Nelly’s leg was still painful, but she insisted on going to Mrs French’s the morning following the discovery of Alan’s body. She knew that Mrs French would probably not be there, but also knew where to find a key. She felt the sadness of Alan’s tragic ending both for Fay, who had tried to help him, and for his mother, who had not known of his survival until it was too late.
‘Pity it ’ad to be Prue Beynon what told ’er,’ she grumbled to the dogs as they walked up to Mrs French’s back door. ‘She’s bound to ’ave embellished the story. No doubt about that.’
As she was unlocking the back door, she heard shouts and unable to resist, it being Prue’s house from where the sounds came, she quickly tied up the dogs, threw down the key and ran to see what was happening.
Prue and Harry were fighting. She could see through the open back door that Harry seemed to be having the worst of it, as Prue was armed with a poker and he had nothing but his bare hands. Nelly hesitated on the doorstep and was about to shout and distract them from attacking each other, when Harry fell. A last blow aimed by Prue fell against his head and then she disappeared beneath him, her shouts cut short and leaving a horrible, eerie silence after the row.
Nelly went inside hesitantly, calling Prue then Harry. Both lay still. ‘Oh, my Gawd!’ Nelly ran back to Mrs French’s to telephone for the police and an ambulance. She looked at where she had thrown down the key but could not see it.
She was crying, saying, ‘Oh my Gawd!’ over and over but failed to find the key. In her panic she had not thought to use Prue’s phone. She thought of it now, and ran back, but not to the back door. Her legs were like lead and she knew she would have difficulty walking past those prostrate bodies. She stretched up and looked through the window, foolishly hoping she had imagined it all.
Prue was slowly rising, having pushed Harry’s heavy body away. Mesmerised, Nelly watched as Prue sat for a moment, taking in the situation, then got a cloth from the sink and begin to wipe the blood from the grate near where her head had landed. The fire was lit, and she removed the working gloves she was wearing and put them into the flames. She did not look at the small side window where Nelly still watched.
Walking stiffly, Prue walked to the drawer near the sink and took out a clean pair of working gloves. She put them on and, lifting a poker, walked into the hallway and out of Nelly’s sight. There, she opened the door of Harry’s office and began throwing out the contents of the desk drawers. She smashed at the metal cabinet with the poker, before throwing it down in a corner.
There was a cash box in the top drawer of the cabinet, and she took this and scattered the contents over the carpet, as if it had been dropped in haste. Two pound notes and a ten shilling note she kicked out into the hallway. She stood for a moment, then went back into the kitchen, where Nelly’s eyes still peered over the sill of the window.
Prue’s small apron was spotted with blood and she removed it and almost fed it to the flames, then changed her mind and put it back on. She pushed the fire to make sure all the dusters had disappeared and added wood to conceal their ashes.
The cloth with which the blood had been wiped up was also burnt, and Prue’s face, as she watched the fire take it, slowly at first, then as the flames touched the Brasso-soaked gloves, in a sudden rush, was like a picture from a horror story. Eyes bright, her skin a strange reddish brown, tinged with blue and green as the flames were reflected. Nelly moved away from the window, unsure what to do next.
After a long, timeless wait, she heard Prue’s voice. She was obviously calling the police. Her voice was high-pitched.
‘I’ve been beaten, I think my husband’s dead,’ Nelly heard her say. Then she screamed, and Nelly hurriedly stepped into the shrubs and worked her way around until she was back inside Mrs French’s garden.
She sat on the back step for an age, and then the police arrived. There were policemen everywhere, and someone came and asked if she had seen or heard anyone running away, she answered with complete honesty, ‘No, I ain’t. Locked meself out and can’t find the key. Waitin’ ’ere for Mrs French.’
The police searched the garden, tried all the doors and windows, found the missing key and followed Nelly in. When they were satisfied she was alone they left, promising to come and talk to her again later.
She tried to do her work, but wondering what she should do and shaking with the horror of it, she spent more time sitting, staring into space than working. She left a note of apology for Mrs French, let herself out and went to tell Amy what had happened.
Nelly sat silently watching Amy. She had broken the news as gently as she could, but when she had said the unbelievable words, ‘Harry is dead, dearie,’ all the life seemed to drain from Amy’s face. She was looking at Nelly, then at the door and back to Nelly as if waiting for someone else to arrive and tell her it was not true, that there had been some stupid mistake.
