The Emerald Valley (43 page)

‘None. The baby still hasn't come. The doctor's there now. I think they're concerned about her, Mam.'

‘Oh, I feel so helpless!' Charlotte exclaimed. ‘I think I'm going up there myself.'

‘It's too far for you to walk, Mam,' Amy said. ‘You've been on the go all day.' Lately she had been concerned that Charlotte was overdoing things with James permanently invalided – and guilty, too, that she had laid more at her mother's door by landing the girls on her every day. ‘You know how done up you get with the hills at the best of times.'

‘Don't talk so soft! There's nothing wrong with me!'

They all looked at one another. ‘Maybe we should get Cliff Button to run her up in his taxi?'

Harry was despatched again to seek Cliff Button's services, but he came back with the news that Cliff was away for the holiday.

‘Who do we know with a car?' Ted asked.

‘I can't think …'

‘Oh, do stop worrying, all of you! I can walk!'

‘No, you can't, Mam. You'll be making yourself bad. There must be
somebody
with a car …'

Amy sat quietly, chewing on a nail. She could think of somebody with a car – Ralph Porter. But did she dare bother him, on Christmas Day of all days?

‘I'm going and none of you are going to stop me!' Charlotte had her coat on, brushing aside all protests and Amy made up her mind. She would swallow her pride and ask Ralph Porter. He might refuse – probably would – but after all Mam did for her, Amy owed it to her to try at least.

‘If anybody's got change for the phone, I'll go and ring Ralph Porter,' she said.

They all looked at her in amazement.

‘Ralph Porter? The timber man? How do you know him?'

‘I do business with him.'

‘Oh Amy, I don't think you should bother him …'

‘What about Eddie Roberts – your brother-in-law? He's got a car.'

‘Yes, but he's not on the phone and I wouldn't ask him if he was,' Amy said, ‘I'm afraid I'm not on very good terms with Eddie.'

They searched their pockets to come up with the change and Amy set out along the Rank for the nearest phone box. She didn't know Ralph Porter's number, she realised, but that hardly mattered. Mrs Coombs, the operator, in whose cottage front room the Hillsbridge exchange was situated, would be able to tell her for certain.

At the thought Amy pulled a face. Knowing Mrs Coombs' reputation she would probably listen in to the conversation. Well, it couldn't be helped; this was an emergency.

As she waited for Mrs Coombs to connect her, Amy's nerve almost failed her. Then the bell was ringing and she heard Ralph Porter's voice on the line, deep and unmistakable.

‘Hello?'

‘It's Amy Roberts,' she began. ‘You'll probably think this is the most terrible cheek, but I wondered if you could possibly do something for me. My sister is having a baby, she's been in labour all day and my mother is so worried she's insisting on going to see what's happening. But Dolly lives right up South Hill Gardens. It's too far for my mother to walk there and back in the cold night air and I was wondering if you … well, if it would be too much of an imposition to ask if you could run her up there in your car …'

Ralph Porter laughed out loud. ‘Is that all? What a relief! I thought you were going to ask me to act as midwife!'

‘It's no joke,' Amy said a little shortly.

‘No, I'm sure it's not. Where does your mother live?'

‘Greenslade Terrace. Off Conygre Hill.
Would
you … ?'

‘Now – or after dinner?'

Amy started. Dinner? They had had dinner hours ago. Then she realised – in Ralph Porter's world dinner was at 7 or 7.30 pm, not midday. How peculiar! she thought. Fancy having your Christmas dinner in the evening! It's enough to cause raging indigestion.

‘Now, if you could. I promise we won't keep you from your dinner.'

‘All right. Give me ten minutes.'

Amy half-ran back along the Rank. She found Mam struggling to ease her feet into her stoutest shoes with the help of the shoe-horn and still arguing.

‘I don't know why you're all kicking up such a fuss about it. I've walked it hundreds of times …'

‘It's all right, he's coming,' Amy said breathlessly.

They looked at her in awe, but only Ted voiced what they were all thinking. ‘Is he sweet on you, Amy?'

‘Of course not!' Amy snapped, but she was glad all the same that she had the excuse of running to explain why her cheeks were suddenly pink.

Hardly had Amy got back when they heard the sound of a motor car engine approaching along the Rank.

