A Sixpenny Christmas (15 page)

‘No-oo,’ Rhys said rather doubtfully. ‘Not that you’ll see much, but if it’ll reassure you . . .’

‘It will,’ Chris said at once. He caught hold of his sister’s hand. ‘I’ll lift you up so you can peep inside; just let’s hope no one sees us and thinks we’re up to mischief.’

Rhys was about to veto the idea, since it had occurred to him that the children might be taken for peeping Toms, but he was too late. They had scampered off, but came
back in a remarkably short time, both giggling and red in the face. ‘A nurse saw us and nearly gave us a heart attack by popping up and banging on the glass,’ Chris said. ‘But we explained that our mum was the lady with her leg in the air, and she said to go in through the main entrance and she would be responsible for letting us take a peep at her. Shan’t be long, Dad.’

The children disappeared again, leaving Rhys to sit in the car, a prey to a great many worries, for the doctor had made it pretty plain that Molly would not be leaving the ward for several weeks. ‘It’s not only the compound fracture, and the cracked patella – kneecap to you – but the burns,’ he had explained. ‘Once the wounds begin to heal the leg will be replastered, but whilst she’s on traction your wife cannot leave the hospital no matter how urgently she may be needed at home. Have you no relatives who could take over? No neighbours?’

‘I’ve a very reliable farmworker,’ Rhys had said slowly. ‘And excellent neighbours, though they are pretty old and live five miles further up the lane. But they have a twenty-year-old son who knows as much about farming as any man living; he’ll give us a hand, I’m sure of it. Then there’s the Williamses, who live in the village and help out at busy times. He’s a retired farmworker and they’re always eager to earn a bit of money to augment their pension. I’ll call on them first thing tomorrow.’

The doctor had nodded, satisfied. ‘You’ve obviously been giving the matter some thought,’ he said approvingly. ‘The knowledge that you’ve got no problems at home will aid your wife’s recovery, believe me.’ He shook Rhys’s hand. ‘Good luck, Mr Roberts.’

But now, sitting in the car and waiting for his children
to return, Rhys decided that he would have to tell Molly of his dilemma. For even though he was sure everyone would help out for two or three weeks, they would not be able to ignore the work on their own farms for much longer. What should he do? Neither he nor Molly had any family and though Molly had had many friends in Liverpool she had lost touch with most of them; in fact the only person with whom she corresponded regularly was Ellen O’Mara. Despite the fact that they had not met for ten years their friendship had flourished. Rhys knew the two women discussed every aspect of their lives and often talked of a reunion, but so far this had not happened. Molly was always bewailing the many miles which separated Old Swan from Cefn Farm, had planned several times to invite Ellen and Lana to spend a holiday in Snowdonia, but something had always happened to prevent their meeting. If only Ellen were nearer . . .

With the return of the children, both now rather pale and worried-looking, he bent his mind to reassuring them. ‘I was upset too when I saw how pale and still she was, but the doctor said it was largely the result of the anaesthetic, and she would look a good deal better when next we saw her.’

‘Good; the nurse said the same,’ Chris said. He was in the front passenger seat and turned to give his sister’s hand a quick squeeze. ‘She asked if we had a relative who would look after us whilst our mum was away and I said Auntie Ellen would.’

‘I only wish she could . . .’ Rhys began, but his son swiftly interrupted.

‘Dad, I had to say something and say it fast, because the nurse said we could be taken into care if there was
no one to look after us. I suppose it might be all right for some children, but it wouldn’t do for us, would it? We do an awful lot of jobs on the farm, and you’ll have your hands full without us being taken away from you as well.’

Rhys revved the engine viciously. ‘Just let anyone try to take you away from me,’ he said between his teeth. ‘You did very right to mention Auntie Ellen. I’ll discuss it with Mum tomorrow, and if she agrees I’ll suggest that we try to persuade her and Lana to come to Cefn Farm for a week or two, and if that’s not possible we’ll get someone from the village to act as a sort of housekeeper whilst Mum’s in hospital.’

Nonny had been silent whilst her father and brother discussed their plans, but now she spoke up. ‘Daddy, if we have to pay someone how will we do it? The nurse said Mum won’t be working for a long time, because when she first gets out of hospital she’ll need care and attention. Chris and I can’t earn anything . . .’

For the first time since he had seen his wife lying so still and white in her hospital bed, Rhys gave a laugh of genuine amusement. ‘Oh, Nonny, you’ve done me good! I’m pretty sure we could dip into our savings if necessary, but I hope it won’t come to that. The doctor said there are grants . . . but anyway, for the time being we’ll simply take each day as it comes. Why don’t you two try to get some sleep? I’ll wake you when we reach the farm.’

