Gareth came off the phone to find his mother standing near, staring at him with disapproval on her face.
‘Brian Powell again?’ she asked.
‘Yes, Mam, and you might as well know, we are considering buying a place together. He and his wife are selling their house and I will contribute by getting a loan, and I’ve found a job to pay it back. Right?’
‘I can’t understand why you have to leave here. For heaven’s sake grow up, stop this nonsense about travelling and moving away and take up your responsibilities here. There’s everything you want right here. How can you walk away from what we’ve built up? We’ve done it for you and Ryan and you can’t let us down like this.’
Gareth stood while she became more and more angry, her voice rising, her eyes filled with frustration. When she paused he said simply, ‘Mam, it’s all arranged. You must advertise for some help. Whatever you say, I’m leaving.’
The door opened and Tommy walked in with Owen behind him.
‘What’s going on? he demanded.
‘It’s me, Dad. I’ve just told Mam that I’m going into partnership with Brian Powell and his wife. And before you start, it’s all arranged and you won’t change my mind.’
Without turning around Tommy said gruffly, ‘Go away, Owen. This is family business.’
Owen left and closed the door, but he didn’t go far; he stood listening as the three of them ranted, all shouting at once, each insisting they would be heard, their voices getting out of control. When he heard footsteps coming towards the door he darted around the corner of the house and hid in one of the barns. He was smiling. This disagreement and Gareth’s determination to leave was heaven sent. It would take Rachel and Tommy’s mind away from what he was doing.
Later that day, he transferred a small amount of money into the new account he had opened in the name of George Treweather, George being his middle name.
Bertie walked through the lane and entered the wood, wandering aimlessly, killing time, knowing his mother wouldn’t be home for at least another hour. He climbed to the top of an oak tree, imagining himself on a ship in a stormy sea, then slid to the ground, unaware of losing a button from his coat. The sound of a pigeon flapping its way through the branches startled him, then he used the sound to pretend he was being chased by a dragon. He ran across the ivy-covered ground and squeezed himself into the hollowed-out trunk of an ancient ash, pretending to fight off an enemy with a stick. After a moment or two he stayed still, as the spurious excitement faded. Games weren’t much fun without companions and his friends were all home eating their tea and chatting to their families. When it was time to get out, he found he couldn’t move. He was stuck.
He struggled for a while, then began calling, shouting, then sobbing as no one came. He lost all sense of time but he was dreadfully hungry and thought he would be dead before morning. Intermittently shouting then quietly sobbing, he was silent when he heard the sound of someone coming. At once he began shouting again and a man appeared, a dog at his side, a gun broken over his arm.
‘Hush,’ he said, ‘you’re frightening the pigeons away.’ But he didn’t sound angry.
‘I’m stuck,’ Bertie said, trying not to sob.
‘Take off your coat, that will help,’ the man said. Carefully and with infinite patience the man helped him to free himself – a leg, an arm and gradually the rest of him popped out – then he asked the boy where he lived.
‘With my mam,’ Bertie replied.
‘All right, who is your mam?’
‘Sarah Grange. She’ll be home by now so I’d better run.’
He turned and ran off, dragging his sorry-looking coat behind him, his feet slipping in the too-large shoes. Tommy Treweather watched him thoughtfully until he was out of sight.
Sarah’s son, so dirty and unkempt he hadn’t recognized him. What a disgrace Sarah had turned out to be. Ruining her marriage and not even caring for the innocent reason for it. Such a shame Owen was so pig-headed. The boy couldn’t have much of a life living with his mother; the last he’d heard they were living in one room. If Owen had been more forgiving the boy could have had the freedom of all the space he needed and a family, the feeling of belonging at Treweathers’ farm. And the farm was in need of young blood – even if it wasn’t Treweather blood.
Perhaps he ought to have a word with Sarah. If they happened to bump into each other. He needn’t tell Owen, just a quiet word with Sarah when an opportunity offered, to see if she needed help.
Poor little boy. He hadn’t thought of him overmuch lately, and if he thought of him at all it was to imagine him as the baby who’d been born by mistake and ruined lives. Now, seeing the unkempt child wandering with no one who cared enough to worry about where he was and if he was safe, he felt a creeping shame.
