The Runaway (18 page)

‘Can I come in?’

She nodded, unable to speak any more and he followed her into the kitchen, where he held her close and spoke soothingly, as though she were a child. Then he moved away and filled the kettle and put it to boil. ‘Faith, you have to inform the police,’ he said. ‘This is malicious damage. A big step up from name-calling, and I’m afraid of what the man will do next.’

‘You don’t think this was the work of a woman?’

‘It’s possible, but I think a woman might have been noticed walking along with a bag of tools. A saw was used, and an axe. Heavy stones were carried to fill the pond. No, I can’t see a woman doing this. Olive Monk’s sons?’ he suggested.

‘I’ll never believe it was Olive’s sons. They were in the wrong,
staying here without my agreement, but Olive is a good, kind person and her sons weren’t difficult or threatening when they left.’

The police came and took statements from Faith, Ian, her lodgers and the neighbours but she didn’t hold out much hope of finding the person responsible. She made it clear that she didn’t accuse Olive’s sons, nor did she suggest Matt as a possible suspect. She didn’t want to remind people of her leaving her child.

The newspapers took up the story and connected it with other similar acts of vandalism, for which she was thankful, but they published a large photograph of her looking at her destroyed garden and for a few there were murmurings of satisfaction at her ‘
punishment
’.

After taking photographs of the ruined garden, Ian, Mr Gretorex and several neighbours made a start on clearing it. Vivienne came to do what she could and she was sometimes joined by some of the neighbours. Gareth and Kitty helped too and despite the chilly weather bonfires were once more an excuse for eating baked potatoes as a pleasant end to an afternoon’s work. Many of the plants were past saving, but there were plenty that accepted the harsh, aggressive pruning and struggled to show signs of life. As Christmas approached the garden was left in peace and they waited patiently to see what spring would bring.

Whatever had kept Ian away for those weeks was forgotten, and thankfully Faith prepared for Christmas with friends.

Christmas shopping with Winnie was fun, specially as the
children’s
new bicycles were hidden in Faith’s shed to keep them from prying eyes until Christmas Eve. She helped Ian choose a gift for his mother, and Gareth to buy a pretty bracelet for Kitty.

The stall selling trees was visited one lunchtime and they spent too much time choosing the perfect shape. Faith ran back to the bakery as excited as a child at the prospect of filling it with baubles and small gifts.

Winnie was surprised when, on her opening her door one morning, she saw Matt standing there. She instinctively tried to close it but he looked subdued and pleaded with her to listen to him. Paul was at work and she was alone, but she agreed and he stepped inside.

‘It’s Christmas, it makes me feel my loss more than ever,’ he said, sitting on the edge of a chair. ‘My little girl, Dorothy, is a year and ten
months old and I know I’ll never, ever see her. I pass toy shops and dream of what I’d buy for her.’

Winnie said nothing; she stared at him, so different from the man who had burst into her home and demanded to see Faith. All
uneasiness
had gone and she felt deeply sorry for him.

‘It’s sad for my mother too,’ he went on in that same low, defeated voice. ‘She has a grandchild she’ll never know. She lied, didn’t she? The child was mine and she lied and gave her away.’ Anger flared in his dark eyes and Winnie stood and opened the door. He left slowly, head bowed, the flash of anger gone. ‘Help me,’ he said. ‘Tell the authorities she was lying. I want my child back.’

‘The adoption was legally binding, there’s nothing to be done,’ Winnie said. She watched him walk away, wishing she could help him, her thoughts on him and his painful loss, her friend Faith a guilty, hovering shadow.

Faith headed back to the house loaded with parcels and mysterious packages. She had bought gifts for Winnie’s three and for Menna’s and Geoff’s children whom she’d looked after for a few months. She was laughing as she struggled with the gate but immediately sobered when she saw Winnie standing at the door with a solemn expression.

‘Is everything all right?’ she asked anxiously. ‘You aren’t ill?’

‘I’ve seen Matt. Faith, I felt so sorry for him. He’s desperately unhappy, grieving for his child. Are you sure you didn’t make the wrong decision?’

