The Emerald Valley (46 page)

She opened the door and went in. It was dim inside.

‘Huw!' she called.

No answer. In the kitchen she lit the gas and it flared brightly.

‘Huw, where are you?'

Still no answer.

Surely he hasn't run away again, has he? she wondered anxiously. But his boots were in the corner and his new knife was on the table. He hadn't gone without his boots before and she didn't think he would go without them now, or without the new knife.

She went along the hall calling his name and pushed open the door to the front room. Then she gasped with horror.

The Christmas tree had fallen down! Tall as it was, it reached right across the room so that she was almost stepping on its topmost branches. At its base the bucket in which it had stood was overturned, spilling earth out on to the carpet, while along its entire length lay a horrifying debris of shattered baubles, crushed candle-holders and sadly trailing tinsel.

How on earth had it come to fall? It had been safe – she had taken great care to make sure of that. She took a cautious step into the room, grasping hold of the tree and levering it up. As she lifted it, more baubles came off and fell to the ground, smashing into smithereens of coloured glass. She managed to get the tree upright and held it there, afraid to let it go in case it fell again. But no, it seemed as stable as ever and as she moved her hand away it stood there, sadly bedraggled but perfectly safe. Puzzled, she surveyed it. What could have made it fall over? It was a mystery.

But right now the most important thing was to clear up the mess before the children saw it. They would break their hearts at the devastation – she could have cried herself to see all the ornaments which had given so much pleasure and become part of the Christmas tradition lying there shattered on the floor.

She went into the hall on the way to get a dustpan and brush, and saw a movement in the shadows at the top of the stairs.

‘Huw, is that you?' she called.

No answer.

‘Huw! What are you doing up there in the dark?'

He came down a step.

‘The Christmas tree has fallen over. Did you know?'

He froze. And looking up the stairs at the small figure shrinking there in the gloom, she knew the truth.

‘Huw, come down here at once!' she ordered.

Slowly but obediently he came, dragging his feet, trying to avoid her eyes.

‘You did it, didn't you?'

Silence.

‘Come on, Huw, you might as well admit the truth. You pushed the Christmas tree over!'

Silence still.

‘If you don't tell me the truth right this minute, you will go to bed with no tea and no supper.
Did you push over the tree?'

A small sound emerged that might have been ‘Yes.'

‘Come on, Huw, I can't hear you.'

‘Yes.'

She resisted the urge to take hold of him and shake him until his teeth rattled. ‘But why? Why should you do such a thing?'

A shrug.

‘Come on, Huw, why? You've made a terrible mess and caused a lot of damage and I want to know why.'

He kicked one foot into the other, saying nothing.

‘Huw!'
she threatened.

He looked up at her, looked away again. ‘You went out with him.' His voice was soft, resentful. ‘Why did you have to go out with him?'

‘Him? You mean Mr Porter?'

‘Yes.'

‘Why shouldn't I go out with him?'

‘Because …'

‘Because what?'

‘You just shouldn't. I don't want you to.'

‘But Huw, I'm entitled to have friends. Because I have friends does not give you the right to behave this way.'

Another shrug.

I'm getting nowhere! she thought. He was angry with me, so he did this. I'd like to give him the biggest hiding of his life, but what good would that do? Perhaps I'm as much to blame for leaving him alone. After all, who could know what goes on in his mind?

‘Well, Huw, whatever your reasons you can now help me clear up the mess you've made before the girls come in and see it. They're going to be very upset, I hope you realise. There's no way I can replace the baubles you've broken. And your punishment will be seeing their faces and knowing it's all your fault.'

His lip was jutting and she thought she saw it tremble. But she ignored it resolutely. He was not going to get away with this. She fetched the dustpan and brush and handed it to him without a word. Then she tried to arrange the baubles that were left undamaged so as to conceal the tell-tale gaps in the tree's trimmings while Huw swept.

‘Finished?' she asked at last.

He nodded.

‘Right. Go and tip the bits in the dustbin. I'm going to fetch Barbara and Maureen.'

