The Emerald Valley (30 page)

‘I'd like you to come home with me, Huw,' she said.

There was silence in the room, which the minister eventually broke:

‘Well, my boy, and what do you say to that?'

The boy shrugged, his shoulders tightening so that he looked like a taut trip-wire. ‘I want to go home.'

‘But there's no one there to look after you,' the minister said gently.

Another shrug. ‘Don't need anyone. I want to go home!'

Cautiously Amy went towards him. ‘Huw …'

He took a step back, glaring at her.

‘Huw,' the minister intervened. ‘Don't be a silly boy, now. Mrs Roberts is being very kind. You don't know how lucky you are to have someone willing to take responsibility for you. Come now!'

But still there was no response.

‘Leave me to talk to him, Amy,' the minister said quietly. ‘I'm sure that in a day or two he'll come round and have the good sense to be grateful. You go ahead and make the necessary arrangements at your end and leave the rest to me.'

Amy nodded, glad that the interview was at an end.

But as she left the Manse she remembered that what could be the most awkward confrontation was still to come She had yet to tell Charlotte – and she simply had no idea how to begin.

Climbing the hill to Greenslade Terrace, she tried to compose different openings in her imagination, but none sounded convincing. And she didn't know whether to be relieved or sorry when a somewhat disgruntled Charlotte raised the subject herself almost as soon as she got inside the door.

‘Amy – Peggy's just come back from Hillsbridge with the most ridiculous story. How it got started, I don't know, but Peggy heard a tale that you had been to see Mrs Moon and offered to take that Welsh boy off her hands.'

Amy flushed. ‘Yes. Mam – I want to talk to you.'

‘Talk to me? What about? Amy – you're not saying there's any truth in it, surely?'

‘Yes, Mam, there is …'

‘Amy, for the Lord's sake! What could you do?'

‘Mam, listen! He wasn't at Mrs Moon's any more; she couldn't keep him there – or wouldn't. The minister's wife was looking after him for the time being, while they tried to find out whether he had any family back in Wales. But it seems there is no one, and they had decided to send him to one of these so-called Industrial Schools, where they send bad boys to be taught a lesson.'

‘You mean like a prison?' Charlotte said. ‘Well, it's awful, I grant you that, but it's nothing to do with you, Amy. You've got enough on your plate.'

‘It is to do with me, Mam,' Amy said and Charlotte moved impatiently.

‘Whatever are you talking about, Amy? What could it have to do with you?'

Amy looked around the familiar room. On his sofa, James was ‘snooging'the afternoon away, Harry was nowhere in evidence – Amy guessed he was out with Margaret Young again, doing something for the Labour Party – and the children were outside playing in the Rank, their eager shouts confirming that they were well and truly occupied.

There would never be a better opportunity than now.

Charlotte was pulling an aggressive face and Amy sighed.

‘Mam, put the kettle on, will you? There's a lot to tell, and it will go down a darn sight better with a cup of tea.'

Her tone told Charlotte she was serious and with a narrow look at her daughter, she did as she was bid. Then, over a cup of her strongest, sweetest brew, Amy brought her up to date on the story, sparing no details. When she had finished she looked up warily, longing for – and half-expecting – Charlotte's support. But there she was to be disappointed.

‘Well, Amy, I don't know what to say, I'm sure,' her mother said at last. ‘It's a pretty kettle of fish and no mistake!'

‘But you do see, don't you, that I've got to do something?' Amy pressed her. ‘I can't let that poor little boy be taken into a reform school. I feel guilty enough as it is.'

‘Guilty? Why should
you
feel guilty?' Charlotte demanded.

‘Packing her off like I did. I wouldn't even listen.'

‘Well, of course you wouldn't, I wouldn't have, I know!'

‘But she was ill. I could see she was ill and I didn't even give her a cup of tea. And then the storm, came and I suppose getting soaked through was like the last straw. If it hadn't been for that, she might be alive today; that's what I can't forget.'

‘Don't talk silly, Amy,' Charlotte reprimanded. ‘You weren't to know. And you can't go taking on somebody else's child just because of that.'

