Beggars and Choosers (34 page)

Mr Richards, wise man that he is, has convinced me not to leave my estate to you directly, as that will give Owen Bull cause to track you down and take your inheritance just as he took your dowry, so on his advice, I have left everything to your son, naming you and Mr Richards among others as trustees until he comes of age. I have inserted a clause precluding Owen Bull and Morgan Davies from becoming trustees.

I have no idea how you are supporting yourself and your son. I enclose a cheque for five thousand pounds, made out to I. Bull, your son's name. I hope that you are in a position to cash it and invest it, although Mr Richards tells me that I am putting the money at risk, as legally, Owen Bull is the father of your son and can commandeer his assets.

I do understand why you cannot visit me, but please remember that you and your boy have friends who will do everything in their power to help and protect you.

God Bless both of you,

Your loving Aunt Edyth,

Sali stared at the trunk Lloyd had set at the foot of her bed. She could just imagine the reaction if she walked into a bank in Tonypandy dressed in the finery she used to wear and used the cheque to open an account for Harry. It would be all over the Rhondda in five minutes that the mother of a child who had thousands of pounds was keeping house for the Evanses. And should the gossip reach Owen's ears it would only serve to give him an added incentive to hunt them down and imprison them in squalor in Mill Street a second time.

She folded the cheque into the letter, replaced both in the envelope and stowed it in the dressing table drawer below her underclothes. It would be easier to tear the cheque up and forget about it, than decide what to do with it. And if she had only herself to consider she would have destroyed it. But she had Harry to think about and five thousand pounds was more than enough to set any young man up for life.

She allowed herself a small congratulatory smile, she hadn't done too badly on her own. As Lloyd had said, she was safe in the Evanses' house – so long as Owen remained in ignorance of her whereabouts. If only she could be sure that he would never find her.

In the meantime she had a Christmas to look forward to. Wholesome food to cook and the look on a small boy's face when he came downstairs on Christmas morning to find the horse and cart he wanted under the Christmas tree.

Chapter Eighteen

‘You are spending Christmas Day with us, Sali?' Billy Evans asked at the tea table on Thursday.

‘If that's all right with you, Mr Evans?' She placed a liver and bacon casserole in front of him and returned to the hob to fetch a pot of mashed potatoes.

‘I was hoping you would. So, what are we eating?' He ladled a small portion of the casserole on to a plate for Harry.

‘I have two chickens ready to be killed and Iorwerth up at the farm has promised me a goose as well as a leg of pork,' Victor announced.

‘For how much?' his father enquired shortly.

‘The price of shoeing his horses last summer.'

‘So, it looks as though we'll have plenty of food. Do you mind cooking it, Sali?'

‘If you say no, I'm going next door for Christmas dinner,' Joey chipped in before she could answer.

‘Megan would have enough sense to throw you out.' Victor poured Harry a cup of milk.

‘I ordered a few extras from Connie. On my personal account,' Lloyd added, when his father gave him a penetrating look. ‘They'll be delivered tomorrow morning, Sali.'

‘Are Connie, Antonia and Annie coming up for dinner on Christmas Day?' Mr Evans asked Lloyd.

‘If they are, they haven't mentioned it to me.'

‘They have every other year.'

‘Three extra people for dinner will mean additional work for Sali,' Lloyd warned.

‘I don't mind.' Sali set a bowl of mashed swede in front of Mr Evans and took her place at the table.

‘In that case, tell Connie that we're expecting them when you do her accounts tonight, Lloyd.'

‘You coming up to the farm with your Uncle Joey and me to get holly and a Christmas tree for the parlour, Harry?' Victor leaned towards Harry and cut his liver into bite-sized chunks.

‘Can I, Mam?' Harry looked to Sali.

‘We won't be late,' Victor promised.

‘And I promise to be a good boy, Mam,' Joey grinned.

‘You don't know the meaning of the word, Joey,' Lloyd chafed.

‘No one's complained to you about me lately, have they?' Joey enquired, an injured expression on his handsome face.

‘If they haven't, it's only because you haven't been caught out,' Lloyd retorted.

‘You can go, Harry, but only if you wrap up warm,' Sali qualified. ‘And no climbing in the cow pens or pig sties. Your boots were filthy the last time you went up there.'

‘Goody.' Harry set down his spoon and clapped his hands.

‘As soon as we've finished eating, you boys can give me a hand to get the Christmas box down from the attic. As Sali's made a cake and puddings we may as well make it a proper celebration,' Billy glanced at Harry who was manfully working his way through his dinner, ‘for Harry's sake.'

‘Look what we found when we were looking for the Christmas box, Harry.' Joey dropped a cardboard box on the hearth rug, knelt down, opened it and pulled out a homemade fort, complete with a regiment of lead soldiers, half of which had black crosses painted on their backs.