An hour later he decided not to wait any longer in the hope of accidentally meeting Sarah, but to go and find her. More guilt, as he realized he didn’t even know where they lived. He’d simply followed Owen’s lead and put Sarah and her child out of his mind. He went to Stella Jones at the post office; she’d know where they lived. Everyone used the post office for one thing or another.
The house, when he found it, was a disappointment. It looked shabby, with ill-fitting curtains and unwashed windows. The garden was filled with clutter: abandoned and broken toys, a bicycle red with rust and missing a wheel, paper strewn on bushes where wind and rain had reduced it to pulp, even a few clothes piled up and forgotten, covered with leaves and rotting away. There was no reply to his knocking and he went away, frowning and wondering what he should do about it.
Bertie had been hiding, convinced the man had come to complain to his mother about his being in the woods. He didn’t come out until the van had driven away.
Tommy went next to the school, in case Bertie was hiding his absences by pretending to come out of school at the right time. He smiled as he remembered Gareth doing just that when he became obsessed with fishing. The school was closed and there was no one hanging around the gates.
He knew Sophie had befriended the boy and went to Badgers Brook, but again there was no one in. Anxious now, he went back to make sure the boy hadn’t returned home, then drove back into town and stopped a young woman walking with two small children.
‘Try the café,’ she suggested. ‘That’s where you’ll find her for sure.’ He remembered then having seen her there on more than one occasion.
He spotted her in a corner, with teas and cakes on the table in front of her, talking to friends, factory girls by the look of them, turbans on their heads, overalls visible beneath their coats.
Anger towards her and sympathy for a neglected little boy boiled over. He pushed through the door and put both huge, brawny hands on the table beside her. ‘At last! Looking for you, I’ve been.’
She tried to stand up, startled at his sudden appearance and the fury of his expression. ‘I’ve just found your son, in the woods, stuck and in danger, while you’re here idling time that should be spent with him!’ He didn’t lower his voice, but leaned lower on the table she was sharing and spoke loudly, his anger increasing. ‘Get home and look after the boy. It isn’t his fault you made a mess of your life!’ Unaware of the faces turned to stare, furious at the woman’s stupidity and thoughtlessness, he stormed out and drove off in the mud-spattered farm van.
Without another word, Sarah ran out of the café and headed for home. Tommy Treweather was right: she was neglecting her son. He was the only person who needed her in the whole world and she was treating him with complete disregard.
He wasn’t there. Deeply frightened, she walked around, calling his name, searching in wider and wider circles, sobs threatening. She found him at Badgers Brook, where Sophie and Daphne had washed him and were mending his coat and feeding him with beans on toast.
‘Come on, Bertie, thank these kind ladies for looking after you, but I’m here now and I’ll take care you.’ He muttered a polite ‘thank you’, and followed his mother out.
‘Perhaps this time she means it,’ Sophie whispered to Daphne, without conviction.
At school over the next few days Bertie avoided her, and Sophie knew that it was from embarrassment at his mother’s behaviour. She spoke to him but didn’t encourage conversation; he’d come to her when he was ready. He spent playtimes and dinner hours sitting on the wall near the gate and looking along the road. She knew he was keeping out of the way of the boys who tormented him, and wondered what he was thinking, guessing he was wishing that a previously unknown uncle or a grandad, or even a dad, might miraculously appear, to love him and make life better.
Walking through the curious mothers who waited at the gate after school was still a dread for Sophie, with the fear that they would attempt to begin a conversation and ask the inevitable questions. Her heart raced as she pushed her way through them with her head down. Sometimes, when she couldn’t face them, she would wait, talking to the cleaners, until they were gone.
Today she looked out and to her relief saw Daphne waiting for her to go to Stella and Colin’s country cottage. She was grateful for the excuse to ignore the other women. She ran through, apologizing but not stopping, as though dashing through a field of dangerous animals. She was breathless when she reached Daphne and hurried her away from the gates and the curious glances.
As they walked, Bertie passed by, and she asked, ‘We’re going to see Mr Jones’s allotment, want to come? I know they’d love to see you.’
He shook his head and ran off.
