trough containing French marigolds and pansies and some trails of ivy. Griff didn’t want to see him. He had burgled the poor old chap’s house before he was caught by the police and now felt remorseful and ashamed. But he made himself stop and ask, ‘Want any help, Archie? That looks too heavy for you.’
‘Bugger off you thieving sod.’ Little Archie, given the strength of outrage, lifted the trough and staggered indoors with it. The door closed with a bang that startled Griff almost as much as the words.
‘What’s he doing?’ Griff asked to cover his embarrassment.
‘He was given that flower display and he takes it in every night and puts it out every morning,’ Pete grinned.
‘I’m shamed at the sight of him. How could I have robbed him, a workmate and an old man? I shouldn’t have done it, Pete. I must have been out of my mind.’
‘You can make it up to him one day.’
‘I wish I knew how,’ Griff said sadly. ‘It all seemed such fun at the time. Starting with a bit of poaching, well, no one calls that stealing, do they? Then picking up a few pounds here and there from bets held back from the boys. I sort of got an obsession to save money and after a while I didn’t care how I got it. People like Archie Pierce seemed easy victims. It was a bit of a laugh really because it was so easy. I used to listen to him telling us of how nervous he was about going out after dark and I thought it was a joke. Can you believe it, Pete?’
‘Can’t you pay the money back?’
‘No, son, your Mam’s spent it.’
* * *
Some were less than pleased to have Griff on their team but when they saw him play and realised that he was a better than average bowler, they gradually withdrew their objections.
With several village members finding excuses to play for the opposing team and council house tenants insisting
their loyalties were with the village proper, there was hardly a family who didn’t spend their time arguing. Johnny insisted he was playing for his mother and not the place where he and Fay and Gregory Lewis lived. Mary-Dairy was threatened that if her brother Billie didn’t play for the council houses where she earned her money, she would lose half her milk round.
‘The sooner this match is played and forgotten the better,’ Phil said to Nelly and George one morning after being told of Griff and Pete’s defection. ‘I hope you’ll be playing for us, George?’
Trying to explain how much he’d like to, George only spluttered into a bout of coughing.
‘Me mind’s made up, George!’ Nelly said firmly, lifting her painful leg from the supporting stool. ‘I’m going to try and get a message to Clara. She’s the only one to get you right.’
‘How?’ Phil asked, helping himself to more tea. ‘You don’t know where she’s parked herself. You can hardly send a letter. Good as the post office is, there’s no address that’ll find a small vardo in some unknown field somewhere in England or Wales, now is there?’
‘No, but I saw some gypsies in Llan Gwyn a week ago. With luck they’ll still be about here somewhere.’
‘I’ll ask around, someone might know where they’re living, and what about asking Johnny? He sees plenty from that bus of his. Will any gypsies do?’
‘They’ll pass a message and that’s all I want. She’ll come when she knows I needs ’er,’ Nelly said confidently. ‘You, George, are goin’ to play in that cricket match and show ’em ’ow it should be done!’
‘Yes, Nelly,’ he chuckled, his face brighter than usual, the coughing having taken its toll.
There was another visitor to the cottage. Victor left his van on the main road and ran up to find them both dozing in front of the fire.
‘Pair of hooligans,’ he laughed as the dogs barked a welcome, their tails wagging in unison like the pendulum of some strange clock. ‘Got a licence for them, have you?’
Valley in Bloom Page 26
