The Runaway Page 19

  In London, the young woman from Beautiful Homes fingered the letter from Faith. It wasn’t possible. Her sister couldn’t have found them! Not after all these years. Her mother’s change of name, her own legal adoption by her stepfather, it had all helped to cover their tracks. If that shabby individual with the Welsh accent was her sister she would die of shame. Slowly she tore the letter into shreds and fed it into the fire.

  chapter ten

  Olive had built a new life for herself after moving into the caravan. There were several cottages close by and she quickly made herself known. Within weeks she had become a friend to everyone, collecting shopping, running messages, while gathering a surprising number of customers for her catalogue and her Christmas Club. A couple of the farm cats visited regularly and she felt a part of the small community. She filled the days happily and regularly called to see Faith and her four lodgers.

  The police had no evidence regarding the housebreaking and theft of seventy-four pounds and she hoped her sons had been truthful when they promised there would be no more illegal behaviour. If they settled and earned their money she would be content. The caravan wasn’t ideal but there was more space than when three of them squashed into Faith’s back room.

  As well as making her weekly collection she would pop in and beg a cup of tea at No 3 some evenings and gather the latest news. Working in the baker’s shop, Faith was beginning to know the neighbourhood well and Olive encouraged her to talk. Olive’s newsgathering was unbeatable and she often knew what was happening before the people concerned.

  ‘I saw Mr and Mrs Gretorex this morning,’ she told Faith in a loud whisper one Sunday morning. ‘Walking across the field they were, wandering aimlessly it seemed, crossing the field where there’s a building site marked out. They just stood and stared for a while then walked back along the lane.’

  ‘They go out every morning and come back after lunch,’ Faith told her. ‘Then they go out again most evenings.’

  ‘Secretive they are. Funny really, most people are only too happy to talk about themselves, but they manage never to answer a question and avoid telling us anything about who they are or what they’re doing in one small room.’

  ‘Sometimes I think they’re hiding a tragedy, something that happened that they can’t talk about even to friends.’

  ‘D’you think they were building a house and the builder cheated them? Or they lost their money and had to abandon the place? Poor dears if that happened. To lose a dream is the saddest thing.’

  ‘What’s your dream, Olive?’ Faith asked softly.

  ‘Me? I don’t have any now, except the hope that my boys will get good jobs and settle down. That’s no dream; that requires a miracle!’ She changed the subject and talked of other people she had met.

  Her gossip was never unkind, just hearing about a situation where she could help would send her around to the house in question and offer assistance. She fed cats while the owners were away, walked dogs when the owner found it difficult; she did a bit of cleaning when someone was ill and refused payment, but usually found herself another customer. She didn’t earn a lot of money but she didn’t need much.

  Faith thought about Mr and Mrs Gretorex, whose Christian names were never used. She knew no more about them than on the day they moved in; as Olive said, they avoided answering questions and gave no hint about future plans. On impulse she caught the bus and went to see Olive. ‘Come for a walk and show me where the unfinished house is. I have to admit I’m curious.’

  Olive led her across fields and a short walk along a narrow, rarely used lane, then pointed into a field. Boundaries were marked with posts and wire and the area inside the wire was covered with piles of sand and gravel and broken cement bags. After making sure there was no one about they ducked under the wire and walked around the area.

  Footings had been dug and filled with cement but it was obvious nothing had been done for a very long time. Children had played in the sand, spreading it into untidy scattered patches. The unused bags of cement were solid, having been rained on and dried many times. Chocolate and sweet-wrappers grew like flowers in areas where sandcastles stood, these and amateurish dens, made of corrugated iron and wood, were evidence of the children who occasionally colonized the place.

  ‘It’s very strange.’ Olive whispered as though afraid of disturbing ghosts.

  ‘What could this place mean to them? They must have other strands to their lives. No one lives fifty or so years without leaving a mark. Yet there have been no visitors and they rarely receive any post.’