The shed was open when they arrived at the field, and Stella and Colin were sitting outside on folding chairs, sipping tea. Beside them on a neatly set small table were plates filled with biscuits and a few small cakes and some sandwiches.
‘Oh, good, you’ve come,’ Stella called out when she saw them. Within moments she had poured teas and provided plates and instructed them to ‘Help yourself, there’s always plenty.’
They discussed Colin’s neat plot and, having some experience from her father’s garden and from living in Badgers Brook, Sophie made the right comments and Daphne asked all the right questions. They also admired the ‘cottage’, Daphne flattering the woman, complimentary about her imaginative efforts. Sophie was impressed at the way Daphne coped with strangers. She was talking to Colin like an old friend and even offered to come and help when he was doing his autumn digging. ’So you can teach me the proper way to turn the soil,’ she added.
Although pleased to see her friend so easy with the people she met, Sophie began to wonder whether Daphne would ever leave. The original invitation, for two or three days, had stretched past the weekend and halfway through the next week and she was still making no move to return home.
‘The trouble is,’ Daphne explained when she broached the subject, ‘I’m bored out of my mind. Returning home and going back to the office where I dealt with allocations of foodstuff was interesting enough for a time, but now, having travelled, seen other places and met new people, I feel trapped. So I’ve decided to leave, I’ve written to telling them of my intention, and I’m hoping they’ll agree to my working out my notice during the holiday. It will only mean going back for a week if they don’t, and I wasn’t that good,’ she admitted with her loud laugh. ‘I just can’t go back to everything I’ve left, everyone expecting me to settle back in again.’
‘It was the opposite for me,’ Sophie explained. ‘No chance for me to settle back into how things were before. I came back to nothing and no one.’
‘Hardly no one, surely?’ Daphne asked curiously, but her words were ignored.
‘I needed a base,’ Sophie went on, ‘and I think I’ve found it here. But I don’t think Cwm Derw offers what you need, it’s hardly a place of variety, of excitement. Boredom is never far away.’
‘Would you mind if I gave it a try?’ Daphne asked and at once added. ‘Not here, sharing your home. But if I could find a place to stay, would you find my presence an intrusion? Please tell me, I prefer people to be straight.’
‘I’d love it if you were near, so we could meet and share some time together, but no, you’re right about my not wanting you to live here. I need the solitude. Besides, I’d have to ask my landlord, and Geoff might not approve of my inviting someone to share.’
‘Betty Connors wants someone to live in at the Ship and Compass. Just company through the nights, no work. So I’d have to find a job, and pay her rent. Shall I go and talk to her?’
‘What a good idea!’
Betty agreed immediately and, with relief and some regret, Sophie waved goodbye to her visitor and settled back into her quiet days.
The garden was producing an amazing amount of food, and, although the arrangement was for Bob to work it and take all he grew, he was generous with Sophie, leaving vegetables and salad stuff on the doorstep for her most days. On the days she wasn’t at school, she helped, finding pleasure in working the ground and nurturing the new growth.
On Saturdays Bertie began to appear again, and Bob gave him some simple tasks, enjoying the boy’s growing interest.
‘Tell him a thing once and he’s got it for ever,’ he said one late evening, as Bertie ran off home, clutching some young carrots and a sixpence. ‘He seems to have a great interest in the land. Such a pity he hasn’t grown up on the farm, eh?’
‘Life isn’t always fair.’
‘A father who doesn’t even know of his existence and a mother who’s too unhappy to cope. What chance does he have to grow into a well-adjusted man?’
‘A better one with you taking an interest, Bob,’ Sophie told him. ‘The saddest thing is that I have the feeling Owen would have been happier, too, if he’d accepted him and been a father to the boy.’
‘Too late now though.’
To Sophie’s surprise Sarah called to see her a few days later and asked for her help.
‘I’ll do anything I can,’ Sophie promised, wondering what was to come.
‘It’s Bertie. I’ve made a career of self-pity and I’ve neglected him. He needs more than I’m giving him and I want to change things, so I can improve our lives. Working in the factory and spending so much time away from him has become such a habit, I’ve hardly been aware of how cruel I’ve been.’
‘Not cruel! Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ve tried to do what’s best for him. He knows you love him.’
