The Runaway (17 page)

‘We’ve brought a treat too,’ his brother said offering her a carrier bag issuing tempting smells.

They unpacked the hot food. Olive shared it between three sections of the wrapping paper and they ate. She was afraid to ask how they had managed to find the money to clear the debts left by their father but Colin guessed her thoughts and said:

‘Gambling, that’s how we got the cash. We had a few tips and we were lucky.’

Olive smiled as though she believed them. An hour later two policemen called and from the questions it was clear her sons were suspected of breaking into a house and stealing a cash-box containing seventy-four pounds.

‘Last night?’ Olive queried. ‘They were here with me. Brought food they did, haddock and chips. Lovely it was. Look, the wrapping paper is in the bin, see?’ She showed the recently deposited wrapping paper and hoped they wouldn’t touch it and find it still warm.

‘What time did they leave?’ She shook her head. ‘Talking we were until at least three this morning. They make me laugh, my two boys. Lovely company they are.’

‘So, everything’s lovely, Mrs Monk?’ the constable said sarcastically.

‘Just lovely, officer. Want a cup of tea?’

When the police had left, Olive stood and stared at her sons.

‘All right, Mam, we did steal the money but we promise this is the last time. We had to clear the debts, and this was the only way we could find such a large sum of money.’

‘We’ve both got a job now and we’ll stay on the straight. We promise.’

No news of Olive Monk came to Faith through customers at the shop, even though she regularly asked. She was concerned. Surely the family wasn’t destitute? No post had come for her so she presumed she must have another address. Faith continued asking people if they had seen her but it seemed that Olive and her two sons had
disappeared
. So I’m not the only one to run away from trouble, she thought wryly. She hoped they had found a suitable place to live.

The job in the baker’s shop and the rent from two remaining lodgers were enough to keep the bills paid and allow for a few small jobs to be done in the house. Advertisements offering a room to rent had failed to attract prospective tenants and she began to accept that the room would remain unoccupied until people’s memories had faded. Ian hadn’t appeared for almost a week and Faith despaired of seeing him again.

Alone with her thoughts she became convinced that Matt had been telling the truth. She had robbed him of his daughter, deprived herself of a child to love, and it had been her stupid fault. Why hadn’t she questioned Matt? Talked to Carol before making such a momentous decision affecting all their lives? Now it was too late; there was nothing she could do to make amends, the child was legally adopted and out of her reach. She was past crying, but the ache in her heart threatened to destroy her.

She wrote to Ian, explaining how she felt, the doubts over what she had done. She also said she understood that he wouldn’t want to see her again after what had happened. Posting it, she wondered whether to go back on her decision and move. She could probably let the house to a family and the rent would provide enough income to pay the loan to the bank. The runaway. Why was running always her solution?

A few days later she was walking along the road heading for No 3 when she saw someone standing at the front door. She touched the gate and the woman turned to face her. She was young, pretty and
dressed attractively in a blue suit over which she wore an off-white swagger coat.

‘Miss Pryor?’

‘Hello?’ Faith said questioningly.

‘I’m Kitty Robins,’ the woman said offering a hand. ‘I’m looking for a room for myself and my husband, Gareth. We have references,’ she added quickly as she saw the doubt on Faith’s face. ‘We need it for at least the winter, maybe longer.’

‘You’d better come in.’ Faith unlocked the door and carried her shopping through to the kitchen. ‘The truth is, I’m not certain I want to relet the room,’ she said.

‘Oh, it would have been perfect. My husband works on the railway and we had to get out of the rooms we were renting last week and Mam’s place is so inconvenient and … sorry, Miss Pryor. I won’t waste your time if your mind is made up.’

Aware that she was wavering, Faith smiled and said, ‘Let me unpack my shopping and we’ll have a cup of tea.’ She had bought a couple of cakes at the shop and she put them out on one of the pretty plates she had found in the jumble sale. As the young woman talked, Faith felt herself warming to her. Perhaps this was a sign that running away was not the right thing to do, but she already knew that. Coward that she was.