‘He's here,' Amy said unnecessarily.

‘Oh my Lord – Amy, I wish you hadn't!' Charlotte was still protesting as Amy bundled her towards the door.

‘Come on, Mam, we can't keep him waiting.'

As she opened the door, other doors opened along the Rank and curtains moved. Everyone wanted to see who was driving along Greenslade Terrace in a motor car on Christmas evening. The realisation flustered Charlotte still more and embarrassed Amy, who thought Ralph Porter would be disgusted by the nosiness of their neighbours. But he seemed totally unaware of the stir he was causing, sitting there in the flying-helmet and leather jacket that made him look a little as if he intended taking off at any second.

‘Ready, then?' he asked casually.

‘Oh, this is kind! Amy shouldn't have bothered you …' Charlotte gabbled. ‘But how do I get in?'

In the light spilling out of the house from the wide-open door, Amy saw his wry smile and felt the small treacherous imp dart within her.

‘You'll have to climb in, I'm afraid. Wait – let me help you.'

He swung one plus-four-clad leg easily over the low-slung side of the car and went round to the passenger side where Charlotte was surveying the contraption doubtfully.

‘It isn't very big, is it? Oh dear, there won't be room for Amy to come too. You won't be able to get in, Amy. There's hardly room for me.'

‘Of course not. It's a two-seater, Mam,' Amy said hastily, hoping Ralph wouldn't think for a moment that she had expected to ride too.

‘Oh dear, oh!' Charlotte, who had never ridden any closer to the engine than the back seat of Cliff Button's stately taxi, groaned with dread at the idea of being squashed unceremoniously into this strange red capsule, but misunderstanding her, Ralph Porter turned to Amy.

‘Did you want to go too?'

‘I knew there wouldn't be room,' Amy reaffirmed.

‘I'll come back for you if you like.'

‘Oh no …'

‘Your mother would feel happier if you were there. It's no trouble.' He turned his attention to helping Charlotte. ‘Look – you'll have to get straight over like this – mind you don't burn your leg on the exhaust pipe – that's it …'

With a certain amount of heaving and pushing from behind, Charlotte was eventually manoeuvred over the Morgan exhaust which ran, motor-cycle style, along the side of the car, and squeezed down into the seat.

‘Are you all right?' Ralph Porter enquired.

‘It's a good job I'm not any fatter,' Charlotte puffed. ‘I wouldn't like to go too fast like this. You will drive careful, won't you, Mr Porter?'

Amy thought he might either laugh or snort out a sharp retort, but he did neither. Instead he replied with perfect courtesy, ‘Don't worry – I'll get you there in one piece, Mrs Hall.'

‘And you won't go too fast?'

‘I promise.'

‘Oh, well then, here goes!' Charlotte said with the expression of an adventurer taking off into the unknown. Ralph Porter started the engine and it roared into life, making Greenslade Terrace echo for a few moments with the sound that reverberated round race-tracks across the world. As they started off, Amy had a sudden thought and ran after them shouting, ‘Mam – your hat!' But too late. The wind caught the brim of Charlotte's best felt and though she made a grab for it, the hat flew out of her grasp and began bowling back along the Rank towards the family, gathered to see her off.

‘Quick, Huw, get it!' Amy shouted. Huw, who, remembering the disaster of his last encounter with Ralph Porter, had been watching proceedings from the safety of the doorway, dived out nimbly, retrieved the hat and brought it to Amy. By the time she had dusted it down the car had turned the corner of the Rank and all the family began talking at once.

‘Well, I never! Mam in a motor car! Ralph Porter's motor car!'

‘How's she going to get out again, I'd like to know?'

‘Did he say he was coming back for you, Amy?'

‘Come on inside, all of you! You're letting in all the cold air.' That was Sarah, practical as ever, and in the general milling about as they all went back into the house, Amy had a chance to think.

He had said he was coming back for her. Would he? Perhaps she ought to get ready in case. Her breath was coming a little too fast, her pulses hammering a tattoo of something like bottled-up excitement. Because of Dolly, she told herself. But no – they were
worried
about Dolly, not excited …

She took Barbara and Maureen to one side.

‘Listen, if Mr Porter comes back for me I'm going to see how Auntie Dolly is. You two must stay here until I get back.'