‘I’ve tried to make a fresh start several times. Moving to a cheaper room was always done with the intention of saving, getting us somewhere decent. But I seem incapable of managing however low the rent. I borrow and still owe arrears on the bills. I don’t know why it happens, but this time I want to get it right, The room is awful and Bertie deserves better.’
‘He understands, even though he’s only a child.’
‘But he’d like to run home from school and find me waiting for him?’
‘Of course. He wouldn’t call on me if you were there, believe me.’
‘All this time I’ve earned a good wage, but I’ve wasted it being sorry for myself, going to the pictures, buying clothes I don’t need, meeting friends for a good moan, you know what I mean.’
‘We can all fall into that trap,’ Sophie said with a comforting smile. ‘So, what’s the plan?’
‘I saw an advertisement for a part-time sales assistant at the dress shop and wondered whether I should apply.’
‘Have you worked in a shop before?’
‘Oh yes. I was a manageress before I married. Not dresses, mind, but selling is selling, and I was quite good at it.’
‘What did you sell?’
Sarah looked a bit embarrassed. ‘Pots and pans, kitchen goods, in a department store,’ she said with a grin.
‘Well, selling is selling,’ Sophie agreed with a laugh, and Sarah joined in.
Sophie stared at her. In some inexplicable way the decision to leave the factory and work fewer hours so she could take better care of her son had changed Sarah. It was as though she had stepped out of the shadows. She looked younger and far more attractive: the smile had eased away the frown lines, her hair was freshly washed and shinning like gold. Perhaps, like Bertie, she had needed to know someone cared enough to help. The little Sophie had done, and perhaps the intervention of Tommy, had been enough.
They talked about the possibilities for a while, and Sophie promised to be there whenever she was needed. ‘Between us we can make sure Bertie is safe,’ she said, brushing aside Sarah’s thanks. ‘I’ll be at the school, at least for a while, so I’ll be in a perfect situation to keep an eye on him, although, like you, I feel the need for something to change.’
‘Go back and finish your training then.’ Sarah laughed again, relishing the friendliness of this quiet, gentle woman. Then, her eyes shining with merriment, she added, ‘Oh, just listen to me! Talk about cheek! The thing is, I feel so different about everything, I feel I can solve everyone’s problems as well as my own.’
‘Good luck at the dress shop,’ Sophie said.
Sarah dressed with care on the day she was to see Nerys Bowen, the owner of the dress shop. She looked with dismay at her wardrobe, which lived in boxes pushed under the bed. She had bought so many garments that were completely unsuitable. How could she have been so stupid, and for so long? She borrowed the householder’s iron and set it on the fire to heat, having chosen a pink blouse and a floral dirndl skirt. She also ironed two of Bertie’s shirts and wished she’d spent money on buying him something decent instead of second-hand clothes that were never a good fit. But her eyes were opened now and things would be different from today. She hid her anxiety and, exuding confidence, she breezed her way through the questions with ease. Nerys Bowen seemed content with her replies and laughed with her when she cheerfully told her she had previously sold saucepans. It was clear the two women would work well together and Sarah was told straight away that the job was hers.
She told Nerys about being a mother on her own and quickly explained that she was no honourable war widow but a woman separated from her husband because of her own stupidity.
‘Do the job and that part of your life is your own business,’ Nerys said.
‘Bertie will be pleased I won’t have to leave him on his own so much. Factory hours have been hard on him.’
‘A boy needs his mother,’ Nerys said softly.
And a father, too, Sarah thought, but she didn’t speak the words aloud. It was too late for that.
The subject of their conversation ran home and burst in through the door, telling his mother about his latest gift. ‘Real carrots, grown in Sophie’s garden,’ he called, then his voice fell away as he saw that the room was empty.
He washed the carrots under the tap in the shared kitchen and chomped his way through them as he sat and waited for his mother to return. He heard her humming a favourite tune as she came in, adding words occasionally: ‘Sing a song of sunbeams, let the notes fall where they may, la, la la, la la, la, Oh it’s such a lovely day.’ She added her own words, as she often did. ‘Hello, Bertie, where have you been?’
‘Sitting waiting for you,’ he replied grumpily.
