by Lynda Page
Glen was aware that living here would be a vast comedown for Jan, having seen the home she had been forced to leave, but to him the thought of a chair to sit in, a bed to sleep in, the means to cook a hot meal, and all undercover . . . this place was like a palace. He was just terrified it could all be taken away as quickly as it had been handed to him, and that he’d find himself back on the streets. He was also surprised by the fact that after spending so many years keeping himself to himself, he felt comfortable enough with Jan to drop his guard and be open and honest with her, have faith that her only motive in doing what she was for him was because she sincerely wanted to try and help him get his life back on track. She could so easily have used all the money she had taken for herself. She was indeed a special person and he felt it a great pity that her husband hadn’t realised that what he had caught her doing was in fact a cry for help from him, to recognise that his wife was a woman with needs of her own, which he seemed to have forgotten in his grief.
‘We’ll take it.’ Without consulting Glen, Jan clinched the deal with the portly, ruddy-faced landlord, who lived in the flat downstairs with his equally rotund wife. They did seem a nice enough couple, though, and not likely to give their tenants any bother unless they didn’t keep up with the rent.
‘Good, then I’ll get you a rent book, you pay me the necessary and you can move in when you like, Mr and Mrs . . . er . . .’
‘Trainer,’ ‘Clayton,’ Glen and Jan told him in unison.
With the landlord eyeing them both suspiciously, Jan quickly laughed and told him, ‘Don’t take any notice of me. It’s Trainer. We’ve only been married twenty years and I still keep referring to my maiden name. Give me another twenty and I might accept the fact that I’m not Clayton any longer.’
The landlord laughed then. ‘There’re times when I wish my wife would forget she’s married and where she lives. Anyway, I’ll leave you to have another look round while I sort the rent book out.’
Glen and Jan were both extremely grateful that their new landlord was taking them both at face value and not asking for any references.
A few hours later, Jan handed Glen a cup of tea and sat down wearily in the worn brown moquette armchair opposite him, sipping from her own cup. ‘Ah, that’s better,’ she sighed. ‘Tea to your liking, husband dear?’ she jocularly asked.
He smiled back at her. ‘Perfect.’ He leaned back in his chair, resting his feet on the hearth of the tiled fireplace. ‘I could get used to this.’
She gave a snort. ‘I bet you could! I’m not your real wife, though, so housework is shared between us. All right, Mr Trainer?’
‘I didn’t need to be asked to help you give this place a scrub, did I? It certainly needed it. When I lived rough I’d nothing to clean up but I did my fair share of sweeping, mopping floors and preparing food in the kitchen when I was in prison. Oh, not to forget the latrines and showers. That wasn’t a job for the faint-hearted, believe me.’
Jan shuddered at the thought. There was a twinkle in her eyes, though, when she told him, ‘Well, in that case, you can prepare our evening meal because after all that shopping we did for our bits and pieces after we signed for this place, and then setting to to rid it from its dust and dirt, I’m fair whacked out. While you’re doing it, I’ll put away all that stuff we bought from the second-hand and jumble shops. I really would have liked to give the sheets and blankets we got a wash before we use them tonight, but we’ll just have to grin and bear it until I can get down the launderette with them.’ She gave a laugh. ‘They can’t be compared to that dreadful thing you loaned me to keep warm in last night, can they?’ Then she cast a glance around the bare walls and shelves. ‘I would have liked to have bought a few bits to make this place more homely, but at least we’ve a roof over our heads. I thought we’d have egg and chips for supper. That suit you?’
‘Sounds like a feast to me,’ Glen said. ‘I assume the plan for tomorrow is that we go hunting for work. I suppose the best place to start is the Labour Exchange. I just hope they don’t want to delve too deeply into my past. I don’t know what kind of jobs they put an ex-con and vagrant forward for.’