‘Do you think I’m not haunted with the terrible fear that I was wrong? That I made a terrible mistake? Awake and in my dreams I continually wonder if Matt was innocent of the charge of attacking that girl.’

‘I’m sorry, Faith, I was upset by his visit.’

‘I’m not stupid enough to think the man is automatically the one to blame. Women can cheat and lie and twist facts this way and that to save themselves. I know that. I’ll never know the truth about Matt and Ethel Holland and those doubts fill my nightmarish dreams night after night.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be sorry. I understand how you feel. I can only tell you that when I read it I believed the newspaper story and I made the only decision possible.’

She went inside and put her parcels on the kitchen table. Suddenly the decorations looked tawdry, the voices of carol singers coming from Mrs Gretorex’s radio sounded insincere. Her doubts were distorting everything that was good.

She unpacked her shopping, drank a cup of tea and slowly
recovered
from the black mood. For the next hour she concentrated on decorating the house with boughs of holly and dried, painted grasses, which were displayed with glittery branches.

The acquisition of a small fridge meant that food could be stored in readiness. Faith had lists of things to do and things to buy and Kitty jokingly said she would soon need lists of her lists.

To her delight she met Olive Monk one day as she walked through the fields. At first she didn’t recognize her as she was wearing a riding mac and had wellingtons on her feet. She was clumping along in a most unusual way.

‘Olive? Is that you? Are you a farmer now?’

As before, Olive was apprehensive at first, but seeing the friendly smile on Faith’s face she ran towards her. ‘My dear, it’s lovely to see you.’

‘What are you doing out here? I didn’t imagine you as a country girl.’

‘Surprise, surprise. I’m living on a farm, or at least, near one.’

‘Tell me more.’

‘Better than that, I’ll show you. Come on, it isn’t far away.’

Olive led her across a field and through a hedge and pointed proudly towards the caravan, its windows shining in the bright sunshine. After explaining about her son’s solution to her
accommodation
problem, she showed Faith proudly around her new home.

‘I’ve settled in really well,’ she said as she made a cup of tea for her visitor in her tiny kitchen. ‘One of the farm cats visits regularly and neighbours call for a chat and sometimes bring a bit of cake. And you’d never believe how many customers I’ve got for my catalogue.’ Faith looked at the fat catalogue with interest as Olive explained about regular weekly payments.

‘Best of all, I’ve got a bank account. What about that, eh? I send off the weekly cheque like I’ve been dealing with banks all my life.’ She thought of asking Faith to become a customer but doubted that Faith would trust her.

‘Are your sons all right?’ Faith asked.

‘There was a bit of trouble with the police, but it all blew over. They aren’t angels, I know that. They’ve both been in prison for burglary in the past, but they’ve promised to go straight and I believe them.’

‘I’m so glad.’ Faith reached out and patted her hand. ‘They must be pleased to know you’re happily settled here.’

‘Got jobs they have, lorry driving. And a room in a boarding house where they’re fed well, so I’m happy about them now.’

‘Look, why don’t you join us for Christmas Day?’ Olive looked doubtful. ‘Please come,’ Faith pleaded. ‘I’ve really missed you.’

After a few refusals Olive agreed and then wanted to know all about the new tenants. So additions were made to the lists and Faith excitedly continued with preparations.

With the approach of Christmas, an occasion she had previously dreaded, Faith welcomed each day with delight. Every spare moment was spent baking. The lodgers were all having Christmas dinner with her and the small dining room was as beautifully decorated as she could manage while still leaving room for six people to eat.

Ian and his mother were invited to join them for an early supper. The bad times were behind her and she knew that despite moments of grieving for her daughter and moments of guilt about Matt, it was going to be the best Christmas she had ever known.

On Saturday the twenty-third of December, when the shops had all closed for the holiday, everything changed.

F
aith had been dealing with the last-minute shopping. Mrs Gretorex had gone with her and when they had succeeded in buying all they could possibly need and the shops were beginning to close for the holiday, they went into a café and ordered tea and cakes. With their bags of food at their feet, they sat and went over their plans for the following day.

