SALLY WAS WALKING to the park with Sadie in her pushchair, armed with bread with which to feed the ducks, a favourite activity for the little girl. Amy, the new tenant in what was still called the Waterstones’ house, was coming out of her gate and Sally smiled and greeted her with a remark about the weather.
‘We’re off to feed the ducks, aren’t we, Sadie?’ she said.
Amy gave a stiff smile and was about to walk on, but undeterred, Sally said, ‘Are your alterations to the house nearly finished? When are you and Rick tying the knot? I hope it will be finished in time – so much to do with the wedding to arrange as well as sort out builders.’
‘We have everything in hand,’ Amy replied rather pompously, and this time Sally allowed her to walk on. Pointless trying to befriend her. She was clearly uninterested in getting to know her neighbours. Then she heard a call, and Rick appeared. ‘Hi, how is little Sadie? Two years old, that’s quite an age,’ he said as he approached them. Amy had hurried on and he shrugged apologetically and ran after her.
‘Come on, love,’ he encouraged. ‘If we’re going to live here we have to be polite to our neighbours.’
‘Some of them certainly, darling, but definitely not all.’
Philosophically calm after the attempt to speak to Amy, Sally was convinced that the young woman would eventually come round to accepting the local people. They were friendly and kind and she would soon learn that, whatever Milly Sewell had told her. She walked on to the park, chatting cheerfully to Sadie, trying not to feel hurt. Amy’s attitude must be due to that woman’s gossiping tongue. She wondered why she took such pleasure in upsetting others.
After watching the ducks for a while, Sally went to the bank. It was time to send more money to Rhys. A balance reminded her of how little was left. She wondered whether they would be able to put a deposit down on a house. If he came home soon, got a job, earned a reasonable wage then they might just manage. His two years at college had cost more than they had expected and it still wasn’t over. She folded the statement and hid it in her pocket.
Buying a house wasn’t the end, it was just the beginning. Living in two rooms had meant she had practically no furniture or even kitchen equipment, as she had used that belonging to Mrs Falconer. Even the bare minimum would be costly and she unfolded the statement again, stared at it as though it would magically change for the better, and wondered just how they would cope. Buying everything on hire purchase was a recipe for disaster.
As those thoughts were filling her mind, she saw a notice on the community hall doorway advertising a sale of unwanted furniture. Perhaps, if Mrs Falconer didn’t mind, she might look for a few bargains. After all, it wouldn’t be long before Rhys was home and she would be moving out.
She went to the post office and bought postal orders, which she put in brown business envelopes and sent to Rhys care of a café he regularly used. Surely there wouldn’t be many more payments? His second year would end soon and he wouldn’t need to stay in his digs once the exams were over. He could be here with her and Sadie while he waited for the results. ‘Oh, Rhys,’ she muttered aloud, ‘Please tell me you’re coming home.’
‘Talking to yourself, Sally?’ David Gorse asked, taking the handle of the pushchair from her and talking to Sadie.
Startled, Sally wondered if he had seen her push the postal orders into the brown envelope. She relaxed. Even if he had, he would have been unable to see the name or the address. She was unaware that it wasn’t the first time he had watched her buy the postal orders and had guessed the reason for the regular arrangement.
She approached the gate in School Lane and saw Mrs Falconer at the door. David Gorse helped her lift the pushchair inside.
‘Cup of tea?’ he asked, winking at Mrs Falconer. ‘I’ve got some biscuits, plenty for four of us.’
He sat talking to Sadie while Sally made the tea and Mrs Falconer brought cakes to add to the biscuits. When they had finished and Mrs Falconer had returned to her part of the house, David stared at Sally and said, softly, ‘I do admire you, Sally.’
‘Me? Why?’
‘The way you support Rhys. Oh, I know you pretend not to know where he is, but you send money, don’t you?’
‘It’s none of your business what I do.’
‘Knowing he committed those burglaries, and that the police want him for questioning, you still support him.’ Sally said nothing, and he went on, ‘He’s a lucky man and I just hope he knows it. You deserve so much better than a weak man like Rhys.’
‘Stop this,’ she said and she stood, implying that he should leave, but he stood with her and held her arms.
‘Sally, I know what he’s like. We’ve known each other all our lives and he’s weak. And you can add cowardly to that, sheltering behind a strong and brave woman like you.’
‘Please go, David. And keep your suspicions to yourself, There are enough gossips in Tre Melin without you starting.’
‘Don’t forget I’m here when you need a friend.’
She didn’t reply.