‘Not someone else's child. Llew's.'

‘You don't know that, you've only got her word for it. Mrs Roberts said she was a real flibbertijibbet. Now, put it out of your mind, do!'

‘I can't,' Amy said, and recognising her stubborn expression, Charlotte's heart sank.

‘Be sensible!' she tried again. ‘You couldn't cope with him on your own, Amy. A boy needs a man around the place. It's not just now that you've got to think of. It's when he gets older; he might be ever such a naughty boy … with a mother like that …'

‘I could make him know,' said Amy. ‘And if he got really out of hand I could get our Jim to have a go at him – or even Harry. Harry's growing up now.'

Charlotte pulled a face.

‘And what about the money side of it? Boys are expensive – I should know! They eat you out of house and home and their clothes don't last five minutes. I shall never forget our Ted – wore his best Sunday-going suit across the field once when he was supposed to be at chapel, got it muddy and washed it out in the river! That's the sort of thing you have to expect with boys.'

Amy said nothing and Charlotte pressed on:

‘Money doesn't grow on trees, Amy, and you want to be able to keep a good table and keep the girls looking nice. And you don't know yet whether you're going to be able to make the business pay.'

‘I shall have to sell the house,' Amy said.

‘What?' Charlotte banged down her cup. ‘Sell the house? Amy – you can't do that!'

‘I shall have to,' Amy said in the same calm, stubborn voice. ‘Oh, not just because of the boy. I've been thinking about it anyway. If I could get a smaller place, it would give me a bit of capital to play with while I'm trying to get the business sorted out.'

‘But Amy, it's such a nice place – and you've got it lovely! Oh, you don't want to sell the house!' Charlotte sounded really distressed.

‘No, I don't want to, but I haven't much choice,' Amy said. ‘Don't go on about it, Mam – you only make it worse.'

‘Well, where would you go? I couldn't have you here – not with your Dad …'

‘I wouldn't think of it; you do enough. And you needn't think that if they let me have the boy that would mean extra work for you, either. I've already thought of that. When he's not at school, he can come to the yard with me; he'll be useful as he gets older.'

‘Well, Amy, it sounds to me as if you've made up your mind. I don't know why you came here asking me …' Charlotte sounded faintly huffy.

‘I didn't ask you, Mam,' Amy said quietly. ‘I just wanted to let you know what I'm going to do. And I hoped you might approve.'

‘Well, I shan't, Amy. I can't approve of something like this. You're worrying me to death, I don't mind telling you.'

Amy stood up. ‘I'm sorry you see it like that, Mam. You always brought us up to do what we think is right, even if it isn't the easy way, and that's what I'm doing.'

‘Amy …' Charlotte rose too, distressed. ‘I'm only thinking of your good.'

‘Look, Mam.' There was a slight tremble in Amy's voice. ‘I don't honestly think you've got any idea how I feel. You've been lucky; you've had Dad thirty years. I only had Llew for five and it wasn't enough. I loved him and now he's gone. I've got to hang on to him any way I can. That's why I must keep the business going, whatever it costs me. It's like keeping part of Llew alive. And I've got to do what he would have wanted me to do.'

‘But he wouldn't have expected this! He wouldn't have wanted you to take on …'

‘Mam!' Amy said warningly.

Charlotte shook her head, tired suddenly.

‘Well, I don't know what your Dad's going to say, I'm sure. It'll finish him, this will. He'll never stand it …'

The back door slammed. Harry!

‘It's time we were going,' Amy said hastily, suddenly unable to face any more.

She collected the girls' things together, made them kiss their Granny and Grampie and when Uncle Harry swung them high in the air as they always begged him to, she laughed at their squeals of delight. But out in the Rank the depression weighed down on her so that she felt like crying.

If only Mam had given her one word of encouragement! If only she had said, ‘Yes, Amy, you are doing the right thing.' But she hadn't, and Amy knew she would not. Oh, she might come around sufficiently to offer some concrete help, but it was moral support Amy wanted just now more than anything else – someone to talk things over with and help her think of solutions, not place obstacles in her path.

That evening, when she had put the children to bed, the worries which had beset her ever since she reached her decision were still swimming round and round inside her head.

