Bitter thoughts swelled in his head until he thought his skull would crack with the fury of them. Who would have guessed he’d be reduced to this? A wife who gloried in her self-righteousness, reminding him every day of how he had failed them, and a daughter who had let them down in the most sordid way.
It wasn’t as though the failure was his. Old Man Arfon had promised him a job for life, and now, deprived of the bounty of his father-in-law’s generosity, he was a nothing, a nobody. And it was all Arfon’s fault and Sally’s for giving in and not demanding his continued help.
Ryan had long ago covered up the truth that it was really his and Islwyn’s fault that Weston’s business had failed. Remorse and painful guilt had quickly changed to more acceptable resentment, with Arfon a convenient scapegoat.
Ryan had come to believe that if Sally had supported him, pleaded his case with her father, they wouldn’t have had to take in lodgers, or boarders, as Sally preferred to call them.
Since the disaster, he hadn’t even looked for work. While Sally dealt with the running of the house, the shopping and cleaning and was there smiling to welcome the travelling salesmen and the higher-class reps that called every few weeks to be fussed over and fed, he sat around, read the newspaper and seethed at the unfairness of it all. So when his wife had hinted he might help a little, all the frustration had culminated in his outburst today.
Besides the trauma of losing the comfortable and well-paid position at Weston’s Wallpaper and Paint, there were other things to cause him anger. The way his twin daughters had turned out after years of expensive education and pampering. Joan had married Viv Lewis, that common little upstart who had usurped him, and Megan was expecting a child and absolutely refusing to marry the father. What a mess. He hadn’t spoken to Megan since being told the news of her condition and had no intention of doing so in the forseeable future.
In the aftermath of the explosion of anger, he muttered to himself, “Sally’s fault, Megan’s fault, Arfon’s fault. Those who should have supported me have let me down.”
Ryan started to walk again, heading towards Trellis Street, where Islwyn’s wife lived. When the financial crash came, Islwyn’s wife had insisted Islwyn and she move from the large house they had owned, to live in a tiny terrace house in Trellis Street. With one of the common Griffithses for a neighbour. No wonder Islwyn had opted for Margaret Jenkins and Montague Court!
At least he and Sally hadn’t done that. They still lived in Glebe Lane, a rather smart area of the town. That it was due solely to his wife’s efforts didn’t worry him at all. After all, he reasoned childishly, it was her family who had taken away their high standard of living.
He was still tense with unreleased anger and he walked through the narrow streets of neat, well-built stone houses trying to settle his mind. He had a vague plan of visiting Sian in Trellis Street but circled around, trying to calm himself first. He didn’t want Sally’s sister to see him while he was so stressed. In fact, he thought he would call and behave at his most charming.
He passed Temptations sweet shop on the corner of Sophie Street which was run by Viv Lewis’s sister. Up Brown Street to where his nephew Jack lived with his wife, a girl who used to clean for Gladys and Arfon. What had happened to the once proud Weston family?
A sandwich and a cup of tea would be welcome, Ryan thought, as he approached forty-four Trellis Street. He was about to knock the door when he remembered that his sister-in-law Sian wouldn’t be at home. She would be at that stupid Rose Tree Café with Dora Lewis! Anger revived, he turned around and set off back to Montague Court. There should be a cup of tea there without an argument about who would make it!
He walked through the gardens of the large house, where birds were singing and the trees were beginning to show their new green leaves. Daffodils nodded in the gentle breeze, wallflowers were already beginning to hint at the display to come, and there was the fresh scent of newly cut grass. Ryan was aware of none of these things as he walked along the gravel path and in through the kitchen door.
The room was empty. Clean coffee cups were stacked on a small table with a few plates still covered with biscuits. Vegetables were simmering on the large cooker. From the oven the rich aroma of roasting meat reached him.
It was frustrating to find no one there. God help him, a cup of tea was all he wanted! Anger that had just gone off the boil returned and he slammed back the door leading into the dining room and called.