‘I’m glad you’re here. I’ve news for you. I’m leaving the factory and the awful hours spent away from you, my darling boy, and I’ve got a new job. Isn’t that great? No more awkward shifts. I’ll be here when you come home from school. What about that, then?’
‘What job?’ he asked huffily.
‘A dress shop, would you believe? I’ll have to spend a bit on clothes – I wasted so much on things I’ll never wear. I can’t wear my usual old stuff, it won’t be hidden by an overall any more.’
‘Can I have those shoes?’
‘Yes, with this week’s wages, and that’s a promise.’
‘Anything to eat?’ he asked.
‘Not much, love, but once I get us sorted we’ll be fine.’
‘Will we be able to move from here?’
‘One day. One day soon. I’ll be earning less but I’ll manage on what I earn and put aside what – what goes into the bank for us – and before you know it we’ll be rich enough to move to somewhere with a garden. We might even have a dog, what about that, eh? I’ve really made up my mind. You’ll see.’ She didn’t tell him she had also agreed to clean the floors and brass in Betty Connors’s public house. It would be hard and would mean being out of the house almost as much as before, although at more reasonable times, but they’d need the money if she really was going to make things better for them both. And she would. ‘This time I’ve really made up my mind,’ she repeated firmly.
They went to the shop on Saturday morning and bought the new shoes for Bertie. Unthinkingly, she moaned all the way home about how expensive they were, and how buying them had prevented her paying off the arrears owed to the coalman and milkman. He felt so guilty it was hard not to cry.
At school on Monday morning he was teased about his shoes, and on the way home he slipped into a muddy ditch with water up to his knees. When he got home he took them off and put them in the hearth, washed his feet as well as he could in cold water, and sat waiting for Sarah to come home.
She was about to shout and rage at his stupidity but a glance at the over-filled boxes protruding from under the bed reminded her how much she had wasted. She handed him the ration book and said, ‘You go to the shop and get a tin of soup and I’ll try to clean them up, OK?’
Feeling the need to tell her estranged family about her change of occupation and determination to improve her life, she went to the farm after walking Bertie to school one morning. As she had hoped, Owen wasn’t there. Only Rachel, sorting out some overalls that needed repair, and Tommy, who could be heard swishing water through the milking sheds some distance away.
‘What d’you want, Sarah?’ Rachel asked without warmth.
‘I wanted to tell you I’ve left the factory and intend to be at home when Bertie comes home from school. Tommy found him in the woods one day and it made me realize I needed to be home more than I have been. Tell him, will you?’
‘I’ll give Mr Treweather your message,’ she replied pointedly. ‘And if you’ve come to ask for more money from Owen, you’ll have to see him about it.’
‘I have a job. Two, in fact. And although both together they won’t pay as much as I earned at the factory, I’ll cope. Tommy made me realize how I’ve neglected my son, and I won’t make that mistake again. Tell him, will you?’ She turned from the door – obviously she wasn’t going to be invited inside.
‘Come in, if you’ve time,’ Rachel called and, surprised, Sarah stopped, a harsh remark at the tip of her tongue. Then she saw the expression on Rachel’s face and held it in check.
‘Five minutes,’ she replied; she didn’t want to appear grateful.
The heavy kettle was always simmering on the edge of the fire on the large oven range, and Rachel slid it closer to the heat. When it boiled she tilted it to fill the teapot. Sarah sat in silence as tea was poured and a slab of cake cut into slices.
‘I’ve found a job in Nerys Bowen’s shop, part time, so I’ll be there for Bertie a bit more,’ she said when Rachel sat in the large armchair close to the fire.
‘Selling clothes? But you haven’t had any experience.’
‘I’ve sold saucepans.’
At last, a hint of a smile. ‘Different sales patter needed then?’
‘I’ll learn. And I’m also cleaning in the Ship and Compass a couple of mornings, while Bertie’s at school. I’ll have to think of some arrangement for school holidays, but Sophie at Badgers Brook has promised to help.’
‘Do you have to do both jobs?’
‘Of course. As I said, even with the two jobs I won’t be earning as much as the factory work, but looking back I’m ashamed of how much I wasted. I’ll have to be more careful if I’m to get us out of that sad little room to somewhere better. Bertie deserves it and I’m determined to find somewhere before the year is out.’
