Charlotte had walked out of the back door when her mother had sent her to her room like a naughty child and ran down the hill to find Joe. When they walked into Mill House a couple of hours later they thought they had become involved in a dream. The place was filled with children. One was sitting on the stairs picking bits of wallpaper loose, one sat cross-legged on the hall carpet runner, being pulled along by an older child, and from the kitchen, voices were raised in anger. Uncle Peter could be heard laughing and on investigation was discovered reading a story, with actions, to a solemn little girl aged about five.
“You’re back,” he said unnecessarily. “This is Isabelle, she’s five and already at school. Isn’t she beautiful?”
“Uncle Peter, what’s going on?” Charlotte demanded. “Where’s Mam and who are these children?”
“Best I let your mother explain,” he smiled. He turned back to the little girl, who sat waiting patiently for her story. “Now, Isabelle, where were we? Father rabbit was just bringing home a bag filled with carrots from Farmer Thomas’s field…”
Charlotte stared at Joe and he took her hand. They went to the kitchen door and, pushing it open, saw her mother and her father having a row.
“Dad!” She couldn’t hide the pleasure she felt at seeing him.
“I know this is a shock for you all, my dear,” Eric said. “But these children, and Miranda here, are my new family.”
“Miranda?” She looked at the young woman standing in the doorway, a baby on her arms.
“A sort of adopted daughter. These beautiful children are mine and Gloria’s. He said the names and added their ages and Charlotte and Joe listened in disbelief. “Miranda here, and her brother Danny, belong to a previous marriage. Their father was killed and—”
“Wait a minute, Dadda. You mean these are yours? They are my half-sisters?”
“And brother,” he said proudly, pointing to baby Matthew in Miranda’s arms.
It seemed to Charlotte that the four most active children, Ellie, Isabelle, who had tired of Peters stories, Louise and Petula, multiplied in number as she watched. Miranda nursed the baby but the other four ran amok without a word of stricture from the bemused Harriet, who seemed unaware of her carpets and rugs being used for sleighs, her polished floors for skating rinks.
Later, when they had departed by taxi, the silence trembled around the house for a long time.
“What are you going to do, Mam?” Charlotte asked, into the hollow silence.
“Emigrate!” Harriet said with a weak laugh.
“Mam,” Charlotte said in disbelief. “you’re going to take them in!”
“Good on you, Mrs Russell.” Joe whispered in awe. “Bloody good on you.”
Once Harriet had formally agreed to Eric’s family moving into Mill House, Eric began to order beds and, with Charlotte and Joe’s assistance, turned two of Harriet’s five bedrooms into dormitories with three beds in each, plus a cot for baby Matthew. He also arranged for Bessie to do an extra morning to deal with the ironing, and bought a washing machine. “Because,” he said to Charlotte, with his gentle smile, “I don’t want our arrival to completely exhaust you and your mother!” He hugged her and added, “Besides, you and Joe will be marrying soon from what I hear, and then your mother will be glad of any machinery that will reduce her burden. Glad I am for you, Charlotte. Joe seems to be a very decent and caring man. I’m sure you’ll be happy.”
Charlotte thanked him but wondered if this new chapter in the saga of Mill House would allow her marriage to take place as planned.
Once the news broke, there were many offers of help. People struggled up the hill to bring an assortment of furniture and china to help Harriet cope with the influx of the extra family. Cutlery and china appeared on the porch, brought by women who gave gladly. They talked about the event almost with pride. Even from those who liked Harriet the least, there wasn’t a single malicious word. Everyone was glad to help, and almost every household provided something to add to the comfort of Eric’s new brood. Outsized saucepans no longer needed by families who had grown up and dispersed, bedding, extra chairs and even a table, came up from Kath’s boarding house, carried by two of her boarders.
“The house is no longer ours, Mam,” Charlotte said one evening when, exhausted after pulling up a worn carpet and helping Joe to cover the floor of the bedroom with linoleum, they sat drinking a cup of cocoa.
“It’s worse than I imagined,” Harriet admitted. “I’d thought of all the extra persons but not their possessions, nor the furniture and bedding and the dozens of other things needed to accommodate them all. Their clothes alone need a small room! The house is so full I don’t think Bessie will be able to clean it.”