Valmai spent most of the following weekend trying to sort out the contents of her shed. She struggled to get in and push out some of the contents so she could at least see what she had kept all these years, ‘Just in case.’ She dragged everything she could move into a pile and had to climb out of the shed, having thrown it too close to the doorway. Each afternoon she did a little more and on Saturday morning, after struggling for an hour with a tea chest filled with boxes of screws and assorted nails and oddments of metal that she no longer remembered the use of, Netta from next door came out and offered help.
‘No use me asking my Walter to help. It’s as much as he can do to dress and feed himself, lazy so-and-so,’ she muttered. ‘Our Jimmy might enjoy giving a hand, though. Jimmy?’ she shouted and a tousle-headed ten-year-old boy appeared in the doorway, a round of toast in his hand, jam decorating his freckled face.
‘Mornin’, Mrs Martin,’ he called. ‘There’s a mess you’ve made in your garden.’
‘Be’ave,’ Netta scolded, but he grinned, unrepentant.
‘Eric’s coming later,’ Valmai said. ‘He’ll soon tell me what to keep and what to throw away.’
‘All of it, I’d say,’ Netta muttered.
‘Can I have that old toboggan? Your Rhys is too old for it now.’
‘It’s April. You’ll wait a long time for some snow, young Jimmy.’
Jimmy came over, having wiped his sticky fingers on his jumper, and began helping her to sort out the muddle into various piles. There were lots of pieces of wood ranging from large planks and tree branches to small offcuts stored ready for firewood, but now Valmai piled the best of the small oddly shaped pieces, knowing that if she could persuade Gwilym to start making small toys they would be useful.
Eric came as arranged and when most of the contents were spread across the top of the garden he went inside to check on the building itself. He came out and shook his head. ‘Rotten all along the bottom,’ he reported, ‘and the roof could give way if we had a storm.’
‘It can be mended, though?’ Valmai asked.
Again the shake of his head. ‘Sorry, Val, but it’s too far gone and the expense wouldn’t be worth it. It’ll never make a workshop. It’s a bit too small too. You need a new one, I’m afraid.’
‘Tea, anyone?’ Gwilym called from the doorway.
Valmai hid her disappointment and instead said, ‘I’ll go to the timber yard. Sectional sheds are the cheapest, aren’t they?’
‘Not if we get some of the men together and make it ourselves.’ He looked at Gwilym, who was watching from the doorway, sitting in his chair, a blanket covering his legs, waving a tea-cup. ‘You’ll have to design it, mind, Gwilym. Only you know what you’ll need.’
‘Too expensive,’ Gwilym said, turning his chair to go back inside. ‘Nice idea, but there’s no way we can afford a new shed.’ He was half-smiling, as though relieved that his idea had been vetoed by economics.
‘We’ll see about that,’ Valmai muttered. She followed her husband back into the house with Eric and young Jimmy Prosser following. ‘We’ll have a cup of tea while we think about the best way to go about it,’ she announced. She filled the kettle then turned to Gwilym. ‘It’s no use putting on a pout. A new shed you need and that’s what you’ll have.’
When Eric left, having promised to try and get a work team together, Jimmy went with him.
‘Where are you off to, young Jimmy?’ Eric asked.
‘Don’t know. Down through the wood to the old mill, probably. There’s a pair of wrens nesting down there and would you believe a duck has made a nest on the paddles of the waterwheel. Lucky it no longer works, eh?’
‘Be careful down there. That building is in a poor state.’
‘A hundred and fifty years old and still stronger than Gwilym’s shed!’ Jimmy said.
‘True enough,’ Eric agreed with a laugh.
‘Someone’s been sleeping there.’
‘What, recently?’
‘I found some paper and a few crusts, and an apple core, and they weren’t there the day before.’ He put a hand in his pocket and showed Eric a small brass disc that at first looked like a coin. ‘I found this too. What d’you think it is?’
Eric looked at it. It bore a number and the name of a coal mine. ‘When the miners go down to start work they take a disc like this from the foreman and when they come back up they give him the disc back. That way the foreman knows how many men went down and knows that all the men are all safely out.’ He was frowning as he handed it back to Jimmy, who examined it with interest. The mine was the one where Gwilym’s father had worked. He was almost certain that the disk was the one proudly owned by Rhys. Did this mean Rhys had been there? Sleeping at the old mill? If he had then Gwilym and Valmai didn’t know. He was their trusted friend and he would have been told.
