The Emerald Valley (41 page)

‘Oh, but he didn't. I sacked him!'

‘Oh, but …' Amy was at a loss again. Typical, of course, that the two protagonists should differ in their accounts of what had happened. But hadn't Ollie Griffin told her a whole week earlier that he intended leaving Ralph Porter's employ at the first opportunity?

‘I sacked him,' Ralph Porter went on, ‘for a number of reasons. He is unreliable, he is not as honest as he might be, he has a loud mouth and he is overweeningly vain. Little things taken on their own, maybe, but add them all together and the man becomes a total liability, not worth the cost of the packet you put his wages in. Besides all that, he's a womaniser and I don't think you should trust him.'

‘You don't? Well, I'm touched by your concern,' Amy said haughtily.

Ralph Porter swore. ‘Dammit, woman, I'm trying to warn you for your own good.'

Now the devil was up in Amy.

‘Are you sure you're not simply put out because Ollie Griffin prefers to work for me instead of you? Isn't this all sour grapes?'

‘Well, if you want to take it like that, there's nothing I can do about it,' Ralph Porter said casually.

‘I'm glad you realise that,' Amy replied sweetly.

‘There is one thing I can do, though. I can stipulate that I do not want that man on my premises again. Either you send another driver or you can consider the contract cancelled.'

She gazed at him open-mouthed, but before any words would come he lowered his voice. ‘And remember what I say. Don't trust him, Amy! Especially try not to be on your own with him.'

He turned then, so abruptly that he almost overturned the small three-legged oil heater that provided the only heat in the office; he banged out and a moment later Amy heard the distinctive Morgan engine roar into life.

She remained staring into the yard long after the Morgan had disappeared from view, trembling all over.

How dare he come here and tell her how to run her business! It was just like him, of course, and she supposed he had every right to veto a driver she might send to his premises, ridiculous though it seemed. But as for telling her who she should and should not employ – well, it was brass-necked nerve. Though there had been something rather different in the way he had finished his warning about Ollie. He had not really sounded arrogant – more concerned. And for the first time he had called her Amy, not Mrs Roberts.

Amy felt the sharp, treacherous corkscrew twist deep within her and strengthened her resolve. He had no right to come here and tell her what to do. Who did he think he was? But she would love to know which version of the parting of the ways was the correct one.

Did he jump or was he pushed? she wondered wryly.

Well, whichever, she would have to eat humble pie and ask Herbie to do the timber run tomorrow. She could not afford to lose Ralph Porter's contract over something so trivial. And she didn't actually like Ollie Griffin, anyway. He might well be dishonest, ready to do his eye good as Mam would put it, and she had no doubt he was more likely to be out for himself than to be loyal. But that did not give Ralph Porter the right to come barging in here with ultimatums.

He was an arrogant, conceited, bossy man and Amy was very glad she had let him know exactly what she thought of him.

Another week passed and Christmas was now uppermost in everyone's mind. Money was still scarce, but then it had never been exactly plentiful in Hillsbridge except for the lucky few, and families made poor by the long, hard struggle and the continuing shortage of work were determined to forget their troubles and celebrate.

Fattened fowls were killed, drawn and plucked. Plum puddings – which ought to have been made in the autumn, but had been neglected because of the strike – were hastily stirred, wrapped and boiled in the washhouse coppers, and the boys who had so recently been picking illicit coal off the batches were now sent out to hunt for holly and mistletoe.

‘When can we put up the decorations, Mummy?' Barbara asked eagerly and Amy dragged out the step-ladder and sent Huw into the attic for the big cardboard box that contained the baubles, tinsel and lanterns.

‘They're squashed!' Barbara complained, pulling out a handful of crumpled paper-chains.

‘Well, you can always make some more. I'll get you some new strips and glue tomorrow,' Amy promised. The sight of the decorations was opening up the well of misery inside her again. Each and every one of the decorations was stirring a special memory – poignant reminders of happier times now gone for ever.

