The Runaway (13 page)

The sound of the wireless came from the window of Mrs Monk’s room and Ian nodded towards the sound. ‘Your new lodger, I presume. Behaving, is she?’

‘Ian! I didn’t see you there. Yes, Olive spends a lot of time in her room and when she does go out she locks her door. She pays her rent on time and apart from the music being a bit loud at times, I have no complaints, although I’ve no way of knowing whether she keeps the place clean.’

‘No smells of rotten cabbage or smelly socks?’ he joked.

‘No and I’ve no right to be curious,’ she said as she threw down a pile of branches and walked towards him. ‘She rents the room and everything behind the door is her private domain. It’s strange just how little I see of her, though. I suspect she buys food and eats it in her room. She comes down for breakfast, that’s included in the price of the room. And if there’s any toast left she picks it up and takes it with her, says it’s for the birds.’ She laughed. ‘Perhaps I don’t have enough to do, eh? If I were working all day I wouldn’t have time to worry about mysteries that don’t exist.’

‘Does she have any post? I presume her sons write from time to time.’

‘That’s another puzzle. She tells me news of them but I haven’t seen any letters.’

‘I thought I saw them the other day. They were pelting along the lane at the back of the houses not far from the town centre. I had the impression they were being chased.’

‘It couldn’t have been them, could it? If they were on leave they’d have come to see their mother.’

‘Maybe.’ Ian looked doubtful.

‘I wish she’d let me go in and clean the room.’

‘Don’t worry. She’s obviously happy to do it. Just waiting for her sons to come home must be very boring.’

‘I can’t help thinking there’s something not quite straight about her.’

‘What about the nurses?’

‘They’re pleasant, always stop for a chat and sometimes a cup of tea when they get in after their shift. I have to ask Mrs Monk to keep her wireless low when one of them is on nights and she willingly agrees.’

‘So, not much trouble.’

‘Everything is fine. I do want a job though, but what can I do? I’m trained to teach and with that denied me I’m at a loss.’

‘A shop? Office work? What about your idea of opening a nursery for four-year-olds?’

She forced a smile and said, ‘A nursery will probably be impossible, the education authorities will feel the same about nursery children as they do about schools. I’m unsuitable.’ The smile slipped a little and she turned away.

‘You could try,’ he coaxed.

How could she tell him she couldn’t face another rejection? Meeting Matt and being attracted to him had ruined more than she had realized. She felt tainted and wondered why Ian didn’t feel that same distrust.

‘Why have you remained my friend through all of this, Ian?’ she asked softly.

He shrugged. ‘Some people you warm towards, others you
instinctively
know you don’t want in your life. And there are others who float past like motes in sunbeams, pleasant but unimportant. I don’t want you to float past, I want you to stay.’

‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘You have no idea how much it means to me to have you and your mother in my life.’

He grinned shyly. ‘I might have hugged you, but you have dirt on your face.’

Her hand went to her cheeks and she looked down at her grubby apron, at her feet in muddy wellington boots. ‘What must I look like?’

‘A mucky cherub,’ he replied. He put an arm on her shoulders and guided her to face the house. ‘You go and tidy up and I’ll finish piling this lot ready for a bonfire.’

‘A bonfire? That sounds like fun.’

He sorted out the tangled branches and dead foliage, then built a fire, tucking newspapers and small twigs into the heart of it. ‘It’s a pity you haven’t met your neighbours, we could have had a party.’ He turned to look at her. She had changed now into a summer dress, her hair brushed back, sandals on her feet instead of the wellingtons. ‘Now might be a good time. You’re dressed for a special evening, what d’you think?’

Later that evening, as twilight invaded the garden and lights came on in the few nearby houses, they lit the bonfire. Ian carried out some potatoes and tucked them in the red-glowing edge. ‘Add a few more,’ Faith said. ‘I’ll see whether the neighbours will come and join us for an alfresco supper.’

Two hours later there was a party atmosphere in the garden of No 3, Railway Cottages. People she hardly knew came, and several brought flagons of beer and lemonade. It was the best introduction to the neighbourhood she could wish for. The nurses were there and they knocked on the door and invited Mrs Monk to come down.

‘I’m in my dressing-gown,’ she called back through the closed door.

‘Then get dressed!’ was the response, and she did.

