Facing the World (2 page)

‘Of course you can, dear. I’ll ask Eric to drop it off for you. It’s too heavy for you to carry all that way. But how are you going to get rid of the spiders?’

Sally smiled, her blue eyes widening and lighting up her face. ‘I haven’t thought about that yet. This tin of paint could be waiting a long time if I have to do it!’

‘Ask Eric.’

When Eric had lost his job at the closing of the furniture factory, he had just cleared the debts left by his wife when she had walked out on him and taken their daughter Julia. Instead of spending the next few years saving for when he retired, he had been unable to find another opening for a carpenter and had managed for a while doing odd jobs – many of which he did for nothing – but now he lived on a small pension. He lived in a room in a rather neglected boarding house with only a small stove to both heat the place and on which to cook his meals. 

Just before the factory closed he had been cycling home with Rhys’s father, Gwilym Martin, when a lorry knocked them down. Gwilym had lost a part of his leg but he had been more fortunate and apart from a limp from a damaged ankle he had little of which to complain. The room at Mrs Godfrey’s was damp and inconveniently situated on the top floor, thirty-five stairs plus the outside steps leading to the front door, but he never moaned about his
misfortunes
.

He often wondered about his wife and daughter but after all the years that had passed he no longer tried to find them. He was sad to have missed watching Julia grow from a baby into a young woman and hoped that wherever she was she had been happy.

He was a pleasant man, friend to all and always willing to help with tasks needing an extra pair of hands. With little to do he spent many hours each day wandering around the village, stopping to chat here and there and calling occasionally to scrounge a cup of tea and a bite to eat. Calls to Rhys’s parents, Valmai and Gwilym, were a regular part of his week. One of his delights was when he met Sally and little Sadie in the park feeding the ducks.

It was several days after the paint had arrived before Sally asked permission to paint the dismal place and a few more before she saw Eric and asked for his help. In the middle of March, when the sun shone surprisingly brightly, Eric arrived and Sally, dressed in an overall and trousers and with a towel wrapped around her head, handed him a long-handled brush and the work was begun.

‘You don’t mind if I stand well back, do you?’ she said nervously. ‘I’ve got my running shoes on and I’m ready to flee at the sight of an eight-legged monster coming my way.’

Eric laughed. ‘Go and make us a cup of tea and I’ll get it done in no time.’ Gladly, Sally agreed.

An hour later, Eric declared the battle was won and there wasn’t a spider or a cobweb to be found. Nervously Sally peered inside. She still felt uneasy, jumping when a leaf moved at her feet and an outside branch touched the small open window.

‘You’ll be all right once it’s painted,’ Eric said. ‘Easy to see they’ll be and they’ll keep right away knowing you’re on the warpath with that.’ He laughingly pointed to the brush she carried. ‘When do you plan to start?’

‘Don’t know.’ A shiver of apprehension wriggled through her. ‘If no spiders return in the next few days, maybe I’ll feel brave enough. I have to go to work now and that’s a relief. A reason to forget it for today.’ She shivered again. ‘I get a squiggle down my back even thinking about the creatures.’

Eric handed her the empty cup. ‘I’ll come and help when you’re ready.’

She thanked him again and went inside to get rid of the extra clothes she had worn and set off for the first of her day’s calls.

It was four o’clock when she finished her final task, giving an extra polish to a spare room for a client who was preparing for her son’s return. Soon Rhys too would be coming home, she thought with a smile. Then her life would be transformed.

The bright sun had lengthened the day and she bought a bun at the baker’s shop for Sadie and one for the ducks and set off for a walk around the park. Their days were spent going from house to house, the evenings passed in their small room and the opportunity to walk in the fresh air was too good to miss. When she reached home she went first to glance nervously towards the outside lavatory. If she saw just one spider she’d never be able to go in there and shut the door to paint the walls. The door was marked with a ‘Wet Paint’ notice and stood open. Puzzled, she began to walk past, averting her gaze, but she went back and peered in. Everything was clean and the walls had been painted in the bright yellow paint. ‘Eric!’ she said aloud.

