* * *
Rhiannon was busy in Temptations. Her unusual window display of children’s toys, balloons and a filled Christmas stocking brought many new customers to her door. Children particularly loved the colourful window with its magical promise and dragged their parents back time and again. To add to its interest, Rhiannon changed one or two items daily.
Many people had saved their sweet ration and were selecting quarter pound boxes to give as Christmas presents. Although it was a small purchase, many spent a long time choosing and Rhiannon didn’t attempt to hurry them. In between serving she went upstairs to the flat and helped to gather together Barry’s assorted oddments for him to take away.
She was excited at the news of Joseph’s marriage. Picturing the wedding scene, her mind kept wandering to a similar scene in which she and Barry were the leading players. The images were so real at times that she blushed when Barry appeared, convinced he would guess where her dreams were taking her.
“You’re blushing,” he said. “Does that mean you know?”
Confused and unable to tell him the real reason for her discomfort she nodded, foolishly agreeing with him even though she didn’t know what he was talking about.
“Try not to dwell on it. It’s something we have to accept. I know it’s hard, but your father and my mother don’t seem able to stay apart.”
“My dad and – you mean they’re still seeing each other? But Dad promised! I thought the earring was a cruel joke. Then he’s lied to us, again?”
Barry looked alarmed. “I’m sorry, Rhiannon, I thought you must know.”
“I don’t know why I’m so surprised. If they’ve been seeing each other for years, why should I expect it to end just because Mam found out?”
“I’m sorry.”
A customer came in then and Rhiannon took a deep breath and controlled her need to cry and turned to smile at the young woman who had entered.
“My name is Joan Fowler-Weston. Your brother works for my father,” she announced.
She had no need to introduce herself, Rhiannon knew her as one of the Weston girls. There was such an air of superiority about the young woman, who couldn’t have been much older than herself, that Rhiannon forgot that she should be polite to customers at all times. “My brother Vivian works for your grandfather,” she corrected firmly. “As does your father. It’s Mr Arfon Weston who owns the shop isn’t it? Not Mr Fowler.”
“I want you to give your brother a message for me,” Joan said, ignoring Rhiannon’s response. “Will you tell him to meet my sister and me at the Rose Tree Café at four on Wednesday afternoon?”
“Why couldn’t you tell him yourself?” Rhiannon felt her irritation rising at the young woman giving orders so rudely.
“I prefer not. Tell him he mustn’t be late.”
“I’ll ask him and if he’s free perhaps he will come. He can tell your father if he can’t.”
“No. Don’t do that. Just tell him to come.”
“I’m not sure that I will!” Rhiannon retorted. “Who d’you think you are, giving us orders?”
“The daughter of your brother’s employer! That’s who. Now, pass on my message and don’t forget. It’s important or I wouldn’t have bothered to come this far out of town.” Without another word Joan Fowler-Weston walked out of the shop, leaving the door open.
“Well,” Barry said, appearing from the back room where he had remained hidden. “Her ladyship certainly rubbed you up the wrong way, didn’t she?” He walked over and closed the door. “I’ve always thought you such a shy person, Rhiannon.”
“Shy maybe, but I’m not so stupid that I can allow people like Joan and Megan Fowler, who hyphenate their names to Fowler-Weston to impress, to act as if I’m their servant. Even if they do own a decorator’s store!”’
“Good for you,” he chuckled.
“You think I should tell Viv?”
“Why not? Although it might be fun to tell him a quarter past four and make her wait a while-”
“Barry, you’re getting as bad as Joseph for teasing.”
“Oh no. There’s only one Joseph.” He smiled. “My brother’s unique. The world would be a happier place if there were more people like Joseph in it.”
* * *
The Rose Tree Café was at the edge of the Boating Lake and when Vivian arrived he stood outside for a moment wondering if he should go in. It was unknown territory, as it had the reputation of being very expensive and was a place where the richer young people of the town gathered. What if Rhiannon had got the message wrong? What if they weren’t there? And what if they were and they just stared at him as if he had no right to intrude?