‘Good sort, ’Arry Beynon,’ Nelly said softly. ‘I mean a really good sort. Not – well, you know what I mean – ’e took everyone for themselves and never wanted to change people. He always treated me proper, ’e did. Sorry ’e’s gone I am, real sorry.’
‘You knew about us, didn’t you, Nelly?’ Amy said at last.
‘Yes I knew that you and ’e were, well, you know. That’s why I wanted to tell you, before Prue comes across, to give yer time to settle yerself.’
‘Thanks.’ Amy stood up and blew her nose then added, ‘What happened? Tell me again.’
‘All I know is that ’Arry an’ Prue were hit by burglars. That’s what the police said. Don’t know nothing else yet. Make us a cup of tea, why don’t yer?’
Having said nothing to the police about seeing Prue and Harry fighting, Nelly was committed to the lie. She couldn’t go and tell them she had been there, and had seen them hitting each other, not now. Anyway she was not too clear about what happened even though she had looked through the door at that unfortunate moment.
Every time she closed her eyes she saw Prue’s face, and her arm holding aloft that brass poker. The shock had numbed Nelly’s brain and she couldn’t think straight for the moments following; even now she was still confused.
The police had not pressed her, but had accepted what she had told them, that she had been sitting on Mrs French’s doorstep and had seen nor heard nothing. She had seen Prue strike Harry, but what had happened before that? She would never know. Perhaps Harry had hit out at Prue? She was enough to make anybody mad, with her disapproval and her rigid ways, but Harry had treated her bad, having an affair with her sister. No, she’d done the right thing to say nothing. Let the police sort it out. Half of a story could get an innocent woman hanged.
‘Here you are, Nelly. A cup of tea with something in it to warm us.’
There was a knock at the door and Nelly took the opportunity to slip away.
‘Come an’ ’ave a chat, why don’t yer?’ she said as Amy unlocked the shop door to let her out and P.C. Harris in. Nelly couldn’t look into his face. Lying to the police was a worrying thought, but admitting it and telling him what she had seen was even more frightening. She hurried back over the road and up the lane home.
She built up the fire and turned the swivel to put the black, sooty kettle over the heat. She huddled close to the fire and began to feel afraid. What if someone had seen her stretching up and looking through Prue’s window afterwards? Could she still say she had been sitting on the steps and had seen nothing?
She looked around her at the familiar room. Six years ago she had kept another secret from the authorities and now she wondered if her luck would hold a second time.
Footsteps crunched down the path and she clasped a hand to her chest. She glanced towards the open door and, expecting to see the dark uniform of Constable Harris, gave a huge sigh of relief when she saw it was Johnny.
‘Heard the news then?’ he asked, reaching for a cup from the shelf in the corner. ‘It makes you wonder what’ll happen next. Don’t they say important things happen in threes?’
‘Ooh, don’t!’ Nelly shuddered and Johnny looked surprised.
‘Come on, Nelly, don’t take notice of me, only joking. What else could happen?’ He took the filled cup and raised it in salute, ‘Here’s to you, Nelly.’ She didn’t raise her cup to his as she usually did in their silly game and Johnny frowned again. ‘There is something bothering you. What is it? Not upset about poor Harry, are you? Sorry I am, but he wasn’t a close friend. Pity it wasn’t Prue, that’s all I think!’
‘If I tell you something, young Johnny, will you promise to keep it to yerself?’
‘Of course.’
‘Remember when I come ’ere, in 1940 it was, my Evie had been here a year, and I thought to meself, what am I doing up in London bein’ bombed while she’s down ’ere safe? So I evacuated meself and came down to join ’er.’
‘Very sensible too.’
‘I ’ad to find somewhere to live. This cottage was a bit of a mess, but old Mr Gregory, remember ’im? Well he let me ’ave it for four shillings a week.’
‘It was a mess all right. You worked hard getting it clean and comfortable.’
‘Yes, well; when old Mr Gregory died, there was no one to pay the rent to, so I sort of said nothing. I didn’t go to see anyone about it, I just kept putting the rent away each week and hoping no one would come and tell me the place wasn’t mine no longer.’
‘I remember when Mr Gregory died there was no one to even attend his funeral. Mam went and you went. But apart from the vicar, there was no one. I should forget it, Nelly. If anyone asks for the deeds, tell them they got lost, eaten by mice, thrown out by mistake. There’ll be no one to ask about him. Forget it, make us another cup of tea.’
Nelly visibly brightened. ‘You sure, Johnny?’
