Goodbye to Dreams (24 page)

The teapot grew cold and she made fresh tea, brightened the fire, doing anything to avoid the moment when she’d have to undress in the cold lonely dark and try to sleep. She put down her cup and closed her eyes. She stayed there, her coat across her, until a cockerel crowed in a nearby yard, then changed out of the shimmering dress into a jumper and skirt, ready to begin another day.

‘Damn Danny, damn Danny Preston,’ was her morning chant as she set
breakfast for herself. ‘Damn Danny and damn Dorothy with her evil mischief over such a small inheritance.’

Dorothy said nothing to the sisters about Jessie Preston’s visit, but when she visited her daughter, she couldn’t resist talking around the edges of the new development.

‘There’s wicked of Cecily, going out with that Danny Preston, knowing he’s a married man.’

‘Best not to gossip over something we know nothing about.’ Willie spoke with such censure, protective as always of the sisters, that Dorothy felt unable to continue. She sat knitting, discussing clothes for the new arrival with Annette.

Willie sat in the back kitchen, where the sink and boiler half filled the small room. He was at the table, sacking spread around his feet to catch the scrolls of wood as he planed the top of a stool. He worked rhythmically and without pause, except to occasionally hold it aloft to make sure the shape was perfect.

The planning finished, he began rubbing with a sheet of sandpaper before placing the finished piece with the others, ready to be varnished.

‘Time you were in bed, Annette love,’ he said as the big wall-clock struck ten. ‘You mustn’t tire yourself.’

‘Yes, I must go.’ Dorothy stood up, packed away her knitting and kissed her daughter.

‘I’ll walk with you as far as the bus stop, Mother-in-law.’ Willie reached for his coat and cap.

‘No need.’ Dorothy did not feel at ease with Willie, although she had to admit he cared for Annette admirably. ‘I’ll only be a minute walking to the church corner.’

It was dry and bitterly cold, with a wind rustling the leaves along the gutters as she hurried to the bus stop outside the walls of the ancient churchyard. A public house was almost joined to the church and she watched in disgust as two men tumbled, laughing, out of its doorway, helped on their way by the toe of the landlord’s boot. Such a wicked waste of money, she thought with a curl of her lip. They probably had children at home, trying to sleep with empty bellies. She didn’t recognize them or she’d have told their wives to be more firm.

One of the drunken men stumbled and lurched towards her and she quickly darted into the shadow of the wall. She waited, holding her breath as he approached a nearby tree and peed noisily close to her, his eyes not seeing her stiffened shape as she turned her head in embarrassment. He stood for a while as if unsure which direction led to home, and all the time
Dorothy crouched, hardly daring to breathe. People on the street dwindled to none before he lurched away.

As she was about to leave her hiding place another shadow appeared. She stayed hidden and waited. She wished she had accepted Willie’s offer to walk with her. You never knew who you’d meet in this area. To her surprise she recognized Phil Spencer walking towards her.

He climbed the stone wall, hardly visible in the meagre light from a lamp outside the public house and slithered like an eel over the top, to drop with hardly a sound on the other side. She found a jutting stone and risked a look over the wall to see him leaving the churchyard by the gate on the opposite side and disappearing into the lane beyond.

She was thankful when the bus came but she didn’t go straight home. She alighted at the police station to report what she had seen.

‘Supposed to be a cripple he is, but he can’t fool me,’ she told the sergeant. ‘I saw no sign of a limp. He’s that burglar the papers are full of for sure.’

Ada was startled by the late-night knock at the door. She peered down at the policemen standing outside and hurriedly dressed before going down. She looked anxious as she explained, ‘My mother-in-law is in bed but my husband is still in his workshop if you want to talk to him.’

‘If you please, Mrs Spencer. Sorry about the lateness of the call.’

With a curious look at the solemn-faced young men in their tall,
silver-trimmed
helmets, she went down to the workshop, knocking before opening the door and calling, ‘Phil, love, it’s the police. They want to talk to you.’

‘Me? Whatever for? Not wanting tickets at this time of night, are they?’ He limped through to the living room and leaned heavily on the table to ease his aching leg. Ada noticed he was sweating slightly and thought she would persuade him to visit the doctor again. His leg seemed worse lately. He must be straining it trying to walk without a limp.