‘The ones with crosses are the enemy,' Joey explained. Harry picked one up. ‘Soldiers need someone to fight.'

‘I'm not sure I want my son playing war games,' Sali said doubtfully.

‘Looks like he already knows all about them.' Victor commented, as Harry lined up soldiers on the ramparts. He went to the cupboard and took out a duster. ‘This is to clean them with when we come back from the farm.'

As Harry was so delighted with the fort, Sali relented and told him he could have it ‘on loan', but it would always belong to Joey and Victor. Five minutes later, she felt as though she had three children playing at her feet because Joey and Victor seemed to be enjoying themselves as much as Harry, especially when they found a couple of miniature cannons that fired matchsticks with sufficient force to knock over the soldiers. They finally left when she reminded them that they had to go to the farm. A few minutes later, Lloyd walked in with another box.

‘If that's more toys for Harry, I won't let him accept them,' she informed him tartly.

‘You'd rather Joey's old fort rotted in the attic than be played with?'

‘No,' she conceded, realising how ungracious she had sounded. ‘But I don't want him –'

‘Spoiled, we know. This is the Christmas box and don't go expecting too much in the way of fancy decorations.' He dumped it on the table. ‘There's nothing in there up to Danygraig or Ynysangharad House standards. Just a motley collection of homemade bits and pieces.'

‘I wasn't expecting anything.' Sali was stung by the inference that her upbringing would lead her to expect better than the Evanses could provide.

Realising she'd taken his casual remark as criticism, he murmured, ‘I shouldn't be long down at Connie's. I'll give you a hand to decorate the tree when I get back.' He waited for her to reply. When she didn't, he picked up his hat and left.

Sali washed and dried the dishes, and restored the kitchen to order before opening the box. Lloyd was right about the motley collection. Beautifully woven straw stars were packed between meticulously carved and painted wooden animals and tiny, crocheted angels in silver and white wool, but below them was a layer of crudely drawn and cut-out paper lanterns, moons and cribs.

Names were printed in pencil in childish scrawls at the bottom of the lanterns and she tried to picture the men as small boys running home from school, proudly clutching their ‘makings' and eager to offer them to their mother. She found it easy to conjure images of Victor and Joey as children, but not Lloyd. There was an air of authority about him that defied her imagination.

‘Sali?' Megan was in the doorway, a pile of parcels in her hand. ‘Are you all right? You looked as though you were miles away.'

‘I was.' Sali pointed to the clutter on the table. ‘It's odd to unpack another family's Christmas decorations. They are so personal, I feel as though I'm snooping.'

‘Mrs Evans wouldn't have thought of it like that.' Megan dropped her parcels on to the easy chair. ‘I wish you could have met her. I know she would have liked you.'

‘And I know from the way she organised this house, she would have hated another woman running it and looking after her family.'

‘Maybe it wouldn't have worked if you had tried to run the house together,' Megan agreed, ‘but I'm sure that she is smiling down at you now, because you keep her house as clean and welcoming as she did.'

Sali's faith had been so badly shaken by her uncle and Owen Bull that she wasn't at all certain there
was
an afterlife, but she was loathe to offend Megan by questioning her faith. ‘Like a cup of tea?'

‘I'd love one.' Megan picked up one of the parcels and Sali saw a label with ‘Joey' printed on it tied to the string. ‘Mrs Evans gave me these a month before she died and asked if I'd keep them for her until she felt well enough to finish them. I put them at the back of my wardrobe and forgot about them until this afternoon when I went to hide some sweets I bought for the children's stockings. They are pullovers that Mrs Evans knitted for Mr Evans and the boys. She always started making her Christmas presents early in the year.'

She unpicked the string and showed Sali a pair of knitted sleeves and the back and front of a pullover. ‘They need pressing and making up. Perhaps you could show them to the boys and ask what they want done with them.'

‘Or I could make them up and leave them under the tree.' Sali suggested. She looked at the blue pullover Mrs Evans had made for her youngest son. The stitches were neat and beautifully even, and she imagined the Mrs Evans she had seen in the photographs on the parlour wall, only smaller, darker and frailer, sitting up in bed in the front room, knitting.

‘That will be a nice surprise for them. I'm only sorry I didn't bring them round before now.'

‘I'll put them in my room.' Sali picked up the parcels and ran upstairs with them. By the time she returned, Megan had made the tea.

‘You looking forward to Christmas?' Megan asked.

‘To be honest, I've been so busy the last couple of months making Christmas cakes, puddings and biscuits that I haven't had much time to think about it. But Joey and Victor have managed to get Harry excited, and I am looking forward to seeing his reaction when he sees the horse and cart I bought him under the Christmas tree.'

‘I've invited Victor to supper on Christmas Day,' Megan confided.

‘Then I'll see that he doesn't eat too much for dinner and tea.'