“Islwyn? You there?”
Islwyn appeared through a doorway at the end of the large room and recognising his visitor hurried towards him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Wrong? Nothing’s wrong!”
“You look as if you’re bursting with bad news. You haven’t been offered a job, have you?” he joked.
“Had a bit of a row with Sally if you must know,” Ryan said, immediately regretting his words. “Nothing serious. I get a bit fed up hanging around without a job to go to.”
“You should have done what I did, take any old job, the lowlier the better just to rub it in to Old Man Arfon how he let us down. When I told him and Gladys I was working in a chip shop I thought they’d explode.”
“Not working in a chip shop now, are you? Fixed up nicely at Montague Court with the mistress – if you’ll pardon the word – of the house. Very nice.”
“I tried to explain before, it sounds better than it is,” Islwyn assured him. “Margaret and I had great plans for this place, but her brother Edward is insisting on taking his share of the inheritance and that doesn’t leave us enough to keep the place going. We’ll have to sell, unless a miracle happens. And they don’t come along very often.”
“‘We’ll have to sell’,” Ryan mimicked sarcastically. “There’s a pity. You’ll only have several thousand pounds to spend on something almost as grand. Poor old you!”
“Margaret was born here and her ancestors built it. She wants to stay.”
“Well, yes, I can sympathise with that, but you must admit you made a soft landing when you left Sian and moved out of Trellis Street.”
“Margaret and I have known each other for a long time. To be honest, I’d wanted to leave Sian before, but I waited until Jack was safely home after the war; then it seemed best to wait until he was married. The loss of my job with Westons was the end of more than working for father-in-law. It was a suitable time to end my marriage to Sian too.”
“Lucky sod.”
“Why? You and Sally are all right. She works hard and doesn’t seem to mind being the breadwinner.”
“But I do!” Suddenly the anger was back and Ryan hurried out.
“Come back, Ryan. What’s the matter with you? Stay for a cup of tea,” Islwyn called, but his brother-in-law was running along the path, sliding on the gravel as if escaping. But from what he couldn’t imagine. What had he said to turn his mood so dramatically?
“Something’s wrong,” he told Margaret later, “but I can’t work out what it is. We thought he might crack up when all the trouble with Weston’s came out, but he seemed to get over it.”
“He’s lazy and self-centred and he’s just realised he doesn’t like himself,” was Margaret’s diagnosis.
“Perhaps Sally’s turned like the proverbial worm, and thrown him out. He hasn’t bothered to seek me out twice in one day before!”
“We don’t take him in, Issy,” she warned.
“We most certainly do not,” he agreed. “Miserable old sod.”
* * *
Sally didn’t move for a long time after Ryan had run out of the house. The pain in her face grew stronger and stronger until she began to sob. Still she remained standing, staring at the door through which Ryan had fled. Tears ran unchecked down her face; her cheek where he had struck her felt enormous. Her legs began to weaken and she realised her arms were trembling. Sinking down into a chair she held her arms against her body, trying in vain to still them.
What should she do? Although she was a grown woma
n with twin daughters and a grandchild on the way, she desperately wanted to run to her mother, tell her how she had been treated and feel Gladys’s arms around her. But she couldn’t. This was something she had to deal with herself, and in private. Like her husband, who was walking without purpose, she was aware of a foolish longing for someone to make her a cup of tea.
A knock at the door brought her back to her senses. Carefully drying her face with the tea cloth she was holding, she went to the front window to see who was there. Seeing the baker, she asked for three loaves and managed to hide her cheek from him by pretending to be wiping the windows. When he had gone she went slowly upstairs to look at her face. When she saw it she cried again.