  Olive’s post went to the farm and she called one morning to find a letter waiting for her from her sons. They were moving into a better flat and they invited her to come and visit. ‘I confess we’d be glad of your help to sort it out as it’s a bit of a mess,’ the letter went on. ‘We’ve made a start on the cleaning and bought wallpaper and paint, but we’d be very pleased if you could give us some advice.’

  She showed the letter to one of her neighbours. ‘Advice?’ she said. ‘Scrubbing more like!’ She was smiling happily; they needed her, no matter what the reason, and that was good to know.

  She stepped off the bus later that day and scrabbled in her bag to find the letter. It was Wednesday and Faith was sure to be at home. As she approached the gate she stopped. Someone was in the garden, a woman was walking round to the back of the house, her crouched attitude suggesting she didn’t want to be seen. Silently Olive followed.

  As the figure stopped and turned she recognized her. ‘Hello, Gwenllian. Come back to apologize to Faith, have you? Want your old room back?’

  Gwenllian began to run but Olive stood in her way. ‘Or are you hoping to ruin the garden again?’

  ‘Get out of my way. I just wanted a word with Faith, to tell her to stop spreading poison about Matt.’

  ‘She stopped that a long time ago, and anyway it’s the newspapers you want to complain to, not Faith.’ Olive allowed the woman to pass, then followed her back to the gate closing it behind her and watching until she had turned the corner towards the railway station. Then she knocked on the door.

  It was opened by Faith who invited her in. ‘That Gwenllian Hughes was snooping around your garden,’ Olive announced as she put down her basket and gathered teacups from the dresser. ‘Cup of tea?’ she asked unnecessarily, reaching for the kettle. ‘I brought some cake.’

  ‘What was she doing here? Surely she doesn’t want to come hack as a lodger?’

  ‘That’s what I asked.’ Olive laughed. ‘Don’t worry, I saw her off for you.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘Only that you should stop spreading poison about Matt.’

  ‘There has been more talk, although it hasn’t come from me this time. Customers have mentioned that a woman is telling people she was attacked when she and Matt were becoming a bit more than friends, but no one believes her. It has nothing to do with me. Thank goodness.’

  ‘I can’t help feeling a bit sorry for him, mind,’ Olive admitted. ‘What he did was a long time ago and there’s always a doubt when it’s one person’s word against another’s.’

  Faith felt the familiar surge of guilt and she was glad when Olive produced the letter and explained that she was once more going to London.

  ‘While you’re there, if you see the person with my name, will you try to get more details?’ she asked.

  Adding three spoonfuls of sugar to her tea, Olive promised to find out all she could.

  Faith wondered about the visit of Matt’s cousin. She hadn’t knocked the door, so what could she have wanted? Could she have been responsible for the damage in the house at Christmas? And the ruined garden? It seemed unlikely, but she had been very upset when she had realized that Faith was the one who had revived Matt’s troubles.

  Guilt settled more heavily on her as she collected her purse and shopping bag and set off to the butcher’s. When she heard the scream for a moment she was disorientated and unsure where the sound came from. Then
she saw a young woman lying on the pavement. She ran to her as saw her begin to rise. The woman was shaken but seemed not to be seriously hurt.

  ‘Come back with me, I don’t live far away.’ Faith gathered the woman’s shopping, which had fallen across the road and helped her to No 3.

  ‘What happened?’ Faith asked.

  ‘Silly of me, I tried to outrun a bicycle and had to jump for the kerb. I missed it,’ she said sheepishly.

  ‘Is there anyone I can call? There’s a phone at the end of the road.’

  ‘No. my daughter is at school. Thank you, but I’m all right now. Please don’t bother yourself. I’ll be fine.’ She kept trying to get up and Faith coaxed her back into the chair to finish washing away the dirt from her scratches.

  ‘I don’t want you to leave before you drink a cup of tea. Now, are you sure there’s no one I can get in touch with?’

