‘Yeh, the same as Amy’s got a licence to park her vegetables on the pavement. Tell the world why don’t yer,’ Nelly retorted.
‘Sorry for waking you, I can’t stay a minute or Constable Harris’ll have my guts for garters. Parked across the end of the lane I am.’
Nelly roused herself and reached to push the kettle over the fire.
‘Move it and stay fer a cuppa why don’t yer?’ she asked sleepily.
‘I can’t, though I’d like to. I’ve been on an errand for Amy. She asked me to go into the office in town and find out what benefits you two are entitled to, you not being able to work.’
‘Benefits? We ain’t paid no stamps so we can’t claim nothing. Ain’t that right, George?’ Pulling himself slowly out of his slumbers George nodded agreement.
‘Wrong, mate. There’s some National Assistance, probably three pounds three shilling for the pair of you. It went up by ten shillings in February. What about that then? You have to go down and see them and sign some forms. Okay? Got to dash. Amy will have the details, she’ll write them down for you. Great about the wedding isn’t it? What a day that’ll be. Got to get well for that, George. You and Billie Brown are down for a duet, right?’ Leaving two bewildered and bemused people behind, Victor ran back down the lane and began to drive away just as the wobbling wheel of PC Harris’ bicycle appeared at the corner.
PC Harris was also on his way to see Nelly and George. He parked his bicycle against the gate and walked down to be greeted by the excited dogs. They escorted him to the door, ran back to pee against his bicycle, then down again to continue with their rowdy welcome.
George rose to make the essential pot of tea and the constable settled in the armchair George had vacated.
‘Look, I don’t want to embarrass you two at all, but, well I know things haven’t been too good for you lately and I wondered if you’d consider taking a lodger. Someone who would pay a bit of money and not be too much of a burden.’
‘A lodger? We’ve often joked about that, haven’t we George? But I don’t know. This place ain’t no palace and we’d ’ave to keep tidyin’ up and cookin’ proper meals and all that. No, I don’t think we could cope with a stranger.’
‘I agree with Nelly,’ George said, putting a cup of tea where the constable could reach it. ‘As you see, Nelly is recovering from a fall she had a while ago and I, well, I’ve had this cough that won’t shift and we find it enough just to look after ourselves.’
‘Tell us ’oo it is, though,’ Nelly added. ‘P’raps we’ll ’ear of a place that’s more suitable.’
‘It’s someone you know. Only slightly, mind, but she’s sure you’ll remember her.’
‘She? Funny that, I always thinks of lodgers being blokes. A woman, is she? I don’t think I fancy puttin’ temptation in George’s way, not with Clara likely to come and make him fightin’ fit again!’ Her loud laughter rang out and George joined in.
‘If your friend Clara has some medicine that can make me want to chase girls again she ought to bottle it and make herself a fortune.’
‘Her name is Doreen.’
‘Doreen? That nice girl who called when they were all out on a walk? I remember ’er. Smashin’ girl she was, remember, George?’
‘She’ll be leaving the Children’s Home soon and will need a place to live until she can find somewhere of her own. A room of her own would be all right for later, but for a while it would be better if she had someone to keep an eye on her, help her to adjust to being away from the safety and security of the home.’
‘Poor child,’ George said. ‘Imagine being suddenly on your own at that young age.’
‘Think about it will you? She will probably be found a room in Cardiff if you can’t help, but she specifically asked to be found a place in Hen Carw Parc. There’s a job for her at the fish and chip shop apparently helping Bethan, but only if she finds some suitable digs. The people at the Home try to make sure she will be safe and given a good start.’
‘Can’t they find something better than the fish and chip shop?’ George asked. ‘She asked for something around here and there doesn’t seem to be anything else.’
‘’Ow long? ’Ow long before she ’as to decide?’
‘A couple of weeks. I’ll come and talk to you again or you can talk to the Reverend Barclay Bevan. It was he the Home got in touch with. He mentioned it to me and I offered to come and see you.’
‘Have another cup of tea why don’t yer?’ Nelly’s dark, intelligent eyes were shining and she saw when she looked at George that once more their thoughts were running on similar lines.
