chapter nine
Faith had been dealing with the last-minute shopping. Mrs Gretorex had gone with her and when they had succeeded in buying all they could possibly need and the shops were beginning to close for the holiday, they went into a café and ordered tea and cakes. With their bags of food at their feet, they sat and went over their plans for the following day.
‘As Christmas Eve is a Sunday, it will have to be a less important meal or Christmas dinner will be a bit of an anticlimax,’ Mrs Gretorex said. ‘We can’t do the usual Sunday roast dinner, can we?’
‘It would spoil the effect of the big spread we plan for Christmas Day,’ Faith agreed. ‘What about bacon and eggs?’
‘Tinned spaghetti on toast,’ her friend announced with a laugh. ‘My husband will hate that but he’ll enjoy the big Christmas dinner more because of it.’
The café was full and very noisy, the excitement of the holiday affecting everyone. People were waiting impatiently for a table to be clear and as soon as they stood to go, they knew a couple of women would rush to take their places. It was dark outside and the traffic had eased. Stepping out and shutting the sound of the noisy café behind them was like walking into a different world. Heaving their baskets on to their arms they began to trudge towards the bus stop.
The buses were crammed full and the conductor had difficulty moving around collecting fares. Like the people in the café, everyone was talking and laughing and Faith marvelled at the joy of the season.
As they approached No 3 they saw Kitty and Gareth waiting for them. As they drew nearer, they ran to meet them and it was clear that something was wrong. Neighbours had gathered near by, standing with arms folded, waiting patiently to find out what had happened. Alarmed, Faith put down her shopping and asked. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
‘I’m so sorry, Faith,’ Kitty said. ‘But someone’s broken in and …’ She broke off, sobbing. Gareth put an arm around his wife’s shoulders and led them all to the front door.
The mess was visible without going inside. The decorations had been pulled from the walls and the table holding the small Christmas tree had been overturned. With a gasp of disbelief, Faith stepped over the ruined tree and looked into the living room. There was more of the same, but it was the kitchen that was the worst shock.
The fridge was open and no light showed. The food that had been ready for the celebration was ruined, packages had been opened and stamped underfoot, the debris spread around the floor. Cakes and mince pies were broken into pieces, the iced cake and its colourful decorations a sad echo of its previous splendour. Jars of pickles had been smashed into the sink, cream poured over the vase of dried flowers in the centre of the table.
Gareth’s voice seemed to come from a long way off as he said, ‘I hope I did right, but I phoned for the police. I think they should see this before we start clearing it up.’ On cue, the sound of a car pulling up entered her confused mind and she turned to see two policemen entering, calling her name.
‘We were out buying the last of the shopping,’ she murmured. ‘Now it’s all ruined, and it’s too late to buy more.’
She answered their questions but later couldn’t remember anything that was said. It was Gareth who told her that they took the attack very seriously and promised to investigate but warned that the holiday would make things difficult.
Hours later, after photographs of the devastation had been taken, they began the sad task of clearing up. Kitty brought down some large boxes, having taken out the contents – things they owned but had not intended to unpack. Slowly, with the help of neighbours, the debris was removed and order was restored. The sadness and disbelief remained.
Kitty and Mrs Gretorex had come to a decision between them and, as the last of the mess was stacked outside ready for the next refuse collection, they told her their plans.
‘The meat is no use, but I have a tinned chicken you can have,’ a neighbour offered.
‘I have corned beef, ham and some mysterious luncheon meat with a name I’ve never heard of,’ another offered with a smile.
‘Fruit for starters, plenty of vegetables for the main course with a choice of tinned meats.’ Mrs Gretorex said brightly. ‘How does that sound?’
‘There’s an apple tart which I left cooling on the bedroom window sill,’ Faith said attempting to smile.
Kitty offered to bring it down and found it upturned on the floor. She couldn’t tell Faith the intruder had gone this far, so she slipped outside having gathered it back on to its baking tin and brought it as though from the garden. She had stuck some grass and a couple of leaves amid the broken pieces. ‘Bad luck!’ she said, encouraging laughter. ‘It must have fallen out!’
