Wednesday was half-day closing for Amy’s shop and in-between customers she got herself ready to go out. She always loved dressing up and spent a while deciding which of her large collection of jewellery she would wear. She settled for diamante earrings that dangled in three separate chains, and a necklace that filled the wide neckline of the red dress she had chosen. She fluffed out her thick hair and smiled at her reflection in the mirror. Satisfied with what she saw, she winked at herself and taking a light-weight mac and slipping varnished toes into shoes, she set off.
Margaret was playing with Oliver, Nelly’s grandson, and Freddy was out, probably fishing. He was almost fifteen, seven years older than his sister, and soon to start work.
She left food out in case he came back before her, and locking the shop and hiding the key where the children could find it, she ran to the main road to catch the bus for Swansea. She alighted at The Drovers.
As she went into the bar and looked across to their usual table, her brother-in-law, Harry Beynon waved and stood up to greet her. He rolled his mischievous blue eyes and looked with exaggerated care around the almost empty room and gave her a kiss on the cheek. When she had taken off her mac and slipped into the seat beside him, he kissed her more affectionately on her full lips.
‘Darling,’ he said, holding her slightly away from him, ‘you look fantastic.’ They kissed again before Harry went into the next room to the bar and brought her a drink.
They talked idly for a while, making each other laugh at things that weren’t really funny; happy to be together. Then Amy said, ‘Harry, I have decided to get something done about the shop.’
‘At last! Trying to persuade you for months I have.’
‘I went to see Prue, foolishly, I realise that now. I thought if I asked her to ask you it might be easier.’
‘She hasn’t said anything to me.’
‘No, she wouldn’t. Told me I was a scrounger and I shouldn’t have bought the shop if I couldn’t cope.’
‘Prue speaks before she thinks.’
‘Prue automatically says no before she thinks, and rarely changes her mind!’ She looked at him. ‘Will you do it for me, Harry? Could you tell her it was your idea, and nothing to do with me asking?’
‘I think we could come to some arrangement.’ He winked a bright blue, laughing eye and his hand slowly stroked her arm, sliding up and up until his fingers were caressing her body. ‘Where will we go to discuss it?’ he whispered.
Amy felt desire ache in her breasts and rise from deep inside her body. Harry’s attraction for her grew with age, it did not diminish. She looked at him, her heart beating faster as his hands continued to stroke her skin. His eyes, so blue, were slightly narrowed with laughter which always bubbled below the surface. Enjoyment of life showed in every expression, she had never seen him low, or even angry.
He was short-sighted and wore rimless glasses which he carried easily. They were a part of his image, an advantage others lacked. His face was tanned, even so early in the year as, besides owning a building company, he worked in it, laying bricks as fast and as efficiently as those he employed, which was why he had the respect of men as well as the admiration of women.
His brown hair was thinning but even that did not lessen his powerful magnetism, nor detract from the overwhelming confidence of the man. Amy thought he glowed with health and the joy of life. She smiled at him, her long earrings sparkling. Her eyes glowed and promised him a pleasant hour.
‘Where?’ he asked quietly.
‘Margaret’s out to tea with Evie’s son, but I’m not sure about Freddy. He’s gone fishing somewhere.’ She moved so her breast touched his, moving against him, watching the doorway. ‘If only we dare…’ she said wickedly.
‘Amy, you’ll be the death of me! Let’s get out of here before you frighten the landlord and have us banned!’
He took her hand and leading her to his car, drove off in the direction of Swansea.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked, still laughing at his alarm. ‘Nowhere quieter than The Drovers on a Wednesday afternoon, I bet.’
‘No, and how he gets away with staying open I’ll never know!’
‘Favoured customers only, and they won’t talk,’ she said. ‘Go back, shall we?’
‘The office is still on site at Greenways estate. It’s well out of sight, so be patient, you wanton woman. We’re going there.’
‘Why?’ she asked innocently.
‘To talk about your shop widening, what else?’ He glanced at her, laughing softly.
