by Rosie Harris
‘No, not if you put some ointment on it,’ Fern gabbled. ‘I never want to go back to that place ever again.’
Glanmor wanted to go round to Angelina Street and sort Bryson out there and then but his mother would have none if it.
‘Don’t be so daft,’ she said scornfully. ‘You’re a mere boy and he’d make mincemeat of you. He’s got fists on him like sledge hammers. No,’ she went on more quietly, ‘there’s no call for fighting, there’re better ways of doing things than that.’
‘Like what?’ Glanmor mumbled, his face red with anger. ‘He shouldn’t be allowed to get away with behaving like that.’
‘Well, for a start, Fern must stay here with us. It would be far too dangerous now for her to go back there.’
‘That’s kind of you, Alwyn, but we both know that you haven’t room for me here,’ Fern pointed out. She scrubbed at her face as tears welled up again in her eyes. ‘Anyway, all my things are at my uncle’s place; all my clothes and everything,’ she added forlornly.
‘Glanmor can go with you and collect those when you know that Bryson and Bertha will both be out,’ Alwyn told her.
‘I won’t know when that will be, though,’ Fern pointed out worriedly. ‘He hasn’t got a job, remember.’
‘I know that, but he and Bertha will both be out later tonight; they always go to the boozer on a Saturday night,’ Alwyn announced.
‘It’s very kind of you both but even if we do manage to collect my things from Angelina Street, there still isn’t room for me here,’ Fern argued, looking around the crowded room that was both their living room and kitchen.
‘We’ll manage. We’ve been doing so for almost a week now, haven’t we?’ Alwyn told her.
‘Yes, but what about at night?’
‘You can stay in Glanmor’s little room and he can sleep down here. That’s all right with you, isn’t it, boyo?’ she said turning to Glanmor for confirmation.
‘I’ll go along with whatever you say, Mam, as long as it means Fern is safe and doesn’t have to go back there.’
‘There you are, cariad,’ Alwyn told her triumphantly. ‘Now, don’t argue any more; it’s all settled. It’s not safe for you to go back to Angelina Street again, except to collect your belongings, and you won’t be doing that on your own.’
‘Once we’ve collected your stuff your worries are over,’ Glanmor assured her, ‘and you needn’t worry about a thing. Bryson Jenkins will never come looking for you here, will he Mam?’ he added with a bitter laugh.
Fern wasn’t so sure and she couldn’t understand why they could both be so positive that Bryson wouldn’t come looking for her and make her go back with him. Her head was throbbing and she felt so frightened by what had happened that she decided the best thing to do was to accept what Alwyn said without any argument.
So many things had happened to change her life in the last couple of weeks that she felt as if it was impossible to think clearly or make any decisions for herself.
Chapter Eleven
As the weeks rapidly drifted into months, Fern found that all her interest was being channelled into what went on when she was at work.
The market at the Hayes was a world in itself and she loved working there. She enjoyed the company and camaraderie of the other stallholders and was fascinated by the variety of goods that they sold. Every possible need seemed to be catered for, from fruit and vegetables to toys, from second-hand clothing to ironmongery.
She took a great pride in her own stall and her enthusiasm for flowers increased daily. As the seasons changed so did the variety of flowers there were available. Maria had not only considerably widened the range of flowers she bought when she went to market but she now also stocked a wide variety of pot plants and decorative ferns. With every delivery they received there seemed to be something new and Fern took a keen interest in learning their names as well as how to look after them.
Maria was full of praise for her industriousness and left her more and more to her own devices when it came to arranging the displays on the stand. Twice that year she raised Fern’s wages and when Christmas came she gave her a bonus that left Fern wide-eyed with delight.
Fern had very little time for doing anything other than work and going out with Glanmor. After paying Alwyn for her rent and food and buying some new clothes either because she had outgrown her existing ones or because she needed something more suitable for working on the stall than those she had worn to school, she was able to save some of her wages each week.