When Faith eventually went to bed she saw the mark on the carpet and guessed what had really happened. As Kitty had known, the thought of someone actually being in her bedroom was even worse than the disaster downstairs. She pulled the blankets off her bed, tiptoed down and, after checking all the locks, slept on the couch once more.
Sunday, Christmas Eve, was a strange day and they were all subdued. The fridge was unharmed, it had simply been unplugged and rescuing some margarine and finding the rest of the required ingredients, Faith made some cakes and a few mince pies. Whoever was doing this, he wouldn’t ruin her Christmas. Her friends would make sure of that.
Matt’s mother was staring at her pantry with its generous supply of food. She felt terribly guilty over what she had done. Gwenllian watched her and, seeing the woman was troubled, persuaded her to talk about what she had done.
‘Come on, Auntie Carol. I know something’s upsetting you. It’s Christmas and no one should be unhappy at Christmas time. Except Faith Pryor!’ she added bitterly.
‘I’ve ruined her Christmas,’ Carol said quietly.
‘Good on you! How did you do that?’
Shamefully at first, then, as Gwenllian encouraged her with more malice, Carol told her how she had gone into No 3 and ruined as much food as she could. She looked at her niece, expecting disapproval, but Gwenllian was delighted.
‘I wish I’d thought of it. You didn’t ruin the garden too, did you?’
‘I was so angry I couldn’t sleep. Thinking of Faith happy and laughing with friends while Matt is grieving for the daughter she stole from him, I went out and worked for three hours and wrecked it.’ She looked at Gwenllian tearfully and whispered, ‘Matt must have inherited his temper from me.’
‘Nonsense, you don’t need a bad temper to relish revenge. That can be coldly and calculatingly carried out.’ She hugged Carol. ‘I can fully understand how you felt. And I admire your bravery in carrying it out.’
‘I don’t feel brave. I feel utterly ashamed.’
On Christmas morning Faith woke early and was instantly aware of the silence that tingled with that special feeling of excitement that the day brings. Memories of other Christmases came to her, most of which echoed with low expectation and disappointment. Despite Saturday’s disaster, this one would be different.
Dinner was planned for two o’clock and she prepared the vegetables and part-boiled the potatoes for roasting. At nine o’clock she had everything ready, and the table was set for six. She made a pot of tea and was just about to sit down when there was a knock at the door. It opened and Ian called. He was carrying a spray of holly, ivy and mistletoe arranged in a small vase. ‘Mum thought you’d like this,’ he said then stared in disbelief when she burst into tears.
When he had been told what happened he promised to talk to the police. ‘You have to tell them about Matt,’ he told Faith. ‘How can they help if they don’t have all the facts?’
‘No,’ she insisted. ‘Matt wouldn’t have done this. He might be angry, but this was a spiteful act. He’d face me with his anger, not sneak in and do this. More the behaviour of a child in a temper than a grown man.’
‘Do you know a child who would do this?’ Ian asked doubtfully.
‘No, nor an adult. It’s just unbelievable that someo
ne could hate me so much.’ She shivered, her arms wrapped around herself. ‘The worst part for me is knowing that someone must have been watching us, waiting for the opportunity.’
‘Don’t think that. It was more likely to have been an opportunistic action.’
‘More publicity for me I suppose, although I don’t know why I worry about more publicity,’ she said as he was leaving. ‘By this time everyone knows! But I keep hoping it will end and people will be allowed to forget. Whatever happens, I’m considered to be the villain.’
‘I’ll go and fetch Olive,’ he said, ‘then I’ll see you later in the day.’
Olive came filled with excitement, waving a letter. ‘It’s from my boys,’ she told them. ‘In London they are and both with a job. They’ve got a flat and they want me to visit. What about that, then!’