One of the nurses brought her purse and said. ‘I’m going to knock up Mrs Ellis, she won’t mind.’ Mrs Ellis ran the corner shop which sold everything from food to firewood and after a few moans about the inconsideration of people these days, she handed over bread and sandwich fillings and some crisps, together with a couple of flagons from her husband’s supply. ‘Pay me tomorrow,’ the nurses were told. ‘Closed I am and I don’t want to open the till for you.’

‘Come over and join the party, why don’t you?’

‘Right then. I’ll bring a bit of cake.’

There was great activity in the small kitchen as food was prepared to add to the potatoes cooking in the garden fire. Everyone tried to help but it was impossible and eventually Faith and Olive Monk dealt with it.

The smoky smell from the fire and the crackle of wood burning reminded many of other such evenings, memories were revived and stories told. Nostalgia added its magic, giving an added charm to the tales of a dozen childhoods. The talk didn’t stop people eating and the food disappeared swiftly. Mrs Monk found a loaf and some corned beef and cheese and Faith ignored the evidence that she was disobeying the rule about no food in the room, smiled knowingly and thanked her. The two women made more sandwiches to feed their unexpected guests.

The night grew dark, yet no one seemed to want to leave and when the moon climbed in the sky and gave its romantic light to the scene, the mood became sentimental. Songs were included in memories and the low singing was as beautiful as many a professional chorus, the lower voices harmonizing perfectly with the rest.

For Faith this was increasingly hard to take. Her own childhood had included no happy occasions like this with friends standing, or sitting on their coats, talking and laughing and singing sentimental songs. With her own child growing up in another family she wasn’t making her own memories either. Her life was a mess.

The thanks, the affectionate remarks as the neighbours eventually departed, the promises to ‘do this again,’ were like arrows piercing her heart.

Ian and Mrs Monk stacked the dishes and Faith insisted on them leaving the rest for her to deal with in the morning. ‘It’s late,’ she said. ‘I’m always up early. Thank you both for helping. I don’t know how we managed to have an impromptu party, but I know it wouldn’t have been as successful without you, Mrs Monk, and you, Ian.’

‘Friends we are, dear,’ Mrs Monk said as she climbed the stairs. ‘Call me Olive.’

‘Call me soon,’ Ian joked as he too departed.

Faith made herself one last cup of tea and prepared for bed. She was tired, but the bitter-sweet party had unsettled her. She no longer felt sad. There had been something uplifting about the unexpected friendliness of the people who lived nearby. She realized she had been foolish to lock herself away wrapped in guilt. She had made serious
mistakes, but she was young enough to outgrow the gossip. As Winnie’s husband Paul had said, news was immediate and as soon as another new story appeared, the old one was forgotten. As long as she didn’t revive it by attempting to work with children, she was old news and could get on with her life.

Money was dripping away; it was time to find a job. She was no longer able to teach, so what could she do? Olive Monk gave her the answer to that. At breakfast the following morning the conversation was all about the party. Later, when the nurses were gone, Faith mentioned her need to work. ‘I’m a teacher,’ she said, hoping she wouldn’t have to explain. ‘But I want something different.’

‘Mrs Palmer, her at the baker’s, she’s looking for an assistant. Good with people you are, you’d suit her perfectly.’

‘In the shop you mean? I’ve never worked in a shop.’

‘Yes, a shop. Why not? It can’t be hard to learn.’

‘I need to be here for breakfasts.’

‘You do the cooking and I’ll do the clearing up,’ Olive told her firmly. ‘I’m not looking for a reduction in my rent, either. I’m very happy here with you, and I’ll help willingly.’

‘But I’ve never worked behind a counter.’

‘Time you did, then. I believe we ought to try everything, that way we find the right place instead of struggling to make our way along a road that doesn’t suit us.’

‘Wise words,’ Ian said when he was told.

Faith went to see Mrs Palmer, a small, neatly dressed lady, whom Faith warmed to at once. There was a brief conversation during which Mrs Palmer told her she knew all about the newspaper story, and considered it an irrelevance to selling bread and cakes. The job was hers.

It took a bit of arranging but after working for Mrs Palmer for a week, things settled into place. The nurses were given permission to use the kitchen for cups of tea and snacks and her more relaxed
attitude
gave Faith the feeling that the house was filled with friends.