Charlotte was preparing to sympathise with her mother but to her surprise she saw that, far from needing comforting words, Harriet looked happy.
“What about Dad, Mam?” she asked.
“What about your father?” The response was sharp and Charlotte realised, too late, that Eric was a subject best avoided. Her mother would sort out how she felt about having her wayward husband sleeping under the same roof but it wouldn’t be solved as easily as fitting an extra seven people into Mill House. Eight, when Miranda’s seaman brother came home.
On June the tenth, the day on which they had planned to be married, Charlotte and Joe sat at the top of the hill above Mill House looking down at the town below. Neither was inclined to talk. They watched the early afternoon traffic below, both thinking about the flat above the ex-butcher’s shop that was to have been their new home; Joe remembering how he and Charlotte had hurriedly decorated the rooms so they would be ready for today, and Charlotte sifting through in her mind all she had collected in her “bottom drawer”, wondering if she would ever use them.
It was a dull day, the sun refusing to shine, the hills around them holding clouds around their peaks like scarves to ward off the chill.
“Come on, Joe, my thoughts are becoming melancholy.” she said. “Let’s go and have a cup of tea. Mam is probably out with Rhoda and Dad has taken Uncle Peter and the children to see a cricket match.”
In the living room sat her mother, Rhoda and Brian. Rhoda was in a frilly hat and summer dress, nylons on her shapely legs, slim feet in a pair of Joyce sandals. Brian was smartly dressed in a grey Hector Powe suit, blue shirt and soberly matching tie. His expensive shoes were polished, socks a perfect match with his tie. A man, Charlotte thought, who would never answer the door before looking in a mirror and tidying his hair. Brian and Rhoda were a couple so alike in their attitude and behaviour she couldn’t imagine them apart. Of all the couples she knew, Rhoda and Brian were the most perfectly matched. Harriet ignored the couple’s arrival. Brian had just announced that he was moving into larger premises owing to the rapid increase in his business.
“Very clever. my Bri,” Rhoda said proudly, greeting her sister and Joe with a wave.
“My move has been postponed again, would you believe,” Joe said. “It should have been all settled. There’s some trouble with the buyer getting the loan, although it was approved some time ago.”
“You took a chance doing all that work in a shop that isn’t yet yours, then,” Brian said. “I hope the sale doesn’t fall through.”
“No chance of that. I suspect that the couple who’re buying the bicycle shop are delaying so they don’t have to start paying until next month,” Joe said. “Another couple of weeks and it should be all settled.”
“Bri said he shouldn’t have done all that work on the meat shop until it was his,” Rhoda confided in her mother. Harriet said nothing.
“The new shop is in a good spot.” Brian and Joe began to talk about stocking the new premises.
“Charlotte, can’t you see something different about me?” Rhoda said petulantly.
“No,” Charlotte frowned. “New hat? New sandals?”
“Not my clothes, silly. Me!”
“You look the same as always, dressed up for a wedding and you only going to the shops.”
“I’m a mother-to-be. Charlotte, I’m going to have a baby!”
“Rhoda! That’s marvellous! Oh what a thrill. That means I’m going to be an auntie!”
Joe smiled and winked at Brian. “Well done! Well done!”
“What d’you mean, well done?” Harriet asked. “What a thing to say in response to such news.”
“Congratulations to you both,” Joe said.
“So that’s why you didn’t go shopping today,” Charlotte said. “You came to tell us the good news.”
“My Bri took the afternoon off,” Rhoda said, “he’s coming to the shops with me. I can’t carry much you see, not now. He says I’ve got to be spoilt for the next seven months. And there’s so much to buy, isn’t there, Bri?”
“You should see the lists she made,” Brian groaned. “I didn’t dream babies could be so expensive.”
“With Rhoda everything’s expensive!” Charlotte laughed. “You should know that by now. Let’s all have a celebratory cup of tea.”
For the next few weeks Rhoda spent her time in a flurry of frantic shopping. She bought everything a child could need up to two years of age. She would have gone further in her desire for her child to “have everything” but, not knowing whether it would be a boy or girl, she had to stop at two.
