The Runaway Page 5

  It wasn’t long before the disappearance of Faith led to the story from 1949 being revived. Matt and Carol were interviewed by social workers and the police, and they blamed Faith. Anxiety was tinged with anger at the trouble and embarrassment her disappearance had caused. The police explained that if they should find Faith, they had no reason to persuade her to come back.

  ‘We believe she left on a bus, which took her to Dinas Powys, where she posted a letter to her friend Winnie, but which didn’t explain her absence. Several people saw her up to the time she boarded the Dinas Powys bus, but we haven’t yet learned where she went from there.’ He stared at Matt. ‘A quarrel, maybe?’

  ‘No, there’s nothing.’ He patted his plastered leg. ‘I was just home from hospital.’

  ‘Perhaps you’ll think of something, sir. It’s rare for a mother to walk away from her baby without a reason or at least an explanation. But as far as we know, we think it unlikely there was a sinister reason for her disappearance. It was all carefully planned.’

  Matt locked himself in his workshop and concentrated on fulfilling his orders. At first his fingers were careless, but then he calmed down and did his best work, trying to lose his frustration and ease the pain.

  Unencumbered by heavy luggage, Faith had walked a little way, then got on a bus. She stopped at Dinas Powys to post cards to Mrs Porter and Winnie, then went on to Cardiff. She was tired and filled with the desire to cry. Forcing herself to hold back from giving in to her grief she stayed fairly calm until she was on the train back to Barry. Then tears ran down her cheeks and she hid them behind a magazine she had bought. If any one noticed, no one asked what was the matter and she was grateful for that. She had booked into a hotel on the seafront, a short walk from the station and she went straight to her room.

  She planned to stay there for a few days to recuperate, after which she hoped to start working for a Mrs Rebecca Thomas, in the role of housekeeper and companion. She had only spoken to the lady on the telephone, arranging for a week’s trial on both sides, but felt hopeful of being accepted once they had met and her qualifications had been examined. For now, all she wanted was to cry until she fell asleep.

  Breakfast at the hotel was served in a small dining room where four tables were set with white cloths and gleaming cutlery and glasses. She wasn’t hungry but knew she ought to eat something. She was still weak after the birth. Several people came in and greeted each other, obviously regulars or even permanent guests. A man about her own age came in, carrying a large briefcase. Each table was occupied by at least one person and he came across and asked if he could join her.

  ‘If you’re sure you don’t mind?’ he said. She gestured to the chair across from her and he put his briefcase on the window ledge. ‘Thanks. You’ve saved me from working through the meal, a very bad habit. Much nicer to talk.’ Faith didn’t reply. She didn’t want to talk to a stranger, she was too near to tears for that.

  He seemed aware of her reluctance without anything being said and, apart from a smile as he accepted bread from the plate she passed, he stared through the window. When he stood to leave, he said, ‘If you’re a stranger here, you’ll find the town a pleasant one. A walk along the front is relaxing, and the town has all you might need.’

  Ashamed of her rudeness she smiled and thanked him. Unable to explain, she said, ‘I’ll enjoy exploring.’

  ‘Good luck,’ he said, adding. ‘I’m Ian Day.’ To which she didn’t reply, but just offered the faintest of smiles in return.

  He stood searching in his pockets, presumably for car keys, and she was able to study him. He had a boyish look, blue eyes with a disconcertingly curious stare, his fair hair was straight and shorter than most wore it. He was about six feet tall and walked upright, proud of his height. Shoulders back, he strode out of the room with a confident air, waving to a few guests as he passed them. Ex-Army perhaps, she wondered?

  He stopped at the entrance and from his over-stuffed briefcase took out two folders. She watched curiously, trying to guess what his occupation might be. Then she pushed thoughts of him aside. This was a hotel and she was staying only two more nights, so it was unlikely she would see him again.