‘Eric had some help, mind,’ Mrs Falconer said, laughing at her amazed expression. ‘Mr Falconer painted the door. Shamed we were by the smart look inside so we had to do something about the outside too.’

Sally felt ridiculously happy. How empty my life must be, she chuckled to herself. A coat of paint on an outside lavatory and I feel like I’ve been given a wonderful present.

The remains of the factory walls were piled in assorted heaps around the perimeter of the plot and already men in suits carrying the inevitable clipboards were walking around checking that the footings were in the correct place. The sounds of the excavating and the rumble of heavy lorries filled the dusty air and every day a group of elderly men stood watching the progress. Soon the houses would 
begin to grow and memories of the factory and the hopes of many would fade and die.

Valmai Martin struggled to get her bicycle out of her over-full garden shed, muttering to herself about having to do a ‘proper sort-out’ one of these days. She couldn’t resist picking up oddments she found and although the shed was full to bursting, and in no apparent order, she knew what it contained and where to find it. Local people often called to beg a piece of wood or a certain sized screw or nail and rarely went away disappointed.

She called back to Gwilym, who sat in his wheelchair, a blanket covering his legs, hiding the sound one and the one partially lost in the accident. He smiled, ready to wave as she set off along the road on her way to work. ‘Back around two as usual, love.’

‘I’ll have everything ready,’ he promised, blowing a kiss.

March 1960, she mused, as she began to push her way along the road, and still he won’t leave the house. She had tried to coax him to face up to his situation every way she could but despite having a decent wheelchair he refused to go further than the garden and only that far when he was fairly certain not to be seen. At least Eric – injured at the same time – had made the effort and was not restricted by stupid pride. Being a sportsman had exacerbated Gwilym’s
problems
: going from a runner, cricketer and rugby coach to living his life in a wheelchair had been too much for him. But if only he’d try.

The morning was dull, the sun refusing to make its way through the low cloud, but the air was warm and there were flowers to admire in the gardens she passed. At the house where the Waterstones had lived she saw workmen moving tools from their van, obviously about to start work on the house for its new owners. She wondered vaguely who would be moving in. Someone from town she’d heard. A couple without children. She smiled, hoping they would be friendly and would settle into Mill Road without trouble.

They couldn’t cause more distress than the Waterstones had with their cruel gossip. The Waterstones and their friend Milly Sewell were the reason her son Rhys had been suspected of robberies and the cause of him running away. A twenty-year-old boy forced to run from home by their vicious tongues. She decided to call on the 
newcomers at the first opportunity and introduce herself. Start right and perhaps they’d be friends.

Mill Road was a pleasant place, on the edge of town but some distance from the mill that had given it its name. She looked up and there, in the distance, high on a hill, was the ruin of a windmill. Beyond the wood, out of sight in the valley below, hidden by
overgrown
trees and shrubs, was a watermill. Rhys used to play there as a boy, even though he had been warned of its dangers. Once the town had been surrounded by cornfields and the millers had been kept busy. Now only houses grew and factories had taken the place of the ancient craft.

The hotel where she worked came into view and although it was daylight, the place was brightly lit, coloured light offering a welcome. She freewheeled the last few yards and around the building, stopping by dragging both feet on the ground. She parked the bicycle against the wall of the kitchen. ‘Mornin’ all,’ she called as she opened the door. Then she reached for her overall, scrubbed her hands and began to cook breakfast.

Helping with the dishes after the guests had finished eating and cleaning the cooker kept her busy for a while, then after a break she began on the vegetables. She had some time left so she emptied and washed out a couple of cupboards for which she was rewarded with an extra couple of shillings.

Lunch was a simple meal for a few of the guests and she didn’t need to stay and serve. It was twelve o’clock when she left and on the way home she was further delayed by the sight of a skip outside the empty house, still called the Waterstones’ place, even though the Waterstones had moved away some time ago. Skidding to a stop – she’d really have to get the brakes fixed – she peered over the side hoping to see a few things for which she could find a use.

