Chapter Twenty-Five
Sheila put her arm around Mrs Treedy, who was weeping silently. ‘Now, don’t take on so … Your Jack will be coming home to Porthcurno soon enough. You mark my words. There ain’t no call to fret over the boy. He just wants to see the world. And once he’s seen it, he’ll come back again.’
Outside the shop, a heavy pack on his back and sturdy boots on his feet, Jack Treedy stood in bright spring sunshine, surrounded by all his younger brothers and sisters, who were skipping about him in the dusty street and chattering.
There was barely a cloud in the sky, and the young man looked excited to be heading off into the wide blue yonder.
Sheila couldn’t blame him for wanting to broaden his horizons. Life in Britain was improving. But not quickly enough for Jack, who was leaving his family behind, possibly forever, now he had saved up enough for his passage to Australia.
As a child, she’d secretly craved a life of adventure herself, exploring far-flung lands, the exotic places she’d seen on the silver screen.
Not that she regretted a moment of her life, or her lovely Betsy and Violet, and all their children and grandchildren now.
But she did sometimes wonder if there was still time left for a little adventuring …
‘How are you doing these days, love?’ Sheila asked the widow quietly. ‘Pardon me for asking, but I know the fund paid out at last.’
Mrs Treedy wiped away her tears. ‘Yes, bless you. That money was a lifesaver. I couldn’t have coped without it.’ She sighed, watching her eldest son kick his brother’s football along the street, their siblings cheering. ‘I only wish Jack would change his mind.’
Maggie, who’d been listening, came out from behind the counter to hug the distraught widow. ‘There, there, love … You’ll have the other kids to comfort you.’
They hurried outside as the bus pulled up further along the village street, the driver watching the commotion curiously.
Sheila shook Jack’s hand. ‘Good luck to you, lad. Don’t forget to write to your mum, eh?’ She pressed a small envelope into his hand. ‘Here’s a few bob from me, for your travels.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Newton,’ Jack told her earnestly.
‘I’m grateful, and not just for this. You offered me a job in your shop, even after I was such a twerp, stealing that pork pie.
’ He swallowed, adding, ‘You made me see I didn’t have to fall into bad ways, that I could do something different with my life … And I plan to.’
‘Bravo.’ Tears in her own eyes, Sheila reached for her hanky. ‘Goodbye then, lad.’
‘Goodbye.’ He turned to hug his brothers and sisters, telling them exuberantly, ‘Goodbye, goodbye … Yes, I love you all too. Look after Mum and each other for me, won’t you?’
The bus driver sounded his horn impatiently.
Pale and suffering, Mrs Treedy walked with her son to the bus, hugged him tightly and watched him climb aboard.
All the children ran after the old mud-flecked vehicle as it trundled out of the village again, whooping and shouting, ‘Goodbye!’ with Jack waving at them through the back window until the bus was out of sight.
‘I’ll never see him again,’ Mrs Treedy moaned, lifting her apron to hide her face, which was streaming with tears. Her eldest daughter hugged her silently, and then the kids shuffled back home together, surrounding their mum in a protective pack.
Back in the shop, Maggie began tidying the magazine rack. ‘Folk are saying it’s going to be a glorious summer to make up for all that snow,’ she mused, then added innocently, ‘Where’s Bernie these days? Didn’t he used to take you for a drive when the weather was fine?’
Sheila, pricing up tinned goods, held on to her temper with difficulty. ‘Maggie, just come straight out with whatever you want to know.’
Her sister turned, a knitting mag in hand.
‘All right, I will. Bernie was in and out of the shop most of last year. I thought wedding bells were in the air for sure. But the old boy’s not been around much since Christmas, and you’ve barely mentioned him in weeks.
’ Maggie peered at her. ‘Have you and Bernie called it a day?’
Sheila counted to three in her head before replying, ‘No.’
‘Then why on earth—’
‘He asked me to marry him, all right?’ she snapped, exasperated. ‘And I said no. Or rather, that I needed to think about it more. So this is me thinking.’
Maggie’s mouth fell open. ‘He proposed? You never told me.’
‘I don’t have to tell you everything, Maggie,’ Sheila said loftily, returning to pricing up the tins. ‘You’re my sister, not my keeper. Anyway, it ain’t worth shouting about until I make my mind up.’
‘And have you?’
‘Of course I haven’t.’ Sheila shook her head. ‘Bernie’s a lovely man. But he’s a bit old-fashioned in his ways. I’m worried he’ll try to persuade me to give up the shop once his ring’s on my finger. And half of me thinks he might succeed …’
Maggie looked thoughtful. ‘But why would you want to keep running this place once you’re comfy in that posh house of his?’