For all her efforts to conceal it, there were howls and a good many tears when Barbara discovered the damage. Amy did not tell them how it had happened, but Huw kept well out of the way in any case, sitting in a corner flicking his penknife and not answering when he was spoken to.

By the time the girls were in bed, Amy had had enough of him. ‘I think you can go to bed, too, Huw.'

He got up and made for the door without a word, though the hunch of his shoulders spoke volumes.

‘I'll be up in a minute to tuck you in,' she told him.

When she went up the stairs minutes later there was only a hump under the bedclothes to show he was there. She crossed to the window, drawing the curtains to shut out the light, and with her back to the bed heard a peculiar choking sound.

Huw crying? Almost unheard of!

She waited a moment, then crossed to the bed.

‘Goodnight, Huw.'

A pause. Then a strangled, ‘Goodnight.'

She was half-way out of the door when she heard a snuffly voice call her name and she stopped, looking around. There was still virtually nothing to be seen of Huw, just the top of his head. He didn't want her to see him, she guessed.

‘Yes, what is it?' she asked, slightly impatient.

‘I – I'm sorry.' The tone told her what an effort the apology had cost him. She hesitated. Instinct made her want to take him in her arms, but Amy knew Huw would not like that. So she contented herself with bending over the bed and rumpling the bit of hair she could see.

‘It's all right, Huw. But for heaven's sake don't ever do such a thing again, will you?'

‘No.'

‘It did no good, did it? It didn't even make
you
happy.'

‘No.'

‘So why did you?'

‘I wanted to show you.'

‘A very silly thing to do. And I still have a right to a life of my own, you know.'

He didn't answer and she rumpled his hair again.

‘Goodnight, then, Huw. Don't lose sleep over it, will you?'

So that was that, she thought, as she closed the door and went back downstairs. There was no telling what he would do if upset about something, but at least he was sorry now – and he had had the courage to say so.

It was a beginning.

While Amy was out riding in Ralph Porter's motor car on Boxing Day afternoon, in the front room of the house at Tower View Harry was trying to explain to Margaret why he had not visited her as he had promised on Christmas Day.

‘I just couldn't get away. You know what families are …'

‘Yes.' But it was said in a small voice.

‘And as if it wasn't enough with all of them there and Mam getting uppity in case they thought I was neglecting them, our Dolly had to go and have her baby.'

‘Oh.'

He looked at her, surprised by her lack of interest.

‘Don't you want to know all about it? I thought women were supposed to be barmy about babies!'

‘Mm. I suppose so.'

‘It's a boy and they're calling him Noël. Bit of a stupid name, if you ask me.'

‘I think it's nice.'

‘What's the matter with you?' he asked.

‘Nothing.'

‘I did want to come. I just couldn't. I've got a present for you too. I wanted to give you that.' He pulled out a package, wrapped in bright paper and tied with red twine. ‘Here!'

‘Oh, Harry!' Eyes shining, she tore at the wrapping and opened the package to find a black moiré band nestling in a bed of tissue paper. ‘Oh – it's beautiful! I've always wanted one, how did you know?'

‘I'm glad you like it.'

‘I do! Can I put it on?' She fastened it round her wrist with fingers that trembled with excitement and stood for a moment looking at it in delight. Then:

‘I almost forgot! I've got a present for you. When you didn't come yesterday I made up my mind not to give it to you, but now …'

‘What is it, then?'

‘Wait and see!'

She disappeared and came back with a small box, gift-wrapped.

‘Happy Christmas, a little late!'

He unwrapped it. Inside the box was a fountain pen.

‘Oh, a pen!' He was surprised – he didn't do much writing.

‘Do you like it? I thought … well, you're so keen on getting involved in politics and things and Dad's always having to write letters …'

He brightened. They were taking him seriously!

‘I suppose you'll be wanting to address envelopes and things …'

‘I should think so.'