‘Can we have a tree?' Barbara squealed, unearthing the Christmas angel who always sat on the topmost branch while Maureen, diving into the box beside her, pulled out one of the little candle-holders with the opaque sides that lit the tree with red, blue and green light.

‘Look – look! Pretty!'

‘Be careful. Those break easily!' Amy warned, snatching it from her, but too late to prevent her from pushing in one of the red glass sides.

‘But can we have a tree!' Barbara clamoured.
‘Can
we?'

‘Oh, I don't know! Daddy always got the tree!' Amy snapped.

The girls subsided, looking at her with glum faces and Amy felt ashamed of herself for yelling. But as she had said, getting the tree was something Llew had always done. She had no idea when she would find the time to organise it – and anyway the very thought made her so utterly miserable.

‘Look, here's Father Christmas!' she said, trying to make amends by pulling out a shiny red ornament with cotton-wool-trimmed cap; the girls fell on it, their disappointment about the tree momentarily forgotten.

Huw was standing to one side, however, kicking at the chair and looking glum and a little left out.

I'm not the only one with memories of other Christmases, Amy reminded herself.

‘What do you like to do best at Christmas, Huw?' she asked.

The faraway look extended to his eyes. ‘Sing carols,' he said.

Sing carols! Of course. The Welsh in him would make him love to sing, but Amy could not remember hearing him utter one note since he had come into her home. She forced herself to draw a mental picture of what it had been like for him.

‘Did you have a piano?' she asked.

He shook his head.

‘You sang with your Mam and Dad?'

‘No!' His voice was scornful. ‘With my mates.'

‘Oh, I see.' Carol singing with his mates, door to door.

Christmas is coming, the geese are getting fat.
Please to put a penny in the old man's hat.
If you haven't got a penny, a ha'penny will do,
If you haven't got a ha'penny, God bless you!

Well, he couldn't do that here. He had made a few friends, it was true, boys of his own age whom he'd met at school, scrapped with and then formed an alliance, but carol singing door to door was something Charlotte had always frowned on and Amy was inclined to agree with her. It was just another form of begging, after all, and the Hall and Roberts families did not go out begging – at least, not if the, womenfolk knew anything about it.

But carol singing around the piano in the front room could be fun. I must remind Mam, Amy thought, and make sure we have a session some time this Christmas. The thought of a sing-song evoked other memories of Christmases much longer ago, when Amy had been no older than the children were now, and she felt a little better.

With only a few days to go now to the great day, the schools had broken up. As always, Amy took Barbara and Maureen up to Mam in Greenslade Terrace before going to the yard, but Huw was more of a problem. She did not like to leave him running around at home – although he had never attempted to run away again, it was still a constant worry nagging away at the back of her mind – and had long ago promised Mam not to worry her with him. If Dolly had not been so heavily pregnant, Huw could have spent some time with her boys, Amy thought, but Dolly's due date was fast approaching and her own two boys sometimes seemed to be too much for her, without adding Huw as a third. As for Jim and Sara's Alex, he was rather too old to want Huw around. So most days Amy took the boy to the yard with her. He could watch the trains from there, or go up to the mill and watch the sacks of grain go up and down in the hoist – and once the lorries were back, she could get Herbie to find odd jobs to occupy him.

Considering Huw's rebellious nature, she was surprised how good he was when at the yard, as if going through the gates took him into a different world and the cares of his young life dropped away.

The day before Christmas Eve was cold, dank and unseasonal, but at least it was not actually raining. While she settled herself to doing the last of the book-keeping before the break, Amy suggested to Huw that he might go out to look for holly and mistletoe to complete the decorations at home.

‘The bits with the best berries have probably already gone,' she said. ‘But you should be able to find some if you go along the lanes.'

‘Can I see if Conrad Tucker wants to come with me?' Huw asked.

Amy pulled a face. Conrad Tucker lived in the next rank up from Batch Row and was not exactly the friend she would have chosen for Huw, but that applied to all the boys he had selected as chums, and if they were the ones he felt at home with, Amy didn't feel she could isolate him by laying down the law about it. Better to ease him away from them gently as he got older.