  ‘No, there’s only my daughter, no one else.’

  Faith was curious. What about the husband? Or surely there was a neighbour at least? She looked at the woman as she handed her a towel to rub herself dry. She looked undernourished. Her clothes were worn with too much laundering, her shoes were at least a size too large, the probable cause of the fall, she surmised. There was a shyness and lack of confidence clearly apparent in the woman’s demeanour. She kept trying to leave, apology in her eyes as she tried to escape, not wanting to be further nuisance.

  Faith gave her a fresh pad of cotton wool and some medicated cream to clean her face. She placed a mirror beside her then put the kettle to boil and set a tray. Gradually she persuaded the woman to talk. ‘You might be feeling stiff and sore for a while. Is there someone at home to look after you?’

  ‘No, but I’ll be all right,’ the young woman assured her. ‘I live with my daughter, and anyway, I’m on my way to work.’

  ‘Where do you work? I’ll walk with you.’

  ‘I’m an alteration hand in a ladies’ dress shop. The shop closes on Wednesday but I go in and deal with the urgent orders. Thank you, but I have to go or I’ll be late.’ She sounded breathless, unable to relax, she looked as though she would dash for the door at any moment. Her brown eyes were wide, too large in her thin face and Faith felt genuine concern. A real scaredy-cat, she decided sadly.

  When the woman eventually gave her name it was a complete surprise.

  ‘You’re Ethel Holland?’ Surely this wasn’t the bold temptress, the fine actress who lied in court when Matt was accused of assaulting her?

  The woman felt rather than saw the reaction. She got up and gathered her things. ‘I see you’ve heard of me,’ she said in a low voice.

  ‘You might have heard of me,’ Faith replied. They stared at each other and it was Faith who broke the silence. ‘Matt Hewitt?’ The woman hung her head.

  ‘I’m Faith Pryor. I had a child,’ Faith said, ‘and walked away from her. You were braver than I.’

  ‘You walked away from Matt’s child?’

  ‘No.’ Faith swiftly remembered to continue the lie. ‘She wasn’t Matt’s daughter. We almost married but I didn’t want him to be involved in her future after hearing what he did and that was why I had to walk away from her.’

  ‘But she was Matt’s child?’

  Again Faith denied it but the woman was staring at her, looking right into her heart.

  ‘I have to go now,’ she said. ‘I always meet Claire, my daughter, from school even though she’s twelve.’

  ‘Please,’ Faith said, ‘come and see me again. I work at the bakery but I’m here most of the time apart from that.’

  Ethel Holland nodded, thanked her for her help and hurried away. Faith didn’t think she would see her again. Someone else who finds it hard to make friends, she thought, then realized that for herself that was no longer true.

  Her lodgers were friends, the neighbours too, and Olive Monk, who had forgiven her for forcing her and her sons to leave, and Winnie and Paul and their boys. Then there was Ian, who she still hoped would one day be more than a friend. No, for her, life was full and happy. She wondered whether she could help the sad Ethel Holland, whose life had been ruined by Matt, by introducing her into the circle of people who had made her own life so happy. Warm, caring people who would give friendship and ask nothing in return.

  Ian called later that day and she told him about meeting Ethel Holland. ‘She’s so sad and frightened. I learned that she and her daughter live in two rooms and seem to avoid contact with any but the most essential people. I couldn’t possibly see her as someone who had tempted and teased someone like Matt.’

  When they had discussed Ethel and her daughter for a while, Ian said, ‘I have to go, I have a couple more calls to make. D’you fancy going for a drive on Sunday afternoon? We could find somewhere to have tea?’

  They made arrangements and he left a few minutes later, but a shout made her run after him. He pointed in disbelief at his car. All the tyres of his car were flat. An inspection revealed they had been slashed.

  Again the police were called and again they promised to do what they could. Faith told them about her unseen visitor and they spoke to Olive, but a week later they had nothing to report.