Chapter Six

ELLEN WAS IRONING
when the knock came on the back door. She glanced across the kitchen to where her daughter sat, and saw that Lana had pushed both forefingers into her ears, indicating, as Ellen well knew, that she was doing her holiday task and did not intend to stop in order to open the door, no matter how busy her mother might be. Ellen sighed and headed for the back door. When her mother had died the previous spring she had taken over the house on Bethel Street, paying the rent by working as a school dinner lady, and occasionally acting as shop assistant in the haberdashery which had employed her before marriage. Ellen considered herself comfortably situated, and frequently told Lana what a lucky girl she was, but Mr Meakin’s pension had died with her mother, and there was no longer much left over to provide the little extras that made their lives enjoyable.

Ellen opened the door cautiously. Someone had told her that Sam was in port for the first time in years, and in no pleasant humour. It seemed that he had lost an eye in a dockside brawl some time before and been left with a chip on his shoulder the size of the proverbial beam. But as she peered round the door it was not Sam’s face she saw, but a stranger’s. A tall, dark-haired man in an open-necked blue shirt and faded trousers, who was giving her a friendly smile and obviously expected to be recognised.

Ellen stared at him; he wasn’t the man from the Pru, nor the tally-man, and she didn’t think he was one of her neighbours, yet there was something familiar about him, and when he spoke his accent was familiar, too. ‘Mrs O’Mara? Or should I say Ellen?’ The man smiled, showing very white and even teeth. ‘You don’t recognise me, do you? I’m Molly Roberts’s husband, Rhys, and I’ve got the kids in the car to prove I really am who I say. We did meet once, but it was more than ten years back . . .’

Ellen beamed. Now that she looked more closely, she remembered a good-looking young man who had sat awkwardly on her friend’s bed at visiting time, twisting his tweed cap round and round and gazing at Molly with such obvious love and delight that she, Ellen, had felt downright envious. Because of her experience with Sam, she had never thought marriage anything but a burden, but seeing the loving light in the young man’s eyes she had realised that a good marriage could be a wonderful thing.

‘Come in, come in, Rhys!’ she said now, pulling her visitor into the kitchen. ‘Where did you park the car? I’ll send Lana to fetch your kids in, and we’ll all have a nice cuppa and a chat. I were about to ask what you’d done wi’ Molly, but I suppose someone has to be in charge of the farm. Lana, gerroff your bum and go and fetch your Auntie Molly’s children from out the car.’ She pointed to where the baby Morris was parked against the kerb, and turned to Rhys. ‘Is that it?’ She chuckled. ‘Well, it must be, ’cos there ain’t another car in the street. Move yourself, Lana, you lazy little beggar.’

Lana, who had removed her fingers from her ears as
soon as her mother went to the door, got up and peered doubtfully out into the deepening dusk. She and Nonny had begun to exchange letters, but Ellen saw that she felt shy now and did not want to go to the car alone. Rhys must have realised too, for he held out a hand for her to shake, and told her he’d fetch the kids himself.

‘They might imagine you were going to kidnap them,’ he said teasingly. ‘You stay here with your mum, cariad, while I fetch them in.’

When they were all settled at the kitchen table with cups of tea in front of them, Rhys explained all about the accident. ‘I know it seems a lot to ask but we did wonder, Molly and me, if you might come out to the farm for a while,’ he finished awkwardly. ‘We couldn’t afford to pay you much, but there’s a grant which would help, and the alternative is allowing Chris and Nonny to be put in a children’s home until Molly is allowed out of hospital.’ He looked hopefully across the table at Ellen. ‘Of course it may be impossible . . .’ he said, and was swiftly interrupted.

‘I’d come like a shot and I don’t want no money,’ Ellen said at once. ‘The only snag is me lodger. He works down at the docks in one of the shipping offices; you’ll like him when you meet him. He’s a little man, kind of quiet, but an ideal lodger. But he’s full board. Still, I’ve a good friend in me neighbour, Mrs Walshall. I reckon she’d feed Mr Taplow for me while I gave a hand at your farm. Not that I’d be much use at milkin’ cows or shearin’ sheep,’ she added hastily. ‘Of course, I’d do me best . . .’

Rhys and his children laughed, whilst Lana gave a tight little smile. ‘It’s all right, Ellen. I’ve a farmworker, as I said, and Jacob and myself can cope. It’s only the house which would be in your charge, but if that’s
impossible Molly said you might know someone who’d come out to the farm and act as housekeeper until Molly’s back home and not expect to be paid a fortune.’