Ryan’s keys were on the dressing table with some small change and a half empty tube of peppermint sweets. She picked up the keys feeling them cold against her palm. What should she do, throw them away and refuse to let him in? That wasn’t a solution; there would be a scene and she couldn’t bear to have others knowing he had hit her. She dropped them back into the glass dish and went slowly down the stairs. Her decision wasn’t made but there was lunch to get for Megan and herself, and the dinner to prepare for the five boarders for seven-thirty. Ignoring the throbbing in her cheek, she went back to her preparations.
When the phone rang she hesitated to answer it. If it were Ryan, what would she say? To her relief it was her daughter Megan, calling to tell her she wouldn’t be home for lunch. A reprieve, she thought with renewed sobbing, and a chance to perfect her story about what caused the bruising.
* * *
Megan was with Edward Jenkins and Frank Griffiths, in the old draper’s shop.
“Don’t know whether it’ll look any better with the rubbish moved out, Mr Jenkins,” Frank was saying sadly. “Show up the mess the walls and floors are in, won’t it?”
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have—”
“Are you saying you don’t want the job?” Megan asked sharply as Edward began to apologise. “Because we’ll soon find someone else.”
“No, no. I’ll do it, like, I was just saying that I hope you won’t expect it to look spick and span once I’ve finished.”
“We don’t expect to open the doors for business the following day. Which reminds me, Mr Jenkins will be looking for someone to do the decorating once it’s all cleaned out. Are you interested in quoting for that?”
“I might be. If I can get our Ernie to give a hand.”
“When can you start emptying the rubbish?” Edward thought he’d better add something to the conversation, although he was happy to step back and leave the negotiations to his companion. “Tomorrow?” he added boldly and Frank nodded his solemn head.
“First off we’ll get the garden cleared, give us some room to work, right?”
“Better than taking all the rubbish through the shop,” Edward agreed. “We can take down some fencing and use the lane as access.”
“Right then,” Frank said. “Tomorrow, nine o’clock sharp it is.”
“Either Mr Jenkins or I will be here to make sure of it,” Megan added, smiling at Edward.
When Frank had sloped off to The Railwayman for his lunchtime pint, Edward bought fish and chips and they sat on the bottom stair, thinking about the sequence of the work in front of them.
“If you wish, Edward,” Megan suggested, “we can call on my sister and Viv at Weston’s Wallpaper and Paint and order cleaning materials and some of the paint.”
“Good idea. I thought of having blue and green for a colour scheme. What d’you think?”
“Add a sandy sort of tan and it will be a seascape theme. Ideal I’d have thought. Well done Edward, I was so afraid that after years of being under Margaret’s influence you’d have chosen dark brown and cream!” They were laughing as they walked down the road towards the large shop owned by her grandparents.
Crossing the road, Edward said, “Isn’t that your father?” He pointed to where Ryan was hurrying along, head bent, his tie crooked and without his trilby.
Megan called to him but although he looked up briefly, he didn’t acknowledge his daughter. She smiled grimly. “Daddy hasn’t spoken to me since I told him about The Lump,” she said.
They watched as Ryan impatiently pushed his way through the afternoon crowd, and turned down the hill towards the railway station.
* * *
Ryan was going into Cardiff, to the pictures probably, he thought. Seeing Megan he knew he couldn’t talk to her about what had happened. Or anyone else. A trip into Cardiff was a way of getting out of the town, avoiding people he knew, killing time until he could decide whether or not to go home that night.
He wanted to go home; after all, what alternative did he have? But was afraid that the scene from which he had run away, might be repeated. A vision of Sally’s shocked face was never far from his mind and instead of shaming him, he felt an excitement that was almost sexual. Yet that side of their marriage had faded away when he had left the family business and he didn’t want it to restart. He wanted out of it all: his marriage, the shame and disappointment of his daughters, the awful in-laws. A fresh start. But where would he go without money and without a job?
* * *
Walking into Weston’s shop, Megan began at once to reach for colour charts and carpet samples, waving vaguely towards her brother-in-law, Viv, who was attending to a customer.
Viv greeted Megan with a kiss on the cheek and Edward Jenkins with a handshake. On being told the reason for their visit, he called to his wife.