* * *
Maurice had been shocked by Sheila’s decision to go ahead with their divorce. He had expected her to use his mother as an ally and try to persuade him to go back to her. The irritation that caused had turned to disappointment. His pride was hurt and there was something else he couldn’t put into words. The fact that she was expecting another man’s child seemed irrelevant to both her and his mother. Yet he was beginning to wish that things were different. The jobs he had tried for in London and several other places far from Hen Carw Parc had not been offered to him. Others, nearer home, he had refused. But time was passing and soon he would have the reputation of sponging off his widowed mother and not wanting to work.
He saw Sheila regularly, almost unconsciously managing to catch the same bus home after spending the afternoon in Llan Gwyn. She nodded with casual politeness but didn’t sit near him unless the bus was crowded enough to make it impossible not to. From choice, if he were downstairs, then she would go up. If she climbed the stairs and saw him she would cause chaos on the narrow, curving stairs and insist on going back down, proclaiming to any objectors that she was ‘expecting’ and needed to find a seat near the platform or she’d be sick. That usually quietened the objectors he noticed with a smile.
He began to admire the way she was dealing with her situation; the haughty manner, the attitude that it was the rest of the world that was wrong, not she: the way she out-stared anyone rude enough to make remarks within her hearing. Her looks, too, were enough to make him watch her with increasing pleasure.
Motherhood was giving her young skin a delightful bloom and her eyes an extra glow. She was very lovely and deep within him was a guilt like a leaden weight at the way he had used then abandoned her. She would have fought for him if the roles of her and Delina had been reversed, he was certain of that. The thought gave him an inexplicable warm feeling.
Sheila was aware of Maurice’s change of attitude but was wise enough to do nothing. When they alighted from the bus at the same time she would only nod and walk on, her high-heels giving a sway to her walk that she knew men liked. But when, on two occasions he asked her to come in and have a cup of tea with Ethel, she shook her head and peremptorily refused.
She hurried up Sheepy Lane: the evenings drawing out as springtime expanded everything around her, but she was not aware of the burgeoning hedges and fields or the increasing bird-song; she was conscious only of Maurice standing near his mother’s cottage watching her walk away from him. She was breathless when she turned into Hywel Rise and was lost to his sight.
That evening she was engrossed in making a cake. Of all people she was helping to make Amy and Victor’s wedding cake. She was tempted to add black pepper and chilli powder instead of spices, but she didn’t. The recipe planned by Amy and Mrs French filled the large flat baking tin to the required depth and she smoothed the top of the rich mixture level with pride. She’d show them how well she could cook and she’d show all the old biddies in the village that she could bring up a baby without constant moaning about the lack of a man, too. Whether Maurice changed his mind or not, her baby would be as well cared for as any child could be.
When she wrapped the cooked cake and set off with it the following evening to give it to Amy she saw Fay walking up the hill with her new baby. With a shared interest, Sheila stopped her and admired the tiny bundle with only a small face visible u
nder woollen blanket and woollen hat.
‘Pity for him, you going back to work. I’ll be staying home to look after my baby when he comes,’ Sheila couldn’t resist saying.
‘He’ll be well cared for,’ Fay said. ‘Johnny and I will make sure of that.’
‘Of course you will. But, poor dab, but it won’t be the same will it, little Gregory Lewis not having his mam when he cries? I’ve made a piece of Amy’s wedding cake,’ she said as Fay began to climb the hill again pushing the Silver Cross pram.
‘I’ve just delivered mine,’ Fay said, not telling the irritating girl that it was Johnny who had done most of it.
Going first to show Bethan her cake and let her smell the delicious aroma, she walked on through the village and saw Prue Beynon and Florrie out with baby Sian. Keen on babies since her decision to welcome her own she waited for the double-decker bus from Swansea to pass then ran across the road and bent over the pushchair.
‘There’s lovely, a one year old now, isn’t she?’ she smiled, tickling the little girl under her plump chin.
Prue’s thin, hard face softened as she watched her daughter smile at Sheila. Then, glancing up, she saw Freddy. He had alighted from the Swansea bus and was coming their way. In panic she began to push Sheila away. She had to stop him looking at her baby.
