For Margaret and Islwyn, things were also beginning to improve. The new restaurant opened and with a small staff and a minimal menu they began to take money. The bank was pressing them; their creditors had been patient but were beginning to warn about an end to supplies unless overdue accounts were settled.
“We only need a good couple of months and we’ll start paying everyone back,” Margaret said to Islwyn as they closed their doors one night.
“I can’t do any more,” Islwyn said tiredly. “I’m up at six and working until almost midnight.”
“You could get a job,” she said.
“How can I? You need me here,” he replied.
Margaret said nothing. It was useless to point out that a seven-year-old boy using half his brain would achieve more in a day than he did. She had always known Islwyn was lazy, but had been convinced that when motivated by sharing a growing business that might one day make them rich, he would work as hard and as long as she did. How wrong she had been. If only it had been her brother Edward beside her they would have achieved so much more.
Anger against her brother for being the cause of her problems rose and increased. She hated him for what he had done, losing them their home and causing her such worry, while he plodded along in his pathetic little retail shop.
But Edward’ s new shop was growing in recognition every week. Instead of going into Cardiff as Margaret had predicted, the local people tried Edward first and his stock soon filled the two rooms behind the shop.
“I foresee the day when I’ll have to use the fiat for storage and live in the basement,” he told Mair Gregory, as a supply of football and rugby equipment and clothes arrived ready for the new season.
At the beginning of September, when children went back to school, his window was well filled as more footballs and jerseys and socks were added to his displays overnight by his ghostly prowler.
He predicted an extremely busy few weeks. He still employed Mair Gregory two or three afternoons each week and began to think about adding to her hours. When he suggested it to her she was delighted to agree. Until he had asked for her help on the day Rosemary was born, she had only done domestic cleaning. The shop was something she had thought might be boring, but she had been wrong.
Mair’s mother was dead and she and her father had continued to live in the cottage they rented, with Mair acting as housekeeper, working a few hours here and there to earn some extra spending money. It was a casual life which she enjoyed. Now, having experienced the interesting sports shop, she wanted to do something more. When Edward asked her to work every afternoon and all day Saturday, for a trial period, she was very pleased to accept.
There was an interesting by-product to his employing Mair for more hours. Frank began calling and offering to do any odd job without payment. From the way he looked at Mair, it was not difficult for Edward to guess why he came.
The garden was cleared, dug and raked ready for the September sowing of grass seed, and the new shrubs and flowers were planted and regularly weeded. In front of Mair, Frank hotly refused payment, but out of her sight, he accepted Edward’s ‘bonus’.
Edward hadn’t seen much of Megan. She had walked past the shop a few times and waved when he saw her and on two occasions she had been with Terrence. If only she were here, helping him when the baby allowed, staying with Rosemary in the flat when she couldn’t leave her. But that was impossible now. Then he met his grandfather who told him Terrence had gone back to London. Gloomily, Edward wondered how soon he would return.
He saw very little of his grandfather. The old man preferred to keep to himself and was glad that Edward and Margaret had never considered it their duty to make regular calls. He was tolerant of Terrence’s occasional visits, when the usual reason was to scrounge money, but did nothing to encourage him to stay. He had a woman to keep house for him and a maid who, between a dozen other jobs answered the door wearing a black dress and white apron, cuffs and lacy hat. He lived, and looked, like something out of a novel by Dickens, wearing his heavy tweed suit, even in this hottest of summer weather, his only concession to the season being a rather ancient panama hat. He smoked a pipe and there was usually a stream of tobacco or ash down the front of his waistcoat.
To Edward’s surprise, his grandfather called one day and asked to see the premises. Edward showed him around with pride, the old man commenting on the various things Edward pointed out, nodding and puffing on his pipe. Finally he said, “You’ve done well, Edward. Now, will you call a taxi for me to get home?”
Edward asked about Terrence then. When was he coming back? What his plans were. Had he found a job? He was told that Terrence had gone back to London several days ago.
“He only comes to ask for money,” old Mr Jenkins said harshly. “I told him there definitely wouldn’t be any more so this time he’s gone for good.”
“Gone? But what about Megan and the baby? He hasn’t left them, has he?”
“What d’you mean, left them? He and Megan aren’t playing at mothers and fathers so far as I know. He’s been staying with me and seeing friends but he hasn’t seen Megan except when they bump into each other. Really, Edward, can you imagine Terrence being interested in a child? He walked out on his bride on their wedding day didn’t he? There’s a baby there he hasn’t even seen. Unprincipled waster. He hasn’t changed.”
“But he came back to see the child.”
“Nothing but coincidence. He called on me because he was broke, not because of the baby. He pestered and I was determined not to give in this time, but in the end I gave him some money and now he’s gone. Good riddance. Worth the money to see the back of him.”
“Megan will be upset.”
“Why should she be? Sensible young woman that she is, she told him a long time ago that he wasn’t included in her plans for the future. In fact, I thought that you and Megan - but there, I’m probably wrong about that.”