‘You think I done the wrong thing,’ Sheila demanded, ‘telling him I weren’t ready to get married again?’
‘That depends, doesn’t it?’
‘On what?’
Maggie smiled. ‘On whether you love him or not.’
‘Love?’ Sheila gave a derisive snort. ‘I ain’t got time for love. I’ve got this bloomin’ shop to run, and the charitable fund to administer, and council business to attend to.’
Maggie hesitated. ‘Or maybe you are ready to get married again, Sheila, and you can’t bring yourself to admit it. Because you’ve been different since Christmas. You had a light in your eyes when Bernie was courting you, and that light’s gone out.’
‘Oh, don’t talk nonsense,’ Sheila exclaimed, and spun around as the shop door jangled, never so happy to see a customer in her life.
‘Good morning, Mrs Penhallow. How are things up at the Grange? They not sold that old place yet? That’s a shame …
’ Rattling on like this, she hurried to fetch the lady’s usual order of veg, piling early spuds into a paper bag for her and barely letting her get a word in edgeways.
‘It’s been on the market a fair few months, ain’t it?
But it’s bound to sell now we’re headed into summer, then I suppose you’ll be looking for a new housekeeping job. ’
The lady replied, but Sheila wasn’t listening. Not really. Instead, she was trying to pretend she didn’t give two hoots about Bernie’s proposal, too busy keeping the village ticking over to bother with romance.
You had a light in your eyes when Bernie was courting you, and that light’s gone out.
She wished people would leave her alone to make this important decision on her own. Because the more she thought about getting married again, the more she didn’t have a blessed clue what to do.
Spring gave way to summer, and a lovely summer too, Sheila thought, happy to have abandoned her winter woollies at last for frocks and sandals.
Violet’s salad vegetables were growing nicely in the garden, and Joe had finally received a grant from the government to help him rebuild his stock, including a dozen young ewes in prime condition and a sturdy ram.
The bank had also agreed to loan him money to replenish his stocks of seeds and tubers for planting out, since he’d lost these to rot during the dreadful winter weather.
This had improved Joe’s mood considerably, and he went about the farm whistling these days instead of frowning, while Violet too was forever smiling, albeit secretively.
One Saturday afternoon, putting on a hat as she prepared to walk down to the village for a special summer event to which everyone in Porthcurno had been invited, Sheila remarked to Violet, ‘Come on, spill the beans. You’ve had a smile on your face for weeks now.
And don’t bother telling your old mum there ain’t nothing going on, because I know when my daughter’s keeping secrets.
’ She tapped the side of her nose. ‘Let’s hear it, then. ’
Violet blushed, glancing over her shoulder to where the Land Girls were washing their hands at the sink, ready to accompany them down to the village.
Sheila didn’t know what the big event was all about, since nobody had thought to inform her, despite her being a councillor, she thought caustically.
But it seemed that everybody was going, including Joe, who surely had better things to do on a summer’s afternoon.
Violet shook her head, smirking. ‘As a kid, I thought you had eyes in the back of your head, Mum. You always knew what I was up to. But you’re so busy these days, you can’t see what’s right in front of your nose.’ And she dropped a protective hand to her belly.
‘Gawd, Vi …’ Sheila clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘How long have you known?’ she whispered.
‘A few months now, but I wanted to keep it quiet until I was sure.’
‘I’m so happy for you, love. When’s it due?’
‘October, most likely. It’s been hard to keep the news to ourselves, I can tell you.’
‘Joe must be as pleased as Punch.’
‘Yes, bless him. He was worried when I first told him. But it’s gone like a dream this time round. Barely a day’s sickness.’ She laughed at Sheila’s expression. ‘You never even noticed, did you?’
Sheila stared, thinking back. There had been a few mornings over late spring and early summer when Violet had struggled to get up in time for breakfast, but she’d put that down to weariness. They’d all been working so hard to get the farm back on its feet.
‘I had no bloomin’ idea,’ she agreed. ‘You’re right, though, I should ha’ guessed. You ain’t been in such a good mood for years.’
Thankfully, Joe came into the kitchen before Violet could respond to that dig. He looked surprisingly smart for a trip down to the village, wearing his Sunday best. ‘We ready for the off yet?’
‘You’re looking very handsome, Mr Postbridge,’ Sheila remarked, and wished she could congratulate her son-in-law on being a prospective father again. But she knew Violet wouldn’t welcome that in front of the Land Girls, not until the news was out.