‘I wish you luck.’ It wasn’t said unkindly and Sarah thanked her. ‘Your son, he’s well, is he?’
‘Physically he’s fine, but I don’t think he’s happy. The children at school tease him. Having no father is a heaven-sent gift for bullies, and he hasn’t been dressed as well as he should be. My fault, all of it.’ She stood to leave, wondering why she had succumbed to the ever-present need to talk to someone and confessed her failings to the very person she shouldn’t, who would never ever see her point of view or feel even the slightest sympathy.
To her surprise, Rachel stood and helped her on with her coat. Keeping her hand on Sarah’s shoulder, holding her there a moment longer, she said, ‘Owen was dreadfully hurt by what happened while he was away, and he was too stubborn to forget. And you didn’t help, mind, running away before giving him a chance. No one need have known if he’d been able to accept it. Believe it or not, Sarah, I tried to persuade him to reconsider his rejection of the boy. He isn’t Bertie’s father, and nothing will change that, but I pointed out that he is half yours, and that won’t change either.’
‘Thank you,’ Sarah whispered as she hurried through the door, fearful now of seeing Owen, or even Tommy, and being warned once again to stay away.
Elsie and Ed’s wedding had not taken place. Twice the service had been arranged but each time Elsie had been unwell and it had been cancelled. Ed spent a lot of time at the B&B, and Daphne slipped into the role of Betty’s assistant. After going back to work her weeks notice, which her boss had insisted upon, she had found work in the offices of a garage and had bought herself a car, which she offered to Betty for occasions when Ed was using his car, to which Betty had previously had access.
Settling in the town of Cwm Derw and living in a public house was something that amazed her sometimes. When she wrote her weekly letter to her mother and told her what had happened during the week it all sounded so dull, yet she had never been happier. The only disappointment was the departure of Gareth Treweather. She had begun to imagine that they might become close one day.
Learning that Sarah had left the factory and its beguilingly high wages made Sophie consider her own situation. She had enough money to live on, and she earned a little making her preserves, but looking ahead, she knew it wouldn’t be enough.
Everyone was getting settled and it was time she did the same. But what could she do? Returning to college and completing her training seemed so long term; she wanted something now. Ideas drifted through her mind but none stayed. The school seemed the right place for the moment.
She had her base; Badgers Brook had welcomed her like a much-loved, secure haven, but there had to be somewhere outside where she would feel needed and useful. She enjoyed the hours she spent in school and it was there she would stay until something more enticing appeared.
Owen came in from the fields where he had been checking on the sheep and heard loud, angry voices coming from the parlour. He stopped, calling back the dogs, who had followed him into the kitchen, and, shutting them outside, closed the door as silently as he could, without fastening the latch. Then he crept into the hall and close to the parlour door to listen.
‘I thought now Gareth had gone you’d stay. You can’t really be planning to leave us without help? Owen and a couple of untrained boys, that’s no way to run a farm. It’s a family business, you’ve always understood that. You can’t walk away from your birthright.’
‘But you’ve known for months what I’ve been planning!’ Ryan said, his voice loud with exasperation. ‘I’m leaving to train as a teacher. I realized while I was in the forces that farming isn’t what I want to do with the rest of my life. Rearing animals and sending them off to be killed – there has to be a better way.’
‘It’s that girl. Those are her words. She’s confused you,’ Rachel said.
Ignoring the remark Ryan turned to his father and said. ‘Look, I’ll be away during the week but home most weekends. I’ll do what I can to help then, but that’s all I can promise, right?’
‘Don’t bother!’ Tommy shouted. ‘If you can’t be here during the week, you’re no use to us. If you go you can stay away all together.’
‘Tommy!’ Rachel’s softer voice pleaded. ‘Don’t say things you’ll regret.’
‘Regret? I regret that the boys came back when the war ended and made us believe everything would go back to normal. That’s what I regret!’
‘Oh, why don’t you sell up?’ Ryan shouted. ‘Building land is in demand at the moment, so take the money and enjoy a few years of ease.’
‘I might just do that.’
‘Good.’