‘We’re going to have a baby,’ the woman confided, and the impulse to tell her to leave there and then was strong. ‘But I’m sure we’ll find a permanent place by the time he arrives.’

Faith fought her anxiety, afraid of having to cope with the girl’s situation, comforting her in bad times and congratulating her when things were good. In her imagination she saw a future scene in which she was helping to care for a small child, like the dark-haired little one she had abandoned. ‘Of course you must stay,’ she said, wondering if it really was her voice speaking the words. ‘But before you decide, would you like to see the room?’

Before the excited and happy girl left to tell her husband the good news, Faith gave her a brief outline of what had happened to her and how she had abandoned her child. ‘Do you still want to live here?’ she asked, and she looked at the girl’s large blue eyes and pleaded silently for her to agree.

‘Please, Miss Pryor. The room will suit us perfectly and I’ll make sure we find a permanent place before the baby is born.’ She looked
at Faith, then away. ‘I – we – we did know your sad story,’ she admitted. ‘But despite being told in a spiteful way, I believe you. You were very brave to do what you did, and I’m sure you were right. You’d have given him the benefit of the doubt if you weren’t certain he was capable of such a thing.’

Faith thanked her but her own doubts were still there.

She had to buy a double bed in place of the two singles the nurses had used, and a second-hand shop provided her with a wooden bed plus a matching wardrobe. Mr Gretorex helped the delivery man to move the beds out. The new one was placed against the wall, allowing room for a small table and a couple of easy armchairs she had bought but had left in the shed. Her money was dwindling away but she had a feeling that her new guests would be happy there and she wanted to do all she could to make them welcome.

On the day Kitty and Gareth Robins were due to move in she lit a fire in the small grate in their room and left a vase of flowers on the window sill. She smiled when she heard the squeal of delight when Kitty saw what she had done.

From the first day they were not like lodgers. They treated her like a friend and Kitty frequently popped in and out of her room, knocking respectfully but calling her and opening the door at the same time, with some snippet of news: a sale on at one of the shops, a fresh supply of navel oranges at the greengrocer’s, or Christmas trees at a temporary stall, or just something happening that had amused them which they wanted to share. If it weren’t for the
continuing
absence of Ian and his mother, life would be approaching contentment.

Sunday lunch became a regular event. Kitty and Mrs Gretorex taking turns with Faith to provide and cook it. The house had a warmth Faith had never known before. If only Ian and Vivienne could share it. Olive too. They had all been such good friends and the end of it had been such a disappointment.

Winter deepened its grip and with the shops filling up with the tinsel and treasures of Christmastime, Olive was feeling low. Her sons rarely called and she spent too many hours alone in the miserable room. If only she hadn’t agreed to their using her room as a free lodging she might still be with Faith and the others. It had been such a happy time, and her boys had ruined it.

She was putting on her rather ancient but thick, warm coat, having decided to walk around the shops to kill a few hours of her lonely day, when she heard footsteps running up the stairs. The door opened and her sons came in. As usual, it was Colin who did the talking.

‘Come on, Mam, we’ve got something to show you. We’ve found you a new home.’ They hustled her out of the flat and she grabbed her shopping bag and purse, intending to buy a few vegetables on the way back from whatever flight of fancy this was.

To her surprise they went on the bus and stepped off not far from a row of cottages that had been built many years before for farm workers. Could they really be renting one of these? Excitement rose, then fell rapidly as she was led through a gate into a field. There, alongside the hedge, was a caravan. Her son handed her a key and said. ‘It’s yours, Mam.’

Bemused, she stared at it. ‘How can I live in a field?’ she asked quietly. ‘There’s three or four months of winter ahead of us. I couldn’t survive in that. I’m better off in that room, awful though it is.’

‘The farmer has agreed to your staying and you can use the water tap in the barn. Best of all, Mam,’ Graham said, ‘he’ll give you
electricity
from his generator. There’s electric light, a heater, a cooker and everything. How’s that?’

‘The electricity goes off at nine, mind,’ Colin warned, ‘but you can use candles or we can find you an oil lamp, maybe.’

