The Runaway Page 2

  The rumours began. All was not well with the couple. To Faith’s dismay, Nick admitted he was unhappy and told everyone how he regretted leaving Faith so cruelly, that Tessa was too demanding and selfish.

  One evening Faith opened the door to a very persuasive Nick who begged her to go back to him. ‘I’ve already admitted I made a mistake leaving you for Tessa,’ he said. ‘I’m so ashamed at the way I treated you.’

  Faith saw her lies coming back, mouthed maliciously by unkind acquaintances. Why hadn’t she told the truth? She’d have been laughed at by some but others would have sympathized. Now she would be a joke. It wasn’t something she could laugh off, not this time.

  ‘No. Nick,’ she said as he waited, looking suitably chastened. ‘You’ve humiliated me for the last time.’

  ‘But I’ve told my parents it’s you I want. All right, I made a mistake, but we can’t let it ruin our lives. Please Faith. Marry me, announce our engagement. That will get Tessa off my back if nothing else will.’

  ‘Isn’t she your wife? How do you plan to get out of that one, Nick?’

  Allowing Tessa the face-saving lie he said, ‘It was a mistake, we can get it annulled, or a divorce. We could tell everyone I was in the wrong and want to put it right. Tell everyone we’re engaged. Please, Faith.’

  ‘I see. You want me to announce our engagement, just until Tessa goes back to wherever she came from? Then what?’

  ‘We could marry once I’m free,’ he said, as though the thought had just occurred. ‘Best to leave it a while and see how well we get on, though. Perhaps in a year or so? Next year perhaps?’

  ‘No, Nick. Not next year or any year.’ He was still blustering as she closed the door.

  At school the following morning she was approached by several of her so-called friends. They made no effort to hide their amusement at the latest story. Only Mary was sympathetic. Older and wiser, she was aware of the pain Faith was suffering. ‘Come on,’ she coaxed. ‘It will soon be forgotten. A bit of gossip like this is irresistible, if it had been someone else you’d have enjoyed it yourself, be fair. Give it a week and nothing more will be said.’

  At the end of that terrible day Faith walked home by way of the back lanes to avoid seeing anyone else who wanted a laugh at her expense. Unfortunately some of the older pupils had gleaned the details too and their derogatory comments as they followed her home, were just loud enough to be heard.

  She reached home, dropped her bag and briefcase, then went out. Thank goodness the half-term during which she was ‘temping’ at the school was almost over. How right she had been to avoid taking a permanent position. It was time to move on once more. She tried to count her previous addresses and gave up after nine. The rest were guesses.

  Try as she might she knew she would never be happy here now Nick had made a laughing stock of her. Mary was right, it would die down, but the memory would be there and the occasional revival as newcomers were told was more than she could bear. She went to see her landlord and the following week, with her stint as temporary teacher in the infants class finished, she was on the train with a ticket in her purse for Barry, the seaside town where she had once spent a happy holiday: her only childhood holiday.

  Her memories of that week were wonderful. Aged seven, oblivious to the war restrictions in force, she had been so excited as each day had dawned. Blue skies, friendly people, laughter and fun. Perhaps Barry Island with its golden beach and pleasure park, where every day was a holiday, was where she was meant to be.

  She sat on the busy train, carrying her few possessions, and misery descended once more as she visualized many more years of this, moving on when things didn’t work out as she hoped, new friends, a new school, then disappointment and off again.

  She seemed unable to become a part of a group. Friends, all with large lively families had simply made her aware of her background and reminded her that she had always been alone. It had become automatic to accept loneliness, to being outside a group; an observer rather than a participant. That was how it would always be.

  It was raining heavily as she left the railway station and she looked up at the relentless sky, the day as gloomy as her mood. This will probably be another broken dream, she thought with a sigh. Holidays aren’t real, the memories wouldn’t be the same as reality. The sun wouldn’t always shine, the food wouldn’t taste as delicious. The people wouldn’t be as welcoming and friendly. She had been a child then. Now she was twenty-two and there wasn’t a place to call home or a group of people to whom she truly belonged.