Oliver was unhappy. Besides being the son of the Headmaster, he was shy, and he soon became the butt of the other boys’ humour. Sitting in the playground and watching the other boys from his class throwing cigarette cards against the wall, or playing marbles into holes dug in the earth around the trees, he felt completely isolated. Even Margaret Prichard, who was his friend out of school, rarely spoke to him. She was unwilling to step outside the circle of her friends and support him for fear of being cut off from them as well.
Nelly saw him occasionally as she walked the dogs, and guessed what he was suffering. He rarely came to see her, and one day she called at the house and asked him to come and see what she was doing with her broody hen. With little show of enthusiasm he politely accepted her invitation to call.
He came after school, still wearing the suit and bow tie which Evie insisted he ‘used up’ for play. Nelly opened the side door of the chicken coop and peered inside.
‘See that stupid ’en?’ She pointed to one of the nest-boxes where one of the Buff Leghorns that was paler than the rest, its wattles pink instead of the bright red of a laying hen, was sitting contentedly. ‘Off lay she is. Gorn broody so I’m goin’ to give ’er somethin’ to do.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Oliver said, bending down to look into the strange-smelling coop with its row of nest-boxes.
‘I’m goin’ to let ’er do a bit of ’atching. I’ve bin to see about buyin’ day-old chicks – and one night, when it’s dark, I’ll take out the potatoes she’s sitting on, and put some chicks around ’er. She’ll think they’re ’ers and she’ll look after ’em well.’
She explained about giving the hen some potatoes to sit on to deceive her into thinking she had hatched out the chicks when they arrived, and that placing them at night was a precaution against them being pecked.
‘We’ll collect the chicks tomorrow; I’ll ask yer mum if you can stay a bit late, so you can put the chicks into the box. Don’t forget to tell yer teacher what you’re doing,’ she hinted. ‘The class will be jealous and want to know more, I bet yer.’
The next evening, Oliver’s eyes were brighter than Nelly had ever seen them as he picked up the fragile little creatures and carefully placed them one by one into the warm nest box, where the hen immediately lifted herself to make room for them beneath her fluffed-out feathers against her warm breast.
As Nelly had cleverly surmised, things were easier for Oliver, once he had something interesting to talk about, and the teasing stopped, particularly the nick-name of Dirty Nelly’s boy, and Smelly Nelly’s Ollie. Boys pleaded with him to let them see the hen and her chicks and he watched their progress with a proprietorial interest.
He began to call sometimes before going to school, knowing she would be up and about earlier than most. And gradually he became less shy with her.
‘I was just goin’ up to the castle with the dogs. Cornin’?’ she asked one morning. ‘They’ll be startin’ to get things ready fer the coronation party soon.’
‘Yes please, Grandmother.’
Nelly looked at the neatly dressed little boy and sighed, ‘Call me Gran, why don’t yer?’
‘Mother doesn’t like it. And – she doesn’t like you calling me Ollie either,’ he added nervously. ‘She told me to tell you.’
‘Yes, like that, your mum. Insists ’er name is Evelyn, yet I ’ad ’er christened Evie. That’s ’er proper name. She won’t ’ave it though. So I got to call you Oliver, ’ave I? Well I will, on one condition.’
Oliver looked at her expectantly.
‘On condition you calls me Gran. Only when we’re alone though,’ she added quickly as he began to disagree. ‘Our secret, okay?’
‘She says I mustn’t say okay either,’ he gave a slight grin. ‘Well we won’t, at least, not when she’s listenin’!’
They walked through the trees, Nelly pointing out where she had found a thrush’s nest and where she went for the wild flowers that filled the vases, cups and jam-jars in her cottage. ‘Stand and listen, and sometimes you can ’ear the baby birds twitterin’.’ They stood for a while and she was pleased to see his serious face open in delight as the soft sound reached his ear.
‘Can I bring them food sometime?’
‘’Course you can, dearie, but not yet. Best to let them train the youngsters to find their own proper food. When winter comes, then they’ll be right glad of some ’elp. I got a robin what comes right into me kitchen, ignorin’ the dogs, big soft things they are, and cocks ’is ’ead as if sayin’, “come on Nelly, you’re late with me breakfast”.’