The customers at the shop accepted her and apart from a few gossips who went into a huddle outside the shop, glancing at her occasionally and presumably passing on any snippets they had gleaned from others, the days were pleasant enough.

The neighbours who had shared the bonfire party came in as
customers and greeted her with obvious pleasure. Ian’s mother called to buy pasties and a few cakes. Jean called, as did Menna and her three children. Winnie came and shared the occasional lunch break. Life, she decided happily, was good.

Ian was driving home one day when he saw a figure he knew. Tessa, the woman he had once hoped to marry, was walking past the house that would have been hers. He stopped the car and waited until she reached him.

‘Tessa? What brings you here? Were you coming to see me?’

‘No, just out for a walk,’ she replied, staring at him intently. ‘The house looks nice, although I don’t like your mother’s choice of curtains,’ she added with a smile. ‘And I’d have painted the front door red.’

‘What d’you mean,
you’d
have painted it? If you had it would have been the first time you’d picked up a paintbrush!’

‘No. I didn’t help very much, did I? That’s just one of my many regrets.’

‘Aren’t you happy with Nick?’

‘I suppose I am, but he isn’t as reliable as you.’

‘Reliable? Isn’t that a synonym for boring?’

‘No, you were never boring, Ian.’ She started to move away. ‘Leaving you was the biggest mistake.’ She hurried off and was around the corner before he could think of a response.

‘Was that Tessa you were talking to?’ Vivienne asked when he went into the house. ‘I hope she isn’t trying to come back into your life.’

‘She said she regretted leaving.’

‘And you? How do you feel?’ she asked.

‘I’m not sure,’ he replied. ‘I still feel a bit guilty living here in what was to have been her home as well as mine.’

‘Make sure you know what you want before walking away from Faith and back to Tessa,’ Vivienne said quietly, aware she was
interfering
but afraid to ignore what had happened.

‘Faith and I are friends,’ he said. ‘Just friends.’

He felt uneasy after the brief encounter with Tessa. They had been together for several years and had made great plans. Could he go back and make it work? Visions of Faith invaded his thoughts and she represented greater happiness, didn’t she? Or was his attitude coloured by the way he and Tessa had parted? He wondered whether
he should tell Faith that things seemed less than happy between Tessa and Nick. Would she too have second thoughts and consider going back and trying again with Nick? The thought made him anxious and he tried to tell himself his concerns were for Faith and the risk of her making a decision she would regret.

Going home to No 3 every day gave Faith a real sense of belonging. She would open the gate and walk towards the front door with a beating heart, knowing it was a special place, filled with friends, a place where she was being healed of her unhappiness. Sometimes Olive Monk would be in the kitchen with the kettle humming its promise of tea. She didn’t deserve such happiness, she told herself, but it was impossible for guilt to invade her sense of well-being for more than a brief moment. A flash of shameful memory, a picture of the tiny child and of Matt’s distraught face were quickly dispersed by Olive calling.

‘Hello, dear. The kettle’s bursting its boiler wanting to make you a cup of tea. Shall I make it while you take off your coat?’

Faith ran up the stairs smiling. How could I have felt suspicious about Olive, she wondered. First impressions aren’t always right.

Ian called that evening and she told him about her week, describing some of her customers, ‘including the gaggle of gossips’, as she called the groups gathered outside the shop to exchange comments. Then she talked about Olive.

‘When she first came to see the room I was doubtful. In fact I hoped she would find it too small and look elsewhere.’

‘D’you remember why you were unhappy about her?’

‘It sounds silly now, but her sons were untidily dressed and I couldn’t imagine them as sailors or any other occupation where
standards
are so high. They were probably dressed for work, putting their mother’s furniture in store or something. She must have some. Although, that was something else that puzzled me. Where was her home? If they were going to buy a house they must have furniture and household goods. She came here with an odd assortment of boxes, she won’t let me into her room, and …’ She caught Ian’s amused expression and laughed with him. ‘Oh dear, it seems I’m still not happy about her. Yet there isn’t anything I can put a finger on, just a vague uncertainty. She obviously cooks while I’m out of the house, I come in to the smell of food hovering around the cooker, and
– oh, I’m being silly.’