The Hills and the Valley (28 page)

‘Highly unlikely.'

‘You could, though. Stranger things have happened.'

They turned off the main road into the winding, sloping lane which would lead them past Amy's yard. The hedges on their right, taller by several feet than they were, were stiff and shining with frost; away on their left they could hear the soft gush of the brook as it flowed over the small weir and into the mill pond where once poor Grace Scott, sister of Uncle Jack's wife Stella, had tried to drown herself. Their footsteps echoed on the dry road. They might have been the only two people left in the world. They walked more slowly now. It wasn't so far to Valley View and they didn't want to get there. They wanted to go on being alone with the stars and the bright three-quarters full moon and the silence.

Because of the silence they must have heard the engine of the car almost at the moment it started up in the Victoria Hall Square. They heard it fade slightly as it drove around the horseshoe towards the main road – cars could not shortcut under the railway line as they had done – then grow louder as it came up the hill. Another moment and the lights, dimmed for the blackout, would be in view.

Barbara felt a moment's foolish panic as if a dream was about to be shattered.

‘It's Ralph and Mum. Don't let them see us!'

She caught his hand and darted towards the Mill. It stood beside the lane, a gaunt building with a tower and high wooden loft doors where they hoisted the sacks of grain up and down on a pulley contraption. A path ran along the side of it, Barbara dived into it, pulling Huw after her. The deep shadow closed around them, she collapsed against the cold stone wall, laughing, and he leaned against her, blotting out her vision so that she heard, but did not see, the car as it passed by in the lane.

When it had gone he levered himself away, looking down at her. In the half light his familiar face looked different, the face of a handsome stranger. Breath caught in her throat and suddenly the whole of her body was alive and tingling as a series of tiny shocks, sharp as the frost on the branches, ran through her. For a long moment they stood there looking at one another and there was a magic feel to the world as if suddenly it had all become one with the wonder inside her.

‘I've missed you, Barbara,' he said.

And he kissed her.

She stood motionless, her hands spread out on the rough fabric of his greatcoat and the feel of his lips on hers and the nearness of him was dizzying. She parted her lips to his, wanting to drink him in, to make the moment last forever and ever and the glory of it swept her up on a dizzying tide. It was wonderful, just as she had always known it would be – no, more wonderful. Better than the wildest dream. Higher than the highest mountain. Deeper and stronger and oh …

For many minutes they stood there in each other's arms. Then his lips touched her nose, cold after the warmth of her mouth, and he rested his cheek briefly against hers before moving away.

‘We'd better go.' His voice was low and regretful. ‘They'll wonder what has become of us.'

‘I don't care,' she said. ‘Let them wonder.'

‘No, I have to get you safely home.' He kissed her again and she clung to him kissing him even more passionately than before in an effort to keep him there. Anything … anything … only make tonight last forever …

Gently, he disengaged himself.

‘You may not care, but I do,' he said. ‘If I want your mother to let me take you out again I'd better get you home at a decent time.'

She giggled. What a funny thing to say – ‘your mother' – as if she was a stranger not the woman who had brought him up. But he wanted to take her out again, not as a child to be indulged but as a girl. Of course he did! The world wouldn't be full of this wonderful enchantment unless he wanted her as much as she wanted him …

‘I suppose we'd better,' she said reluctantly.

They walked the rest of the way with their arms around each other. Only when they came within sight of the house they let caution be the better part of valour and simply held hands. Huw opened the kitchen door and the warmth came out to meet them making their faces glow. Amy and Ralph were sitting at the table drinking cocoa but there was no sign of Maureen. Late as it was she had probably gone straight to bed.

‘Hello Mum. Ralph,' Barbara said a little breathlessly.

‘Where have you been?' Amy asked. Her eyes were sharp. ‘We didn't pass you walking along the lane.'

‘We stopped to look at the Mill,' Barbara said.