‘Tomorrow I’ll see about getting the place surveyed and valued. Right? Why should we work all the hours of daylight just for you to inherit it all when you don’t care. Tomorrow I’ll start things moving. Your home, your inheritance, will go on the market. How d’you feel about that, eh?’
‘It’s fine, Dad. Sell up, buy a small place and use the money for you and Mam to have a good time. It really will be for the best.’
‘You wouldn’t get anything out of it, mind, so don’t think you will. Any money will go to charity. No one in this family deserves anything – your heart isn’t here so why should you benefit?’
‘Just enjoy it, spend it all. Gareth and I can make our own way.’
‘Don’t talk rubbish,’ Rachel interrupted softly, her face creased with distress.
Tommy stood up and glared at her. ‘I’m not the one talking rubbish. Look to your sons if you want to listen to rubbish, giving up on everything we’ve worked for, keeping it going through the war, and for what? Two useless, ungrateful—’
‘It’s a waste of time talking to you,’ Owen heard Ryan say. Then he heard the scuffle of feet on the wooden floor and moved swiftly towards the back door. He rattled the latch loudly, and, calling the dogs waiting outside, walked through the kitchen and into the hall again.
‘Anyone home?’ he called. He had to move to one side as Ryan left the parlour, pushing past him, hardly aware he was there, his eyes staring straight ahead, glazed with anger. ‘What’s happened?’ Owen asked, going in to see his aunt and uncle staring at the door through which Ryan had just stormed out.
‘Nothing,’ Tommy snapped. ‘Nothing to do with you.’
Owen looked away, trying to ignore his uncle’s angry words. He forced a smile and looked at Rachel for an explanation.
‘Just another spat between your uncle and our Ryan,’ was all she said.
‘Come on, it’s more than that, surely?’
‘Oh go away, Owen, it isn’t any of your business,’ Tommy snapped. ‘Have you checked the hedges at the top of the field near the power pylon?’
‘Not yet, I thought I’d have a cup of tea first.’
‘Go and do it then, will you?’
Rachel led him out. ‘Best you go, this isn’t the time to talk to him. Come for your dinner at one, all right?’
‘If it’s to do with the farm, shouldn’t I be told what’s going on?’
‘Nothing’s going on, just an argument, that’s all.’ She hushed away his protests, insisting it wasn’t anything that concerned him, and he went out, carrying the gun without which he rarely went on to the hill, and stormed up to where the pylon stood like a giant meccano toy. He half-heartedly checked the hedge, marking with string the areas that might need attention, then sat on the bank and looked around him.
This land was as much his as Gareth and Ryan’s, yet they talked about selling without even discussing it with him. As he sat listening to skylarks singing their summery songs and the contented sound of sheep chewing the sweet green grass close by he calmed down. Perhaps thinking of selling this beautiful place was nothing more than momentary madness, a way of adding force to an argument, fuelling a bitterness that was intended to hurt. Well it certainly hurt me, he thought.
One of the routines of running the farm was to have a weekly discussion, where grievances could be sorted, and problems solved. To Owen’s chagrin, many other meetings took place to which he was not invited. Perhaps he might bring up the idea of selling at the next meeting he attended, pretend he’d heard a rumour in the town. That would be easily believed. Rumours grew like mushrooms but lasted longer. He might even start one himself; that wouldn’t be difficult, either.
The following day he went to the post office. The queue was often out into the pavement, especially on pensions day, but today it waggled its way down past the row of houses and around into a side lane.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked a young woman hurrying out of the shop carrying a few small packages.
‘Sweets are going on ration again on the fourteenth and Stella is selling all she has before the restrictions start.’
‘But they only came off ration in April.’
‘Too many greedy people with plenty of money, I suppose,’ the young woman said as she hurried off.
Owen went into the café and sat nursing a cup of tea, hoping the queue would soon disappear. To his embarrassment, he saw Sarah coming in. He didn’t recognize her at first, used to seeing her only rarely and then dressed shabbily in overalls, her hair untidy after being fastened in a scarf or safety hat from the factory. Today she was dressed in a pretty summer dress and talking animatedly to Nerys Bowen from the dress shop. His stomach jerked with what could only be jealousy as he wondered if she had found a man friend for whom it was worth making an effort.