‘Thanks, Margaret.' He pulled her towards him and kissed her. Her lips were sweet, soft and pursed like a child's and she wound her arms around him, pressing her slender body close.

‘Oh, Harry, I was so miserable when you didn't come yesterday.'

‘Were you?' He kissed her again. The feel of her body close to him was setting him on fire, starting desire in the pit of his stomach and making him forget Christmas presents, his ambitions for the future, the Labour Party, everything. But at the same time a small, separate part of his brain was reminding him that he was in George Young's house and Margaret's parents were in the room next door and likely to come in at any time. With an effort he prised himself free, crossing the room to pick up one of the cards displayed on the sideboard – anything to give him something else to think about.

‘This is nice – oh, it's from Owen Wynn-Davies! Your father's still in touch with him, then?'

‘Yes.' But the joy had gone from her voice again and he sensed she had retreated into herself. Vaguely he was aware he had said the wrong thing, though unsure how he had offended.

There was a silence, then she said in a small voice, ‘Why do you come to see me, Harry?'

‘Ugh?'

‘Is it really to see me – or is it because of my father? Sometimes I can't help wondering. Would you still come if my father wasn't who he is?'

Irrationally he was irritated. He had bought her a present, had kissed her and wanted her and then she asked a silly question like that. What did she want him to say?

‘Of course I come to see
you
!'

‘That's all right, then,' she said. But her voice was still flat.

He moved impatiently. There was no work to do today and with Margaret in this mood he could think of nothing to say.

‘Perhaps I ought not to stay too long.'

‘But you've only just come! We could have a game of shove ha'penny if you like. Someone gave us a board they'd made …'

‘All right.' Playing shove ha'penny meant going into the other room so as to have a table to put the board on … and that meant George and Gussie would be there and he would not be alone with Margaret and the disturbing emotions which he knew he must control. ‘Perhaps your Mum and Dad would like to play too?'

‘Yes,' she said, ‘perhaps they would.'

There were tears glistening unshed in her eyes, but he was too busy trying to pass her in the doorway without touching her to register them. It was only later when he was at home again that he thought of it – and then he was only puzzled.

Tears? Why should Margaret be crying? Either he had imagined it, or else …

Women, I shall never understand them, thought Harry. Pigeons are far, far simpler.

But all the same, the way she had made him feel was very pleasant. Perhaps next time they would be really alone and he could pursue it. Remembering the feel of her lips and her body, Harry certainly hoped so.

With Christmas over it was time to return to the problems of the business, but the break had refreshed Amy and she could hardly wait to set the wheels of the lorries rolling again. The one problem which had nagged away at the back of her mind during the break was the need to find a driver to replace Ollie Griffin, but when she met Herbie at the yard to discuss plans he had a suggestion to make.

‘There's always my brother Cliff,' he said. ‘Since the strike, money's so short that nobody seems to want a taxi, and what business he does get is usually in the evenings. I reckon he'd be only too glad of the job.'

‘Do you think so?' Amy asked, relieved.

‘I did mention it to him over the holiday,' Herbie informed her. ‘I couldn't say anything definite until I'd spoken to you, of course, but I can see him tonight if you like and I reckon I can vouch for him being here in the morning.'

‘Oh, that would be marvellous, Herbie!' Amy said.

Sure enough, next morning Cliff Button put in an appearance at the yard, sauntering into the office with the air of a man who knew he was dispensing a favour.

‘Our Herbie says you need a bit of assistance.'

‘I want to take on a temporary driver, yes,' Amy said, determined to start off on the right footing. ‘My regular man is likely to be off for a couple of months at least. After that I'm not certain what will be happening, but there's always the possibility that if things go well I shall be wanting to increase my staff anyway.'

‘I'm your man, then.' Cliff winked and Amy felt a momentary qualm. Self-employed for as long as she had known him, he had had the initiative to start up the first taxi service in Hillsbridge if not the business acumen to make a success of it. She couldn't help wondering how he would take to working for someone else – particularly a woman. But she was too relieved at having a second reliable driver to worry about that overmuch just now.