  Faith saw Ethel Holland again when she called to thank her for her help, bringing a small posy of flowers. Her daughter, Claire, was with her and it was then that Faith realized with a shock that Carol had two granddaughters, neither of whom she knew.

  ‘I’m not the only one to suffer the loss of a family,’ she told Kitty and Gareth as guilt once again overwhelmed her, knowing she was at least partly responsible. ‘There must be many people with the same dream as me.’

  ‘Don’t give up hope, miracles do happen,’ Kitty said, hugging her affectionately.

  ‘Not for Carol they won’t.’

  Olive went to London and at once became happily involved in the refurbishment of her sons’ flat. They had little money and what they did have, Olive spent on paint and cleaning materials. As Faith had done, she scoured the second-hand shops and visited two jumble sales and with a little imagination made the place habitable. ‘Comfortable chaos’, was how she described it on a postcard to Faith.

  As she was putting the card through the post box she remembered her promise to try and find out more about the Green family and their possible connection with the Pryors.

  Smartening herself up was not easy, and she rubbed the dust off her shoes and put on the warm coat which she had previously lent to Faith, and set off. Beautiful Homes looked uninviting. Self-consciously, she went in and began looking at the display of glass and china, until the woman described by Faith came out of the office. Loudly, so that anyone sitting in the adjoining office might hear, Olive asked:

  ‘I’m looking for someone called Pryor. Anyone here with that name, is there?’

  The woman approached more rapidly, urging her towards the door. ‘Sorry, madam, the name is Green. There’s no one of that name here.’ That Welsh accent again, and, unbelievably, the same coat! ‘May I suggest you ask at the library? Or the post office?’

  Refusing to be hustled out, Olive moved aside then slowly walked around the expensive displays, admiring but without envy. ‘This stuff is very fancy, isn’t it?’ she said, again loudly.

  An older woman came out from the office. She walked moving her hip painfully and using a walking-stick. She wore a deaf aid in one ear.

  ‘Hello,’ Olive said cheerfully. ‘D’you know anyone called Pryor?’ Raising her voice she said again, ‘Faith Pryor?’

  ‘Please don’t worry my mother! As you can see, she’s far from well.’

  Olive’s sharp eyes were staring at the newcomer, whose face was frozen with shock. Then she turned to the younger one. ‘You wouldn’t be Joy, by any chance, would you? Joy Pryor?’

  ‘It’s all right, Mother, this lady is just leaving.’ Refusing to let her stay a moment longer, she pushed Olive out of the shop and locked the door. She went to her mother and with an arm around her led her back to the office. ‘It’s a
ll right, Mother. She’s a madwoman. I had to tell her to leave. You never know what they’ll do next.’

  ‘I couldn’t hear what she was saying. Nothing to do with Faith, was it?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mother, but she was talking a lot of nonsense. There’s no hope of finding Faith after all this time, we both know that. Now, shall I get you a cup of tea and we can go over the illustrations for the new range of picnic ware. It certainly looks good. I think the white with the green and yellow trim, what do you think?’ Gradually she coaxed her mother out of her distress and involved her in business talk.

  It was more than a week later when Olive called to see Faith and when she did she was unsure what to tell her. Raising her hopes on little more than a suspicion would be unkind, but the chance of her finding her family was too important not to give her the information, vague as it might be. Eventually she decided to tell her exactly what had happened and the little that had been said.

  ‘But if this woman is my sister, then my mother is … But she can’t be alive. She’d have found me. What makes you think the woman is my sister? Do you think she looks like me? And the mother, is there any family resemblance?’

  Regretfully, Olive shook her head. ‘They’re hiding something, though, I’m sure of that. The young one anyway: I had her really rattled. The older woman seemed ill and the bossy daughter was overprotective. Oh, I don’t know, I just have a feeling that they do know the name. Go up why don’t you? Dress a bit smart and walk in as though you’re likely to buy. That way you might get a look at the mother.’