‘All right – so long as you don't get up to any mischief,' she warned. ‘Keep off the railway line – and for heaven's sake don't go on private property!'

When he had gone she sat day-dreaming for a few minutes about the present she had bought for him – an extra-special penknife with all the latest attachments. He could have done with it to cut the holly instead of his old rather blunt blade, she thought, and enjoyed picturing his face when he unwrapped the gift on Christmas morning. Then, with an effort, she dragged her mind back, to the business. Get today over and then she could really concentrate on Christmas.

Lunchtime came and went, announced by works hooters, and Huw did not return. Amy was surprised but not worried. There was a packet of sandwiches and an apple waiting here for him, but she could imagine him preferring to share a doorstep of bread and dripping with Conrad. When they got together boys had no idea of time – unless their tummies acted as clocks.

By mid-afternoon, though, with dusk closing in mistily, she was beginning to grow anxious, unable to concentrate on her work as she constantly scanned the gathering gloom for a glimpse of the still-skinny figure.

He had not returned when the first of the lorries rolled back into the yard – Ollie Griffin and Arty, back from the gravel run. Since Ralph Porter's visit she had been forced to change them around but it was a constant thorn in her side. The gravel lorry was invariably back first and when Herbie had been doing it, he had then had time to take care of any, odd jobs about the yard before it got dark. Ollie didn't do that. Oh, he did anything she asked him to, it was true, but she was never convinced he had not found a quick way around it and he failed to see and deal with things himself as Herbie did. No, a week or so of Ollie's work and she was beginning to see what Ralph Porter had meant about him being shifty and lazy.

But perhaps I'm being unfair, she told herself. He may still be working his way in …

She glanced up and watched as he and Arty parked the lorry and came across to the office. The wage packets were made up and ready, each with their little extra Christmas bonus tucked inside, and when the men had reported on their day's work she handed them the envelopes.

‘Happy Christmas!'

Arty took his and pocketed it.

‘Happy Christmas to you, Mrs Roberts. I'm off now, then – I want to catch the shops to buy something nice for my Mum.'

‘That's all right, you get off then, Arty,' she said.

But Ollie Griffin made no move to follow him. Instead, he hung around the office, picking up some of the cards which had been sent to the business and glancing at them, and when the door had closed after Arty he turned to Amy with a broad smirk.

‘All ready for the off then, love?'

‘I've hardly had time to think about it yet,' Amy said tartly.

‘Bet the kids have, though. Christmas is a time for nippers.'

His words reminded her of Huw. ‘You haven't seen Huw about anywhere I suppose, have you?' she asked. ‘He went out looking for mistletoe and he's not back yet.'

‘Naw.' Ollie shook his head. He was looking at her with an expression that seemed almost speculative; it made her uncomfortable, as Ralph Porter's look sometimes did, but without any of the pleasure. Then he winked, a slow, slimy closing of one eye,
‘Mistletoe
, eh?'

‘We usually have mistletoe at Christmas.'

‘I'll bet you do!' His voice was heavy with innuendo.

‘Don't you want to be getting home too, Ollie?' she asked, anxious to be rid of him.

‘No hurry,' he grinned.

‘Well, I have work to do. If there's nothing else …'

‘Just my Christmas bonus,' he said smoothly.

Something in his tone disconcerted Amy and she felt her breath come a little faster.

‘Your Christmas bonus is in your envelope.'

He laughed, coming round the desk towards her.

‘Oh, I wasn't talking about that sort of bonus. More like a Christmas kiss, maybe …'

‘How dare you!' she tried to say, but as he grabbed her the words were lost in a squeak. He was a big man, solid and strong, and he pulled her effortlessly towards him. As her face brushed the shoulder of his overalls she breathed in the dirty, sweaty smell of unwashed material, then his hand was in her hair, dragging her head back and covering her mouth with wet, rubbery lips. His free hand settled on her bottom, pulling her in close so that for a moment she was helpless in his bear-hug embrace. Then, as he lifted his head to grin down at her, she pushed at him with all her might and brought up her hand to connect a stinging blow to his cheek.