Oliver laughed and for the first time since he had arrived, Nelly felt able to put an arm around his shoulders and gently hug him. ‘You an’ me, we’ll ’ave some fine old times, won’t we?’ She winked a brown eye. ‘Some we might even tell yer mum about!’
At the castle site the grass had been cut. The bracken, that seemed to disappear temporarily during March and April, was forcing itself up strongly through the ground. A small grass-cutter stood half under the new roof of the kitchens and was covered with a piece of tarpaulin. Rocks had been built into walls and painted white. The ruined buildings had also been given a coat of whitewash and the difference was startling.
‘It’s a real castle!’ Oliver said. ‘Almost in your back garden!’ Nelly sat while he and the dogs ran in and out of the old ruin, climbing walls and struggling through openings. When he had finished exploring, Nelly thought his clothes were a mess but his face was that of a happy, normal boy.
‘I’ll walk ’ome with yer, an’ explain about yer suit,’ she said, half-heartedly brushing the white dust and brown dirt from it.
‘It’s all right, Gran; it’s only my playing suit. I’ll be changing to go to school.’
‘A suit fer playing! Bloody ’ell! An’ I bet yer mum says I mustn’t say that neither! Come on, time for a drink of Granny Luke’s ’ome made pop, then we’ll get you ’ome.’
Nelly glanced into the Castle kitchen, wondering about the man she still thought of as Alan. The bed made from bracken and heather was gone. Thrown out no doubt by the men who had cleaned the place ready for the party.
While Nelly made a cup of tea and poured some lemonade for Oliver, she gave him a comic to read. She watched as he slowly made his way across the page, his finger lingering a long time beneath each word.
‘What’s that say, Ollie, I can’t find me glasses,’ she said pointing to a simple headline in a local paper. The boy shrugged and looked away. It was what Nelly had suspected, Oliver’s reading was far behind for his age.
Nelly opened Evie’s back door and called before walking in. The table was set for breakfast. She waited apprehensively for Evie to react to the state of Oliver’s clothes, but Evie just hugged him and said calmly, ‘Have you had a good time, Oliver? You went out very early this morning. Go and wash yourself and change ready for school.’ She looked at Nelly. ‘Will you stay, Mother?’
Nelly shook her head. ‘Best get back, I’ve got the dogs tied to yer fence…’
‘Do you have to bring them? Dirty creatures.’
‘They ain’t. Evie, is Timmy in? I’ll say ’ello before I go.’
‘Timothy is upstairs, preparing some time-tables. I’ll call him.’
‘Evie,’ Nelly stopped her before she reached the door. ‘Can’t you be more, friendly-like? I’m yer mum, and we should be easy with each other. I’ll try not to do the things you don’t like. I’ll even try and call ’im Timothy, but—’ Words failed and she shrugged.
Evie did not reply, she went into the hall and called her husband.
‘He’ll be about ten minutes, Mother.’
‘Tell ’im not to ’urry on my account. I’m off. See yer soon, Oliver,’ she shouted. She untied the dogs and walked sadly down the path, through the trees behind the house and up the hill towards home.
At the top of the field she saw Fay walking towards her. She thought Fay had seen her, then the shining, blonde head bent quickly as Fay seemed to be searching the ground.
‘’Ello, dearie, lost somethin’ ’ave yer? Help you look for awhile if you like.’
‘Morning Nelly. Yes, I’ve lost my watch. It’s only an old one but I’d like it back.’
‘Now if it was a bone, me dogs would ’elp. ’ Nelly laughed. She began moving the tufts of grass with her feet, peering between the clumps. ‘Not lookin’ fer Alan, are yer?’ she said quietly. ‘As if you’d be that stupid,’ she laughed. Fay only smiled and went on looking at the ground.
They were silent for a while, then Fay asked, ‘Are you going to the meeting tonight to discuss the coronation party arrangements?’
‘No dearie! Committees ain’t my style. Besides, I got plans. I’m goin’ for a ride into town, buyin’ a bottle or two of stout maybe, fer me supper. I might even go to the pictures if there ain’t no queue.’
‘I give up.’ Fay straightened and smiled again. ‘Thank you, Nelly. If you would keep looking while you’re with the dogs, I’d be grateful.’