  Out of season, Barry was still a busy town. New houses were being built and the population was growing, but she knew that during the summer months the place would be crowded with holidaymakers and day-trippers, all intent on having fun. It was the last place Matt would expect to find her, a perfect place in which to hide, filled with strangers and large enough for her not to be noticed, specially after today, when she planned a visit to a hairdresser to have her long hair cut into a short, face-hugging style.

  After having her hair cut she walked along the promenade. It was February but the air was still redolent with the remembered smells of summer. Rows of shops, closed now but promising tasty treats, from fish-and-chip meals to joky sweets made of seaside rock; others offered gifts and postcards showing views or saucy pictures. But that was all in the future. Today, in February, the area was quiet, her footsteps sounding unnaturally loud in the calm air, punctuated occasionally by the sad wailing calls of the gulls.

  The man called Ian Day was there again the following morning. He came and sat down with his head tilted in a silent request. This time she smiled and said, ‘Please, join me if you wish.’

  ‘I wish,’ he said cheerfully. ‘My, you look different. What happened to your long curls?’

  ‘It was time for a change,’ she said, and her voice discouraged further comment.

  ‘Have you seen much of the town yet?’ he asked as their meal was placed in front of them.

  ‘A little. I spent yesterday walking around the local beaches and later the town.’ She didn’t tell him that she had lived there for months or that she had bought a surprising amount of clothing. Having left everything behind apart from what she had crammed into her small suitcase she had needed replenishments. She had bought what was necessary to prepare herself for the job that awaited her on the following day.

  Ian went home thinking about the brief encounter. She was deeply unhappy, that much was obvious. He had recognized another victim like himself and wondered whether a broken romance was the reason she was sad too. His mother, Vivienne opened the door to allow the delicious smell of cooking to escape.

  ‘What’s wrong, dear?’ she asked, seeing his serious expression as she placed the plates on the table.

  ‘Nothing really, it’s just that I’ve been feeling sad and today I realized I’m not the only one to have had a disappointment.’ He told her about the unhappy woman he had met earlier. ‘Another romance gone wrong, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Oh, you’re clever! Mind-reader as well as brilliant salesman!’

  ‘And I bet she doesn’t go home to a meal as good as this one!’

  On her last morning at the hotel, Faith didn’t wait for breakfast but left by taxi before serving began. It was unlikely that Matt would look for her here but the fewer people she spoke to the better. He would probably expect her to have travelled miles away and found work as a teacher, certainly not as a housekeeper companion, and in the same town, so she felt reasonably safe. But there was no point taking unnecessary risks. Her employer, Mrs Thomas, wasn’t expecting her until after lunch but Faith thought she wouldn’t mind her arriving a little earlier than planned. She still felt weak and didn’t fancy wandering around laden with her baggage for hours.

  Mrs Rebecca Thomas was a small, slim person with a constant frown on her face. She suffered from arthritis and Faith guessed she was in considerable pain. She spoke abruptly and at first Faith found it irritating to be treated like an idiot, having to listen to her employer explain the way she wanted things done in minute detail. As days passed she became used to it and waited calmly for the lecture to end, after which she did what was required with very few complaints.

  She gathered from Sophie, the woman who came in to clean twice each week, that Mrs Thomas had difficulty keeping the small staff she required.
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  ‘Not used to it you see,’ Sophie explained in a whisper. ‘Not brought up to it, like. Now my other ladies they don’t have any trouble, they know what’s needed and once they sort out who does what they leave it to the staff to sort between them. Now Mrs Thomas, she’s unsure of herself if you ask me, so she overdoes the ordering about and people won’t stand for it, see.’

  ‘I’ll try to make allowances,’ Faith said solemnly. ‘You’re very understanding, Sophie.’

  ‘You have to be, in this job,’ Sophie said, ‘I threaten to leave sometimes, when she gets a bit much to cope with, and remind her she’s lucky to have me.’

  ‘I’m sure she knows that.’ Faith tried not to smile.

  The work of running the home and keeping Mrs Thomas company between times was not arduous. She did some shopping, using only the nearby corner shops and became known to the shopkeepers as a quiet person unwilling to stay and chat and satisfy their curiosity. She joined the library, choosing books for her personal enjoyment as well as others which she read to Mrs Thomas.