‘When? When will you be back?' Barbara asked tearfully. All the excitement of the day had overtired her and seeing Gran disappear in a strange-looking motor car had been the last straw.

‘I don't know, Babs. It depends on Auntie Dolly.'

‘Don't go!' Barbara wailed and Maureen, without understanding, joined in.

‘Come on, Babs. Come and show Grampy your picture book,' James invited, referring to one of the Christmas presents Charlotte had produced for her grandchildren from her magical ‘corner' – the secret, out-of-bounds-place between her wardrobe and dressing-table where surprises had traditionally been kept since Jim, Ted and the others had been small.

But Barbara refused to be sidetracked. ‘I want to go with Mammy.'

‘Go Mammy!' Maureen echoed, adding to the chant.

‘For goodness'sake, quieten them down, Amy!' Sarah warned. ‘You know your Dad can't stand a noise.'

But to the surprise of all of them, it was Huw who came to the rescue.

‘You don't want to go in that noisy old car, Babs.'

‘Do! Do!'

‘No, you don't. I went in it once and I don't want to go in it again.'

‘You're not going?' Barbara asked.

‘Nope.'

‘You're going to stay here with me and Maureen?'

‘Yes.'

‘Oh, all right then.' Satisfied, Barbara curled her arms around Huw's neck; if her hero was staying, that was all that mattered. But instead of relief that the problem had been resolved, Amy felt a twinge of disquiet. She wished Barbara was not quite so obviously taken with Huw. She wanted the children to get on well together, of course, but this was total blind hero-worship. Where Huw led, Barbara would follow. This time, of course, it was working to her advantage, but Huw was unpredictable and still basically wild. Amy had the uncomfortable feeling that the only real reason for his not getting into more mischief in the last couple of months was that he was still feeling his feet – in a strange place and still a little stunned by the events that had changed his life. But give him time and she could see storms ahead. There was a wilfulness alongside the wildness, a determination to have his own way that, coupled with a sense of mischief and perhaps frustration, might give rise to all sorts of problems. Bad enough if she had to sort him out when the time came, but if Barbara was there, tagging along, involved with and supporting Huw at every turn, it would be ten times more difficult. And – be truthful, Amy, she told herself – she didn't really want Barbara idolising and perhaps copying a boy whose mother had been a loose-moralled good-time girl, no matter who his father was.

Amy put on her coat and went to the door to see if there was any sign of Ralph Porter returning. As she opened it she almost collided with Ted and Rosa, who were standing just outside.

‘Sounds like a car coming,' Ted informed her.

‘Oh! Is it … ?'

It was. The bright red Morgan turned along the Rank and Amy could imagine all the curtains twitching again as it passed. She ran back into the living-room.

‘He's here. I'm going now. Be good now, won't you, children? Do as you're told till I get back. I don't expect I shall be long …'

Once again they all trooped out, with the exception of Huw who watched by peeping through the curtains.

‘Is there any news?' Sarah asked.

‘I couldn't say. I dropped your mother and came straight back.'

‘I suppose I get into the car the same way Mam did,' Amy said.

‘'Fraid so. Look out for the exhaust!'

Ralph Porter came round to help her as he had helped Mam, and as his hand cupped her elbow she was swept up suddenly on a wave of awareness. There was nothing intimate about the gesture, but the gentle pressure of his fingers and the very nearness of him lit fires within her. Flustered, she hoisted herself over the side of the car and dropped down into the bucket seat, waving and calling ‘Bye-bye'to the children to hide the turmoil inside.

This time he had not turned off the engine – the car vibrated with pent-up power and with the front and side close around her like a metal skin, Amy was aware of another stab of excitement. Like Mam, she had never ridden in a car such as this before, but instead of making her nervous, the thrill of being so close to that powerful engine – combined with the overwhelming awareness that Ralph Porter seemed able to arouse in her – mixed and effervesced into a heady cocktail. As the car pulled away she forgot her embarrassment, forgot the children she was leaving behind, forgot Dolly, labouring all Christmas Day. She was exhilarated suddenly, as if the car were a time capsule freeing her from all her worries, all responsibilities. The wind was in her hair, streaming it away from her face, and she lifted her chin, letting it blow the breath back into her throat.