‘I’m so pleased,’ Faith said, and wished them luck, with the others adding their good wishes. It was a happy beginning to the celebration.
‘You couldn’t have asked for a better Christmas present,’ Mrs Gretorex added, and there was a sadness in her voice, although, Faith didn’t question her. Mrs Gretorex and her husband were very private people and Faith knew no more about them than she had been told on their first day at No 3.
‘I know my boys have been difficult but they aren’t really bad. Once they find their feet they’ll be model citizens, you wait and see,’ Olive said happily.
There was a scattering of parcels under the table where the tree had once stood and they took it in turns to open them. Jean and Roland had sent a gift, as had Menna and Geoff and Winnie and Paul. Each of the friends had packed a surprise for the other tenants so the laughter filled the small, overcrowded room. Winnie had been unwell during the days before Christmas but the children had made Faith a calendar for 1962, on which they had stuck an enthusiastic number of stars.
The meal was declared a success, but the praise wasn’t exaggerated, no one found it necessary to compensate artificially for the disaster of the previous Saturday. They sat squashed together to listen to the Queen’s speech, played a few silly games instigated by a very happy Olive, then they stayed together for the rest of the afternoon talking, listening to the wireless and playing board games, before returning to their own rooms, planning to come back for supper.
The easy way the day had passed showed the strength of their friendship and Faith was grateful, although the cheerful atmosphere was a little forced because of what had happened two days previously. She saw the mess created in her home every time she closed her eyes and Matt’s dark, handsome face seemed to be standing looking at it with her, with a frown of satisfaction on his face and amusement in his eyes. Matt or some mysterious stranger: who could hate her enough to do this?
Supper was an easy meal shared by Ian and Vivienne. They had brought a wind-up gramophone and they listened to Russ Conway, Frankie Vaughan and David Whitfield and sang along with the popular tunes. When everyone had gone home, Faith was so tired and happy that for once, sleep came easily.
For Matt and his mother, Christmas was a quiet affair. Matt spent most of the time working, the sound of hammer on chisel a reminder to Carol of his solitary state. He grew angry with her when she asked him to stop. ‘I’m lonely too,’ she reminded him.
‘Then go out! Visit one of your friends, have fun with their families!’ His bitterness was apparent and she grieved for him.
The next time the police called to see Faith it was simply to tell her they had nothing to report. One of them, Sergeant Meyrick, looked at her in silence for an unnerving minute. ‘Are you sure you can’t tell us anything more, Miss Pryor? It’s unusual for a victim not to have some idea of the perpetrator.’
She hesitated for a moment, then took out copies of the newspaper reports of Matt’s imprisonment and the one about her walking away from her child. Under his gentle persuasion she told him her reasons for abandoning her daughter although she still insisted Matt was not the father. She could never go back on that lie. He listened and nodded silently, looking thoughtful but giving away nothing of how he felt. She presumed that, as a man, he would support Matt, believe his story that the girl was the guilty one, that she had been very wrong to deprive Matt of his child.
‘I might have been wrong,’ she murmured when the silence seemed to go on and on, and her guilt was increasing with every second. ‘Perhaps the girl was to blame and exaggerated her side of it to get sympathy for herself and her child.’ Still he said nothing, just stared into space perhaps considering her situation at the time – or that of Matt.
He closed his notebook into which he had written very little, and stood to leave.
‘Thank you, Miss Pryor. I hope whoever did this is satisfied with ruining your Christmas and won’t bother you again.’
‘He – or she – didn’t ruin it. My friends and I had a very happy time.’
‘I’m glad.’
Faith felt depressed after his visit, convinced that her story had made her less of a victim and more the villain. She searched through the newspapers every day, fearing more publicity, but days passed and the papers were filled with world events and information about pounds, shillings and pence one day changing to decimalization, which seemed unlikely. Thanks to the timing of it, there was no mention of what happened to her on 23rd of December.