‘Phil, sit down and rest that leg. You’ve overdone the exercises again, haven’t you?’

The police asked him to explain his movements that evening and he told them that, apart from going out to post a letter, he’d been working on Christmas orders for dances and raffles.

‘One of my busiest times, it is, see,’ he said, and went on, refusing to be interrupted, to explain how important it was for him to work late. ‘I daren’t refuse work. January and February are pretty lean and I need all I can get now. Printing is spasmodic, see – weddings in May, June and July, of course – but real printing is less easy to come by and—’ He went on until the
constables, having partaken of tea and cakes, thankfully left, their heads reeling with the lecture on the problems of the small printer.

‘What was all that about?’ Ada asked.

‘I don’t know but it’s nothing for us to worry about. They wondered if I had seen anything suspicious. At least I think that’s what they said.’ He winked and went on, ‘I didn’t give them a chance to say much, did I?’ He hugged her. ‘Come on, Mrs Spencer, let’s go to bed.’

Outside the policemen agreed there was little doubt about the man being a cripple. ‘The woman made a mistake.’

‘A relation, wasn’t she? The informant? Terrible rows there are in some families. I bet that’s what it was here. Still, we’ll report it and let others decide whether he needs watching or not.’

‘That cup of tea was welcome, though.’ They continued their round, having written up the relevant details in their notebooks and, out of sight, finished off the cakes Ada had insisted they took with them, with relish.

Owen’s shop was filled to overflowing with the extra needs of the Christmas season. With only ten days to go, the sacks of nuts and crates of oranges and boxes of apples were being constantly replenished. Figs, dates and tangerines added to the displays. Willie took the sack truck and walked to the wholesalers except when the load was large, then he took the van.

The extra scents of fruit and spices filled the air with the subtle reminders of the approaching season. Van had decorated the shop with greenery gathered by herself and Edwin in the fields outside the town. Holly and mistletoe hung in corners, garlands draped the walls. Bolder colour was added with balloons blown up by Van and Edwin, with an air of contagious fun.

The stables with their cellar and loft were now extra storage and sacks of potatoes and corn and other dried goods were kept there. Willie set dozens of mousetraps to prevent the stock being spoilt and used everything in strict rotation to ensure they sold only the best. Any fruit and vegetables past their prime were still given to Jack Simmons to sell to those unable to afford better.

It was a busy time and for Willie, an anxious one. Their baby was due any day and although he knew Gladys Davies wouldn’t leave Annette’s side, he didn’t like leaving her all day.

‘The baby will probably come in the middle of the night,’ Cecily said. ‘They usually do. Everyone I ask says the same. You’re busy all day then you settle to sleep and they announce their imminent arrival.’

‘What time was Van born?’ he asked.

‘Midday! But she was bound to be awkward. Don’t worry, you’ll be there when Annette needs you.’

‘I’ll go home at midday, though, just in case.’

Every day he’d dash home when the shop was reasonably quiet and the sisters didn’t need anything urgently, and spend a while with Annette. Now her time was near Willie thought her more beautiful than ever. Her face was rounded, her arms deliciously plump and her eyes glowed with happiness.

‘I can’t believe my luck,’ he murmured as he settled her into a chair to rest when he went back to the shop. ‘Luckiest man in the whole of Wales I am, for sure.’

It did happen at night. Willie heard the slightest of sighs from her and was awake in a moment, reaching out and holding her.

‘What is it, love? The baby is it? Oh, damn me, I’ll go and knock up Gladys this minute.’

‘No, Willie, not yet. Stay with me and hold me. I don’t want you to go from me yet.’

He settled back on the pillow but his eyes were wide open, staring up at the ceiling as though gripped in terror. Every time she moved or made the slightest sound he started up, only to be calmed by Annette.

‘Not yet, love,’ she whispered. ‘Try to rest. I’ll tell you when it’s time to fetch Gladys and phone the doctor. I don’t want any false alarms and have them calling me a sissy. And it costs money to get the doctor out.’

‘This is daft beyond,’ he said with a groan. ‘Me lying here being comforted by you! I’m supposed to be the strong one.’

‘You are, Willie. Strong and caring and a giant among men.’

It was a little after two when a gasp and a shout made him insist on fetching help.