‘Whatever for? At this time of night!' Amy got up abruptly passing a hand through her bubbly fair hair. She suddenly looked very tired. ‘Do you two want cocoa? I put enough milk on for you. Though I expect Huw is about ready for bed if you're not, Barbara. What with his long journey and after all he's been through …'

‘It's all right. I'm used to late nights,' Huw said.
‘You go on to bed Mum. Don't wait up for us,' Barbara said.

‘It's all right. I'm not
that
tired that I can't sit and have a cup of cocoa with you,' Amy said.

And if her voice was a trifle shrewish Barbara was too happy to notice it.

The lovely glow was still with her when she woke next morning. She lay for a moment with the sheets pulled up to her chin revelling in it as she remembered every detail of the previous evening from the moment she had looked across the dance floor and seen Huw standing there in the doorway to their last whispered goodnight.

Amy and Ralph had seen them upstairs, staying down themselves, so they said, to lock up, and Barbara had felt a stab of bitter frustration that she and Huw could not be alone again together if only for a few short minutes. But in the shadows on the landing he had kissed her lightly and his fingers had momentarily touched hers before he went off along to his room. She had stood in her own doorway watching him go and he had turned and smiled at her once before going in and closing the door.

Well, there was always tomorrow.

‘If you think I'm going to college tomorrow when Huw is only going to be here for a couple of days you've got another think coming!' she had said.

Amy had opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. Barbara had not noticed.

Now it was tomorrow and the previous night seemed a little like a dream. But her red dress lying across the chair where she had dropped it and her dancing shoes with dried mud still clinging to their heels kicked off beneath the dressing table told her it had not been a dream. It had really happened. Huw was here under their own roof again if only for a little while and the two days until he had to go again stretched away enticingly yet seeming already ominously short.

Barbara pushed aside the blankets and got up not wanting to waste a moment of it. Some time during the night the frost had given way to rain; when she pulled the thick curtains and looked out the valley was drab and grey in the heavy sunless light of day. She found a jersey and skirt and got dressed, hanging the red dress carefully in the wardrobe.

Oh, you lovely dress! she thought. Every time I wear you something wonderful happens. And it's all to do with Huw …

She hummed as she went downstairs. The kitchen was empty. Three cups, plates and cereal bowls were on the draining board, washed but not dried. Mum and Ralph must have gone to work and Maureen to school. And it was Mrs Milsom's day off. Barbara dried up one of the cereal bowls, filled it with cornflakes and helped herself to milk from the jug on the cold slab. She was halfway through eating it when the door opened and Huw came in.

‘Hi there.'

‘Oh hello!' She felt awkward suddenly, as if her feelings must be written all over her, and she was shy now at the thought of him seeing them.

‘Everyone else gone, have they?'

‘I suppose so. Do you want breakfast?'

‘It's all right, I'll get my own.'

‘There's probably bacon and eggs if you want it,' she said.

‘No, this will do fine.' He filled another of the bowls with cornflakes.

They chatted for a while as they ate, not mentioning the previous evening, and Barbara made a pot of tea. While they were drinking it they heard the post come. Barbara smiled.

‘No need to rush for it this morning. There's usually a mad scramble to see if there's a letter from you. And when there is of course Mum always opens it,' she said meaningfully.

‘I'd write just to you if I could but it's had to be a family thing until now,' Huw said.

Barbara felt her cheeks flood with pleased colour.

‘I was determined to stay home for you today,' she said.

‘I'm glad you did.' He caught at her hand as she set down the cup of tea, pulled her down and kissed her. ‘Morning, darling.'

‘Morning!' She skipped away, thrilled by the kiss and by the ‘darling'but now, with the dawning of confidence, feeling the desire to play hard to get just a little.

‘Come here!' he ordered.

‘Why?'

‘Never mind why. Just come here and I'll show you.'

‘What's it worth.'

Flirtatiously she moved just within his reach, pretending surprise when he reached out and caught her. He pulled her down again, this time onto his knee, holding her there and kissing her. She leaned against him, delirious with happiness.