She was screwing up newspaper to light the fire one day when a headline caught her eye. It was a report on the availability of a birth control pill and she wondered how differently things would have worked out if such a thing had been available when she met Matt. Would she have married him? Marriage and a family of her own were things she had needed so badly after more than twenty years of being alone, and she thought she would have done, eventually.
Perhaps, if the pill had been available she might not have had her daughter, but she could still have tied herself for life to Matt, a man capable of violence against a young girl. Learning about it from that newspaper article would have come too late. That would have been much worse. She began to think of the birth of her daughter in a different light. Her instantaneous protective love for the child she hadn’t begun to know, whose face she could not envisage, had given her the strength to walk away.
Ian and his mother called. He went to talk to Faith, hugged her, trying to cheer her out of the sadness that clouded her eyes.
‘They seem very fond of each other,’ Kitty whispered to Vivienne, smiling to encourage confidences.
‘Little chance of romance developing,’ Vivienne replied sadly. ‘Faith doesn’t give the impression that she plans to stay. Ian was badly hurt by a previous love who left him when they were planning their marriage. Now he fears becoming too fond of her, afraid to give more than the friendship they enjoy.’
Faith overheard and depression deepened. She felt unlovable, but it passed and she told herself how fortunate she was to have the friendship of them both.
Christmas was always a time of mixed emotions. Happiness as friends gathered and surprises were revealed, but a time also when other people who had been lost were brought poignantly to mind. Faith thought of her sister and her parents, and wondered if they too were celebrating the occasion among friends. She daydreamed about what they were like, how they had spent their lives and sometimes imagined ordinary people doing ordinary jobs. At other moments she imagined them as successful business people, content and without giving her a thought. They don’t even know I’m alive, she thought, and I have no idea whether they survived the bombing all those years ago. My mother must have died, she comforted herself. If she’d lived she would have searched until she found me. She would never have given up.
Shops reopened and gradually things returned to normal. The weather became colder but on her day off and sometimes in the evenings she went for long walks. A fall of snow coaxed her across the fields and she came back cold and hungry, and happy to have a place of her own and friends to share it. It was here she should concentrate her efforts, not the impossible dream of a family suddenly appear
ing, to enfold her in love. They’d probably dislike me anyway, she believed in her most miserable moments. They’d walk away and I’d still be on my own, only more unhappy than before.
Olive Monk called one Sunday morning and to their amusement, announced that she was there on important business. Having spent Christmas Day with Faith and being unaware of any distrust, she had decided to brave it.
‘I want you to look at my catalogue and chose something you’d really like,’ she said. ‘And also, if you like, you can join my Christmas Club. Start saving every week and get it all out at Christmas in vouchers to spend in the high street.’
They all asked questions and tried to hide their doubts about the risk of handing over money to a woman who had cheated on Faith.
‘The vouchers can be used in several shops,’ she reminded them. ‘And if you start now you’ll have a nice little sum to spend next Christmas.’
Because of, rather in spite of, her doubts, Faith knew she had to agree. She decided on a weekly sum and others did the same. Her tenants were intending to stay in the area so there was no reason not to join.
As in the past, Faith’s mind immediately flew to the thought that, unlike her tenants, she herself might not be there, but she calmed the thought away. She owned this house and whatever happened, no matter how many times her past was revived in malicious gossip, she was going to stay.
Olive proudly handed out payment cards and filled the details into her notebook.
As it was a Sunday morning the three woman were getting the vegetables prepared for their lunch. Olive looked longingly at the teapot. ‘Any chance of a cuppa? I’ve been out for two hours already today and I’m sinking for a drink.’
Smiling, Faith began to make tea. Olive made herself comfortable and began telling them about her varied customers. Then she startled Faith by saying, ‘I’ve been to London to visit my cousins. My sons are up there now, both working, that’s good news, eh? I stayed with them at their flat. It’s small but very smart and only up two flights of stairs. They seem to be settled at last. And talk about coincidence, I heard of someone with the same name as you. Someone called Mary Pryor.’
The Runaway Page 17