‘Course I will.’
Nelly frowned as Fay walked down the field to the main road. Fay hadn’t been looking for any watch, she was certain of that. So, what had she been doing she didn’t want to talk about? Nelly turned and looked in the direction of the castle, and wondered.
Nelly decided against the pictures and took the dogs when she went into town. Mrs Greener’s second hand clothes shop was shut when she reached it, but Nelly knocked on the side door. It was opened by the proprietress, who invited her inside, ushering her past the shop to the small back room where most of her transactions took place.
‘’Ello, Mrs Greener, dearie. Nice to see yer again.’ Nelly said as her suitcases were unpacked and examined. Mrs Greener accepted the clothing without hesitation or any argument about price. Nelly could be relied on to bring good stuff and never wasted her time on rubbish.
The amount of money was suggested politely while the unbelievably red curls on the seventy-year-old woman’s head bounced approval. A row of large teeth, as blatantly false as the curls were exposed in a friendly smile.
‘I’ll go and find the cash, dear.’ Mrs Greener backed, smiling, out of the door, leaving Nelly in the small, over-filled room with its wardrobes and shelves, and rails of clothes; some draped with cloth of indefinable colour, bleached with age. Mrs Greener was not gone long, but Nelly had time to count the seventeen odd buttons on the floor amid the fluff and dust and assorted strands of cotton.
A wardrobe stood half open, revealing a row of sombre men’s suits. The sight made Nelly shiver. There was something eerie about the sight. If they could talk, they’d ’ave some stories to tell and I doubt if any would make me laugh, she thought nervously.
‘Nelly, dear,’ Mrs Greener gushed on her return. ‘I’d love to ask you to stay for a drink, but I have guests.’ Her rheumy eyes were sad with disappointment.
Nelly shrugged. ‘What a shame, dearie. It’s ages since we ’ad a chat. Still, I couldn’t stay meself, got a friend waitin’ in the pub.’ She edged thankfully away from the funereal suits with their smell of old flowers, and death.
Mrs Greener closed the door on Nelly almost before she had stepped outside, to prevent the dogs leaving their mark. Both women said an affectionate good-day, neither believing nor offended by the other’s lies.
The public house near the second hand clothes shop was run by an elderly man who refused any improvements, being too set in his ways to face the upheaval. The floor in the small bar where Nelly drank was of large paving stones of slate, washed each day with a mop and occasionally spread with sand in the old way, to clean its surface.
Nelly tucked the dogs out of sight under her bench seat and drank two glasses of Guinness and ate three packets of crisps. She did not stay long; she was tired and the drink made her drowsy. Carrying her cases, one inside the other, and with a spare bottle for later, she caught the bus back to Hen Carw Parc.
The bus was full and it warmed her, relaxed her and before she reached her stop near the church, sent her to sleep. Laughter, as a group of young people got off, woke her and looking out of the steamy windows, she saw she had passed her lane and was approaching The Drovers Arms. She shouted for the conductor to stop the bus and struggled down the stairs with the case and the dogs.
As the bus went on its way she hesitated, looking at the welcoming lights of the public house, and at the grass-edged path beside the road home. ‘Come on, dogs, we’ll ’ave just one before the walk.’ Leaving her case just inside the door, she went in, looking hopefully for a familiar face and the prospect of a chat.
She saw Harry Beynon in a corner, talking to a woman. Not Prue, she thought, screwing up her eyes and staring at the blonde head that was definitely not his wife. She moved closer and recognising Amy, waved a greeting and went over.
‘Hello, Nelly love,’ Amy smiled. ‘Can I get you one?’ She held up her glass.
‘Oh, ta!’ Nelly smiled at Harry, who asked what she would like then went to the bar to get it.
‘Coincidence me meeting Harry here,’ Amy said when he returned with the gin. ‘It isn’t certain yet,’ Amy said confidentially, ‘but I might be getting my shop altered, you know, made bigger, using the back room.’
Nelly made a horrible noise and mimed cutting her throat.
‘Cut me throat if I says a word!’
