Facing the World (5 page)

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.’