  The happiness she remembered here in Barry was because it had been the first time she had been on holiday, the one time her foster-parents had relented and allowed her to go with them for their week’s holiday instead of leaving her with carers. She had tried so hard to be good. Not asking for treats even when their daughter, Jane, was given them. She folded her clothes and went to bed when she was told, long before Jane, but they never took her again.

  She knocked on the first house that displayed a ‘room for rent’ sign and without even asking to see it, she took it. At least she would have a base, somewhere to sit and consider her future.

  The downstairs room was small and rather dark. But it overlooked the garden where there were overgrown trees and shrubs and with long grass where once there had been a lawn. Perfect for feeding and enjoying garden birds. She unpacked her miserably few possessions and examined the double bed. It was clean and, after testing, proved to be firm and comfortable. It would do until she decided what her next step would be. That seemed to be the story of her life. Moving from place to place looking for … she didn’t know what. She just hoped that one day she would find it, that perfect place that would for ever be her home.

  Her landlady was friendly and promised a good breakfast each morning. Faith would eat out during the day and Mrs Porter agreed to provide a sandwich and a drink for supper. She seemed to have been fortunate in her choice, although she hadn’t actually made a choice. As so often in the past, she had taken the first available place and crossed her fingers for luck.

  Ian Day was also moving. With Tessa married and never coming back he and his mother were leaving the rented house in which they had lived for many years, and were moving to the house he had planned to share with Tessa. He hoped that once the pain of his rejection had eased he would be happy there.

  Vivienne Day watched her son and wondered if they were doing the right thing. Ghosts would be moving in with them, ghosts of disappointment and hurt. Would her son be able to forget and make this a happy place in which to live? She closed her eyes and offered up a prayer.

  The house was almost finished. With Tessa an unenthusiastic helper, he had decorated all of the rooms himself and had fitted a smart cream-and-red kitchen. There was a small fridge in one corner and a cooker had been installed a few days earlier. Above the kitchen was a bathroom. He had worked long hours, often late into the night, to get the place ready for them to return to after their honeymoon in Cornwall. Everything he could see had been chosen to please Tessa. Living here was going to be hard, but the alternative was to sell it and let someone else move in.

  ‘Half a dream is better than none,’ he told his mother with a tight grimace that was an attempt at a smile. ‘It’s a nice house and I want us to be happy here.’

  ‘Perhaps you and Tessa might …’ Ian shook his head in reply and she said nothing more. After all, the girl was married and that had to be an end to any hope of a reconciliation.

  Faith settled into her new home with ease. Mrs Porter relaxed the rules as she got to know her new lodger and they sometimes went to the pictures together and on mild winter days, they went for walks, coming home to enjoy a warming cup of tea in the cosy kitchen. With Faith’s encouragement they began to tame the neglected garden, putting down food to encourage the birds.

  There was a vacancy in the local school. A temporary one again, just for a few weeks while the regular teacher was recovering from an illness. Temporary suited he
r. She was still unsure whether she would stay. A month later, still working at the school with a hint of a permanent position, she learned it was Mrs Porter’s birthday. Having gradually persuaded the lady to clear some of the tangle in the garden, she decided to buy a statue, a birdbath and a feeder, so they might both enjoy their feathered visitors.

  Barry out of season, with many of the seaside shops closed and wind howling along the promenade on her few forays to the sandy bay was not what her memory had retained. Yet there was something very pleasant about joining the locals out with their dogs, stopping for a chat, complaining about the weather and looking forward to spring and summer. She was beginning to feel like a resident. Perhaps this time she might stay. She made enquiries about a place where she might buy the gifts she planned. Surely not all the shops were closed for the winter? The town had a busy life of its own, which was enhanced by summer visitors, but life went on when winter ruled and visitors stayed away.

