* * *
Having telephoned her mother for the second time that day, to tell her she wouldn’t be home for dinner, Megan went back with Edward and ate at Montague Court. His way of saying thank you for her assistance that day. When she finally reached home, she saw the bruises on her mother’s face immediately.
“Mummy! What happened?”
“I fell darling. Clumsy old me, eh? On the landing while I was carrying dirty linen. I tripped on the end of a towel I think and caught my face on the edge of the newel post.” Sally was pleased with the lie. She had been embellishing it in her mind all day.
“Oh, why wasn’t I here? I should have come home for lunch as I promised instead of phoning. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m all right. Come on. It’s me who should be fussing over you. I’ve put a hot-water bottle in your bed and if you’re ready to go up, I’ll make you a nice milky cup of cocoa.”
When Megan was in bed, Sally sat for two hours, frequently glancing at the clock, watching the minutes build into hours until the grandfather clock in the hall struck eleven-thirty. She told herself she would give Ryan another hour then she’d have to go to bed.
He made it with three minutes to spare, walking in and passing her without a word. She stood in the hall after locking the door and followed his movements by the sounds he made. Into the bathroom, then up and up, to the top floor where the spare beds were located in case of need.
There was no bedding in the room and she hurried towards the stairs to follow him and make sure he had all he needed, then she stopped. What was the matter with her? Making sure he was comfortable after what he had done? She must be crazy; programmed like some mindless doll, to perform as required. She went to the room she and Ryan had shared all their married life and locked herself in.
* * *
Rhiannon was married to Charlie Bevan and lived opposite her mother, Dora Lewis, in Sophie Street. She worked at the Temptations sweet shop on the corner and, until recently, had looked out for Charlie’s son Gwyn every afternoon when school finished. Now Gwyn had left school and had started work in Windsor’s garage with his father.
The shop was experiencing the lull between busy times, and in a quiet moment she glanced out of the shop door towards the house where she now lived and wondered whether she dare close the shop for a few minutes to let Gwyn’s dog out into the yard. Seeing Gertie Thomas outside her grocery shop on the opposite corner, she locked the door and asked Gertie to ‘keep an eye’.
The dog was sleeping on Gwyn’s bed, something not allowed in the family rule book, but something of which no one could cure her. Rhiannon changed the drinking water, put down a few biscuits and, leaving the door open into the back yard, hurried back to the shop. It was only for an hour, she’d be back at one o’clock.
* * *
The old man walking along the back lane heard the door open, and saw the dog’s nose poking through the bars of the gate. He stopped and talked to the lively animal and, from his pocket, produced a sweet which Polly ate with enthusiasm.
He recognised Rhiannon and watched as she filled the dog’s drinking bowl, then through the open door, saw her head towards the front door. She wasn’t going to leave the back door wide open was she? He waited for several minutes then, coaxing the dog to be friendly, he stepped inside the gate. Approaching the door he listened and, hearing nothing, stepped inside, still talking soothingly to the dog.
He didn’t take very much. Just half a loaf and a pot of Marmite, and a partly used packet of butter. Hiding them under his coat and stuffing a few biscuits into his pocket, he patted the dog, gave her another sweet and hurried back to the cheerless room where he lived.
* * *
Before she reached Temptations, Rhiannon realised she had left the shop door key on the kitchen table. She stepped into the hallway just in time to see the shabbily dressed figure closing the gate. She presumed it was someone selling out of a suitcase. There were several people in the town begging in the guise of salesmen.
Made aware of the danger of leaving the door open with only a soppy dog to guard the place she called Pally inside and closed the back door before returning to the shop.
* * *
Rhiannon’s stepson Gwyn was working as an apprentice in the garage where his father worked. Earning only fifteen shillings a week but hopefully learning a trade that would keep him in work all his life, he was very content. Having spent years in the care of his great-grandmother, Maggie Wilpin, he was thrilled to have Rhiannon as a stepmother and Dora Lewis as a doting ‘gran’.
His mother had run off when he was very young and his father had spent several years in prison for burglary and similar offences. Now, all that was behind him and Gwyn was happier than he’d dreamed. Yet, something was wrong. Sensitive to Rhiannon’s every mood, he sensed that there was something she wanted to discuss with him.
He racked his brain trying to think of something he had done that might displease her, but he failed. He couldn’t ask outright and neither could he approach his father. He knew married people sometimes disagreed, but hoped and prayed that he wasn’t the cause of any problem.
That evening he discovered the reason Rhiannon had been somewhat distracted. Blushing furiously, she asked him how he felt about having a brother or a sister.
They were sitting around the fire, drinking their late-night cup of cocoa, and when Rhiannon and then his father mentioned the possibility of a baby in the family, Gwyn’s face became redder by several shades to those of Rhiannon and Charlie.
“We realise that with you now fifteen, it would seem a bit odd,” Charlie said, “And with such an age gap you could hardly be close friends, but Rhiannon and I would like to have a child.”
“How do you feel about the prospect, Gwyn?” Rhiannon asked gently. “We wouldn’t want to do anything that you’d hate.”