Harry left soon after and after discussing some ideas for the improvements, Amy announced she was catching the bus. Nelly, holding her third gin, waved her goodbye, saying she would prefer the walk.
When Nelly stood up to leave, she felt a trifle unsteady, and outside the cold air increased her tendency to lean sideways. She reached the bus stop, but was afraid she might disgrace herself and be sick, so she set off shakily along the path.
As she neared the village her head began to clear and tiredness overcame her. She sat down to rest on a seat placed by some kind-hearted benefactor, whose name was engraved on a plaque, and closed her eyes.
‘Nelly? You all right, love?’
Opening her eyes, Nelly screwed them up and peered into the darkness. ‘Amy? Fancy seeing you. Where you bin then? I thought you was catchin’ the bus.’
‘I met a friend and we were talking,’ Amy said, rather too quickly. ‘All right, are you?’
‘Yes, just a bit tired. You go on, I’ll get meself ’ome all right.’
‘I’ll walk with you as far as your lane. Where have you been, into town is it?’
‘Yes, ’ad a bit o’ business.’
Amy walked to the lane, then watched while the two great dogs dragged her out of sight. ‘Hope she’ll be all right,’ Amy muttered, but looking up into the blackness of the hedge-lined lane, decided she could not face following her to make sure.
She went home, where Margaret and Freddy were waiting for their supper, wondering if Nelly had been sufficiently convinced by their explanation of her and Harry’s meeting. Crossing the road, she shrugged away the slight anxiety. No one took any notice of Nelly. Dirty Nelly they called her, living in a tumbledown cottage that should be condemned, with dogs, chickens and a windup gramophone for company, who would take notice of anything she said?
Early next morning, Nelly, fully recovered, went again to look at the castle site. The bedding was back in the kitchen. She frowned. If it was Alan, why was he living so close to his old home and not going there? Perhaps he’s lost his mind, she thought with a start of fear. Poor bloke, ’e’ll be wanderin’ around like a ghost, ’auntin’ the places of ’is child’ood. And what if ’e should bump into Mrs French. What a shock that’d be for them both.
The thought saddened her and needing to do something, however useless, she went back home and collected a small, freshly baked loaf and a piece of cheese from her meagre ration, with a slice of seed cake, and took it to the castle kitchens. As she was putting it on the makeshift bed, something sparkled and she reached out and picked up a small diamante-adorned lady’s watch. ‘Messages, eh. Seems I ain’t the only one keepin’ an eye out for yer, Alan French if that’s ’o, you are.’ She replaced the watch and went thoughtfully home.
On Saturday mornings, Amy’s son Freddy went to work on Prue’s garden. After several boys had tried to please her exacting standards and failed, Freddy had offered to help for the few shillings Prue offered and had become quite interested in the flowers he tended.
Prue watched him from the kitchen window, taking a slightly guilty pleasure in the way he lifted the soil on the spade and threw it down as he prepared the holes for some new roses she had bought.
Freddy was big for his age, and strong. His shoulders under the sleeveless vest he wore, rippled as he lifted, turned and dropped the spadefuls of earth, such rhythm in his movements that she felt he could continue all day without tiring. She tapped the glass and showed him a tea cup and he waved and, leaving his work, came to get his drink and the cake she had cut for him.
‘Thanks, Auntie Prue. Those roses will look a treat from here, won’t they? Better than that old lavender. Had its day that had. Straggly.’
She nodded and watched as he ate hungrily, anxious to get back and finish the planting.
‘Coming out to make a ceremony of the planting, Auntie Prue?’ he asked when he had finished.
‘I’ll watch from here,’ she said.
As he walked away and bent once more to his work, she felt a surge of excitement pass through her and she turned away from the window. He was a boy, only fifteen, she reminded herself. But his body was that of a man, and had a strange effect on her.
Prue had had no experience of men outside marriage, and little within it. The sensation Freddy had produced frightened her. She was very gruff with him when he came in to be paid, and hardly spoke when he explained about the necessary watering and feeding which he had learnt, he told her, from a library book.