There was only one disappointment in her life the following year, and that was that she saw less and less of Glanmor because he had changed his job and was now working shifts in a factory. Sometimes she didn’t see him for days at a time and it left a gap in her life. She had always looked forward to his meeting her after work.
Now, more often than not, he had already gone to work when she arrived home at night and in the morning, even if he was at home, there was no time to talk because she had to get to work. As a result, she spent a great deal of time with Alwyn who fussed over her as if she was her own daughter.
One bitterly cold evening in March when they were sitting on either side of the fire, enjoying a cup of hot cocoa before going to bed, Alwyn startled her by asking her if she was happy living with them.
‘Of course I am. You’ve been like a second mother to me,’ she told her with a warm smile. ‘Mind you,’ she went on, when Alwyn remained silent, ‘I think that it probably is time I found a room of my own. I feel so guilty about Glanmor having to sleep down here on the couch while I’m tucked up snug in his bed.’
‘There’s no need for you to worry yourself over that,’ Alwyn told her quickly. ‘These days, he doesn’t always sleep down here. It depends what shift he’s on. When he’s here sleeping during the day he always uses my bed.’
‘That’s good, but it’s not quite the same as having a room of his own though, is it?’
‘You can hardly call it a room now, can you?’ Alwyn argued. ‘It’s more like a partitioned-off bit of the landing.’
‘It was his, though, and he managed to have some of his own personal things in there as well as his bed. Now all he has is a cupboard down here for his belongings and he has to share that with some of the pots and pans,’ Fern pointed out.
‘Glanmor doesn’t mind, not as long as you are comfortable,’ Alwyn said sagely.
‘He’s been very kind to me ever since I first arrived in Cardiff,’ Fern admitted as she took a sip of her cocoa. ‘When they bullied me at school he made them stop and it was the same when I moved in here after Uncle Bryson acted so horribly. He took my side. I think he would have gone and given him a good telling off if you hadn’t stopped him,’ she added with a small laugh.
‘Well, he wouldn’t have done himself any favours by doing that, I can tell you. If he’d given Bryson any lip, Bryson would have got nasty with him and Glanmor would have been the one who came off worse; I didn’t want that happening.’
‘No, and you were quite right,’ Fern agreed. Staring down into her mug of cocoa she said softly, ‘What I couldn’t understand was why Glanmor was so sure that my uncle wouldn’t come round here. He probably guessed it was where I was.’
There was such a long silence that she looked up enquiringly, but Alwyn avoided her gaze.
‘I noticed that you didn’t argue with Glanmor when he said it,’ she added.
Alwyn drained her cup and put it down on the table before she answered. ‘There’s something you ought to know, Fern,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ve thought about telling you for a long time but I keep saying to myself that it isn’t necessary to do so, but as I’ve watched the way you and Glanmor have grown closer and closer together I’ve come to the conclusion that it is better that you do know.’
Fern looked puzzled. ‘Really? So what is it that you think I should know?’
Alwyn concentrated on pleating the front of her apron as though uncertain how to proceed. ‘Glanmor has never said anything to y
ou, then?’ she asked, looking up.
‘About what?’
Alwyn studied Fern intently for a moment then she said rather abruptly, ‘About the fact that he’s your cousin.’
‘My cousin!’ Fern gasped. ‘Glanmor’s my cousin! How do you make that out?’ she asked in a puzzled voice.
‘Bryson Jenkins is Glanmor’s father.’
Alwyn’s words hung on the air. Fern didn’t know what to say. It sounded so preposterous that for a minute she couldn’t take it in; when she did, she couldn’t believe she had heard aright. She’d known Glanmor for almost two years now and yet he’d never breathed a word of this to her.
‘Does Glanmor know that we are cousins?’ she asked in a puzzled, disbelieving voice.
‘We’ve never talked about it but he’s no fool, so I imagine he’s worked it out,’ Alwyn stated.
‘Yes, I suppose so, if he knows that Bryson is his father. Why aren’t you all living together?’