  Outwardly she was relaxed and content. She hid her grief well. Walking away from Matt and Carol, and Winnie, seemed to belong to a previous life or a half-remembered dream, except for the moment when she had signed away all rights to her child. The worst time was last thing at night when she waited for sleep to claim her. That was when visions of a baby came to torment her. She saw a child who was sometimes upset and crying as she leaned over her little girl’s cot. The worst times were half-waking dreams when she saw Matt looking down at the baby, grief distorting his dark eyes. Those dreams brought guilt as well as tears.

  Surely he wouldn’t have been allowed to keep the child? She knew she had been cruel by not registering the child in Matt’s name. She had lied, and had explained that she had been only a lodger there until she could find a place for herself and her child, that talk of marriage was no more than Matt’s optimistic hope. Her decision not to keep the child had made circumstances change and the child would now go to foster-parents until an adoption could be arranged.

  She felt waves of guilt that cut into her heart like knives as she thought of her own experiences but hoped and believed that today things would be more carefully monitored and the little girl who was her daughter would be placed with a loving family. She had to believe that or she would lose her mind.

  If only she weren’t so alone. She thought of her sister, building up an imaginary picture of her, smiling, words of sympathy issuing from a face almost identical to her own. Her life had been separated into stages, but the birth and her latest cowardly escape was definitely the worst. The time with Matt and all that had happened before, was over. This was a lull before what would happen next. Would the new stage be the one in which she found her sister, Joy?

  If by some miracle we find each other, what would she think of me, abandoning my daughter after the miseries of my own childhood? Perhaps she would turn and walk away again. That thought, together with imaginary pictures of her baby, meant another sleepless night.

  chapter three

  Mrs Thomas had help around the house for many of the routine duties and Faith found that she was expected mainly to make sure their work was satisfactory. Apart from this there were the evenings when she and Mrs Thomas listened to music or watched the television and the afternoons when she read to her for an hour.

  Faith dealt with the shopping and chose the menus for the meals, which she often cooked when the woman employed for that pleasant task was unable to come in. Gradually, as the weeks passed, the cooking became one of her regular tasks as the cook became less and less reliable and eventually gave up altogether. Faith didn’t mind this but secretly hoped that she wouldn’t be given more work if the cleaners left!

  The one potential problem was Mrs Thomas’s so far unseen son, Samuel. He phoned often and each time the call left her employer subdued and clearly upset. Faith dreaded meeting him. From the little Mrs Thomas had told her about her son, she gathered that Samuel did not approve of her caring for his mother, even though they hadn’t met. He wanted Mrs Thomas to move into a retirement home, something his mother refused to consider. ‘While I have you to look after me,’ she told Faith on one occasion, ‘I can continue to live in this house which has been my home for more than fifty years.’

  There weren’t many callers and Faith spoke to few people. She was afraid to go out, apart from the necessary shopping trips, for fear of meeting someone who would tell Matt where to find her. She longed to talk to Winnie, but as Winnie lived close to Matt and his mother, that wasn’t possible.

  As spring opened up the countryside with flowers and leaves began to clothe the trees she spent much of her spare time walking, staying far away from the houses, through the fields to Dinas Powys, where she avoided looking at the house where she had lived out part of her sad childhood, or across the fields through Cadoxton to Coldbrook and Merthyr Dyfan.

  Fickle spring gave way to summer and more and more people were out enjoying the strengthening sun. Faith’s arms ached to hold her child when she watched with painful regret as families piled on to the buses heading for the beach, loaded with buckets and spades and baskets covered with white cloths that obviously held picnic food. The regret was for the thought that she would never belong to one of such lively and excited groups.

  The loss of her daughter had been necessary but it was a loss nevertheless and a continuing sadness. She’d had no choice. What might the little girl have inherited? Being brought up without the presence of Matt must reduce the chances of her inheriting his evil ways. She frequently wondered whether her decision had been the right one, but the thought of what the child might have inherited and which, if she’d been allowed to grow up in that house, might have displayed itself, soon reassured her that, agonizing as it was for her to live with, day after day, there had been no alternative but to walk away.