‘Huw! All these years and I never knew you were like this,' she teased.

‘Barbara! All these years and I never knew
you
were!'

She traced the line of his nose with her finger. When she reached his upper lip he made a playful snap at it with his teeth.

‘Hey, come on,' she said, jumping up again. ‘Let's get these dishes washed up.'

‘Spoilsport!'

The washing up took quite a long time since there was a great deal of tomfoolery with soapsuds and tea towels and quite a lot of kissing.

‘What are we going to do today?'

‘Don't much mind. We could go out for a walk. Or we could just stay here and play some records on the gramophone.'

‘It's up to you. Your choice.'

‘I think,' said Barbara, ‘we'll stay and play records for now and then go out for a walk when Mum and co. are due home.'

‘That's not very nice,' he chided. ‘I came home to see them too.'

‘No you didn't. You came to see me.'

‘All right, madam, I came to see you. But I can't leave them out altogether, especially not Amy. She's a very special person, you know. You take her for granted. I suppose it's only natural. But I have never forgotten that if it had not been for her I would have been raised in an Industrial School, as they were called in those days, where they used to send bad lads to have the devil knocked out of them.'

‘Pity you didn't go there then!' she teased.

‘If I had, I would not have met you. Or if I had met you, you wouldn't have looked at me twice, not a nicely brought up, convent educated girl like you!'

‘Shame!'

‘Yes, isn't it?' he said lightly. ‘Never mind, that's
not
how things worked out, thanks to Amy. I've never known really why she did what she did and at the time I can't say I was very grateful to her. I was a little heller – took it out on her, ran away, did anything I could to get my own back on life. Not now though. Now I'm old enough to know better and I
am
grateful. And if you think I'm going to hurt her by avoiding her these few days I'm here you've got another think coming. We've got all our lives …'

He broke off and suddenly the shadow of the war was there again between them. But only for a moment. She was too happy to let it spoil things for long. ‘All our lives'he had said. Oh Huw, Huw …

‘I love you,' she said.

‘And I love you.' He said it a trifle awkwardly and kissed her again.

‘I think I've always loved you. Ever since I was a little girl. I knew. I just
knew.'

He grinned. ‘You were a good kid. I liked doing things for you. And then suddenly – you weren't a kid any more.'

‘I should hope not!'

‘Last Christmas when I came home I looked at you and I thought – Christ, she's grown up!'

‘Kids have a habit of doing that.'

‘Not always as nicely as you have. Barbara, you are the prettiest girl I have ever seen.'

‘Do you see many?' she asked, experiencing a moment's jealousy.

‘A few. But they just don't interest me. Not the way you do.'

‘Are we going to play those records then – or are we going to stay in the kitchen all day.'

‘I don't much care,' he said. ‘As long as we can be together.'

‘I know,' she said. ‘Neither do I. Isn't it wonderful?'

It was a glorious stolen day, a day of laughter and kisses, some tender, some passionate. They played the gramophone but never got around to taking the walk – the weather was not really nice enough, they kidded themselves. The rain had closed in, hanging in a thick cloud over the valley and dripping constantly from the trees.

Amy came home early. She was in even before Maureen was back from school, looking, Barbara thought, a trifle strained and weary.

‘I want to get a nice meal for you, Huw. It
would
be Mrs Milsom's day off, wouldn't it, just this one special day? What time do you have to leave tomorrow?'

Barbara looked up sharply. ‘What do you mean – tomorrow? Haven't you got a three-day pass, Huw?'

‘A three-day pass doesn't mean three days with us. It took him one of them to get here, didn't it? And I expect it will take him the best part of another to get back.'

‘Oh no! I never thought! You never said …' Barbara felt cheated and shocked as if someone had thrown a bath of cold water over her.

‘I suppose I ought to go fairly early in the morning,' Huw said. ‘I have to be back by midnight and I'm not quite sure how easy it will be to get there.'