“But we won’t need to make the garden fence higher until next summer,” Brian sighed one morning when she was looking through her lists and demanding that a sandpit must be prepared, and a play area cemented ready for the tricycle – which her mother had insisted on buying so Joe couldn’t. “We’ll have to slow down, Rhoda, the money is pouring out faster than I’m earning it. I can’t break into the money set aside for the second shop; it has to be fully stocked or we won’t attract customers. You know that the business is more important for the baby’s future than a sandpit and a new fence.”
His voice held a hint of irritation, and Rhoda was surprised. She had never known him to be angry with anyone and certainly not herself. It didn’t persuade her to ease up on her demands though. Instead she was more determined to get what she so resolutely believed to be the essentials for her child. He had to know straight away that their child was going to have all the necessary toys and activities he needed for growing into a healthy, happy and clever person. She knew he would be clever, and he was certain to be handsome, you only had to look at herself and Brian to know that.
The irritation grew and by the time Brian left for work his patience was sorely ruffled. When she gave him a grocery list to hand in for delivery later that day he threw it back at her.
“I can’t see to this today,” he said as he pulled on his coat and reached for his hat. “I have an important meeting with a new supplier from whom I want delayed payments. I want to concentrate on that. It’s our livelihood for God’s sake. You’ll have to attend to your own shopping, you’ve plenty of time after all; with the people I pay to do work here there’s nothing much left for you to do!”
Rhoda put on what she considered her pretty pout. “Oh, I see, so now our child is on the way I’m no longer important! Now you have shown yourself in your true colours, Brian Carpenter! Ignored I’m to be from now on! Nothing but a childbearing drudge!”
The door slammed. Her petulant expression vanished in alarm. Unbelievably, he had gone out without saying he was sorry. Their first quarrel and he’d gone without putting it right. She dressed herself, tearfully reliving every word of their disagreement, called a taxi and went to talk to her mother.
Brian was seethingly angry. He loved Rhoda and enjoyed the comfortable home and the loving atmosphere she provided.
A car came out of a side street and made him slow down. Irritably he pressed the horn, tooting repeatedly to show the inconsiderate fool behind the wheel how stupidly he had behaved. His tension tightened as two boys cycling to school wavered and made him stop to allow them to recover. His mind drifted from his driving, the gear changes, the overtaking became automatic. He overtook a bus and didn’t remember doing it. If he didn’t persuade this supplier to give two months’ credit the new shop was in danger of overstretching his resources. He wished he had listened to the advice of his accountant. He could be heading for disaster. For the first time, he blamed Rhoda.
There was a third incident in the short drive through Main Street. A little girl ran out of a shop and straight out into the road. Why hadn’t he gone the other way, through the small quiet streets like he usually did? It was Rhoda, getting him all ruffled. Today of all days he needed to be calm, cool, in control.
He accelerated once she had crossed the road and his speed increased in a snarl of acceleration. Leaving the town and its irritations behind him, he headed out towards Swansea where he had arranged to meet his new supplier. He wasn’t in the mood to talk business. This simply wasn’t the day.
A huge brewer’s dray was in front of him a few miles out of town and he tapped his fingers irritably as he followed, waiting for a chance to overtake. Surrendering to his impatience he overtook on a bend, wildly swinging the car around the dray, through the sharp corner and saw, to his alarm and disbelief, a lorry directly ahead of him. The vehicle appeared before he had straightened out from turning the corner and overtaking the dray. Before he could attempt to swerve from its path. with only time to scream “Rhoda…!” his car was half under the lorry’s bonnet and Brian was dead.
In Kath Thomas’s boarding house near the road bridge, Jack Roberts stared in disbelief as Kath’s words slowly sank in.
“You want me to leave? Find other accommodation?” he said. “But why?”
“I’ve decided to let my rooms to summer visitors.”
“But surely, one little room? I don’t mind changing. What if I used one of the attic rooms?”
“Best for you to go anyway, Jack.” Kath said. “Imagine, school holidays, all them kids charging about. This won’t be the quiet place you’ve known much longer.”
“No, I hadn’t thought of that. You’re right.” He shuddered dramatically. “I’ll start looking straight away. How long do I have before you want me to go, say, a month?”