‘The new shed is the subject of one-sided discussions in our house,’ Valmai complained to Netta. ‘I’m determined we’ll get one and Gwilym is insisting that we can’t afford it and he isn’t sure he’d work in it if we did. I point out a solution to every problem he comes up with and I’m talking to myself! Oh, Netta, why is he so defeatist?’
‘Pride. Must be. After all, he was a cross-country runner, he coached the local under elevens rugby team, cricket in the summer. To have to give up all that is bound to have changed the poor man.’
‘The rugby team would still like him to help but he won’t pass through our gate. What do I have to do to make him face the world? He’s done nothing wrong yet he’s acting like a—’
‘A criminal? Like your Rhys but with even less reason? They both faced trouble but dealt with it in opposite ways. Gwilym won’t move and Rhys moved too far! They both gave up. Heard anything from your Rhys?’
Valmai shook her head. ‘There’s a card occasionally, usually from somewhere up north. Blackpool, North Wales, even Scotland.’
‘Walking was his favourite pastime like his father, so perhaps he’s just wandering.’
‘If only he’d come home. The police haven’t anything on him. They wanted to question him but he wasn’t a suspect, yet he ran off before they could interview him. If they’d really wanted to talk to him you can’t tell me they wouldn’t have found him. They aren’t stupid. But,’ she added sadly, ‘perhaps my son is.’
‘There might have been some other reason he chose to leave, nothing to do with the robberies.’ Netta was thinking of Sally, left to face the criticisms and bring up her baby on her own. Nothing had been said, but she’d always believed Rhys was the father of two-year-old Sadie. ‘Good heavens, Valmai, I’ve just realized it’s more than two years since he left.’ Pointedly she added, ‘Little Sadie was two a week or so back. Doesn’t time fly?’
Valmai didn’t reply.
When Netta went inside, Walter said, ‘Still making excuses for that son of theirs, is she? Leaving that girl to cope alone. What sort of a man does that?’
‘Not much better yourself,’ Netta retorted. ‘Leaving me to keep the family fed. Lazy you are, Walter Prosser. Time you got up and shifted yourself. Plenty of work out there for those who want it.’
‘I’ve tried. There’s nothing for me and you know it.’
‘I know nothing of the sort. Idle, useless waste of breath you are.’
The argument went on and young Jimmy approached the house with his heart racing, aware that it could go on for a long time. He covered his ears and ran back along the path and out into the street.
Valmai was setting off for work and she called to him. ‘Go in and have a piece of cake with Gwilym, why don’t you?’
His footsteps slowed. ‘Rowing again, they are,’ he said. ‘I hate it when they row. I’m invisible when they row.’
Valmai went back with him and had a quick word with Gwilym, who asked the boy if he fancied a bit of toast. Jimmy stayed until the shouting had subsided then went home. He picked up a chunk of bread, an apple and some crisps and went back out.
Jimmy spent a lot of time out of the house. He wandered around the fields south of Mill Road and spent a lot of time watching the activities around the stream that had once fed the huge wheel of the watermill. He took bread and an apple from his pocket and ate, throwing the crusts where the ducks would find them. Aimlessly strolling through the fields, he joined the main road not far from the Waterstones’ house, where he sat on the wall and watched as men went in and out with discarded bricks, old and new wood. A few of the men stopped to talk to him, and one gave him a couple of sweets from his pocket.
Amy appeared at the window and she banged on the pane and made movements clearly telling him to go away. Pretending not to understand, he waved back cheerily. The front door opened and she came running out, flapping her arms as though he were a strange animal.
‘Evenin’, Mrs,’ he said, amused by her behaviour and the peculiar headdress she wore. ‘Why are you wearing a net curtain on your head?’
‘Go away, you cheeky boy, and don’t sit on my wall like that.’
‘I wasn’t hurting it!’ he grumbled as he jumped down. He didn’t move far, just a few inches away from the wall, and she continued to shoo him away.
She eventually went inside and Jimmy could hear her complaining to someone. Rick came out and walked towards him, but as Jimmy prepared to run he saw the man was smiling. ‘I was only watching the men,’ he protested.
‘Of course. I understand that. I used to love to watch workmen myself. And the milkman and the postman, and when the gas or water board dug a hole, well, that was something that made me mitch from school once or twice,’ Rick confided.
Jimmy stared at him. His jaw dropped in surprise. ‘You aren’t mad at me?’
‘Don’t worry about Amy. She’s so busy at the moment, dealing with the workmen and arranging our wedding, she gets easily upset. She’ll be fine once we’re settled in.’