Even as she uttered the words she felt a wave of embarrassment and hoped that Alwyn wouldn’t think that she was being impertinent. She needed to know, though. The news had shocked her.
She tried to think back as to whether she had ever mentioned Glanmor’s name when she’d been living with her uncle and Bertha. Even if she hadn’t done so, it was possible her mother might have, so why hadn’t her uncle said anything? Or had he mentioned it to her mother and she’d not said anything?
She wondered if Bertha knew. She was sure that if she did, she would have said something. Bertha didn’t believe in keeping secrets. Everything they had ever said to her she’d reported to Bryson and most of the things he had said to her about them she had repeated to them.
‘You want to know why we aren’t living with him,’ Alwyn’s scornful voice cut through her thoughts. ‘We don’t talk about it because it’s too painful . . .’
‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,’ Fern interrupted. ‘It’s none of my business,’ she added quickly.
‘No, you’re right, cariad, but since I’ve told you so much I may as well tell you the rest. Leaving you with half a story will only set you wondering. Better to have it all out in the open so that we know where we stand.’
Alwyn reached up on to the mantel shelf above the fireplace and found a packet of Lucky Strike and selected a cigarette from the packet. Fern waited tensely until she had lit the cigarette.
‘Glanmor’s not a bastard, if that was what you were thinking,’ Alwyn said as she blew out a cloud of smoke. ‘I met Bryson when he first came to Cardiff and he swept me off my feet with his glib chatter. We married and set up home together in two rooms in Angelina Street; that’s where Glanmor was born. Before I had Glanmor I was working and bringing home a good wage packet, most of which went on beer and baccy for Bryson,’ she added bitterly.
‘When I got pregnant and couldn’t work any longer the good times were over and so was all the sweet-talking. Bryson didn’t like having to be the bread winner and after Glanmor was born he certainly didn’t like having to be a father.
‘The minute Glanmor cried for any reason at all Bryson rammed on his cap and left the house. He spent most of the time drinking with his cronies at The Ship and when he came back home at night he was usually in a fighting mood.
‘One word amiss and I’d get a back-hander; if his supper wasn’t to his liking, he could be even more brutal. In the end I was black and blue all over.
‘I stuck it out because of Glanmor but when he was almost five and Bryson started hammering him as well as me I decided that enough was enough.’
‘So you upped and left him and took Glanmor with you?’ Fern whispered aghast.
‘That’s right, cariad. We almost starved to death for the first few weeks but Glanmor was big for his years so they let him in at the school and I had a stroke of luck and got a job.’
‘The same job as you have now, at the Seaman’s Mission?’ Fern asked hanging on to every word Alwyn said.
‘Yes. It doesn’t pay a great deal, but my wages are there every week and we’ve managed to scrape by,’ Alwyn went on, her voice revealing her satisfaction as she let out a billow of smoke.
‘Mind you,’ she went on, ‘Bryson didn’t really miss me because that big black bitch moved in with him almost before I was through the door and they’ve been together ever since. Bryson has never once enquired after Glanmor and as far as I know he’s never even spoken to him from that day to this.’
‘You’ve not seen him either?’
‘Oh, I’ve spoken to him a couple of times, but it wasn’t very civil on his part.’
‘So was that why Glanmor stuck up for me at school?’ Fern asked in a shocked voice.
‘I don’t think he had any idea who you were, not until later on when he walked you home and found out where you lived,’ Alwyn said with a dry laugh. ‘No, cariad, that’s Glanmor all over, championing the underdog. I don’t even know how much he remembers of those early days with Bryson,’ she added thoughtfully as she took another cigarette from the packet.
‘So by right Glanmor should be called Glanmor Jenkins, then?’ Fern mused.
‘No.’ Alwyn’s voice was hard and bitter. ‘Oh no! Bryson has had nothing to do with bringing Glanmor up, except to cuff him around the ears or pick him up by the arm and throw him across the room whenever he’d had a skinful and Glanmor was in his way. No, I told you I’d spoken to Bryson only a couple of times; the first was to ask him for a divorce, which he agreed to as long as I paid the solicitor’s fees and the other was to tell him that I was going to change Glanmor’s name to Williams. That was my maiden name and that was what I intended calling myself from then on. It’s all been done legally,’ she added as she puffed heavily on her cigarette.