‘All right, go, you. Nothing will happen in the few minutes you’ll take to call Gladys.’

‘I’m calling the doctor too,’ he said, jumping into his trousers. ‘No arguments, right?’

Gladys came at once and waited with Annette while Willie ran up the green lane, jumped the railings, raced through the park and down to the doctor’s house. He didn’t wait for a lift back but ran home the way he had come. He saw the doctor’s car approaching as he reached the bottom of the green lane.

He raised his hand to wave to the doctor and at that moment saw a figure break out of the shadows at the bottom of the road. He gasped with horror as the doctor’s car hit the indistinct figure and threw it like a pile of rags, into the air. It seemed to hover for a moment suspended by an
invisible
hand, before dropping onto the car and sliding down to the ground.

He felt no sympathy for the injured man; only fury that he had delayed the doctor from reaching his beloved wife. He ran to the spot where the
doctor was kneeling beside the fallen man and said, ‘Go, man. My wife needs you.’ Willie was in a panic of fear at the thought of Annette needing help and his voice was high and loud. ‘I’ll see to him. I’ll knock someone up and send him for the police. Just go, will you?’ He began tugging at the doctor’s coat.

‘I can’t leave the scene of an accident,’ the doctor said calmly.

‘What accident? There never was no accident.’ The injured man stood up, stiff but apparently without serious injury. Willie recognized the voice of Phil Spencer.

‘Phil? What the hell are you doing out at this time? My wife needs this doctor so tell him you’re all right and let him go, will you?’

‘No need to call the police. I’m only bruised. I couldn’t sleep, that’s all. Let me get away from your fussing!’

‘He does appear to have avoided any serious damage,’ the doctor said.

‘Then bugger off and leave me go home,’ Phil whined.

‘Come
on
, Doctor! Get to my wife. She’s having a baby, now this minute!’

Up and down the road doors were opening and a crowd soon gathered to see what had happened. Phil moved with a pronounced limp to lean on the wall of a house, pushing the doctor away as he tried to continue his examination.

Someone had gone for the policeman who lived nearby and someone else brought out a chair for Phil to sit on. Many shouted about the stupidity of using cars at night and one old man insisted they should run on rails like trains do, ‘not run as wild as they like on roads, bumping into people,’ he insisted loudly, creating laughter in the group of curious bystanders.

‘If you’ll give me a hand, and a shoulder to lean on, I’ll get myself home,’ Phil insisted. He was clutching his coat tightly around him with one hand. The other he waved hopefully at Willie.

‘Hurt your chest, have you?’ Willie asked, pointing to the doctor then at his home where the door was open and the house well lit. ‘I’ll see to him, you go to my wife.’

‘Your chest?’ the doctor asked.

‘Not hurt at all, I keep telling you. I want to go home!’

Willie began to walk with him, while the crowd shouted encouragement and the doctor tried in vain to make him stay, following them with the chair and pleading for Phil to be sensible.

‘
You
be sensible and get to my wife!’ Willie shouted back. He ushered the man away like a mad dog. He glared at Phil, who was limping along beside him, still holding his chest. ‘You pick your moments, don’t you! Why choose tonight of all nights to go wandering in front of cars?’

They were in sight of the church when a car entered the road.

‘Hang about,’ someone called, ‘it’s the police.’

Willie hurried Phil unceremoniously back across the road. ‘Damn me, I want to get back to Annette. Having a baby she is.’ He pulled Phil roughly and turned him to face the policeman now running towards them. ‘Take him, somebody. Let me and the doctor see to my wife!’

‘Just one minute, sir, I’ll be as quick as I can, seeing your predicament. Now, what damage did you sustain from the vehicle?’ he asked Phil, who was struggling to get away and was being held by one shoulder by Willie, who handed him to the policeman like a parcel.

‘Fine, I am. Just fine.’

‘Looks like he’s hurt his chest,’ someone said. The crowd had regrouped around them and was growing by the minute as more neighbours were woken by the voices.

‘Best you take a look, Doctor.’ The constable ignored Phil’s continuing pleas that he was ‘just fine’ and his protests turned to a wail of dismay as, after another push from the impatient Willie, several silver items fell from his coat and landed on the ground with a musical clatter.