What effect was it going to have on Barbara and Maureen to have the boy in the house? she wondered anxiously. She would have less time for them by the time she had cared for the boy too, and money would be even more scarce for she couldn't see that she could expect financial help from any outside source, especially if eventually she was able to adopt Huw legally.

The only solution would be the one she had mentioned to Charlotte – sell the house and find somewhere cheaper. But another house would still have to have three bedrooms; Huw couldn't share a room with the girls.

I hope he won't be a bad influence on them, she worried. It was all very well to dismiss it blithely when Charlotte suggested he might be a bad boy, but quite another to still the doubts in her own heart. Huw had a look about him that was both wild and stubborn, the look of a boy who was worldly wise and, judging by what she could remember of his mother, Amy doubted he had ever been disciplined in his life.

Supposing he turned out to be a liar, a cheat, a thief? How would she handle him – and what sort of redress would she have if she failed?

And leaving aside the big issues – the things so overwhelming that it was almost pointless to spend time and energy worrying about them – what about the small day-to-day problems such as his schooling, his clothes, what time she should make him go to bed, even?

Bringing up your own children was one thing. You learned as you went along. But a boy of seven or eight … the list of problems both moral and practical was endless … and daunting.

Preferring action to worrying, once the children were settled Amy decided to prepare the spare room in readiness for Huw.

It was the small front room next to her own, and since they had occupied the house it had become a kind of glory-hole. It was furnished, yes, but anything for which there was no obvious home found its way into the spare room. Her own out-of-season clothes filled the small wardrobe, the drawers of the small dressing-table provided storage space for keepsakes, articles of bed-linen which had been wedding presents and never yet used, some rag dolls she had bought at a bazaar for the children's Christmas presents and a host of other odds and ends. Amy sorted them, trying to be methodical, but it was difficult to keep her mind on the job. Huw had nothing to put into the empty drawers – nothing – and the emptiness was frightening. But she couldn't expect him to occupy a room full of other people's possessions.

And what to do with it all?

It will have to go into the attic for the time being, Amy decided. Until we move. Then there will have to be an almighty turnout and a lot of it will have to go.

Somehow the thought was the trigger for her pent-up emotions. It was weeks now since Amy had cried – there simply hadn't been time. Now, sitting in the jumble of possessions she and Llew had accumulated, despair over-came her once more and so suddenly she was powerless to combat it.

What will I do? How can I do it alone? I don't know. I don't know …

She sobbed, her hand stuffed into her mouth so as not to disturb the children. Then after a while she regained control of herself and began sorting again, though the tears still streamed down her cheeks.

And then, at the back of the wardrobe, she found it.

My teddy bear! she thought, pulling out the battered toy. One ear was almost gone – Barbara had found the teddy once when she was a baby and chewed it before Amy could take it away from her and hide it again, but it was still unmistakably the bear of her own childhood and as she looked at it the years seemed to roll away.

Just nine years old she had been, not much older than Huw was now, when she had been given the bear. She had had a terrible accident – fallen backwards into a tub of boiling water which had been drawn to bath the baby in the Clements'house next door to her old home in Greenslade Terrace. The scalding had been dreadful – parboiled more than scalded, the doctor had said – and even now the memory of the screaming pain made her wince. As if in a dream, she could remember the things they had said about it when they thought she could not hear: that she might not survive because of the danger of infection, and that if she did she might not walk again.

At the time she hadn't cared. She had been unable to think beyond pain, which had reached unbearable proportions when her dressings were changed daily – clean washed sheeting to cover the raw patches, carron oil to help it heal. The one thing which had made it all bearable had been the doctor, Oliver Scott. He was young, much younger than any other doctor she had ever known, and so kind. She had fallen in love with him, heart and soul. Each day she had waited for his visit, thinking not of the painful dressing change to come but of his pale, good-looking face, his freckled forearms and the way his eyes seemed to disappear into creases when he smiled. He had sat with her much longer than he should – ‘neglecting my other patients, but who cares?' he had said to her once – so in her nine-year-old heart she had been sure he loved her too.