He pushed the door open a few inches and a flow of warm air and the sound of loud but elegant voices emerged. He closed it again, sweating in spite of the cold weather.
Taking a deep breath he steeled himself to enter and this time pushed the door fully open and stepped inside. The place was full and immediately he despaired of seeing the two faces he sought. Then a shrill voice called his name and a slim arm was raised and even amid the murmur of voices he heard the snap of fingers demanding his attention. Taking off his hat and removing his scarf, he sidled through the throng to sit beside Joan and Megan Fowler, or the Weston girls as they were better known.
“You’re late!” remonstrated Joan.
“Four-fifteen you said and four-fifteen it is,” he replied in a whisper, feeling uneasy in a place that was crowded with women.
“Your sister obviously got the message wrong. What a surprise!” Joan said.
Megan tried to hush her sister.
“What did you want?” Viv was anxious to be gone from the place. Imaginary eyes stared and he thought he felt stabbing pains in the back of his neck.
“We need your help to collect a parcel.”
“What about the post?” he asked.
“We want to take it in when Mummy isn’t there, silly boy,” Megan said in a whisper.
“If it’s illegal you’ll have to ask someone else.”
“It’s only some clothes.”
“Then why the secrecy?”
“As we told you,” Joan sighed, “we spent rather a lot of money when we were in France with Grandmother. They are being sent to us via one of Grandmother’s friends. We want you to collect them and bring them to the house when we say.”
“You do have a car, don’t you?” Megan asked.
“Of course I don’t have a car!”
“Your brother does, that sleazy Lewis-boy.”
“He doesn’t have a car either and anyway, I can’t drive.”
“You must know someone who’d help?” Megan pleaded.
“Unless you’re completely friendless,” Joan added.
“I might,” Viv replied, thinking that Joseph or Barry would agree. It was no use asking Jack. As their cousin he might not be able to keep their secret.
“Let us know tomorrow. We’ll call into the shop and pretend to look at wallpaper,” Joan said. “Would you like a cup of tea?” Megan asked, gesturing for another cup.
But before he could nod and say yes, Joan stood up and said loudly, “It’s cold. You’d hate it.”
He was dismissed.
“I’ve decided,” he said as they began to move away. “No, I won’t help.” Pushing past them he went out of the café, cramming his trilby in place so fiercely his head threatened to burst through the top.
Joan and Megan looked at each other. In unison they said, “Then it will have to be Lewis-boy.”
“The film star,” Joan added and they both laughed.
* * *
Viv ran for the first ten minutes after leaving The Rose Tree Café. He was furious. Why should he be treated like a lackey for the likes of Joan and Megan? He worked for a living and they didn’t, but was that enough to relegate him to a subspecies? They didn’t work because their father and grandfather did. So what was so special about them?
He calmed down as he reached the main road and slowed
to a stroll. It wasn’t Megan so much as Joan. When he saw Megan on her own she was different. He imagined sitting in that café alone with Megan and his steps slowed further. If only he were something better than a clerk in her grandfather’s shop. Shaking off this unlikely dream he hurried to the bus stop and went to meet his friends at The Railwayman’s.
Jack Weston was already there and he signalled to ask if a pint was needed. Viv was still scowling when the foaming drink was put in front of him.
“What’s up with you, Viv?” Jack asked.
“Your bloody cousins, that’s what’s up.”
“What have they done to upset you? I didn’t think you saw much of them, not your sort, Joan and Megan.”
“Too right! Joan’s the worst, mind. Megan is a bit kinder. I think she might be all right if she could escape from that domineering twin sister of hers!”
“Best you don’t even think about Megan as being nice, Viv,” Jack warned. “There isn’t a chance of her parents allowing you to take her out.”
“Don’t worry. Neither of them are my sort. No. Definitely not!” Viv protested, hoping Jack wouldn’t see through his pretence.