Leaving his tea unfinished, he waited until Sarah and Nerys were busy studying the menu and sidled out. The queue at the post office had dispersed and he went in and asked for a postal order to send off for some ex-army boots that he hoped would be suitable for the autumn days to come. He looked at Stella and gave a half-hearted laugh. ‘I’m amazed at the gossip that this town comes up with.’
‘I’m not, nothing surprises me any more,’ Stella said, handing him his purchases. Her eyes brightened as she asked, ‘Come on, what’s the latest then?’
‘I’ve heard from two sources that my aunt and uncle have agreed to sell Treweather Farm for a company to build an estate of houses.’
‘Never!’
‘Two different people asked me if it’s true.’
‘And is it?’
‘If it was I daren’t tell you, Mrs Jones. Rumours can do so much harm, can’t they?’ He left the shop, and when he glanced back inside Stella was already on the telephone, her eyes brighter than ever.
When he reached the farmhouse, a meal was almost ready and Rachel, red faced from the heat of the fire, was placing the last of the serving dishes on the huge table, where a silent Ryan and Tommy sat. Owen went to wash his hands and when he returned the tableau hadn’t moved.
‘I heard a stupid rumour this morning,’ he said brightly. ‘Someone reckons Treweather Farm is up for sale to one of these firms who build dozens of houses all close together like in towns. As if anyone would want to live in a place like that. Daft, eh?’
In silence, Ryan and Tommy began to eat.
When it was time for Ryan to leave, he was still not speaking to his father. He had hoped to have a party, invite some of his friends for a cheerful send-off before attending the summer school where he would ‘sit in’ on lessons and prepare for college that autumn. But the atmosphere in the house made that impossible, so instead he invited Sophie out to a restaurant a little way out of town.
Just before the time he’d arranged to call for her, he went to get the van, but it wasn’t there.
‘Owen?’ he called, running up the stairs to where Owen slept.
Owen opened his door and when Ryan asked where the van had been parked he said, ‘It’s at the garage. Your father said there was an oil leak or something. Why, did you need it? I thought you’d be too busy packing to need it today.’
‘I was taking Sophie out. Now I’ll have to cancel.’
‘Buses?’ Owen said with slight sarcasm.
‘I’ll cut through the wood.’
‘Not in those shoes, I hope? Or that suit. Demob suit, isn’t it?’
Giving no reply, Ryan hurriedly changed into wellingtons and a donkey jacket and, carrying his shoes, walked up the hill and through the wood into the lane.
‘Why don’t we stay here?’ Sophie suggested when he had explained. ‘I have soup, my cheese ration, fruit, some homemade bread and even a bottle of last year’s elderflower champagne. It’s too soon for this year’s bottling.’
‘It sounds perfect,’ he said, kissing her lightly on the cheek. He was aware of her pulling away from even that most innocent of salutes and felt chastened. And disappointed. He had hoped to reach an understanding with her before leaving; the promise of having her to return to whenever he had a free few days.
‘Dad and I have seriously quarrelled,’ he told her later as they sat in the garden and sipped the delicious wine as the day cooled. ‘I won’t be going home in my free time.’ He felt her start. Surely she wasn’t expecting him to ask if he might stay there?
‘I’ve arranged to stay at Elsie Clements’s guest-house,’ he went on. ‘Perhaps we can meet when I come back, and get to the restaurant I booked, eh?’
‘That would be lovely. I hope you enjoy the work and meeting new people. It will be very different from the semi-isolation of the farm.’
He stood, believing he could hear beneath the words a gentle dismissal. ‘I’ll write and let you now how I get on, shall I?’
‘Please, Ryan. I’d like that.’
She was edgy, and when he leaned forward to kiss her she backed away again. Embarrassed he picked up his wellingtons and old jacket and carried them, not wanting to stay and change in her presence.
She had seemed friendly, almost affectionate, but as soon as he had moved close she’d been afraid. Unsettled, he walked through the woodland for a long time before going back to the farm.
The next morning he left, Owen insisting he was unable to give him a lift, and, not willing to ask his father, he ordered a taxi. When he turned back to wave, only Owen was there to see him off, and he was smiling with what appeared to be delight at his departure.