‘Most people have some sort of skeleton in their cupboards. I doubt they’ll want to know what you were doing twenty years ago, but for the last ten you can tell them that you worked for a firm doing . . . I don’t know . . . whatever comes to mind . . . but the owner died and the firm folded so that’s why you can’t provide any references. It’s a lie but told with the best of intentions.’ Jan looked thoughtful then. ‘I’ve been thinking about the work situation. Since what we’re doing is all in aid of trying to come up with a way for you to get your business back and find your daughter too, would it not be a good idea to check out if there’s any work going at your old firm? We might be lucky. After so many years, I doubt there’s anyone still working there who would recognise you. But if one of us was working there we might be able to fathom out a way to get ourselves into the boss’s office and have a look through his private files for information on your ex-wife’s whereabouts. If she has sold the business on, we’d still need the new owner’s personal details so we could pay them a visit, using some excuse or other, and get them to part with information about the person they bought the business off.’
Glen looked back at her thoughtfully. ‘Mmm, I see your logic. I don’t know how I’d feel, working in the firm I once owned, but I’d lump it if it meant I found out where Lucy was. I still don’t think I’ve a chance in hell of getting my business back, though.’
‘Well, you never know, we might find out something about your ex-wife we can use against her – blackmail her into handing everything back. My old gran used to say, “Nothing ventured, nothing gained”,’ Jan told him.
He smiled. ‘Your old gran used to have a lot of sayings, didn’t she?’
Jan smiled back at him. ‘She was a lovely old dear. Kind-hearted and very compassionate. I miss her so much. She wouldn’t have called me a harlot and turned her back on me without hearing my side of the story, like my mother and sisters did. Mother certainly doesn’t take after Gran, that’s for sure. But as my old gran used to say, “Every cloud has a silver lining”. In your case that’s true, isn’t it? If my mother hadn’t done what she did then I wouldn’t have been seeking shelter under the arches last night and met you.’
Glen whole-heartedly agreed with her. As he sipped his tea a feeling of trepidation mingled with excitement filled him. Tomorrow could prove another red-letter day for him, should luck be on their side and his old family firm have a vacancy he’d be deemed suitable for. He could, in fact, do any job that was being offered there as after all he used to run the place, but of course they must never become aware of that or it could scupper his chances of finding out any information about Nerys and his daughter.
CHAPTER NINE
The next evening Cait sat at the dining table, head in her hands, tears dripping on to a plate of congealed food. The previous evening, when she had finally dragged herself out of bed desperate for a drink, she had been stunned to find a meal left under a plate, ready for her to warm up. Agnes had prepared it for her before she left. Cait couldn’t eat it then, the thought of food making her feel sick, but Agnes’s show of thoughtfulness towards her, when no one else seemed to care whatsoever, had brought her to tears. She slept deeply from sheer exhaustion and woke the following morning feeling just as wretched as she had when Neil’s rejection of her first sank in.
Acutely aware that she would already be in serious trouble for taking a day off work yesterday, and fearful of losing her job, she had forced herself to get up, dressed and go to the office. She hadn’t thought that life could get any worse for her, but she had been wrong. All the girls at work had found out that her wedding had been called off and, on top of her heartache, Cait had had to cope with a day of pitying glances and sympathetic words plus the odd snide remark or two.
Not much sympathy from the two girls she palled around with, though. They were both c
learly miffed that no wedding meant that they weren’t after all going to get the opportunity of bowling over their boyfriends in the type of dress they’d never be able to afford themselves, both secretly hoping that the wedding of their best friend would prompt their two men into proposing also. Neither of them spared Cait’s feelings when they made it clear to her that their loyalties now lay with Neil because they didn’t want to jeopardise things with their boyfriends. She’d need to look elsewhere now for friends to support her through this rough time.
Her boss, a sour-faced spinster, would not accept the calling off of her wedding as an excuse to take a day off work and informed Cait that her wages would be docked accordingly. The next time she took a day off for such a paltry reason, she would be dismissed.