Books. They’ll interest Gwilym, she thought, tugging to release them. She spotted a slightly rusty watering can which she hauled out. Lovely that would be, planted with a few marigolds, or with
nasturtiums
tumbling down the sides. She stuffed the books in her saddle bag and hooked the watering can over the handlebars but as she set off she stopped and gripped the rusty side of the skip, her feet still on the pedals and able to see more easily, unable to resist a second look. Beneath a few broken bricks she saw the leg of a chair and, grunting 
and puffing with the effort, she pulled it out and saw it was in good condition, but how on earth was she going to get it home? Constable Harvey had warned her several times about precarious loads.

‘Hello, Valmai, want any help?’

‘Eric! Am I glad to see you! Hide this for me, will you, till I can come with the wheelbarrow to collect it?’

The clean but poorly dressed man lifted the chair experimentally, judging its weight. ‘I can do better than that. I’ll deliver it for a piece of your seedy cake.’

‘Thanks, Eric. Stay and have a chat with Gwilym, will you? Glad of a bit of company, he is.’

‘Of course, but sometimes he seems less pleased to see me. Too much time on his own hasn’t been good for him, has it? No sign of him going out yet?’

‘I’ve tried everything.’

‘Try again. He’s been hiding away for too long.’

With Gwilym helping by sitting in his wheelchair and using the
long-handled
hoe, the afternoon was spent clearing weeds from an area where they planned to grow onions and carrots and some greens, but Valmai’s mind wasn’t on her work.

‘Gwilym, love, why don’t we go for a walk? Just down the road to the corner. The spring flowers in the end garden are beginning to make a real show. We can wait till dark if you like – we’ll still see them by the lamplight.’

‘Not today, Val. Not today.’

‘Gwilym, love. It’s years since you and Eric had the accident. Years since you and I went out together. Don’t you think it’s time we did?’

‘Soon, but not yet. Now what about me making us a cup of tea? It’s getting chilly out here. Any of that seedy cake left?’

‘Yes, but Eric will be coming with the chair soon and I promised him a slice.’

‘I hope he won’t stay long. I want to look at those books you found.’

‘I hope you’ll find time to look at the brakes on my bike too. They aren’t working and I’m wearing out shoes like a ten-year-old football fan!’

‘You should have told me sooner. You mustn’t neglect things like 
that. We can get the bike propped up on the bench and replace the blocks as soon as you buy some – unless you have some in that shed of yours.’

‘Here’s Eric now. Wait here and show him our plans for spring planting.’ As she knew he would, he hurriedly dropped the hoe and pushed himself back into the house. He couldn’t bear to be seen
struggling
to do something, with a blanket where his right leg should be.

Leaving Gwilym and Eric with the remains of the cake, she risked the bike again and, once out of sight of the house, she bent over the handlebars and picked up speed, turning into School Lane. Sally would be at home and she could spend a little time with her, play with little Sadie, as well as give her the ten shillings she managed to give her each week.

Eric went into the house where Gwilym sat with his knees tucked under the table. ‘Put the kettle on, shall I?’ he asked, not waiting for an answer. ‘I brought the chair and a rusty old watering can for your Valmai and she promised me some cake.’ They chatted easily as Eric set about the tea-making but it wasn’t until he was seated on the armchair that he asked, ‘Any news from your Rhys this week?’

‘No. Nor last week.’

‘Out of the army then, is he?’

‘Months ago, I suppose. I can’t understand it. What could have happened to make him cut himself from us like that? We pretend he’s working at a theatre but we don’t know what he’s doing or where he is. Apart from an occasional postcard we know nothing about him. How can that happen? A son you’ve cared for, for twenty years. How can he suddenly walk away and vanish?’

‘He was terrible hurt, mind. All that gossip and so many accusing him of burglary, violence and heaven knows what else.’

‘Milly Sewell and the Waterstones, you mean. They were the cause of him leaving. And he didn’t do it. None of it.’

‘I know that and most people around here know that too. But it only takes one or two to spread rumours. He should have stayed and brazened it out. Damn it all, he was only a boy. Don’t give up hope.’

‘I’d be letting him down – and Valmai too – if I did.’