“I’ve said the first lot can come next weekend.”
Kath was not telling Jack the truth. Bertha’s warning that Jack had been in possession of a lot of money had worried her. That, and the fact that he had obviously been fighting on at least two occasions and had told her some story about falling down the stairs. He could be a burglar, or a blackmailer. The things you read in the papers these days made a woman fear for her safety when she allowed strangers into her home.
Her other three boarders were harmless enough, she was certain of that. Emrys Walker was a teacher in the local school. The other two worked on the roads, filling potholes, tidying the verges and maintaining road signs. Called Eb and Tad, they were very little trouble, spending much of their time out of the house. Work took them off at six-thirty in the summer and all three of them returned at four-thirty. But Jack had to leave.
While cleaning his room the previous Saturday, she had dishonestly searched through his belongings. The amount of money she found was more than she had ever seen in her life. Fivers, one pound notes, all piled together by elastic bands in hundreds. Her hands shook as she lifted them from the battered toffee tin which was filled with them.
It must be illegal, or they would be in a bank, she reasoned. Putting them back with care, she went downstairs and took a rare sip of brandy to steady her nerves.
Jack set off for work, disturbed at the prospect of finding fresh accommodation, but with an idea already growing in his mind. If he could persuade Gaynor Edwards of the advantages of having a lodger, things might be changing for the better. Her husband was a soft old thing, too lazy to get out of his own way, and he wouldn’t see the harm.
Peter wasn’t there when he got to work, so he went straight to find Gaynor.
“I’ll ask,” Gaynor said doubtfully. “but he doesn’t like too many people about.”
“Just till I find something. Like a mouse I’ll be. I won’t be any trouble, well – not trouble-trouble, but I might be a bit demanding of the right sort of attention.” Jack grinned.
“You’ll pay, for the room?”
“The same as I’m paying Kath Thomas, how’s that?” He mentally reduced the amount by three shillings, promised her an afternoon out in Swansea to celebrate, and Gaynor finally agreed.
Peter hadn’t appeared by lunchtime and Jack walked down the country lane to Mill House to see him. Sometimes there were things Peter wanted him to attend to. If not, he was usually glad for someone to talk to for half an hour. Jack smiled. He’d be able to tell him about his plans to move in with Gaynor and her idle husband. Peter was the only one who knew about his affair with Gaynor.
He could see something was wrong as soon as he reached the gates. His first thought was that Peter was being rushed into hospital again, as the doctor’s car stood near the front door, which stood wide open.
He hesitated, wondering whether to leave and come back later, but decided to knock in case Harriet was alone. He tapped on the heavy front door and saw Charlotte hurrying to answer.
“Is it your uncle?” he asked.
“No, although he’s in a terrible state of course. It’s Brian, Rhoda’s husband. Killed this morning in an accident.”
“What?” Jack stepped back, involuntarily moving away from such unbelievable news. “Oh Charlotte. what awful news. I’m so very sorry. Can I help? Shall I go and find the vicar? Or sit with Peter perhaps? I can ring the factory and tell them I won’t be back.” He walked into the house which already seemed to have accepted the hush of a funeral.
“Stay with Uncle Peter, will you?” Charlotte said. “Mam is prostrate on the bed, the doctor’s with her. I have to go to Rhoda. It happened this morning but she’s only just phoned us.”
Jack went to the phone and made three calls, one to the factory and one to the Vicarage. Then he phoned Joe.
“Brian dead. Harriet unconscious and Peter quite ill. Miranda is managing the little ones but I think you should come and keep an eye on your Charlotte,” Jack advised. “You know what this family is for leaning on her.”
Harriet spent the rest of the day in blissful unconsciousness. Jack stayed with Peter, and Charlotte, with Joe for support, went to stay with a distraught Rhoda.
“We’d quarrelled,” was all Rhoda would say. She repeated it over and over again. “We’d quarrelled. For the first time ever. I know I’m to blame for him driving too fast. I nagged him, you see, demanded so much. I’ve just been sitting here since the police came and told me, thinking about how horrid I’ve been and how I killed him.”