Gwyn’s reply surprised them. “I think you should have two, not one. Then he wouldn’t be lonely.” He grinned then, staring from one to the other and Rhiannon saw such a strong likeness to Charlie her heart filled with joy. She jumped out of her chair and ran to hug him.
“Gwyn,” she said with a sob threatening to hold back the words, “you and Charlie – you make me so happy. I love you both, very very much.”
For a fifteen-year-old boy, hugging was difficult to cope with, but Gwyn managed. In fact, he quite enjoyed it.
Lewis came in at that moment and was aware of an atmosphere, sensing he had interrupted something, and, giving the lame excuse that he was tired, he went to his room.
The closeness of the three people downstairs upset him. It reminded him of the emptiness of his own life. He stood for a long time staring out of the window across at number seven, where his wife Dora lay, also alone. How could he persuade her to take him back?
There had been a temporary ceasefire when Dora had agreed to him moving back in, but when he had slipped into her bedroom convinced of a loving welcome, he had been thrown out again. Yet he knew she still loved him. She really was a difficult woman, punishing herself as well as him.
Common sense told him he should move away and find someone else but when was common sense a factor in his life? He sighed.
The following morning, while the four of them ate breakfast, Rhiannon, Charlie and Gwyn discussed a plan to cycle down the vale and take a picnic lunch on the following Sunday.
“The weather is warm enough, if we find somewhere out of the wind,” Charlie said.
“Pity we can’t take Polly,” Gwyn said. “She’d love to paddle in the river.”
“I’ll take you if you like,” Lewis offered. “I have the car and there’s plenty of room for us all including the dog.” He smiled at Rhiannon, “There’s room for your mother too, if you can persuade her to come.”
Rhiannon and Charlie shared a glance, assessing each other’s mood without the need for words. They wanted to refuse. They valued these family outings and were both aware that once Gwyn started meeting friends, he would soon stop
joining them. This time of special closeness would be gone. But Gwyn spoke first.
“Great! Can we, Dad? I’d love to take Gran. D’you think she’ll come?”
“She has a lot of work to do on Sundays, working every other day in the café,” Charlie warned.
Lewis leaned over and winked at the boy. “I’ll bet you can persuade her,” he said.
It was as she began to make sandwiches for Charlie and Gwyn to take to work that Rhiannon noticed the missing food.
“Did you get up in the night and have a midnight feast?” she asked Gwyn jokingly, remembering how he used to sometimes wander around at night and prepare a snack which he would share with Polly. Gwyn looked surprised.
“No, I haven’t got up in the night for ages. Since starting work with our Dad I’m too tired!”
Frowning, Rhiannon thought of the shabbily dressed man at the gate and wondered whether Polly was too friendly, and had allowed him to come into the house. The thought made her shiver, but she said nothing to the others. Best to be sure before worrying them about what must have been an opportunist, someone desperate enough to take a chance. If that was what it was, it was unlikely to be repeated.
* * *
Dora was reluctant to go out for the day, as Sundays were her only opportunity to deal with the housework, fill in the accounts and make sure the orders were in place for the coming week, but, seeing Gwyn’s hopeful face and realising, like her daughter had, that the time was fast approaching when he would not want to be a part of family outings, she agreed.
It was difficult for her to be in Lewis’s presence for more than a few minutes and this would be for several hours. She loved him and wanted him back and knew that if she said the words he would do so. Only pride was preventing her being happy, so she usually ended up quarrelling with him. She would try to be calm and indifferent for the day, for the sake of Gwyn, Charlie and Rhiannon. To refuse would be childish.
There were a few cakes and pasties left at the Rose Tree Café that Saturday evening and instead of sharing them as she and Sian usually did, Dora was given them all to swell the picnic. With sandwiches wrapped in greaseproof paper and damp tea towels and several bottles of pop, they set off at ten o’clock.
Dora and Lewis bickered all the way and it was with relief that they saw Lewis head off for a walk along the beach as soon as the car stopped.
Selecting their position on the beach took a few minutes and as they began to set out their belongings, colonising the area for the duration of their stay, Gwyn asked, “Rhiannon, can I go with Mr Lewis?”
“He might like to be on his own,” Charlie warned but Gwyn replied quickly.
“I don’t think he likes to be lonely.” Accepting his father’s nod as agreement, he ran along the road that skirted the beach and soon caught up with Lewis who hadn’t gone far, but was sitting on the tufty Maram grass-covered dunes staring out to sea.
“He talks a lot about loneliness, doesn’t he?” Dora said as they watched Gwyn run to find Lewis. “I don’t think he’ll ever forget the months when you were in prison, Charlie.”
“I can’t believe I treated him so badly,” Charlie said sadly. “Or how lucky I am now.” He hugged both women affectionately. “You two have more than compensated for his misfortunes.”
“We asked him last night, how he felt about having a brother or a sister and he said we must have two so they won’t be lonely.”
“Marvellous idea!” Dora’s blue eyes glowed. “Tell me when to start knitting!”