  She was told about Matt Hewitt who specialized in garden ornaments in stone, cement and wood. She called at his yard the following day to make enquiries. The workshop and yard was in an out-of-the-way place backing on to fields. She asked twice before she found it. Entering the yard, with its assorted statues and garden furniture, she wandered around the place looking for something that would please her landlady. There was plenty of choice and her gaze settled on a small cherub.

  ‘Can I help?’ a voice called and Matt Hewitt walked out from the small office. He was smiling and she could not resist smiling back. He was an attractive man; his hair and eyes were dark and he looked strong enough to lift a horse. His smile widened and brightened his penetrating eyes when he approached, warming her in a most unexpected way.

  When she had explained what she wanted he led her into the shed, where he displayed his better pieces and began to tell her about projects on which he was presently engaged.

  ‘I’m making a figure to be placed at the side of a pond,’ he told her, leading her towards an inner room where it was evident that he did his finest work. The sculpted figure was of a beautiful young woman, her back bent, her fingers trailing in what would be the surface of the water but which was now some crumpled paper. Her hair fell to one side of her face, and her dress reached to a place above the knee, showing her perfect legs. It was elegant and utterly enchanting.

  ‘She’s beautiful,’ Faith gasped. ‘I’ve never seen anything lovelier. How can you bear to part with it?’

  Matt laughed, showing clean, even teeth. He touched the figure, rubbing his hand along the girl’s shoulder and down her long hair. ‘It will be hard with this one, I admit, but I concentrate on the next, then the next.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Faith said, ‘but I’ve wasted your time. I could never afford anything as lovely as this.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I have some smaller and less elaborate statues – and seats too. Gardens are for enjoying and you’d be surprised at how many people only go out in them to work. Buy your friend a seat.’

  Walking through his displayed items more slowly, glancing at the price tickets, she decided he was right. Not only was a seat practical, the smaller statues that she could afford, including the cherub, were not carved but made from moulded cement, and anyway would have been too small for any impact. ‘Thank you Mr Hewitt. This bench to seat two will be perfect.’

  ‘Matt,’ he corrected with a smile.

  He delivered the seat and asked her out and she accepted. From the moment she had first seen Matt Hewitt, Nick had become nothing more than a faint shadow. She wondered about this, ashamed of the memory of waiting for Nick to propose. She was more than fickle, she was dishonest.

  The first date was a bit unsettling. Matt was irritable and sharp with the waitress. She assumed that, in spite of his apparent confidence, he was anxious to please and impress her. The feeling was not exactly unpleasant, yet she felt a slight uneasiness. Surely he would relax when they knew each other better?

  He took her back to meet his mother, offering to drive her home in the van he used for his work. Carol welcomed her and invited her inside for some tea. She was obviously pleased to meet her and from the way Matt introduced her she knew that he too was enjoying her company. The flattery gave her face an added glow and she was aware of a growing excitement. Matt looked at her with such obvious delight in his dark eyes that she felt more attractive, more confident. Before they parted at her door he said, ‘My mother likes you and I want to see you again.’

  ‘And if she had not?’ she asked teasingly.

  ‘I introduced you to show off and impress my mother, not please her. You are a lovely lady, Miss Faith Pryor. Nothing anyone said would stop me wanting to see you again and again.’

  They began to meet with increasing regularity and it was soon apparent that Matt Hewitt would be an ardent lover. She was unsure, she harboured doubts about him letting her down but desire was strong, lovemaking promising an escape from loneliness at last. He wanted to spend every moment he could with her and she was flattered, and very much in love. For the next six weeks they were inseparable.

  He lost his temper with a boy on a bicycle who rode along the pavement when they were walking back one evening and there were other instances of his impatience. His occasional bouts of temper worried her, although he never showed the slightest hint of anger towards her, his attitude being gentle, protective and caring. A young man whom he employed to help had been cuffed several times, a previous assistant had been chased from the yard after forgetting to pass on a message. These events she hadn’t witnessed, but there were always people willing to spread gossip.