“Rhoda, love, you can’t think that.”
“There was plenty of time to get everything ready for the baby. Months we had. But I kept on and on, and we quarrelled. He left the house still angry with me. Oh, Charlotte, what will I do?”
Charlotte made soothing sounds, Joe made tea. Charlotte did some telephoning to let people know and it was Joe who attended to the undertakers when they called. Somehow the terrible day was lived through and Charlotte went home to Mill House to see what she could do for her parents. Joe stayed with Rhoda, who refused to leave her home until the following day.
“I have to stop here tonight, I feel that Brian is around and he needs to know I’m here,” she said. “Have to stay here and try to let him know I’m sorry.”
The following day an almost continuous stream of people walked to Rhoda’s house near the river to offer their condolences. Finding the house empty they went across the road bridge and up the hill to find her with her mother. Charlotte made tea for them all, glad of something to do, using the ritual to evade thoughts of what would happen to her sister without Brian to look after her.
Forebodings in which she saw herself looking after Rhoda as well as her mother grew over the days approaching the funeral when Rhoda admitted that she knew nothing about Brian’s business affairs, had no idea even how their bank balance stood and didn’t even know how to write out a cheque.
It was Joe who went with her to see the bank manager and a solicitor. Joe who guided her through the difficulties of probate. He even lent her money to see her through the first weeks until money became available to her. Charlotte was grateful but found that jealousy crept into her heart when Joe no longer came each day to see her, and was sometimes absent when she popped into the bicycle shop to see him.
Her jealously was increased by Auntie Bessie Philpot’s remarks when she came to clean one morning.
“There’s lucky that sister of yours is,” she said, her beady-bright eyes watching Charlotte’s reaction. “All the help she’s getting from Joe. Such a kind boy, my Joe. Stays there for hours he does so she isn’t frightened being in that big ol’ house on her own.”
“Joe is very thoughtful,” Charlotte agreed. Bessie rolled her eyes then stared contemplatively at the ceiling. “Thoughtful? Well, I dare say that is one way of putting it.”
“What d’you mean?”
“Nothing. Thoughtful, yes, that’s what he is, your pretty sister widowed and missing all her husband’s… care.
“Where have you been all day?” Charlotte asked Joe when she met him as he was closing the shop. “Twice I called this morning but your famous ‘Back in Ten Minutes’ notice was on the door. My sister bothering you again?”
“No. This time it’s the estate agent. That bloke who’s supposed to be buying the shop. Another delay now. He says there’s some trouble with the buyer of his house. Damn it all. I could have been in the new place for the start of summer. I’m losing some of the best months. He’s looking for a new buyer now and I’m hoping we don’t lose the butcher’s shop. Specially after all the work we’ve done there.”
“We haven’t seen Rhoda all day.” Charlotte told him. “She’s accepting what’s happened and starting to get used to living alone, at least until the baby’s due. She’s slept in her own place for three nights now. That’s good, isn’t it?”
“Not exactly alone,” Joe said. “I expect you’ll be told soon enough by Kath Thomas or one of her cronies. I’ve been sleeping there. On the couch mind! Just to help her get used to the empty house.”
“Is that wise, Joe?” she asked. “You’re right about my being told, but it was your Auntie Bessie who gave me the news, a bit unhappy she was and understandably too. Can you imagine what people will say?”
“Sorry you didn’t hear it from me.”
“She told me this morning that you’ve been helping Rhoda. Just giving me the hint that my pretty sister would be lonely.”
“Sorry Charlotte. You’re ‘my pretty’ and always will be. And I should have told you before.”
“Doesn’t matter.” she lied. As casually as she could she asked, “Will you be staying tonight too? I wouldn’t mind going out somewhere. I’ve been tied to the house listening to the same old thing from dozens of lips. I could do with a break.” She tried to keep the petulant tone from her voice, but failed. Why, she wondered, did she always come so low down in order of importance?
“We’ll go out. I’ll call for you at seven and we’ll walk over the hill and along the river. We could stop in The Swan and have a drink. Right?”
“Right.” She smiled, and went home reasonably content. But the contentment faded when she saw the apologetic expression on Joe’s face when he arrived at seven with an elegantly dressed Rhoda.