* * *
Gwyn sat beside Lewis and offered him a sweet from a packet Rhiannon had given him. The tide was high and the sea moved slowly and gently. Selecting stones from the line below the dunes, for a game of ducks and drakes, they stood and threw them into the water, skimming them and counting the number of ‘jumps’ they made. The record was five and Gwyn admired the older man’s skill and asked him to show him the technique. Aware he was being flattered in the hope of being pleased, Lewis smiled, ruffled the boy’s hair and demonstrated until they were rivals, boasting of their superiority like equals.
* * *
“Not a bad kid, young Gwyn,” Lewis said to Dora as he carried the blankets and empty boxes back into number seven.
“A wonderful boy. And,” she added, her blue eyes glaring, warning him not to disagree, “Charlie’s a good man.”
“As long as he doesn’t revert to his former ways and let Rhiannon down.”
“You’re the one who let Rhiannon down, Lewis Lewis! Going off and having an affair with Nia Martin. Fine example you are! Charlie’s changed but I doubt that you have!”
“Nia’s dead!” he reminded her angrily. “There’s no chance of my reverting to my former ways!”
He dumped the remnants of the picnic on the floor and left.
Chapter Three
After discussing his situation with the estate agent and his bank manager, as well as an enthusiastic Megan, Edward decided to be bold and buy the shop rather than rent it. At the end of April, with the aid of a bridging loan until Montague Court was sold, he was the owner of number sixty-eight Highbourne Road, known locally as the High Street.
“I won’t be able to tackle the refurbishments until I have more money,” he explained to Megan as they stood looking into the dreary little shop one dark evening. “I have moments of panic at the enormity of what I’ve taken on.”
“When you look at it, try not to see what’s in front of you,” Megan advised. “See in your mind’s eye what will be there once you can make a start. Pendragon Island will have the surprise of its life when you have finished here and the shop is open for business.”
“If ever,” he sighed.
“Edward—” she warned. “No more panics. You can do it. Remember I have faith in you.”
“I haven’t really looked at the surveyor’s report,” he admitted with a wry grin. “I thought it would sound too daunting.”
“I believe they usually do. Bring it to the house tomorrow and we’ll look at it together.”
“Eleven o’clock?” he suggested. Then, seeing a frown gathering on her brow he quickly offered her an excuse to refuse. “But you have other plans, I’m sure. Don’t worry, we can look at it some other time, I mustn’t keep bothering you with my troubles.”
“Would you like me to look through the report with you?”
“Well yes, of course, but—”
“Then Edward, stop sounding as though you don’t!”
“If you’re sure you have the time,” he said, still hesitantly.
“If I didn’t want to I wouldn’t!”
“Eleven o’clock?” he repeated with a smile.
“No. I have a doctor’s appointment to make sure all is well with The Lump. Then there’s the clinic visit at three. You see, he has a social life before he’s even born. What an upheaval he’ll make in my life.” She frowned before adding, “If you aren’t helping the dreaded Margaret and my delinquent Uncle Islwyn with lunch, what about eating at the Rose Tree Café at twelve-thirty?”
* * *
When the surveyor had looked at William Jones’s old draper’s shop, Edward had been given a surprise. There was a basement he hadn’t noticed on his earlier inspections. It had been bricked up, he was told. Inside the back room, one of the large floor slates had been replaced with wood and when lifted, led to worn wooden steps. The outside access had been so well hidden by the overgrown trees, bushes and grass, it obviously hadn’t been used for a long time. It was only when the deeds were studied that he’d been made aware of its existence.
“Mr Harvey the surveyor hasn’t opened it up,” Edward told Megan the following day when they sat in the Rose Tree Café eating lunch. “He suggested I do so immediately, to give the place some air and prevent the damp, which smells strongly in the back of the premises, from becoming worse. ‘Always allow air through the underfloor area and it will help prevent damp problems,’ he told me. So, that is where I’ll make a start. It won’t cost much and it�
��s best to get the worst over first.”
“If it’s been closed for years you might regret opening it up,” Megan warned. “But, if you insist, we ought to go at once and ask Frank and Ernie Griffiths if they want the job.”
Thanking Dora Lewis and Megan’s Aunt Sian for their meal, they drove out of town to the cottage where the Griffiths family lived. The small cottage was surrounded by small sheds and outbuildings and fenced-off areas, most of which were occupied by livestock. Chickens roamed freely, a couple of geese were hissing like over-filled kettles, the plaintive sound of goats wanting company filled the air and above it all, dogs were barking fit to pop one’s eardrums.
Janet came out, a small woman with grey hair straying from its bun and flying around her head like an unravelling halo. Drying her hands on her apron she waved for them to come inside. Tipping a cat from a chair she wiped the seat ineffectually with a flap of her skirt, and invited Megan to sit.
A little boy came into the room and stared at them until, recognising Megan he walked across and leaned on her knees, raising his arms to be lifted.
“Hello Joseph-Hywel,” Megan said, helping the 2½-year old to climb up. “This is Caroline’s son, Janet and Hywel’s grandson,” she explained to Edward. Hywel came in then and, seeing the visitors, nodded a greeting and disappeared.
A Shop in the High Street Page 4