‘As Christmas Eve is a Sunday, it will have to be a less important meal or Christmas dinner will be a bit of an anticlimax,’ Mrs Gretorex said. ‘We can’t do the usual Sunday roast dinner, can we?’

‘It would spoil the effect of the big spread we plan for Christmas Day,’ Faith agreed. ‘What about bacon and eggs?’

‘Tinned spaghetti on toast,’ her friend announced with a laugh. ‘My husband will hate that but he’ll enjoy the big Christmas dinner more because of it.’

The café was full and very noisy, the excitement of the holiday affecting everyone. People were waiting impatiently for a table to be clear and as soon as they stood to go, they knew a couple of women would rush to take their places. It was dark outside and the traffic had eased. Stepping out and shutting the sound of the noisy café behind them was like walking into a different world. Heaving their baskets on to their arms they began to trudge towards the bus stop.

The buses were crammed full and the conductor had difficulty moving around collecting fares. Like the people in the café, everyone was talking and laughing and Faith marvelled at the joy of the season.

As they approached No 3 they saw Kitty and Gareth waiting for them. As they drew nearer, they ran to meet them and it was clear that something was wrong. Neighbours had gathered near by, standing
with arms folded, waiting patiently to find out what had happened. Alarmed, Faith put down her shopping and asked. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

‘I’m so sorry, Faith,’ Kitty said. ‘But someone’s broken in and …’ She broke off, sobbing. Gareth put an arm around his wife’s
shoulders
and led them all to the front door.

The mess was visible without going inside. The decorations had been pulled from the walls and the table holding the small Christmas tree had been overturned. With a gasp of disbelief, Faith stepped over the ruined tree and looked into the living room. There was more of the same, but it was the kitchen that was the worst shock.

The fridge was open and no light showed. The food that had been ready for the celebration was ruined, packages had been opened and stamped underfoot, the debris spread around the floor. Cakes and mince pies were broken into pieces, the iced cake and its colourful decorations a sad echo of its previous splendour. Jars of pickles had been smashed into the sink, cream poured over the vase of dried flowers in the centre of the table.

Gareth’s voice seemed to come from a long way off as he said, ‘I hope I did right, but I phoned for the police. I think they should see this before we start clearing it up.’ On cue, the sound of a car pulling up entered her confused mind and she turned to see two policemen entering, calling her name.

‘We were out buying the last of the shopping,’ she murmured. ‘Now it’s all ruined, and it’s too late to buy more.’

She answered their questions but later couldn’t remember anything that was said. It was Gareth who told her that they took the attack very seriously and promised to investigate but warned that the holiday would make things difficult.

Hours later, after photographs of the devastation had been taken, they began the sad task of clearing up. Kitty brought down some large boxes, having taken out the contents – things they owned but had not intended to unpack. Slowly, with the help of neighbours, the debris was removed and order was restored. The sadness and disbelief remained.

Kitty and Mrs Gretorex had come to a decision between them and, as the last of the mess was stacked outside ready for the next refuse collection, they told her their plans.

‘The meat is no use, but I have a tinned chicken you can have,’ a neighbour offered.

‘I have corned beef, ham and some mysterious luncheon meat with a name I’ve never heard of,’ another offered with a smile.

‘Fruit for starters, plenty of vegetables for the main course with a choice of tinned meats.’ Mrs Gretorex said brightly. ‘How does that sound?’

‘There’s an apple tart which I left cooling on the bedroom window sill,’ Faith said attempting to smile.

Kitty offered to bring it down and found it upturned on the floor. She couldn’t tell Faith the intruder had gone this far, so she slipped outside having gathered it back on to its baking tin and brought it as though from the garden. She had stuck some grass and a couple of leaves amid the broken pieces. ‘Bad luck!’ she said, encouraging laughter. ‘It must have fallen out!’

When Faith eventually went to bed she saw the mark on the carpet and guessed what had really happened. As Kitty had known, the thought of someone actually being in her bedroom was even worse than the disaster downstairs. She pulled the blankets off her bed, tiptoed down and, after checking all the locks, slept on the couch once more.