‘You hope!’ Jimmy said and hurried off. Perhaps Mum thought the same about my dad once, he thought sadly, as he headed for home.
His father was sitting at the table when he got in, his newspaper spread over the plates and condiments and bread set out for dinner. Walter didn’t look up and Jimmy stood looking at him, trying to assess his mood. Walter wasn’t very prepossessing. Bald, thin and wearing only a sleeveless vest with braces holding up a baggy pair of trousers. He needed a shave, his eyes darted from side to side and his lips moved as he continued to read the newspaper, but he looked calm enough. ‘Want to see my painting, Dad?’ Jimmy asked, fingering the disc he had found at the mill as though it were a talisman.
‘What painting?’ His father’s eyes didn’t leave the paper.
‘I came second in a competition at school last week.’ He ran to his room and took it carefully off the wall and ran back down. ‘See?’ he said, as Walter still didn’t look up. ‘Dad?’
Walter turned his head and glanced at the painting. ‘What’s it supposed to be?’
‘Sheep, in a field with the mill in the distance.’
‘Sheep? Funny sheep, boy. Big as cows they are. Better if they taught you something useful. Waste of time scribbling on paper if you ask me.’ He turned back to his newspaper and Jimmy returned the painting to his room. It didn’t go back on the wall: he stuffed it carelessly in a drawer.
He went next door and asked Gwilym if he’d help him make a wooden car for Sadie.
‘Girls don’t want cars,’ Gwilym said. ‘What about a doll?’
‘’Course they do!’
They made a simple shape and Gwilym carefully carved the wheels and the grille and Jimmy took it and played with Sadie for a while, then reluctantly, he went home. The only good thing about home was food, he decided.
For a week it rained every day and the contents of Valmai’s shed were a gloomy sight. A gusting wind reduced the orderly piles into one confused scatter and Valmai began to wonder if the garden would ever return to normal. The rows of vegetables were lost to sight and the sticks ready for the runner beans were leaning drunkenly. Eric came between showers and promised help once the rain stopped.
Walter next door told them they were wasting their time even thinking about a new shed. He waved an arm towards the scattered oddments. ‘You’ll never have room for another shed. Where will you put that lot? For a start you’ll have to have a bonfire and burn the lot of it, then you’ll have a lot of clearing up, then you’ll need a proper cement base, and where are you going to mix concrete, and then—’
‘Come on, Walter, your tea’s ready,’ Netta shouted, with an expression of frustration on her sharp-featured face. ‘They’ve got everything in hand. There’s nothing Gwilym can’t do when he sets his mind on it.’
‘What d’you mean? Are you saying that I—’ The rest was lost as the door slammed behind them.
Valmai stared at the chaos of her garden. Was Walter right? It did seem an impossible dream. She closed her eyes and imagined the new building with the strong workbench and the tools all set out conveniently, the lathe nearby, and Gwilym sitting on his chair patiently working on the figure of a small animal. It would happen. It must be possible. ‘Gwilym,’ she said as she shrugged off her raincoat, ‘I think we need two sheds.’
‘Don’t be daft, love.’
‘All right, one new one but something can be done about the old one, surely? Just for storage. I can’t throw that lot out.’ She gestured at the window where rain was running down and completely blocking the view of the chaos of her treasure. Flower pots, paint tins, picture frames, curtain rails and lasts of many sizes from when her father used to mend shoes. Panes of glass from a long-gone greenhouse. Nails and screws and drills of every imaginable size. ‘I can always find something I need. It’s a muddle to you but I know what’s there and usually how to find it.’
‘Hush now, love, the news is coming on.’
‘Netta and Walter are having a television. They say we can go and watch it when there’s something we’ll enjoy.’
‘No need. The wireless is good enough for us. Besides,’ he added with a smile, ‘I don’t fancy sitting listening to Walter moaning for hours. I don’t know how Netta puts up with him, d’you?’
Valmai could have replied that Netta didn’t know how she managed to live with a man who had given up on everything. But she didn’t.
Eric walked away from the post office with his pension. As usual he had divided it up into two envelopes. One paid his rent for the room, the rest was what he had to manage on for the week. He put the two envelopes in his jacket pocket then set off for a walk. The rain had finally relented and a weak sun was drying the ground, making misty patches in places. He felt the warmth on his back and slipped off his jacket, tucking it carelessly under an arm.
David Gorse was watching as the envelopes slipped out and fell to the ground. He was smiling as Eric wandered over the field towards the stream. There was no one in sight as he picked them up and turned away. ‘Serve him right, the stupid old fool,’ he muttered. ‘Perhaps his bad luck will be my good luck.’ He made for the betting shop and a search for a coincidental name.