‘Steady, Mrs Beynon, you nearly had me over, I’m expecting remember.’ Sheila caught hold of the pushchair to support herself while she recovered and by then it was too late, Freddy was upon them.
‘Freddy!’ Sheila hugged him and, given the opportunity, Prue began to push past him. Sheila grabbed the handle of the pushchair and said, ‘Look, Freddy, your little niece. Isn’t she lovely? I wonder if I’ll have a little girl or whether it will be a boy. Welcome whatever, eh, Mrs Beynon?’ She stopped when she saw Prue’s face. It was almost blue with temper. Prue raised her handbag and aimed it at Freddy. Time and again she tried to hit him, growling in the back of her throat and muttering.
‘She isn’t your niece! Get away from her, I don’t want her to look at you, ever!’
Amy saw them and ran out, narrowly missing being hit by a car and held her sister’s arm.
‘Prue. Calm yourself. Whatever is it? It’s only Freddy, why are you hitting him? What’s he done?’
‘He isn’t Sian’s father. He isn’t. I’ll deny it in any court in the land! He’s nothing to do with her. I must keep him away.’ Almost demented, Prue’s long, thin hands gripped the push chair and her words became a low wail. Slowly, murmuring softly and soothingly, Florrie started to walk her home. Amy was shaking.
‘Funny thing for her to say, isn’t it?’ Sheila said quietly to Florrie Gwyn. ‘Wasn’t her husband the baby’s father then?’ Florrie ignored her, concentrating on soothing the distressed Prue.
Amy stared after them with a troubled look in her blue eyes. ‘Whatever brought that on? What could she be thinking of, talking about you being Sian’s father?’ Almost unaware of Sheila’s presence she said, ‘She’s terribly ill again. Why didn’t Florrie tell me? Freddy, what can we do?’
‘Nothing, Mam. Just wait until she gets over it again. Florrie’s a nurse, she’ll look after her.’
It was then that Sheila said, sweetly, ‘Enough to start a rumour in this place, something like that, isn’t it Mrs Prichard? Nosy lot round here.’
* * *
With work on the gardens and now the castle grounds to tidy up ready for Amy and Victor’s wedding party, everyone was busy. But not too busy to call regularly to see Nelly and George and keep them up-to-date with what was happening. The stream of visitors rivalled that of Ethel’s cottage. The only one who hadn’t visited them was Evie.
‘Me own daughter and she’s never called to see ’ow we are.’ Nelly brushed up the last crumbs of the ruined attempt at her portion of the wedding cake and threw them out for the chickens. ‘Lucky she didn’t come this morning, eh, George, and seen that burnt cake!’ She was moving easier now that the bruising from her fall had begun to fade and when Phil came that Wednesday morning she was taking the second and successful cake from her oven and preparing to return to her normal work for Mrs French.
When Evie called that afternoon having finished her hours in the office in Llan Gwyn, Nelly guessed it was because of Phil’s reminder.
‘You needn’t come just because Phil says you should be ashamed of yerself,’ Nelly said as soon as Evie had stepped inside the door. ‘Me an’ George will manage without your ’elp. Plenty of friends we’ve got.’
George came in from the garden where he had been reinforcing the ties on the hanging basket Nelly had put in the apple tree.
‘I think that basket will have to come down and be repacked, Nelly, love,’ he said after greeting Evie. ‘The birds have taken most of the moss for nest-building.’
‘Cheeky little devils,’ Nelly smiled. Then, turning to her daughter again she said, ‘An’ where’s young Ollie? We don’t see ’im these days, told ’im what a bad influence we are, have yer?’
‘Oliver is busy planning something with Margaret and that Dawn Simmons girl, but I’m not allowed to know what. That’s the reason I’ve come, Mother.’ She pushed the empty cake tin aside and, after using her hand to brush pointedly at the crumbs on the wooden table, fussily placed her handbag on it and went on. ‘I thought you might know what they’re doing. Timothy says I mustn’t interfere, but you know how unjudgemental children are.’
‘Unjudgemental? Blimey, Evie, you’re gettin’ worse. What job ’ave you got fer Gawd’s sake?’
‘It simply means—’
‘I know what it means! You’re afraid young Ollie will be involved in something ’e’s too stupid to see is wrong. Well you needn’t worry: considerin’ who ’is mother is he’s got a lot of common sense.’