Sunday, Christmas Eve, was a strange day and they were all subdued. The fridge was unharmed, it had simply been unplugged and rescuing some margarine and finding the rest of the required ingredients, Faith made some cakes and a few mince pies. Whoever was doing this, he wouldn’t ruin her Christmas. Her friends would make sure of that.

Matt’s mother was staring at her pantry with its generous supply of food. She felt terribly guilty over what she had done. Gwenllian watched her and, seeing the woman was troubled, persuaded her to talk about what she had done.

‘Come on, Auntie Carol. I know something’s upsetting you. It’s Christmas and no one should be unhappy at Christmas time. Except Faith Pryor!’ she added bitterly.

‘I’ve ruined her Christmas,’ Carol said quietly.

‘Good on you! How did you do that?’

Shamefully at first, then, as Gwenllian encouraged her with more malice, Carol told her how she had gone into No 3 and ruined as much food as she could. She looked at her niece, expecting
disapproval
, but Gwenllian was delighted.

‘I wish I’d thought of it. You didn’t ruin the garden too, did you?’

‘I was so angry I couldn’t sleep. Thinking of Faith happy and laughing with friends while Matt is grieving for the daughter she stole from him, I went out and worked for three hours and wrecked it.’ She looked at Gwenllian tearfully and whispered, ‘Matt must have
inherited
his temper from me.’

‘Nonsense, you don’t need a bad temper to relish revenge. That can be coldly and calculatingly carried out.’ She hugged Carol. ‘I can fully understand how you felt. And I admire your bravery in carrying it out.’

‘I don’t feel brave. I feel utterly ashamed.’

On Christmas morning Faith woke early and was instantly aware of the silence that tingled with that special feeling of excitement that the day brings. Memories of other Christmases came to her, most of which echoed with low expectation and disappointment. Despite Saturday’s disaster, this one would be different.

Dinner was planned for two o’clock and she prepared the
vegetables
and part-boiled the potatoes for roasting. At nine o’clock she had everything ready, and the table was set for six. She made a pot of tea and was just about to sit down when there was a knock at the door. It opened and Ian called. He was carrying a spray of holly, ivy and mistletoe arranged in a small vase. ‘Mum thought you’d like this,’ he said then stared in disbelief when she burst into tears.

When he had been told what happened he promised to talk to the police. ‘You have to tell them about Matt,’ he told Faith. ‘How can they help if they don’t have all the facts?’

‘No,’ she insisted. ‘Matt wouldn’t have done this. He might be angry, but this was a spiteful act. He’d face me with his anger, not sneak in and do this. More the behaviour of a child in a temper than a grown man.’

‘Do you know a child who would do this?’ Ian asked doubtfully.

‘No, nor an adult. It’s just unbelievable that someone could hate me so much.’ She shivered, her arms wrapped around herself. ‘The worst part for me is knowing that someone must have been watching us, waiting for the opportunity.’

‘Don’t think that. It was more likely to have been an opportunistic action.’

‘More publicity for me I suppose, although I don’t know why I
worry about more publicity,’ she said as he was leaving. ‘By this time everyone knows! But I keep hoping it will end and people will be allowed to forget. Whatever happens, I’m considered to be the villain.’

‘I’ll go and fetch Olive,’ he said, ‘then I’ll see you later in the day.’

Olive came filled with excitement, waving a letter. ‘It’s from my boys,’ she told them. ‘In London they are and both with a job. They’ve got a flat and they want me to visit. What about that, then!’

‘I’m so pleased,’ Faith said, and wished them luck, with the others adding their good wishes. It was a happy beginning to the
celebration
.

‘You couldn’t have asked for a better Christmas present,’ Mrs Gretorex added, and there was a sadness in her voice, although, Faith didn’t question her. Mrs Gretorex and her husband were very private people and Faith knew no more about them than she had been told on their first day at No 3.

‘I know my boys have been difficult but they aren’t really bad. Once they find their feet they’ll be model citizens, you wait and see,’ Olive said happily.