It wasn’t until he reached home that Eric missed the money. He called the landlady and put his hand in his pocket to pay her, then gasped when the pocket was empty.
‘I – I seem to have – um lost my pension, Mrs Godfrey,’ he said, taking off his jacket and searching fruitlessly in every pocket. ‘It must have fallen out. I took off my jacket and carried it because it was so nice and warm, you see.’
Mrs Godfrey’s expression hardened. ‘I’m very sorry, Eric, but you know the rules. No money, no room. I’ve been kind to my tenants in the past and later found out the missing money had gone to the local pub or the bookies. I remain firm. No, I’m sorry but whatever the excuse the rule remains.’
‘Until next week then, Mrs Godfrey.’
‘I’m afraid so.’
Eric wasn’t too upset. He had blankets in his room and extra clothes. Thankfully the weather was warmer and it was far from the first time he’d had to sleep under the stars. Food was the problem. He had very little money left from the previous week’s pension but he knew that calling on friends would keep him from starvation and the bakers often gave him a few leftover pies and cakes. He went to see Gwilym but determined not to tell him about the loss of his week’s money. People soon tire of moaners, even good people like Valmai and Gwilym, he thought.
David Gorse was attracted by the commotion around the back lane behind the Martins’ house. The banging of hammers, chatter and laughter, plus, as he drew closer, the unmistakable sound of tea-cups on saucers.
He went to the end of the lane and looked towards the source of the activities. Must be important. Even Walter was there and actually carrying something! ‘Morning,’ he called as he walked towards the scene. ‘What’s happening? Not moving, are you?’
He saw Gwilym at the back door, sitting in his chair, a blanket covering his knees. ‘Morning, Mr Martin. You the foreman then?’
‘We’re trying to sort out this lot and make room for a new shed,’ Valmai explained. ‘We could do with a hand if you’re offering.’
‘Can’t the old shed be repaired?’
‘Have a look,’ Walter said. ‘Too far gone, I reckon.’
David looked at the walls of the wooden shed. The base was rotten although the rest of the walls seemed fairly sound. The roof timbers needed a few replacements. The felt had rotted right away. ‘I reckon I could fix it up if you get the timber,’ he offered. ‘It needs a good strong base and some replacement timber. The roof isn’t too bad and if it’s protected with a new felt—’
Valmai was surprised at David’s interest; more so when he actually offered to do the work. She wondered what he’d ask in return. David Gorse wasn’t one to help with favours. Better she paid him, keep things straight. The repaired building wouldn’t be any use for Gwilym’s workshop but it would be very useful for storage. Worth spending a little money on it.
The discussion continued for a while as Netta and Valmai provided tea and cakes, David and Gwilym drew plans and made lists, and Walter found a wheelbarrow, sat in it and fell asleep.
With a list of requirements prepared by Gwilym and David, Eric went to the timber merchants and ordered all they needed. Days passed and there was no sign of David Gorse. Eric called at his mother’s house early one morning and she roused David from bed. Reluctantly he agreed to be at the Martins’ place in an hour. Two hours later he arrived and rain prevented him from doing anything. He looked at the wood and sneered. Waste of time trying to fix this, but he’d be sure to get a few pounds for his trouble – he’d protest at first but would take it, insisting it was to make them feel better.
Eric managed to survive the week without any money, mainly thanks to young Jimmy. It was on Monday morning when Jimmy was mitching from school, having decided that the day was better spent walking around the fields, that they met. Jimmy was at the edge of the shrubs and trees that had grown around the mill since it had fallen into disuse, when he heard a sound. There were the usual murmurings of the trees and the chuckling of the water past the unmoving wheel, but there was an air of stillness that was unusual. At this time of the year there should have been birdsong and they were silent.
He moved quietly through the trees, careful where he placed his feet and avoiding moving the branches until he was at a point where he could see the doorway of the mill. It was open, and he could hear someone whistling. He grinned. That sounded like old Eric.
He moved closer and joined in with the whistling of ‘Que sera sera, whatever will be will be—’
‘Good morning, Jimmy. No school today?’
‘No, didn’t feel like it.’
‘That’s a pity. You’ll have an easier life if you work at school and get a good job.’ Eric cleared away the evidence of his breakfast, and tucked his blankets behind a pile of wood.
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Jimmy sighed. ‘I’m ten years old. How can I worry about when I’m twenty? Old that is, and ten is for having fun.’