“Joan, love, your sister is here.”
From the office high above the shop floor, a face appeared in the window that oversaw the customer area, and with a shout of delight, Joan ran down the steps to greet her twin.
“Are you all right? Is The Lump behaving itself?” she asked.
“The Lump is fine and so am I. It’s Edward who needs help.”
While Viv and Edward discussed the project of the old shop, Joan and Megan went up to the office to sit and chatter. Viv had gestured to one of the staff to make tea, and when the tray arrived, the two girls came down again to join them. Before they left, it had been arranged that all four of them would go to the old draper’s shop and discuss the best way of restoring the place into a magnificent showroom for displaying sports goods for sale.
* * *
There were several empty shops in the row in which the draper’s shop was situated, some in a seriously dilapidated state. Dusk was falling after a rainy day had brought evening in early, when, behind one of the buildings, a man was carefully removing some silver items from their hiding place. He arranged them about his person in padded pockets made in the lining of his loose-fitting overcoat, moving experimentally to make sure they didn’t make a noise. Once he was satisfied, he left the property, making his way carefully through the gardens behind the shops, including the one taken by Edward. A short drive to a public house near Newport where he was to meet his fence and the money would be in his pocket.
He planned six more robberies and then he was finished with it all for good. A couple of narrow escapes recently had made him face the fact that, even disguising himself as well as he could, his luck wouldn’t last forever.
Percy Flemming was tall, thin and with the kind of looks people found difficult to describe. Nondescript, he’d been called at school and nothing he’d done since had altered that nonentity impression. His clothes were ordinary, he walked with his head down, his shoulders bowed and rarely spoke to anyone he met. Considered surly by most, that pleased him. It was what he wanted.
He rarely went into The Railwayman, apparently content to spend his evening at home with Barbara and their girls. Very little was known about him except that he was considered a bit of a bore. Only Ernie and Frank Griffiths knew otherwise, as he had once involved them in a daring raid on a factory – something he would never do again. He was a loner - depending on no one but himself was safer.
He was employed as an assistant gardener in a local hospital,
but with his other activities he had gathered together enough money to buy a house in a pleasant area of Cardiff, where no one would know him. There he could begin a new life, open out a bit and enjoy a few social activities, no longer having the need to stay out of sight and concentrate on being ignored.
Barbara Wheel, his common-law wife, was still refusing to marry him but he hoped that when they had made the move and were settled with their two daughters, he would convince her it was the right thing to do.
When he had met Barbara, she had been working as a prostitute, sharing a premises with Molly Bondo. But he had given her a better life and had never regretted it. For a few years she too had seemed content, but recently had wanted more. The rented house in the small side road, leading nowhere but the railings of the allotments, had been wonderful at first, but now the cloak of respectability that had covered her past had given her confidence to seek more. She craved a more exciting life, and talked of Cardiff, Bristol or even London.
He was afraid he might lose her, so the series of robberies in such a short time, which added greatly to the danger of being caught, were to make sure she had all she needed for herself and the girls.
Percy slipped into the back lane behind the shops and walked, unhurriedly, to where he had left the car. Best not to look anxious, or show impatience; that way people remembered you. He cursed when he heard voices and moved extra slowly for fear of a rattle revealing the contents of his pockets.
He was leaving the lane when he met Edward and Megan, who were coming to inspect the condition of the fence around the garden of the shop. He nodded and touched his cap deferentially. Edward nodded casually, uncurious about his presence and when Percy turned back after walking a few paces away from them, slightly exaggerating the stoop he affected, he saw them looking at the broken fence that had been made to swing back and allow access to cats, dogs and himself. He hoped they wouldn’t fix it just yet. Not until he’d recovered the rest of his cache. Climbing a fence took longer, specially with clothes filled with breakable, oddly shaped items, and was more likely to arouse suspicion.
A Shop in the High Street Page 3