There was a scattering of parcels under the table where the tree had once stood and they took it in turns to open them. Jean and Roland had sent a gift, as had Menna and Geoff and Winnie and Paul. Each of the friends had packed a surprise for the other tenants so the laughter filled the small, overcrowded room. Winnie had been unwell during the days before Christmas but the children had made Faith a calendar for 1962, on which they had stuck an enthusiastic number of stars.

The meal was declared a success, but the praise wasn’t
exaggerated
, no one found it necessary to compensate artificially for the disaster of the previous Saturday. They sat squashed together to listen to the Queen’s speech, played a few silly games instigated by a very happy Olive, then they stayed together for the rest of the afternoon talking, listening to the wireless and playing board games, before returning to their own rooms, planning to come back for supper.

The easy way the day had passed showed the strength of their friendship and Faith was grateful, although the cheerful atmosphere was a little forced because of what had happened two days
previously
. She saw the mess created in her home every time she closed her
eyes and Matt’s dark, handsome face seemed to be standing looking at it with her, with a frown of satisfaction on his face and amusement in his eyes. Matt or some mysterious stranger: who could hate her enough to do this?

Supper was an easy meal shared by Ian and Vivienne. They had brought a wind-up gramophone and they listened to Russ Conway, Frankie Vaughan and David Whitfield and sang along with the popular tunes. When everyone had gone home, Faith was so tired and happy that for once, sleep came easily.

For Matt and his mother, Christmas was a quiet affair. Matt spent most of the time working, the sound of hammer on chisel a reminder to Carol of his solitary state. He grew angry with her when she asked him to stop. ‘I’m lonely too,’ she reminded him.

‘Then go out! Visit one of your friends, have fun with their
families
!’ His bitterness was apparent and she grieved for him.

The next time the police called to see Faith it was simply to tell her they had nothing to report. One of them, Sergeant Meyrick, looked at her in silence for an unnerving minute. ‘Are you sure you can’t tell us anything more, Miss Pryor? It’s unusual for a victim not to have some idea of the perpetrator.’

She hesitated for a moment, then took out copies of the newspaper reports of Matt’s imprisonment and the one about her walking away from her child. Under his gentle persuasion she told him her reasons for abandoning her daughter although she still insisted Matt was not the father. She could never go back on that lie. He listened and nodded silently, looking thoughtful but giving away nothing of how he felt. She presumed that, as a man, he would support Matt, believe his story that the girl was the guilty one, that she had been very wrong to deprive Matt of his child.

‘I might have been wrong,’ she murmured when the silence seemed to go on and on, and her guilt was increasing with every second. ‘Perhaps the girl was to blame and exaggerated her side of it to get sympathy for herself and her child.’ Still he said nothing, just stared into space perhaps considering her situation at the time – or that of Matt.

He closed his notebook into which he had written very little, and stood to leave.

‘Thank you, Miss Pryor. I hope whoever did this is satisfied with ruining your Christmas and won’t bother you again.’

‘He – or she – didn’t ruin it. My friends and I had a very happy time.’

‘I’m glad.’

Faith felt depressed after his visit, convinced that her story had made her less of a victim and more the villain. She searched through the newspapers every day, fearing more publicity, but days passed and the papers were filled with world events and information about pounds, shillings and pence one day changing to decimalization, which seemed unlikely. Thanks to the timing of it, there was no mention of what happened to her on 23rd of December.

She was screwing up newspaper to light the fire one day when a headline caught her eye. It was a report on the availability of a birth control pill and she wondered how differently things would have worked out if such a thing had been available when she met Matt. Would she have married him? Marriage and a family of her own were things she had needed so badly after more than twenty years of being alone, and she thought she would have done, eventually.

Perhaps, if the pill had been available she might not have had her daughter, but she could still have tied herself for life to Matt, a man capable of violence against a young girl. Learning about it from that newspaper article would have come too late. That would have been much worse. She began to think of the birth of her daughter in a different light. Her instantaneous protective love for the child she hadn’t begun to know, whose face she could not envisage, had given her the strength to walk away.