‘Come on, ladies,’ George said. ‘Sit down and talk quietly. You both love the boy and want what’s best for him.’
‘What’s this to do with you?’ Evie said clutching her bag and preparing to leave.
‘Goodbye, Evie,’ Nelly growled, her head stuck forward in a threatening posture. ‘Call again why don’t yer.’
‘I knew it was useless to ask for your help.’
‘You ain’t got nothin’ to worry about, Evie. Just don’t try and find out. Them kids is plannin’ a real nice surprise. Don’t spoil it.’
‘Well, if you can assure me there’s nothing for me to be concerned about—’
‘There ain’t.’
‘Well, goodbye, Mother, George. I’ll take your word that Oliver isn’t doing anything silly.’
Nelly stood and watched her daughter walk up the path, as different from her mother as it was possible to be. ‘Why is it we can’t never meet for five minutes without quarrelling?’
‘What are Margaret, Dawn, David and Oliver doing, Nelly?’ George asked.
‘Gawd knows,’ Nelly shrugged. ‘But I know it won’t be anythin’ bad and she should know that, too!’
* * *
Victor saw a difference in his youngest son. He still did whatever homework he was given but now he hurried through it and went out to join Margaret, Dawn and Oliver either at Mrs French’s house or at Billie’s farm.
‘Will you come into town this Saturday, David?’ he asked one morning. ‘Delina says you need new shoes and a shirt for the wedding.’
‘Dad, must I? We’ve something planned for Saturday.’
‘What about meeting your sister after school and doing it then?’
‘Thanks, Dad.’
‘You’re happy about it all, are you? I mean me marrying and you having to accept an enlarged family?’
‘Margaret’s all right I suppose,’ he said grudgingly.
‘What about Amy?’
‘So long as she doesn’t try to boss me around.’
‘I think she’ll be too busy for that, son,’ Victor smiled.
When Victor went down to see Amy later David collected his guitar and went with him. He and Margaret ensconced themselves in the
front room and the piano and guitar were each played by both expert and amateur hands.
‘They seem to be getting along better these days,’ he whispered to Amy.
‘They’ve found they have something in common, music,’ Amy replied. ‘I don’t know what they’re planning but they all seem to be enjoying it. Saturday morning Mrs French is going down to Billie’s barn with them, but she won’t tell me exactly what they’re doing.’
‘Saturday morning? I can get the morning off, what about you?’
‘Freddy will be gone back then. He won’t be home again until our wedding.’ She looked at him, a smiling promise in her blue eyes, she fluffed out her hair, curved her body towards him provocatively and said, ‘Your place or mine?’
Chapter Twenty Two
Doreen came to live with Nelly and George a few days later. A telephone call to and from Barclay Bevan speeded the arrangements and Doreen arrived on the train at Swansea early on Saturday morning to be met by PC Harris. He brought the girl to Hen Carw Parc on the bus and by the time they reached the village they were friends.
Nelly was rosy-faced, having spent hours beside the oven range cooking and baking cakes. George was sitting in his usual chair sharing in Nelly’s excitement.
‘I hope she doesn’t change her mind once she sees us again, Nelly my dear,’ George said as he saw the pile of food mounting. ‘I think we’ll have enough for Amy’s wedding without anyone else helping if she does.’
‘’Ere they come so we’ll soon find out.’ Nelly pushed back her hair and slipped off the apron she had been wearing, throwing it out of sight under the table. The dogs heard the gate, too, and were up the path to greet the visitors, barking their welcome and drowning out Nelly’s shouts of, ‘Come on in an’ find a seat why don’t yer.’
As before Doreen seemed to make herself at home straight away and before Nelly could pour the teas, she had reached for the teapot and done it for her.
‘Thank you for agreeing to try me as your lodger,’ she said, sharing her smile between Nelly and George. ‘I know it’s a cheek, me asking if I could stay, but if you agree, only for a little while, I’ll be careful not to be a nuisance. It would be lovely to stay here with you two if you’ll have me. I love the village and I can’t explain it but this cottage seems like the home I’ve never known.’
Valley in Bloom Page 27