“Sorry my pretty, but I cou1dn’t leave her on her own, not with the funeral tomorrow. We’ll go for a walk then I’ll take her back home. Tomorrow will be a terrible day for her.”
“Terrible for us all,” Charlotte reminded him. “Look, I’m busy getting food ready for tomorrow so why don’t we leave it and go tomorrow instead. Glad of a breath of air we’ll be then.” She watched as the couple walked back down the hill. Joe’s hand ready in case Rhoda faltered. Charlotte had the feeling that she was watching Joe step out of her life and regret, not anger, was her strongest emotion. She was filled with the belief that somehow, she and Joe had missed their moment, that it wouldn’t ever come right for them again.
The evening was warm, the light far from fading and she stood at the gate for a while, unwilling to go back inside the over-full house; there she would have to deal patiently with her father’s silent regrets and her mother’s tears.
Watching Joe and her sister walking down the hill made her feel unimportant and alone. Her patience was teetering on the edge of an explosion. Ashamed of her anger, only hours before her brother-in-law’s funeral, she nevertheless felt it was high time that life gave her more than the job of picking up other people’s pieces.
A man crossed the bridge and paused for a moment to talk to Joe and Rhoda before continuing up the hill. She waited, curious to know who it was this time, bringing talk of deaths past and present, and Rhoda’s bravery. Some friend of Brian’s probably, everyone who called at Rhoda’s house was redirected here.
The man looked familiar and she frowned, wondering where they had previously met. Then she remembered. He had been the walker who had asked about the mills and with whom she had spent a pleasant afternoon.
“Hi yer,” he said. “Glad to see you again. I want some information, but not about windmills this time.”
“How can I help?” she asked, taking in the corduroys and the thick “cowboy” shirt and the heavy walking boots. His eyes were brighter than she remembered, blue like the sky and sparkling with pleasure so she felt herself blushing under his gaze.
“I’m looking for someone called Eric. He has some children with him I believe.”
“He’s moved in with us,” she explained. “Their mother died and we are giving them a home until something can be decided about their future.”
“They’re my half-brother and -sisters. Gloria was my Mam,” he said. “Me and Miranda, we lost our father during the war. This – Eric, is father to the rest, including baby Matthew, whose birth killed her.”
“You must be Danny, Miranda’s brother?” Charlotte said. “I am sorry about your mother. Eric is my father.”
He held out his hand. “Danny Saunders.”
“Charlotte Russell. Next week,” she said, bold suddenly, “I’d love to show you more of the countryside. It’s very beautiful.”
“So are you.” he said. He spoke factually with no hint of artificial flattery.
He turned to wave several times as he walked back down the hill and she stood, leaning on the gate, looking down the road long after he had disappeared from her sight.
After the funeral. Charlotte cycled back down the hill and let herself into Rhoda’s house. Her sister needed looking after that evening. No lights showed and she stood in the dark hallway and listened. One of the relatives from the funeral was staying the night; where would the cousin be sleeping? She didn’t want to wake either of them if they were sleeping. She opened the bedroom door and was about to call her sister’s name when she heard a sound which she realised was muffled sobbing. Sighing with the thought of a long, sleepless night, she went into the bedroom and saw Rhoda lying on the floor. She had no medical knowledge but as she touched the switch and light flooded the room she knew that her sister was losing her baby.
Joe arrived at the same time as the doctor.
“Joe. what are you doing here?”
“I was worried.”
“I said I’d come.” she said.
“I thought the Dragon might have changed your mind for you. I had to be sure she was all right.”
Joe and Charlotte sat with Rhoda all night. Joe gathered up the toys, baby clothes and the newly purchased cot and with Charlotte’s help packed them away in the loft.
“You’re a lovely, caring person, Joe,” Charlotte whispered as the loft door was closed.
“Let me care for you, my pretty.”
Charlotte felt a slight resentment. She didn’t want caring for, she wanted to be treated like an equal partner. When he kissed her the magic wasn’t there. They had missed their moment all right and, from the look in Joe’s eyes, he knew it too. Their parting the following morning was tender but without the tightly reined passion of recent weeks.