‘Never more certain. This house is yours. Forget you ever worried about it. And as for the rent, well I’d spend it, get yourself something really nice with it.’ He thought for a moment, ‘If you like, Nelly, I’ll go and see a solicitor and ask him, no names, like, and see what he thinks.’
‘Thanks, Johnny. ’Ere, what about a drop of something in this to warm us, eh? One of Amy’s specials.’
Bracing herself for abuse and possible rejection, Amy went to see her sister. Prue opened the door, and, seeing who it was, closed it again. Amy tried several times that day and in the days that followed, but her sister refused to see her.
Amy was not allowed the luxury of grief. She had only to show regret at losing a brother-in-law. Prue was his wife. Mistresses had no rights, not even to show their anguish and sorrow. Only to Nelly could she show how devastated she was.
The police were still searching for the burglar who had attacked Prue and killed Harry, and Prue was constantly questioned. Amy knew this from Constable Harris; her sister told her nothing. Then, one day, just before that set for the funeral, Prue arrived as Amy was closing the door of the shop. Amy invited her upstairs.
Amy looked at her sister and felt worried for her. She wished she would break out of the tight, cold shell she was inhabiting. Surely it would be better for her to grieve and cry? Or at least shout and rage against Harry’s death? Keeping her emotions so firmly in check was not good, even for someone as unemotional as Prue. It did not occur to Amy to wonder if Prue was in fact holding nothing back, that there was no loss to cry and rage over. That Harry’s death was no more than a satisfying end to an impossible situation.
Amy made a tray of tea and put biscuits on a plate, but Prue refused any refreshment.
‘I saw the solicitor again yesterday,’ she said when Amy was settled with a cup of tea. ‘What he told me might be of interest to you.’
‘Oh?’ Amy searched Prue’s face for a clue to what was about to come. There was none.
‘Apparently, Harry had bought a house for you and your children.’
‘I – yes – that is, he did tell me —’
‘He died before he signed the papers.’ There was still no change in Prue’s expression. ‘So I told the solicitor not to proceed with the transfer of ownership.’
Amy put down her cup with a shaking hand. She looked at her sister and waited, knowing there would be more.
‘The solicitor said that as it was obviously Harry’s wish to provide for you and your children, I was honour bound to make the gift. I said not. I know Harry was Freddy’s father, he told me the day he was killed. But all I’m prepared to do is keep Freddy on in the firm, give him a reasonable wage. That’s all.’
She walked down the stairs and the only sign that she was other than calm, was the loud slamming of the door as she left.
Freddy saw Prue leave and came out from where he had been hiding. Since the day of the tragedy he had not seen her. The double shock of almost being found in her bed, then learning of Harry’s murder had terrified him. He had been questioned by the police and could tell them nothing, but he waited with dread, expecting another visit.
He put his cycle away in the shed behind the shop, threw his fishing rods and the box of tackle in beside it, and went upstairs. Amy was washing up a few cups and she looked drawn and pale. It was not a good time to worry her, he could see that, but he had to get things settled.
‘Hello, Mam. I’ve been fishing.’
‘Any luck, love?’ she asked, trying to force enthusiasm into her voice.
‘I’ve been into town as well. Swansea in fact.’
‘Fishing in the Tawe river?’
He did not reply and she turned and saw at once that today’s shocks were not over. ‘What is it, Freddy?’
‘Mam, I’m going into the army.’
‘You’re what? But you have a job with…’ She hesitated before adding, ‘—with Uncle Harry’s firm. Auntie Prue has just been here to tell me it’s still all right.’
‘No, Mam. I’m not staying here. I’ll help you in the shop for a while, until I’m old enough and things are settled. There’s plenty of jobs you need doing. Then I’m off.’ He took off his shoes and searched near the fender for his slippers. ‘It’s best, Mam. I can’t work for Auntie Prue.’
Amy mashed the boiled potatoes fiercely and doled them out on three plates with baked beans and slices of spam, but she was unable to eat. She left Freddy, and putting Margaret’s on top of a saucepan of boiling water to stay warm, she went out.
She wandered up the lane to Nelly’s cottage. She wasn’t really aware of where she was going, but seeing the open door and light of the oil lamp glowing out onto the path, she went through the gateway.
‘Amy love. Come on in. This is George, don’t take any notice of ’im, a good friend of mine, George is. Cuppa tea?’
Amy sat on the settee near the window and George smiled apologetically.
‘If you and Nelly want to talk, would you like me to go?’ he asked in his carefully modulated voice.