Eric chuckled. ‘I’m off to see Mr and Mrs Martin – coming my way? Or is that too close to home?’
‘You said it!’
Eric waved goodbye and went to call on Gwilym. Valmai was always good for a piece of toast or a slice of cake.
Jimmy ran like the wind and staggered, puffing with the effort into Valmai’s kitchen. ‘Old Eric’s sleeping rough again. Someone pinched his pension money.’ Valmai thanked him for telling them and added a couple more sausages to the frying pan.
Jimmy was satisfied. She’d make sure the old man didn’t go hungry. At the time school would close he went home and insisted he was starving. He planned to hide some food and, after dark, take it to the mill for Eric. Satisfied he had done a good deed, he threw his satchel on the floor and went to change out of his rather muddy school clothes.
That night, when his parents were asleep, Jimmy went to the old mill and left food for Eric, who was snoring contentedly in a corner of what had once been the room where the flour sacks were filled, the sound of the stream his lullaby.
At the end of the week, Eric returned to Mrs Godfrey, but to a smaller and less comfortable room right at the top of the stairs, which was all she had available.
It was May before David actually made a start on the repair to Valmai’s shed, and Gwilym, who went up after everyone had gone to see what progress had been made, was worried. The structure didn’t look safe and he didn’t want Valmai to risk going inside. The sound base they had discussed hadn’t been added and the replaced wood wasn’t attached firmly to the strongest of the original. Some of the posts bought for strengthening were unused and thrown behind the shed. During the night after David declared he had done all he could, the whole thing fell down. David hid his pleasure well as he commiserated.
Sitting on the wheelbarrow beside Gwilym, staring at the untidy pile of old and new wood that had cost them so much money, Valmai wanted to weep. In a rare explosion of anger she turned to Gwilym. ‘You could have prevented this! If you’d been there instead of staying out of sight, seen what he was doing, made sure he was making it safe, this wouldn’t have happened!’
Gwilym held her in his arms, hid her face against his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, love, but I just can’t.’
She relented then. ‘I know, Gwilym, I know.’
It was Rick who rescued the shed. He called to ask a question about local deliveries and saw Eric trying to gather the best of the timber. There were piles of unused planks at Waterstones’ old house, and together with one of the lorry drivers he delivered it.
With Eric and the lorry driver helping and Walter sitting on a wall and offering advice, they arranged for the lorry driver and his mates to repair the sad building and make sure it was safe.
Eric slept in the mill again so his pension could pay some of the cost, without Valmai being aware. Besides, he hoped that the following week would mean he’d have his old room back. The present one was up thirty-five steps and seriously dreary.
‘There’s that tramp again!’ Amy said, pointing through the window to where Eric was strolling past. To her outrage he stopped, waved, then sat on the garden wall. ‘Tell him to go, Rick. I won’t have him coming around here.’
Rick walked to where Eric was sitting. ‘Hello, again,’ he said. ‘Do you live near here?’
Eric pointed along the road, ‘I have a room in a small boarding house. I’ve lived there since I lost my job at the furniture factory,’ he explained. ‘The rent is cheap and she gives me a good breakfast.’
‘But you have to stay out during the day?’
‘Mostly. Except Thursdays when she visits her daughter in Cardiff.’ Eric stared at Rick, his blue eyes shrewd and his lips beginning to smile. ‘Wants me to clear off, does she? Your wife?’
‘Well, she’s a bit stressed at present. The house and the wedding plans, you know how it is.’
Eric nodded. ‘I’m off to see young Jimmy Prosser. Know him, do you? He’s a hit of a wanderer too.’
‘That’s the young boy about eight or nine who lives next to Valmai and Gwilym?’
‘Ten he is. He’s a good lad. He helped me when I lost my rent and had to sleep in – somewhere else,’ he amended. ‘Well, I’d better go.’ He smiled. ‘You can tell your wife I’ve been told off good and proper!’
Rick saw Jimmy later that day and went out to talk to him. ‘Hello, where are you off to, young Jimmy?’
‘Who wants to know?’
‘Only me.’ Rick smiled. ‘I’m not MI5! I was talking to Eric and he told me your name.’ He began to walk alongside Jimmy and asked a few questions. ‘Nice place to live, is it? I mean, we’re moving in in a few months and we don’t know anyone.’
‘It’s all right, I suppose. I like it round here. Everything except the school. It’s years yet before I can leave. Daft if you ask me.’