‘Glanmor’s not a bit like Bryson, not in looks or temperament,’ Alwyn went on, and there were pride and satisfaction in her voice. ‘Glanmor is a Williams through and through. Never a day passes that I don’t look at him and see my father and my eldest brother and it’s a relief, I can tell you.’
Alwyn stubbed out her half-smoked cigarette and put what remained back into the packet. As she picked up the cups Fern reached out to take them from her. ‘I’ll wash these up,’ she offered. ‘I expect there are other things you want to get on with.‘
‘We’ll do them together,’ Alwyn said. ‘You bring the kettle and we can use the hot water that’s left in it,’ she added as she preceded Fern into the scullery. ‘Now do you understand why I’ve told you all this?’ she persisted as she watched Fern tip some hot water into the tin bowl to wash the cups.
‘Well, sort of.’ Fern frowned as she added some cold water and swirled it round with her hand.
‘Glanmor will be eighteen in a few weeks’ time,’ Alwyn went on. ‘I don’t want you getting the wrong idea about him or his feelings just because he’s always friendly towards you. Do you understand what I mean?’
Fern stared wide-eyed at Alwyn.
‘Look, cariad, you’re cousins. I don’t think it’s a good thing for people who are so closely related to marry each other.’
‘Marry! You think that I might want to marry Glanmor?’
‘If you get too close to him, you may find you have to,’ Alwyn told her with brutal frankness. ‘Remember, he’s practically a man now and men are lustful. Good boyo that he is, I don’t for one minute think he will be any different from all the others when it comes to that sort of thing. Do you get my meaning now?’
‘I hear what you are telling me but I can’t believe that you think I would let Glanmor, or any other man for that matter, touch me before I am married.’
Alwyn let out a sigh. ‘I’m pleased to hear it, even though you’ll probably change your mind when the occasion arises; most girls do and that’s their downfall. Remember, cariad, that as far as I’m concerned, marriage between the pair of you is out of the question. You and my Glanmor are cousins and even though I’m not religious I don’t hold with cousins marrying each other.’
Chapter
Twelve
Fern wished that Alwyn had not confided in her. It seemed to place a barrier between herself and Glanmor. Whenever he spoke to her she found herself considering what he had said; going over it in her head to see if there was a double meaning to his words. Even the tone of his voice worried her in case, as Alwyn seemed to think, Glanmor might be getting too fond of her.
Until Alwyn had brought the matter up she had never given any serious thought to how she felt about Glanmor. He was a replacement for the brother she had lost in the trenches; someone near her own age who understood how she thought and acted. The news that he was also her cousin would probably have been comforting. And it would have been, if Alwyn had not gone on to say the things she had about the dangers of cousins marrying.
The easy-going camaraderie that had existed between herself and Glanmor was no more. She worried in case he misinterpreted her friendly manner towards him. When he was at home she spent a lot of time in the tiny box room that had been his bedroom, wondering how she could change things so that he could have it back.
Alwyn’s bedroom was not a lot bigger but she wondered if there was room to put another single bed in there so that she could sleep in there and Glanmor could have his room back.
She wasn’t sure what Alwyn would think of the suggestion. She toyed with the idea of suggesting a curtain down the middle of the room to divide her bed off from Alwyn’s but was afraid that might sound as though she was the one who didn’t want to share.
The alternative was to find a room somewhere else but she wasn’t sure she was ready to move in with strangers. Up until now Alwyn and Glanmor had been like family, and they were.
Stop being so silly, she told herself, you’re fifteen, so of course you can stand on your own two feet. You have a job and you’re earning good money, so it’s time you were independent; make the effort to find a room and look after yourself.
With this in mind she began counting her savings and looking around in the market to see how much it was going to cost her to buy all the bits and pieces she would need.