She had visited the house agents at lunchtime, just catching them before they closed, to request she take over the tenancy of the new house by herself, only to be informed that the landlord would not accept a single tenant whose wage wasn’t sufficient to cover the rent and bills. Her sharing with another girl was not an option as the landlord did not want his house ruined by possible parties or strings of boyfriends coming and going, which could upset the neighbours. The only property they had that was in Cait’s price range was a miserable tiny bedsitter in a slum area, where those with any sense did not venture during the day, let alone after dark. It seemed the only option she had left was to find herself affordable lodgings.
On arriving home that evening she had gone straight up to her bedroom to change out of her work clothes and, for the first time, noticed that her wedding dress and the bridesmaids’ Christmassy red and green gowns were no longer hanging on her wardrobe door. She hadn’t moved them so it seemed her mother had wasted no time in recouping what she could of the wedding expenses before she had left on her trip. Cait had no doubt she had cancelled and demanded refunds for everything else she had laid out for too. She’d dragged herself back downstairs and into the kitchen where she went to fetch more aspirin from a shelf in the pantry, along with a glass of water to wash them down with. She spotted another covered plate on the table, with something propped against it. Agnes had written a note to say that she had made herself a cottage pie for dinner, had made too much and brought it round to save Cait from cooking for herself when she got home from work. It just needed heating up.
The tears flowed again. Why was it that their cleaner showed more consideration and sympathy for her than either of her parents seemed able to do? With no stomach for food still, the meal went the same way as the one Agnes had prepared for her yesterday, into the bin. Cait sat down at the table, rested her head on her arms and sobbed until she’d no more tears left.
It was a good while later before she lifted her head and wiped her wet face with the already sodden handkerchief she was clutching. It was pitch dark outside and an icy wind was whistling through the wintry garden. The night stretched endlessly ahead of her. She was in no mood to watch television, listen to the radio or read a book. What she really wanted to do was seek the sanctuary of her bed, hopefully to sleep dreamlessly for a few hours and be released from her heartache and worries. But that would not find her somewhere to live. She had bought the Leicester Mercury on her way home. The sensible thing for her to do now would be to scour the accommodation advertisements, to see if anyone was offering lodgings she could afford in a suitable area. But before she could get up off her chair to fetch the newspaper from the table in the hall there was a rapping on the front door. Her heart pounded. Dare she hope that her caller was Neil?
Jumping up, she dashed to the front door, yanking it open, the look of expectancy on her face rapidly fading to one of confusion when she found a middle-aged man facing her.
‘Miss Thomas?’ he asked.
Warily she answered, ‘Yes.’
He pointed to a large carton standing on the step. ‘Delivery for you.’
He made to turn away, but with a bemused look on her face Cait stopped him. ‘What’s in the box?’ she asked.
He looked at her as though she was stupid. ‘How should I know? I’m just the taxi driver delivering it to you.’
She stared at it for several moments, wondering what could possibly be inside. There was only one way to find out. The box was large and heavy and she had to heave it inch by inch over the doorstep and into the hall, damning the driver for showing no manners and leaving her to struggle.
The box was taped up and she had to go and fetch a knife from the kitchen. She was very curious indeed by now as to what the box held. On opening the cardboard flaps, she stared at the contents with her emotions raging. Was someone having a joke with her, sending her items of household equipment when it must be common knowledge by now that she and Neil were no longer setting up home together? Then she saw an envelope with her name written on it sticking out from under a pile of tea towels. Pulling it out, she opened it up and her stomach dropped. It was from Neil’s mother, telling her that he had asked for help in clearing out the house they would not now be occupying and this box contained all the items Cait had personally bought. She finished off by saying she hoped she hadn’t missed out any and wishing Cait the best for her future.
A flood of fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. Receiving back the items that she had saved up for and bought so excitedly to help her look after Neil as she felt a wife should was like another nail in her coffin. She couldn’t take any more disappointment today. She ran upstairs to her room where she pulled off her clothes, leaving them heaped on the floor, flung herself into bed and cocooned herself inside the covers.