‘No, don’t disturb yourself on my account. No, I’m just feeling a bit low and thought I’d come and be cheered up by Nelly.’
‘Very good at that, Nelly is,’ George said with a smile. He stood up and handed her the cup of tea that Nelly had poured.
‘Still upset at – you know – what ’appened?’ Nelly asked. ‘Shock like that’ll take some gettin’ over.’
‘I’ve lost everything, Nelly.’ Amy began to sob and at once Nelly stood up and put an arm around her. George reached into his pocket and brought out a spotlessly clean handkerchief which he pressed into her hand.
‘I’ll go for a walk,’ he said. ‘I’ll be back later.’ He went to the door and closing it as much as the old wood allowed, set off up the cinder path.
‘Prue’s won,’ Amy said as the tears subsided. ‘I’ve lost everything.’
‘What you talkin’ about?’
‘Freddy is leaving. He’s going to join the army. Margaret is having music lessons from Mrs French, she’s been over there all day. Harry is dead. The house he was buying for me, that would have been a proper home for us, has gone to Prue.’ She explained about the house, described it and told Nelly of how the solicitor’s plea had been ignored. ‘I know it’s hers by right, I wasn’t married to Harry, and I doubt if he would ever have left her for me, no matter how often he swore he would, but I did want that house.’
Nelly looked thoughtful, then searched for paper and pen and ink.
‘Amy, will yer leave me for a while. I ’ave to get something written down on paper. Somethin’ to upset that sister of yours.’
‘Sorry, Nelly, I shouldn’t have come here worrying you.’ Amy stood up to go.
‘Glad you did. It ain’t often that I can do something useful, but today I think I can.’
An hour later, armed with a note of all she could remember about the moment of Harry Beynon’s death, Nelly called on Prue. She had defied the authorities twice – didn’t Johnny say everything went in threes?
‘And that’s what I’ll swear to when I talk to the police,’ she said, when Prue had read the pages of writing. ‘No matter about them bein’ mad with me fer not sayin’ nothin’ before. They can put it down to me bein’ a bit soft if they like.’
‘I’ll go to the solicitor first thing in the morning,’ Prue said. ‘If I can be sure this is the last I’ll hear of this.’
‘The village wouldn’t sleep if it came out we ’ad a murderess in our midst. No, it’s best we keep some things to ourselves. Just as long as I ’ears from Amy that the—’ she brought the words out slowly, ‘the deeds of transfer of ownership, have been signed.’
‘It was an accident.’
‘Well, we’ll say I believe you, or I wouldn’t cover it up, no matter what it cost.’ Satisfied with her work, humming cheerfully, Nelly went home.
The news made Amy more cheerful and she was singing when Victor Honeyman came with a delivery of groceries. ‘You seem happy, Amy? Got something to celebrate?’
‘In a way. Something terrible happened, then it got a bit better.’
‘What on earth you talking about?’
‘Too difficult to explain. Just say that life seems a bit better than this time yesterday. I’ve been left a house in someone’s will.’
‘That’s a good excuse for a celebration. Meet me tonight and we’ll have a great time. Dancing to start with? What d’you say?’
For a moment Amy was inclined to refuse; then she thought, what have I got to lose? It might stop some of the wagging tongues if she had another boyfriend.
‘Why not?’ she said. ‘Call for me will you?’
‘Well, I finish work in town, it’s best if you meet me there, save time, see.’
Pushing her home-made cart along the road, Nelly shouted at the two dogs. They were tied to the handles of what had started life as a wooden crate, and now, with the addition of a set of pram wheels, made a useful handcart. Although they appeared to be helping tow it, in fact they pulled it to one side and her arms ached with the effort of straightening it. Struggling to keep it on course, she managed to turn it into Gypsy Lane.
Past The Close, where Prue and Mrs French lived, and where curtains were still closed in mourning, and into the narrow land called Gypsy Lane because it was where a family of gypsies camped every winter, she pushed the bouncing cart. There at last she could release the lively dogs and take a more leisurely pace.
‘Go on, Bobby an’ Spotty, ’ave a good run before we gets to the farm.’
She was going to collect a small sack of potatoes, which Mr Leighton had promised to let her have cheap. ‘I’ll ’ave to fix the brake on when we come back down,’ she shouted to the dogs, ‘or we’ll cross that road at the bottom like a bleedin’ racin’ car!’