  One evening she met the father of a pupil, who stopped her and asked about his son’s progress. Matt came running up demanding to know what the man wanted and almost dragged Faith away before she could introduce them. Later she saw that the man had a bruise on his face and although he didn’t explain she had the frightening feeling that Matt had struck him.

  His mother Carol denied all the stories and said Matt was a reasonable man. ‘Although he isn’t a fool and not easily taken in by people trying to cheat him. He’s fine as long as people behave correctly towards him,’ she said, but Faith was not fully convinced.

  Between their meetings her friendly landlady was kept abreast of the romance that was growing like a hothouse plant and she strongly approved of the handsome young man with his undoubted talent and his business.

  Matt lived in the house adjoining the yard with his mother and Carol seemed as happy about their fast-growing relationship as Faith and Matt were. The house became Faith’s second home and her landlady Mrs Porter visited with her as though they were one big family of friends. Determinedly putting aside her worries, Faith thought she couldn’t be happier.

  She just had to be careful not to stay and talk to anyone for too long. Jealousy was an unpleasant trait and one she found difficult to deal with when it reared its ugly head. Only Carol’s reassurances stopped her from ending the relationship and moving on, that and the persistent dream of belonging.

  Then Matt’s increasing desire became a problem. She had fears of becoming pregnant, and no amount of persuasion on his part could change her mind, until he mentioned marriage. Her dream was about to come true, she would marry, have children and Matt’s family would become hers too.

  In May 1959, they made love for the first time in his mother’s house while Carol and Mrs Porter were at the spring sales.

  ‘Committed to each other we are. Now and for ever,’ he murmured, but she was still afraid. He had been forceful and almost rough towards the end and she had succumbed as much from fear as from love. It made her unhappy, not a little frightened, but not having previous experience, she decided it must be the same for every woman, that magazine love stories were fantasies. Like her memories of Barry, where the sun always shone, they were not real life.

  She spoke of her doubts to Mrs Porter, who encouraged Carol to talk about her son, delicately asking if there was a danger of violence.

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bsp; ‘Matt is a wonderful son,’ Carol told her. ‘There has never been anything to make me feel anything else but proud. He would do anything necessary to make sure Faith is happy.’

  Reassured, Mrs Porter told Faith there was nothing to fear. ‘He’s a wonderfully caring son and I always think that’s a good reliable sign, don’t you, dear?’

  Six weeks later, in mid-June, Faith began to be anxious. A visit to a doctor confirmed her worries. She was expecting a child. Telling Matt was not something she relished. Would he lose his temper with her? Call her a cheat? Accuse her of trying to trap him like some women she had heard about? Fearing his anger she told Carol first and Carol burst into tears.

  ‘Oh, Faith, dear! He’ll be so delighted.’ She eased the way by saying, ‘Matt, Faith has something important to tell you,’ then she slipped out of the room and stayed out for almost an hour.

  She was right about Matt’s reaction. He was thrilled and looked at her with such a loving look in those dark fascinating eyes that she forgot every doubt, until he said, ‘You must move in with me so Mam and I can look after you. We have to get married straight away.’ Then doubts crept back. The dream was far from perfect. She still found his affection tainted with a forcefulness that frightened her. There were still instances of unreasonable jealousy. Displays of temper when someone didn’t please him were rare but alarming.

  Carol added her pleading to Matt’s and promised her a room of her own if that was what she wished. Carol decorated it prettily in pink and cream and in November, when, at six months she could no longer hide the truth, she regretfully left Mrs Porter’s comfortable room and moved in with Matt and Carol. She refused to name a date for the wedding, promising that she would make a decision soon. Deep inside her was the ever present urge to run away again, but with a baby it was no longer possible. Running away was not a solution, not any more, even though the dream was beginning to turn sour. Love or fear, this time she had to stay and face what life had in store for her.