‘Mmm. I’ve noticed you wandering around during school hours,’ Rick said. ‘Look, I’m not encouraging you to mitch, but if you want something to do at the weekends, come and see Amy and me. Any time, just give a knock and if we’re there you’ll be welcome.’
Jimmy didn’t feel too sure about his wife, but he nodded. ‘If I’m not too busy,’ he replied.
The following weekend Jimmy visited twice. The first time he helped in the garden, for which Amy rewarded him with a bar of chocolate, and the second time Rick introduced him to some of his favourite books. He soon realized the boy was not a very good reader so he read to him, then listened patiently as Jimmy read. As soon as Jimmy was bored with struggling to read, Rick took over again for a while and Jimmy began to enjoy the stories about the countryside written by T.G. Evens, a man who called himself Romany and who lived in a caravan with his dog and his young friends Muriel and Doris. He could relate to the stories as the descriptions of the wild animals and birds referred to were known to him.
Amy was surprisingly pleased at Jimmy’s progress, stating that Rick’s interest in children was one of the reasons she loved him. He seemed able to become friends with anyone of any age and from any background. She had taught for a while but meeting Rick and making plans to marry had persuaded her to give up her career, not without some relief. She knew she wasn’t a natural teacher, not like Rick would have been. She was too impatient and, she admitted to herself, too critical. ‘I can’t help the way I am,’ she often told Rick proudly, expecting praise. ‘I strive for perfection and expect others to do the same.’
‘Perfection is different when you’re only ten years old.’
As well as reading, Rick introduced Jimmy to chess, explaining every move throughout the games at first then playing without comment as Jimmy became familiar with the moves. As he had guessed, Jimmy was very bright but had suffered from a lack of encouragement and self-confidence. Jimmy tried to tell his father about his improved reading skills and his introduction to the fascinating game of chess, but Walter didn’t do anything but nod, his eyes glued to the newly acquired television or his newspaper.
Netta tried to show interest but her eyes glazed as he explained about kings, queens, bishops, knights, rooks and pawns. Jimmy didn’t mind. His new friends were interested in him and Gwilym offered him a game – if Valmai could find his chess set.
Although Amy was happy to spend a little time with Jimmy and approved of Rick’s efforts to encourage the boy, she was still very prickly with most of the neighbours. Sally Travis, she ignored. Accepting Milly Sewell’s opinion that she was one of the criminal class made her decide not to give even a polite ‘good morning’, as that might be misconstrued as a friendly gesture.
Determined not to give up on the albeit slight chance of Gwilym starting to work, Valmai withdrew their savings and bought a shed. The workmen who delivered it also erected it, electricity and water was laid on and that Saturday morning in August, Gwilym went to inspect it.
‘It isn’t finished yet,’ Valmai told him. ‘On Monday there’s a surprise coming.’
‘Not more expense?’ he said softly. ‘We’ve spent so much, and so far there’s only the building. There’s the inside to set up before I can do anything, places for tools and a bench for me to work on.’
‘No more expense, I promise. I’ve spent the last penny I intend to spend. Now it’s up to you to make money. Of course you might like to take our wonderful friends for a pint in the Dragon. They’ve earned it. Ages since you’ve been there.’
He looked at her sorrowfully. ‘Not yet.’
‘Then we’ll get a few drinks and they can come here. Right?’
Eric had been to see the builders that were clearing the remains of the furniture factory ready for building houses and explained what he needed. Help was promised for Monday morning.
‘If only Rhys would come home, everything would be perfect,’ Valmai sighed as she closed her eyes and imagined Gwilym settle himself against the bench in the new shed.
In Bristol, Rhys was picking up the latest brown envelope from Sally and felt that his guilt and shame must be visible on his face. He walked out of the café as eyes followed him, convinced they all knew how badly he was treating someone who loved him, someone who didn’t deserve to be stuck with someone as dishonest as himself.
Someone else was thinking of Rhys that day. It was more than a month since the date she had expected Rhys to come home, face the police and tell everyone they were to be married. She had written to him, trying not to beg, but asking when he expected to appear. The situation had to be resolved soon.
Although she hadn’t been to the doctor to get it confirmed, Sally knew she was again expecting a child. Four months, during which she had fought against morning sickness and lethargy, had passed and soon her condition would be clear for everyone to see and she knew she could ignore it no longer. Rhys must come home. Once she had spoken to him, then she’d go and start the procedures for the baby’s care. How she would manage, that was a very different thing. They wouldn’t have much money at first, and how could she work and cope with two small children? How would she feed them? She had to persuade him to stay, face the police and answer any questions. There hadn’t been any talk about his guilt apart from people like Milly Sewell, and the Waterstones – who had altered details slightly, just enough to build rumours about Rhys’s involvement, rumours that had made Rhys run away, afraid he would lose the chance of training as a teacher if accusations by the police resulted in an arrest.