Find
an oil lamp, she thought. Not buy. They were still finding the easy way out, although they must have paid money for this caravan. She shivered and tried not to wonder where and how they got the money.

‘Honestly earned?’ she dared to ask, not expecting a truthful reply.

‘Yes, we’re paying in instalments and it’s taken out of our wages each week.’ Colin showed her a small payment book and she saw that half had been paid as a deposit and the monthly amounts were noted beside the dates on which they were due.

‘Dad left us in a right mess, Mam, and we got out of it in the only way we could. But from now on it’s all legit.’

Reassured, she relaxed. It must be true, they wouldn’t offer her a place like this if it belonged to someone else.

After an inspection she was encouraged to try living there. She would have neighbours in the cottages and the farm promised
interests
to fill her time. Better still, a few days later, Graham came with a mail order catalogue and suggested she might find a few customers to
buy from it and earn a little money for herself. ‘You’ll have to
embellish
the address a bit,’ he warned with a grin. ‘The caravan, beside a hedge, in Hunter’s Field, Barry, might not be acceptable.’

With Graham’s help she gave her address as Rose Villa, Golden Grove Farm and was accepted by the catalogue. Two of the cottages provided her first customers. She felt hopeful of settling at least for the next few months and this time, she was determined the boys wouldn’t ruin it for her.

With the approach of winter Faith’s garden was gradually being tamed. Paths had been unearthed and ashes used to improve them. The shrubs and trees had been cut back. Small plots were cleaned and marked out ready for spring planting. The smell of the freshly turned earth excited her and she worked harder than ever, getting it ready.

A clematis had struggled across a wall and had been nurtured back to life and, to her delight, a Chinese wisteria was discovered in a corner, where it had climbed over a neglected arch. Mr Gretorex had repaired the arch and in summer it would be a focal point for the garden. There was even a small pond, made from an abandoned bath found by Kitty and Gareth and dragged home.

One Saturday, Ian unexpectedly called at the shop in time to walk home with her. ‘Sorry, but I’ve been stupid.’ he said.

‘I presumed you and Tessa were going to try again,’ she said. ‘I hear all sorts of gossip in the shop and know she and Nick are far from happy.’

‘So far as I know they’re still together,’ he said.

Puzzled, she waited for his explanation of his absence.

‘This will make me sound like a petulant child,’ he said with a wry grin, ‘but you always suggest running away and I’m afraid to become too fond, too dependent on your … friendship.’

‘I’m not running away. Not any more.’ Nothing more was said and she was left feeling unsatisfied and let down.

He called once or twice but seemed ill at ease and when he left there was no mention of further arrangements. She didn’t see Vivienne and wondered whether this was an end to their friendship and he was trying in his hesitant way to let her down lightly.

One Sunday morning in December, Faith rose early. It was her turn to cook the lunch – now a tradition they all enjoyed. Ian might be
fading out of her life but she was happy here with her friends. She had a job that was pleasant enough and a house that she loved. She stretched contentedly, then, reaching for her dressing-gown she leaned on the window sill and looked out at her garden. Then a cry escaped her lips. She stared in disbelief. Everything had been
trampled
and cut down. All the plants on which she had spent so much time were in ruins. Trees had been chopped and even the pond was filled with stones. When could this have happened without someone seeing?

Ian heard of the damage from one of his neighbours and went straight around. Like Faith he was horrified that someone could do such a cruel thing. After walking through the garden and looking more closely at the destruction he sat on the doorstep, waiting for Faith, who had gone to buy a morning paper, quietly working out the best strategy for persuading her to call the police.

If this was down to Matt Hewitt spite and anger were perhaps understandable, but this was a dangerous step up from spreading gossip. He shuddered, wondering what Faith could expect next. However hurt Matt had been, if this was his handiwork he had to be stopped.

Faith came along the road and turned her head away from the sight of her ruined garden. So she saw Ian before she reached the gate.

‘So you’ve seen the latest reminder of my wickedness?’ she said, her voice strained, her face pale and heavy-eyed. ‘This can hardly have been done by a woman, so how many enemies do you think I have? Two? Three? Thirty-three?’