The sack was tied on and she set off again, leaning on the cart, glad of the support to ease her hip. She reached the bottom of the lane without mishap and it was as she passed the entrance to The Close that it became difficult to hold. Faster and faster it went, the dogs, once more tied to the handle adding to its speed. Nelly gave a shout, seeing Victor Honeyman and Amy standing outside the shop.
‘Help! Save me spuds!’ she shouted, and the two people ran across the road. They brought the runaway cart to a halt and laughed at Nelly’s puffing thanks.
‘Don’t thank us,’ Victor Honeyman said. ‘You gave us a good laugh. Just what Amy needed, that was.’ He winked at Amy and added, ‘More of the same tonight, eh?’
Nelly frowned as he climbed into the cab of his lorry.
‘None of my business, Amy, but you don’t want to get mixed up with no more married men, do yer?’
‘Married?’
‘Yes, I called on his wife when I was collecting fer the Coronation party. Nice little woman she is.’
Amy ran across the road and caught Vic just as he was pulling away.
‘Hey, you! Forget it! Clear off and don’t come around here again. I don’t want any woman coming complaining that I’ve stolen her husband! Damn cheek! Go home after work, where you belong!’
Nelly noticed tears in Amy’s eyes and couldn’t resist adding, ‘Yes, sod off and don’t come back!’
Behind her, coming out of Netta Cartwright’s, Evie gave a groan of dismay.
The talk in the village gradually subsided. Once the two funerals were over, people settled down to the usual routine. Police still appeared but their enquiries lessened. The murder of Harry Beynon helped Mrs French in a way, by taking some of the attention from Alan’s strange reappearance and lonely death.
Nelly’s plans for moving in with Evie and Timothy went on through all the upheavals and on the day she had specified, her daughter and son-in-law stood at their window waiting for her to arrive. Evie showed her tension in irritation. Timothy was sad at the success of Evie’s persuasion. He knew it was not the best arrangement for Nelly, to take her from her cottage.
‘I should have been told about her falling,’ Evie said. ‘She should have been brought here, to me.’
‘She didn’t want to come. She’s coming today, so please, Evie, don’t start complaining about it.’ He patted her shoulder to take the sting out of the words.
‘You should have insisted on fetching her. Where is she?’
‘Nelly didn’t want to be fetched. It’s bound to be difficult for her to leave her home. She’ll want to say goodbye to it in her own way. Evie, I still doubt if we’re doing the right thing.’
‘We can’t let her wander the lanes drinking the proceeds of her clothing sales! I’ll hate it too; she isn’t easy. But I must have her where I can watch her, make sure she doesn’t do anything embarrassing.’
There was a knock at the door and they both jumped.
‘That will be Nelly now.’ Timothy held Evie’s arms. ‘Please, love, treat her as a welcome guest. Allow her time to accept her new life. She is your mother, and you owe it to her to try.’
Evie kissed him and nodded. ‘I will try. I’ve had my own way over this and it’s up to me to prove it was the right thing for us all.’
There was a second knock, louder and more insistent than the first and Evie smiled. ‘Perhaps she’s anxious to come here after all, though why she doesn’t walk straight in I can’t imagine.’ She was still smiling as she opened the door. Timothy was beside her and they both gasped in surprise to see Nelly, dressed in the pink dress and wearing a navy velour hat with flowers decorating the brim, with a matching flower in her buttonhole. George was standing proudly beside her, also sporting a large buttonhole.
‘’Ello, Evie, meet yer new Dad. George an’ me got married this morning.’
Evie and Timothy stood with mouths wide open as Nelly pushed past them and went into the hall.
‘Which bedroom we goin’ ter ’ave then?’ she asked. ‘I ’ope it ain’t got a single bed. George ain’t fat, but I’m definitely on the plump side.’ She laughed her noisy laugh and George joined in. The other two just stared.
‘Nelly,’ Timothy said. ‘You should have told Evelyn what you were planning. She is your daughter.’
Evie looked stiff enough to snap as she asked, ‘I suppose you really are married?’
George struggled to pull some papers from his inside pocket.
‘If I can just get my wallet out – ah. There it is, look, our marriage certificate.’
‘This is a terrible shock, mother,’ Evie said, still holding onto the door, which was wide open.
‘Surprise, dearie, not shock. Just think, you won’t ’ave to worry about me no more. I’ll never be lonely, you can go out on your social whirls an’ we’ll be ’ere, lookin’ after Ollie and the ’ouse for yer. It’ll be just like our own ’ome, won’t it, George?’