Ellen shook her head decisively. ‘No need, no need whatsoever,’ she said. ‘Me and my girl would just love to come and help out. Moll and meself have talked about it by letter for years, but somehow we never got round to actually doing anything about it. First I had that full-time job in the jam factory what paid too well to walk away from. I had Mum to look after Lana, you see, so I could work full time. Then my mum was poorly; she had a couple of strokes and as time went on she got confused. I had to be home all the time to keep an eye on her, which I were only too glad to do, because she was grand to me was my mum, nothing was too much trouble, and even when she was ill she looked after Lana as well as I could meself. But now I’m free as air, you might say, ’cos dinner ladies don’t work in the school holidays, and once I’ve got Mrs Walshall to agree to feed Mr Taplow I’ll be with you just as soon as I can buy Lana and me a bus ticket.’

Rhys leaned across the table and grasped Ellen’s hands. ‘You’re one of the best. Molly said you’d do anything you could to help,’ he said fervently. ‘And you won’t need bus tickets; I’ll call for you in Minnie the Moocher . . . that’s our name for the car,’ he added, seeing the bewilderment on her face. ‘She’s not very big but there’ll be plenty of room for you, Lana and all the luggage you’ll want to bring along.’ He hesitated for a moment, then asked, ‘When can you come? In a week? Two?’

‘Day after tomorrer,’ Ellen said quickly. ‘Now, you’ve told me how the accident happened – me blood runs
cold just to think of it – so tell me how dear Molly is getting on.’

‘Day after tomorrow? Are you sure that’s not too soon?’ Rhys said. ‘I don’t want to put you out . . .’

Ellen waved an airy hand. ‘To tell you the truth it’ll be grand to get out of the city for a bit,’ she assured him. ‘Oh aye, Lana and meself will be delighted to give a hand, won’t we, queen? Now tell me about Molly.’

‘Slow but sure,’ Rhys said. ‘Bad burns take a deal of time to heal and she’s still in a lot of pain. Not that she ever complains, but I can tell. And it’ll do her a power of good to hear that you’ve agreed to help out.’ He looked rather shyly at the woman seated opposite him. ‘Molly would like me to take you to the hospital once you’ve settled in, so that she can put you in the way of things. So if you really can come the day after tomorrow, I’ll tell her we’ll visit the day after that. The staff have been very good and have allowed me to see her outside visiting hours, but as far as possible I like to keep on the right side of them. So we’ll go in the evening, if that’s all right by you.’

‘And I suppose you visited her this evening, which is why you arrived here so late,’ Ellen said. ‘This is a real adventure and it’ll be like a holiday for Lana and me, to go into the country and actually stay on a farm. Oh, I know I’ll be doing housework, cooking and so on, but I’ll enjoy every minute. Won’t we, Lana?’

Lana had waited for her mother to consult her before agreeing to go into Snowdonia, far from the streets and friends she knew, but she waited in vain. Ellen did not so much as glance at her daughter when replying to this man’s request, and Lana had grown indignant. She told herself that Ellen knew very well that she, Lana, had a
great many plans for the long summer holidays, and none of those plans included a trip to Cefn Farm. Lana had never even visited a farm, though her mother and the lodger had taken her into the country several times, where they had walked in woods and meadows, eaten cream teas at country cottages, and sometimes gone as far as the seaside and paddled, Mr Taplow with his trouser legs rolled up and Lana and her mother with their skirts tucked into their knickers.

But now Lana reminded herself that she was a city girl and enjoyed the company of her school friends during the long hot summer days. They had planned to go boating on the lake in Prince’s Park, to visit the Walker Art Gallery and the Liverpool Museum, and to queue up at their favourite cinema to enjoy the Saturday rush; they might even buy cheap seats at the theatre for matinee performances. Now, however, none of this would be possible. She would be stuck out in the middle of nowhere with no one to play with but the girl now sitting opposite her at the table, staring with round blue eyes and taking in every detail of the kitchen, of Ellen and of Lana herself. There was the boy too, of course, but in Lana’s experience boys did not usually play with girls younger than themselves. This thought actually made her want to giggle, since her best friend was still Phil Hodges, who was twelve. By a lucky chance Mr Hodges had been moved to the tram depot at Old Swan soon after Lana started school, and had chosen to rent a house nearer his work, which was also, again by coincidence, near to that occupied by the Meakins. The thought of Phil’s disappointment when she told him she was off to Snowdonia made her angry enough at her mother’s calm
acceptance of this man’s plans to speak up for herself.