She heard Harry’s car and went down from the landing window where she had been watching for his return. In the neat kitchen she began the final touches to the casserole. He was whistling and when the door opened to reveal his cheerful face, her heart leapt. The foolishness with Freddy forgotten, she felt that love for Harry which, even after more than fourteen years, was still as strong as it had always been. She added the mixed cornflour to the meat and vegetables, stirring it in before returning the dish to the oven. She did not greet him with more than a brief nod.
‘That smells good, Prue. How long will it be?’
‘Only about twenty minutes. You’ve time to wash.’
‘I’ll make a start on these straight after.’ He patted the files he had brought in with him. ‘They’ll take me most of the afternoon, then I might go for a pint with some of the boys. Got to keep the workers sweet,’ he said.
‘I wish you’d let me help with the books, Harry. I keep offering and I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to. After all, it was me who did them in the early years. In fact, I did the lot while you were in the R.A.F. It would give you more time; I mean you’d be home earlier.’ She wanted to say ‘so we could spend more time together’ but the truth stuck in her throat. ‘Trying to get a meal ready for you isn’t easy you know. If you came home at a set time my work could be better arranged.’
‘It’s not me you miss then?’ he teased.
‘Put the bath towel in the linen basket when you’ve finished with it, not in a heap on the floor.’ Prue went over to the table and placed the cruet more precisely, then straightened the knives and forks.
‘Won’t be long.’ He touched her shoulder as he passed, and she heard him dropping his files on his desk, before running, whistling happily up the stairs to the bathroom.
She checked the vegetables and walked idly into his office, looking at the piles of books and files in dismay. Harry would be working late again tonight. Another night when she would be sleeping alone. He slept in the spare room when he came up late, out of consideration for her he said, although she was often awake. She couldn’t call him though, that would be too embarrassing. So she was left to sleep alone in the big, cold bed.
‘I met Amy the other day,’ he said as they ate. ‘In The Drovers of all places. I’d called in for a pint on the way home and she was there. Needed a break from the shop and the kids she said.’
‘I don’t like to see women on their own in public houses.’
‘She doesn’t do it often, does she?’
‘She rang to tell me she’d seen you. Nelly was there too wasn’t she? And the worse for wear?’
‘Poor old Nelly. Not much of a life, hers. I bought her a gin but I doubt it was the first she had.’
‘Fell asleep on the bus she told Amy. Passed her stop and thought she might as well have a few more before walking home. Disgusting.’
‘It doesn’t happen often. Perhaps she gets a bit lonely. Not many people call, only Johnny Cartwright and his mother, and I expect Johnny is less inclined to go now he’s married.’
‘Her Evie won’t like it. Better class of person altogether, Evie and her husband – Timothy is it?’
‘I don’t think having Dirty Nelly for a mother fits Evie’s ideas about herself!’ Harry said, his eyes shining with laughter. ‘Just imagine them introducing her to the school governors!’ He looked at Prue, encouraging her to join in his laughter, but she remained stony-faced as he went on, ‘Can’t you see it? Nelly with her dogs tied up with old rope and carrying her smelly shopping bag. Smelly Nelly, do meet Mr and Mrs Norwood Bennet Hughes.’ He helped himself to the last of the casserole then, still chuckling, went into his office to begin the work waiting for him on his desk.
Prue sat for a while, thinking about Nelly and how embarrassed her daughter would be if she knew. Several times she convinced herself it was her duty to tell her, but stopped as her hand touched the phone, glancing at the office door. Then, taking the phone on its long cord into the kitchen she spoke to Evie.
She commiserated at first, pretending surprise that Evie did not know about her mother’s escapades. Then she suggested, oh so tactfully, that it might be kinder if Mrs French did not employ her any longer. ‘So she doesn’t have the surplus money to spend so unwisely.’
What a relief not to see that disgusting old woman around the Close, she thought, as she mixed her tea and went to sit down. The best thing all round. Feeling she had done her duty, she drank her tea satisfied.
Monica French was angry. She had refused to listen to Prue’s criticism of Nelly, reminding her that Nelly was entitled to spend the money she honestly earned, in what ever way she chose. But when Evelyn had telephoned and added her persuasions, she had reluctantly agreed. She went to sleep far from satisfied that she had done the best thing.