“What have they done this time?” Jack asked, and Viv wished he hadn’t mentioned them. He owed them no favours, but he didn’t want to give away their stupid secret. Fancy worrying about spending a few pounds on clothes and being afraid to tell ‘Dear Mummy!’ He seethed silently, and thought about all the money the Westons had.
“They talk to me as if I’m one step closer to the apes,” he muttered and Jack laughed.
“You do the same to the likes of that poor little paperboy, Gwyn Bevan, so what? That’s the way the world goes round.”
Good humour restored, they drank their beer and waited for Lewis-boy, Joseph and the others to join them.
* * *
Joan and Megan met up with Lewis-boy as he waited outside the cinema for Eleri that night. The promise of five pounds for the errand persuaded him to agree and they told him that the following evening would be convenient. To borrow a car seemed a simple thing to promise and he went home with Eleri, whistling cheerfully. A bit of an adventure really, meeting up with the Weston girls. He thought he would persuade Joseph to come. It was sure to be a bit of a laugh.
* * *
“Who will lend us a car?” was Joseph’s first question.
“If only I hadn’t been sacked,” Lewis-boy said glumly.
“Your dad might. We’d have to spin a yarn, mind. You could say you were going for an interview for a job, he’d help then, wouldn’t he?”
“I don’t think! He’d want to know all the ins and outs, and then he’d insist on driving me there himself. Don’t you know anyone who’d lend us a car?”
“Mam’s never had one and I don’t even drive. At least, not officially. I do drive Barry’s van around the field at the back of the church, mind,” he grinned.
“What about Barry’s van? D’you think he’d lend it to us?”
“No chance. But if we forgot to ask… ?”
“Tomorrow night? It’s short notice.”
“He’s going to the pictures. If we got it back to the car-park before the programme ended he’d never know.”
* * *
Lewis-boy and Joseph met the Weston girls at the edge of town and they drove uneventfully to the house of old Mrs Weston’s friend, where the parcels awaited them. The house stood in an imposing position overlooking a park. The elderly woman who answered the door waved a hand in the direction of a table that was loaded with packages.
“Bloody ’ell,” Lewis gasped, “They must have emptied the shop.
“We did,” Joan replied.
“They called it a boutique,” chuckled Megan. Loading the van was quickly accomplished and they set off back, with the girls sitting cramped between some of Barry’s equipment and the parcels. Lewis-boy was in the passenger seat. Unable to resist the opportunity, Joseph asked if he could drive them home. “There’s hardly anyone about, and it was me who got us the van.”
When they had rearranged themselves and Joseph had started the engine, Lewis said, “I’ll give my share of the money to Eleri to buy some of the bits and pieces she wants for the flat. Thrilled we are that we’ve got a place of our own. Good evening’s work, this, eh? Fun and a couple of quid for the wife.”
Like a couple of truant schoolboys they gloried in their success. There was no hurry so they drove slowly via the lanes. Barry wouldn’t miss the van as long as they were back before ten. The Weston girls had an alibi created by a friend. Joseph and Lewis were presumed to be at their usual table in The Railwayman’s. It was all a great joke. The van echoed with their laughter.
Even Joseph’s atrocious driving was cause for hilarity. Swerving as he almost missed a turning, getting into the wrong gear, braking too sharply, created a sense of fun that was as intoxicating as alcohol.
Joseph misjudged the width of the road and tucked in too close while driving too fast, to allow an approaching car to pass. The wheel touched the uneven stone wall and shot out into the road when the vehicle was alarmingly near. There was still time to prevent the collision but Joseph’s inexperience resulted in his overcompensating and he hit the wall again.