  The beautiful sandy beach attracted huge crowds, even now, when holidays abroad were tempting more and more people away from the traditional vacations. She would have loved to wander along the promenade and watch others having fun, but too many people came to Whitmore Bay and the risk of being seen and having to face Matt again made that an impossible dream. So her lonely travels continued to take her through the quiet countryside.

  Tempted once or twice, she went to the beach at the end of the day and watched tired families gathering their belongings and mothers coaxing the weary children towards the bus and railway stations. A child was crying, that grizzly cry of a tired child, and she longed to pick her up and carry her. She turned away and walked to the next bay which was already empty of its day’s visitors and looked as forlorn as she felt. She sat on a rock, arms hugging her knees, and stared as the tide crept in, obliterating every sign of the day’s activities.

  The long walks were an attempt to tire herself and make sleep come more easily, but every night she relived the agonizing memories of losing her child. She saw a baby in a cot, or a pram, often crying, although she never saw the face clearly. In her imagination the tiny child always lay with her back to her, the face impossible to imagine, and the distress was heartbreaking.

  Vivienne Day was in the garden of her son’s house one day, pulling up a few weeds, when she saw Tessa approaching. She watched as the young woman walked past, then stood looking up at the house, windows shining, curtains blowing gently in a breeze, and at the newly painted front door and neat garden. Vivienne could see the pangs of regret on her face. She had heard rumours that Tessa and Nick were far from happy.

  She didn’t speak, hoping the girl would walk away before seeing her. She dreaded her son giving their broken romance another try, Tessa could no longer be trusted, having left Ian once Vivienne would always be afraid the disaster would be repeated. Besides, even in this changing world ending a marriage wasn’t that simple. Better Ian found someone else.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Day,’ Tessa called, a smile masking her previous sad expression.

  ‘Oh, hello, Tessa. I didn�
�t see you there.’ She made a pretence of going in but Tessa called her back.

  ‘How are you? How is Ian?’

  ‘I’m fine and Ian is more than happy, thank you.’

  ‘The house looks lovely. I do regret what happened,’ Tessa said, stepping closer.

  ‘I’m sure you do.’ Vivienne was determined not to invite her in.

  ‘Nick isn’t as caring as Ian. He’s been seeing someone else,’ Tessa went on.

  ‘I’m sorry about that, Tessa, but we make our bed and have to lie on it.’

  ‘What a daft expression. If the bed was uncomfortable I’d get up and remake it!’

  ‘Not always possible, is it?’

  ‘I’m so bored with Nick’s parents and with Nick’s ego.’

  ‘You made your choice and …’ To her dismay a car turned the corner. Seeing her son, Vivienne said firmly. ‘Goodbye. I have to go, Ian will want some lunch.’ She stared until the girl turned and walked away.

  ‘What did she want?’ Ian asked as he took off his jacket.

  ‘Just nosing, seeing what you’ve done on the house. It seems Nick and she aren’t happy. I heard rumours about a barmaid,’ she said as she bustled about the kitchen.

  ‘Yes, I heard that too. Poor Tessa. She’s very unhappy.’ She could see he was affected by her distress. ‘I still feel something for her, you know.’

  ‘I know, dear, but stay away. You can never trust her again.’

  ‘We were together practically all our lives.’

  ‘What you’re feeling is sympathy for someone in trouble, that’s very different from love. No more than the sympathy you felt for the woman at the hotel.’

  ‘I wonder whether her problem was a broken heart, too?’

  ‘Yours was bruised, dear, but not broken.’

  With summer in its full glory, the town was bursting at the seams with visitors and day-trippers. Gaining confidence, Faith decided to risk getting in touch with Winnie. Phoning was risky as Winnie’s husband, Paul, worked shifts in a local factory but she picked up the phone at a quarter past nine, when Winnie would be back from taking the three children to school, and was lucky first time.