It was Tuesday, the day she went to the butcher’s, and Milly was certain to be there. Would she guess? Would she be the first to point out to others that the unmarried mother was expecting again and with no sign of a husband?
Fortunately she was delayed and the shop was empty when she went to buy her midweek order. That simple reprieve made the day just a little happier.
Gwilym heard the sound of activity at the end of the garden and cautiously peeped out through the curtains. Six of the men he had once worked beside were struggling to fit the bench into the shed. The door had been taken off and lay on the path alongside the gate, also removed to allow them to deliver the bench. Gwilym opened the door and, hiding his legs beneath the blanket, waved. He felt ashamed. These men had lost their jobs, too. One suffered from arthritis, another had poor sight, but they had found work. Over tea and pasties he learned about others. Ted and Arthur Jones had gone to Australia. Peter Powell was in London, Maldwyn Porter had been killed in a fight in Liverpool aboard a ship. Then there was Walter, idling his time away being supported by Netta – who had found another job as soon as the closure had been announced. He should have done the same after the accident, not hidden here and allowed his wife to feed him. Guilt was a severe pain but it didn’t force him to go outside and join them. He’d left it too late. ‘I’ll make tea,’ he called. ‘Come when you’re ready.’
Valmai came down to pick up a bag of tools she had put ready. ‘Come on, Gwilym, you can face your friends, surely? They need to know where you want things placed. They need your help.’
‘I am helping. I’m making the tea,’ he muttered, wheeling himself back inside the kitchen.
Patching up the old shed hadn’t resulted in a beautiful building and by comparison with the new one it looked even worse. But to Valmai both sheds looked beautiful. By the evening everything was in place.
As soon as the men had gone, Gwilym went up to see what they had done and he felt as weepy as a child. The bench was perfect and the lathe, bought by Valmai as part of the surprise, had been set up exactly where it was most convenient. On the bench was a drawing pad and an assortment of pencils. Hesitantly at first, he picked up the pencil and began to draw. An ark, filled with couples of animals, and Noah and his family. Valmai crept up and watched for a few minutes, then with fingers tightly crossed she went back to the kitchen.
Rhys alighted from the train at the station a few miles from Tre Melin. He didn’t want to be seen by someone who knew him, although this time he would visit his parents. It would have to be after dark, which, as it was August, would be quite late. He went first to the mill and deposited his rucksack there. The sun had shone all day and the evening was so light it seemed set to go on and on, as though darkness would never come. He sat in the ruined mill, staring out at the trees grown so tall since he had played there as a child.
A movement caught his eye and he stiffened and prepared to get away. He didn’t recognize the boy, and as he concentrated on him, he realized he was talking to someone in a low voice. Rhys climbed up into the loft and hoped they wouldn’t come in. His belongings were there; there had been no time to move them.
‘See,’ he heard the boy say, ‘on that paddle wheel? That was where the ducks raised their young. Gone now they have but perhaps they’ll come again next year.’
Rhys could now see the man with the boy but didn’t recognize him either. He’d been away two years. People come and go, he thought – perhaps they were new neighbours.
‘Want to go inside?’ the boy asked.
‘I think it’s getting a bit late, Jimmy.’
‘Jimmy Prosser,’ Rhys murmured. Taller and thinner in the face, but I recognize him now. The man’s a stranger, though.
‘Tell you what,’ the man said. ‘We’ll come back tomorrow. Your father will be wondering where you are.’
‘No, he won’t, Rick,’ Jimmy said. ‘He’s never bothered as long as I’m out of his hair.’ Rhys saw a slight flash of white teeth as the boy grinned. ‘Get out of my hair, that’s what he says, and him as bald as a coot!’ The sound of their laughter faded as they moved away.
Rhys followed them but turned across the fields towards School Lane before they reached the houses. The curtains were open in the room Sally rented. He couldn’t go in. Darting between bushes that offered cover, he picked up the pebble that was their sign and placed it in the middle of the porch. Risking a knock at the door, he ran back into the protection of the trees. There he waited until the door opened and Sally picked up the pebble, looked around for a few seconds then went back inside, leaving the door open. The curtains were drawn and moments later he was inside and holding Sally in his arms.