CHAPTER TEN
Glen’s stomach was churning as they turned the corner of the street where the factory stood. He was willing there to be a vacancy that would get him inside legitimately and his quest off to a start, otherwise he had no idea how they would ever unearth Nerys’s whereabouts.
As they had travelled here old habits had surfaced. Without his thinking about it, whenever they had encountered other pedestrians Glen had automatically ducked his head and made to give them a wide berth, to save himself the embarrassment of their doing so, until Jan had pulled him to a halt and reminded him in no uncertain terms that he was no longer the filthy individual of yesterday morning but now a smart-looking man. Although the shirt, suit and raincoat he was wearing were all second-hand, he felt he was the smartest he’d been since swapping civilian clothes for a prison uniform. His shoes were a little tight, though, and pinched his toes. He also felt naked without his thick covering of facial hair which, in weather like this, had kept his face warm. It would take him a while to get used to being clean-shaven.
As they drew closer, a young woman come out of the door leading into the reception area to stand in front of a glass-fronted box attached to the wall. Opening it up, she took out several cards then replaced them with a few others.
Glen said to Jan, ‘The vacancy box is being updated.’
She said enthusiastically, ‘Seems we’ve arrived at the right time then.’
They slowed their pace until the woman had finished her task and returned inside. They then hurried through the big iron gates and across a cobbled forecourt to the box where they scanned the contents. There were five vacancies in all.
Jan said, ‘Well, I’m starting to think there is a God. Two of the vacancies are right up our street! The general dogsbody for you, only they’ve labelled it maintenance man, and canteen assistant for me.’
Glen looked at the cards thoughtfully. It was a job he could do thanks to his father, who had made him learn the business inside out, from top to bottom.
Jan was saying, ‘Maintenance man is perfect as you’ll have free licence to roam as you like under the pretext that something needs fixing. As a canteen assistant, hopefully I’ll get the job of taking the tea trolley round the offices for elevenses and afternoon tea, and then I’ll get the opportunity to have a nose around the boss’s office when he’s not there. So, ready to go in and apply?’
‘As I’ll ever be,’ he told her
.
It was like stepping back in time for him as they entered the reception area. The place hadn’t changed at all. If he recalled correctly, the same paint was on the walls, although it looked tired, scuffed and chipped in places and cried out for redecoration. In front of them a staircase rose up to the second floor where the offices were. A door to one side of the staircase led to the factory part of the building and the store rooms. To the other side of the staircase was the desk where the receptionist sat. Behind her, set against the wall, was a small six-line plug-type telephone board. Further down, a row of six straight-backed chairs was placed against one wall for visitors to sit on while they waited to be seen. With her headset on, a plug cord in her hand, her back to them, the receptionist was busy telling a caller to hold the line for a moment while she connected them. That done, she swivelled around in her chair to continue typing a letter on the Imperial 66 typewriter that stood on the desk, which she’d been in the process of doing before the switchboard had bleeped. She jumped on spotting the two arrivals, not having heard them come in.
She was a young girl, twenty at the most, dressed smartly in a plain navy skirt and white blouse under a pale blue cardigan, her brown hair fixed neatly in a French roll. She looked very efficient. She smiled politely at Jan and Glen and asked, ‘What can I do for you?’
It was Jan who took the lead. ‘I’ve come to apply for the job of assistant in the canteen.’
‘I’d like to apply for the position of maintenance man,’ Glen told her.
‘You’ll have to make appointments. I’ll call the manager’s secretary to see to it for you. Could I have your names, please?’
When they had given them to her she turned to face the switchboard again, dialled an internal number then after a moment spoke into the mouthpiece, eventually writing something down on a notepad. Swivelling back, she told Jan and Glen, ‘The manager is very busy now but if you’re prepared to wait, he’ll be able to fit you in in about an hour.’