‘Victor!' Megan laughed. ‘I don't think anyone could curb his appetite.' Her face fell. ‘He wanted to give me an engagement ring for Christmas.'

‘You wouldn't accept it?'

‘It would only create more arguments with my uncle and then he'd write to my father who would threaten to take me back to the farm. It's hard enough for me to answer my uncle's questions about Victor's courtship as it is. And even without my family's opposition, I can hardly leave my uncle and the children to fend for themselves while I go off and get married.'

‘You two are so much in love, things simply have to work out for you,' Sali sympathised.

‘I wish I could believe that. Do you miss your husband?'

Sali's heart pounded erratically. Had rumours reached Tonypandy?

‘I am sorry, that was tactless of me. It must have been terrible for you to have been widowed so young.'

Sali suddenly remembered that Megan only knew the story she had told the Evanses when she had first arrived. She sat at the table, pushed the Christmas decorations to one side, sugared her tea and thought of Mansel, of how much she had loved him and persisted in thinking of him as her husband, even after she had married Owen. How the whole time she had lived in Mill Street, she had woven dreams about Mansel and what their life would have been like if he hadn't disappeared. And what it would be like if he returned and took her away from Owen ...

Sometime since she had moved to Tonypandy she had ceased to think of Mansel. Was that because of what Harry's foster mother had told her? Or because she no longer loved him? She found both questions impossible to answer.

‘When ... when it happened,' she concentrated on the weeks after Mansel's disappearance, ‘I didn't want to go on living. But what people say is right, it does get easier as time goes on, and,' she beamed, when she heard Harry's high-pitched, excited chatter in the basement, ‘I have a wonderful son, a good job working for kind people and a lot to be grateful for.'

‘Are you sure that your father asked you to invite Annie, Tonia and me to dinner on Christmas Day?' Connie asked Lloyd, as he totalled a column of figures in her ledger.

‘Yes,' he murmured absently.

‘Do you want us to come?'

‘You always have before.' He marked a figure with his forefinger. She leaned over the desk and dropped a kiss on his forehead, but he didn't look up from the page.

‘We came because your mother invited us.'

‘I think that is why my father wants you to come this year. So that the arrangements my mother made when she was alive will continue. Because while they do, she won't be entirely dead. Not to him.'

‘There is life after death, Lloyd.'

‘Spare me your religion and I'll spare you my Marxism.' He closed the ledger and turned around to face her.

‘And my suffrage?' she asked. ‘This Liberal government of yours is force-feeding helpless women.'

‘This Liberal government is most certainly
not
mine.' He lifted his jacket from the back of the chair.

‘You are not going?'

‘I promised I'd be back early to help decorate the tree.'

‘Promised Sali?'

‘We've had all the conversations about my father's housekeeper that we are going to have, Connie,' he stated flatly.

‘I'm in agreement on that one, darling.' Her fingers strayed to his flies as she kissed his lips.

‘No, Connie.' He removed her hand and moved away from her.

‘My, you are a grumps. You'll be here tomorrow evening?'

‘I don't know.'

‘The accounts will need totalling.'

‘So long as it is just the accounts,' he said seriously.

‘Nine o'clock, which will give us two hours before I have to get ready for midnight mass.' She absolutely refused to accept that he wanted to put their relationship on a platonic footing. He was in a bad mood, that was all. Tomorrow would be different. It had to be. ‘If you walk us home after we have dinner with you on Christmas Day, you can give me my present, in private,' she murmured suggestively.

‘You are very sure I have something for you.'

‘Very.' She grasped his arm. ‘Just don't wrap up too well. A woman can get impatient when there are too many layers to tear off.'

He pushed her away. ‘Do you mind if I take some of that mistletoe you have in the storeroom in case Victor and Joey didn't find any up at the farm?'

‘I'll put it on your bill,' she replied sulkily.

‘I'll expect you to.' He took his hat from the stand, jammed it on his head, checked his reflection in the mirror and left.

Connie sat on the sofa in front of the fire and stared into the flames. Lloyd had told her that he loved her several times during the thirteen years they had been lovers, but only in the early years and never since he'd returned from Pontypridd. She had put his reticence down to the uncertainty and clandestine nature of their relationship. But could it really be possible that he no longer loved her?

As Billy Evans had prophesied, without the dining suite, which he and the boys had carried into the kitchen, the middle room made a reasonably comfortable parlour. Acting on Sali's suggestion, they had left the bookcases and sideboard and rearranged the chairs and sofa closer to the fireplace. Victor experimented with the Christmas tree, setting it in several different spots before Sali, Joey and Harry unanimously agreed the best place for it was in front of the window. While Sali, Harry and Joey hung their old decorations and some of the sweets and biscuits Sali had made on the branches, Victor laid a fire, ready to be lit on Christmas morning.