George smiled and in his careful diction, said, ‘Of course, it isn’t the same as starting out in a place of our own. Living with relations isn’t the best way to start…’
‘Have you actually sold all your things?’ Evie asked feebly, closing the door and leaning against it.
‘Every stick, just like you told me to, Evie,’ Nelly lied cheerfully. ‘An’ that Mr Evans, what’s caretaker at your school, ’e’s ’avin’ me chickens and me dogs. Says we can go over an’ see them any time. We thought we’d go over of a Sunday, didn’t we, George?’
There was a brief silence, Evie and Timothy exchanging worried glances, then Oliver’s voice, calling excitedly as he came through the kitchen made them all look up. Evie was still slumped against the front door.
‘Mother? Has she arrived? Has Gran come yet, Mum?’
‘Mother!’ Evie automatically corrected. ‘Yes, she is here.’
‘Hello, Gran. Hello, George.’ He was laughing excitedly.
‘Go to your room for a while, Oliver,’ Evie instructed firmly. ‘We have something to discuss.’
‘But – aren’t you going to tell me?’
‘Tell you what?’ Evie snapped.
‘Gran?’ Oliver looked at Nelly, then handed her an envelope. ‘This is for you.’ He looked from one to another, a frown on his young face, as Nelly opened the envelope.
‘It’s a card. Happy wedding day! Ollie! That’s lovely! Look, George. But, how did you know?’
Oliver laughed, dancing about in his delight. ‘You left the certificate on the table and I read it!’
Nelly and George congratulated him.
‘Well I never did. Just shows ’ow ’andy it is to be able to read proper, don’t it?’ Nelly said proudly.
‘What are we going to do?’ Evie whispered to Timothy.
‘Let them go home, dear. It’s best.’
The day was very hot, as if the summer had decided to give a final fling before accepting that autumn had come. Nelly and George began to walk slowly home. Nelly was carrying two cards. One made by Oliver and the other, signed by Johnny and Fay, their witnesses. On the card, Johnny had written, ‘Good luck in your very own home.’ The words were underlined. He had obviously checked and was reassuring her that all was well and the cottage was hers.
Johnny and Fay were waiting as they climbed the lane and came in sight of the smoke rising from the chimney. He felt a bit guilty about telling Nelly the cottage was hers. But when he had spoken to the solicitor, the complications were so frightening, he decided it best to forget it. Fight it when and if it happened. No one had come to claim it in six years, there was little chance of anyone coming now.
‘Welcome back, you two,’ he shouted. ‘Fay and I have brought everything back, even the dogs.’ He took Fay’s hand. ‘We’ll be off now. See you later.’
‘The plan worked a treat,’ Nelly shouted as the young couple began to walk away from them. ‘Thanks fer yer ’elp.’ She laughed as the dogs bounded to greet her.
George opened the door. ‘What a day. Wasn’t that a surprise, young Oliver making us a card?’
‘Yes,’ Nelly laughed. ‘A Happy Weeding day!’
‘You’ll be left in peace now, but don’t do anything they can complain of, just in case.’
‘I’ll save up for a night out fer you when you come back again. Nothin’ wrong with goin’ out with me legal ’usband. ’Ere, fancy you bein’ an ’Enry. Put you down fer a George any day I would.’
George had set potatoes to bake in the ashes under the fire. ‘We’ll sit outside and eat, shall we? It’s still warm.’
‘It was fun, you buyin’ me a button’ole an’ all. I’m ever so grateful, George.’
‘Nonsense. I enjoyed it too.’
‘No, really, an’ if you ever want to come ’ere, in the winter per’aps, I’d be glad. It’s bin nice ’avin’ someone as easy to talk to as you about.’
George looked uncomfortable. ‘I… er…’
Nelly laughed her loud laugh. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not tryin’ to persuade yer. I’ve ’ad a taste of people makin’ plans for me, so I know. But, if ever you need a place…’
‘I’ll be back from time to time. Perhaps, one day, when I’m sure I won’t spoil things for you.’ He smiled then said more briskly, ‘I’ll stay for the weekend if you don’t mind. There are a few things I want to do before I go. I’ll fix the gate back on for a start. Then I’ll chop some more firewood,’ he patted her arm affectionately, ‘and then I’ll be off.’
Nelly nodded. ‘That kettle’s singin’ so if you’ll make a cuppa, I’ll find the plates for the spuds.’ They sat near the door, the dogs waiting hopefully for scraps, and Nelly’s mmm’s and ahh’s as she ate were echoed by George. It grew quite dark before they moved.