The van slewed across the road and the other driver, realising too late what was happening, tried to overtake on the wrong side. The vehicles touched with a head-jerking slam and crunched once more against the wall. Joan and Megan thought in the moment when they were being pushed amid the tangle of squealing metal, that they were going to die. But Lewis-boy had no time for any such thought. His head broke through the windscreen and he was dead within seconds as he catapulted over the other car and onto the road beyond. Joseph struggled for breath as the steering wheel pressed against his chest. He lost consciousness before the girls began to scream.
* * *
The police called at number seven Sophie street to break the news. Only Dora was there. Eleri was at work and Lewis was presumably in his room at The Firs. Viv and Rhiannon were at the pictures.
“Dead?” she frowned, saying the word as if it were something she didn’t understand. “I don’t believe you!” Her face distorted, with anger hiding a shaking fear as she told them.
“Talking rubbish you are! Firstly, Lewis-boy doesn’t have a van and secondly he is at this very moment sitting in The Railwayman’s, waiting until it’s time to meet his wife.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs Lewis, but the constable recognised your son. Will you come with me now please so we can—”
“Where’s Lewis? Where’s my husband?” Dora demanded. “You got to fetch him.”
“Isn’t he here?”
It took only seconds for her to explain that he was living at The Firs and minutes for the police car to drive around and collect first Eleri and then Lewis. The three of them sat in the back of the police car, trembling, holding hands, telling each other it wasn’t true, until they could pretend no longer.
Although Lewis and Dora were too traumatised to notice, Eleri was quiet and calm. Her mind was on the situation surrounding her husband’s death. He’d been out on a spree with Joseph Martin and two girls. Somehow that seemed more devastating than his death. He had let her down twice, her shocked mind told her. Once by carrying on with someone else and then by dying so he didn’t have to face her.
* * *
At the hospital where Lewis-boy’s body had been taken, Joseph was being prepared for an operation to relieve the pressure on his chest. Bewildered, unable to make a decision about what to do after identifying their son, Lewis, Dora and Eleri, wandered around waiting for someone to tell them.
As they passed through the waiting room they saw Nia standing there, white-faced and utterly still. Momentarily forgetting the animosity that clouded their friendship, Dora asked, “Your Joseph? They say he was hurt too.”
“Is he going to be all right?” Lewis moved forward and touched Nia’s shoulder, but she pulled away from him.
“It’s a punishment, L
ewis,” she whispered. “A dreadful punishment.”
“Don’t say that,” Lewis muttered.
Nia turned then and said tearfully, “Dora, I’m so sorry about Lewis-boy. Do they know what happened, yet?”
Seeing the way Lewis was looking at Nia, all Dora’s heart-wrenching anger returned. How could she feel sympathy for this woman who had stolen her family’s happiness? And with her beloved Lewis-boy dead?
“Joseph was driving those Weston girls on some errand. It seems they borrowed your Barry’s van without telling him and, well, if Lewis-boy had been driving it might not have happened.” Her face was fierce in its distress and she turned to Nia and shouted, “At least your son’s alive! Your family had caused so much trouble for mine, I wonder you can stand there and talk to me as if we’re the friends we once were!”
“Don’t Mam,” Eleri whispered.
“All right, Dora, this isn’t the time for wrangles.”
Lewis moved a fraction closer to Nia, and Dora stormed, tearfully, “Your son is dead, Lewis. And it’s because of her son. Doesn’t that make you think?” She was aware then of standing alone, her husband was closer to Nia, offering her his comfort; she was isolated from him even in this shocking grief.
“I’m so sorry. So sorry,” Nia repeated, as if in a daze. “It’s so ironic.”
“Ironic? It’s another tragedy sent from your house to mine and you use words like ironic?”
“Are the girls hurt?” Nia asked a few minutes later.
“Joan is all right. I think Megan has a few cuts on her face.”
“Trust the Westons to come out of it without any trouble.”
Anger faded and, softly at first, Dora began to cry. Lewis still didn’t move any closer to her and Eleri led her away to where they could sit in private. None of them seemed to want to go home. Leaving without Lewis-boy would have made the fact of his death inescapable.
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