Edward was amused initially about how much the old man learned about what went on in the family while hardly ever leaving the house. He was wrong about Megan though. Or, was he?
As soon as the shop closed he went to Glebe Lane in the hope that his grandfather had been right, but was told that Megan and Rosemary were away, staying with her other grandparents, Mr and Mrs Fowler, in Penarth.
* * *
That evening, Edward removed some of the window display, but left it untidy and half finished. There were two boxes left with price tickets, ready to set out, and the space for the golf tees and balls was covered with screwed up brown paper. He hoped this lack of order would entice the intruder to return.
This time, when he was woken by the barely discernable sounds from below, of rustling paper, Edward slipped on dressing gown and slippers and went down the stairs. He had been fast and he hadn’t made a sound.
He was immediately aware of the unpleasant smell. Dampness and stale food overlaid with sweat and something he thought he recognised as unwashed feet. Some people he’d encountered during his RAF career smelled like this when they first arrived and for days after. Any amount of scrubbing failed to ease away the smell of what he’d always thought of as poverty and despair.
When he saw the figure bending over the display, adjusting the golf tees into a neat circle, and knowing he was responsible for the foul air, he wanted to shout for the man to get out. Instead, he watched.
The golf balls were set out with the price tickets clearly shown; one or two sections of the window arrangement were adjusted to improve their symmetry.
“Mr William Jones?” Edward said as the man finished his task and stretched, groaning softly. “It is Mr Jones, isn’t it?” The figure shuffled around and said gruffly. “Can’t abide a slovenly window.” He didn’t seem startled; Edward had the feeling his presence, as he had watched him work, had been known to the old man.
“That’s what made me think it was you,” he said.
“I won’t come again, if it bothers you. The nights are long, see, and it passes the time
to come and look at what you’ve done with my old shop.”
“D’you like what I’ve done?”
“Y-e-e-s.” He sounded doubtful. “I don’t like the fancy shelves, mind. I had glass-fronted drawers. Much better than cardboard boxes stacked like this.” He waved an arm around the shop and the smell of stale, unwashed flesh took Edward’s breath away.
“How d’you get in?” Edward wanted to know. “Through the basement?”
“The door isn’t strong enough to keep a mouse out. And you don’t bother to bolt the flap in the kitchen.” He looked at Edward in a short-sighted way and asked, “Chance of a cup of tea, is there?”
Edward followed him into the kitchen and from the way the old man filled the kettle, found cups, tea caddy and the rest, he guessed it wasn’t the first time he’d helped himself.
When they were drinking the tea and William Jones was tucking into the biscuits he’d taken from the cupboard, Edward told him about the money. At first William didn’t believe him. Then his eyes lit up and he began to talk about having a proper room, with someone to cook his meals. Edward promised to help him find a place.
“But first,” he said. “I’ll get you some decent clothes and I want you to take a bath and clean yourself up.” The old man looked doubtful but agreed.
He left at four in the morning and Edward returned to his bed. He didn’t sleep, but pondered on the way luck played such a part in people’s lives. What had that poor old man done for fate to treat him so shabbily? He wished he could discuss it all with Megan, and wondered whether she would approve of what he was doing or laugh gently and call him a fool.
* * *
Barry emptied the house on Chestnut Road by the simple expedient of telephoning a second-hand shop and selling the whole contents. The few pieces he did want he took to the flat in a series of vanloads, and the flat was untidy and overfull.
Once before, Rhiannon had developed the habit of going up the stairs to the flat and tidying up, and now, curiosity took her up there again. What she saw was chaos. Knowing Barry, she knew it would be weeks before he got around to sorting it out. Slowly, she began to do it for him. Between customers and for part of her lunch hour she moved boxes and stacked them, labelling them as she went and soon there was a space in which he could walk, between bedroom, armchair and kitchen.
She decided not to do any more. She was feeling unwell, and besides, the rest was up to Barry. If he was content to live in a tip it wasn’t her worry. Her concern had never been for Barry. She simply hoped that if Caroline should call, she wouldn’t be discouraged from staying.
“Mrs Cupid,” Charlie teased, when she told him what she was doing. He offered to help but she declined, intending not to go up there again.
“No, I won’t do any more,” she told him. “I’ve enough to do with the shop and the house and I have a bit of a pain. Only now and again,” she assured him as he looked alarmed. “I’m sure there’s nothing wrong.”
She was in the shop a few days later when there was a loud crash and the rumbling of something falling. This was followed by a different sound as if a pile of dishes and plates had been smashed. She listened, half expecting to hear Barry shouting for help. He had been there a few moments before.
Turning the key in the shop door she ran up to the flat, dreading what she would find. The door wouldn’t open, there was something behind it. Pushing and heaving she managed to get her head around to see what was stopping it. Barry was lying against it, head angled alarmingly, his eyes closed.
In a panic now, she heaved against the door and managed to slide through. Kneeling down she called to him.
“Barry. Barry. Speak to me!” Her mind was working frantically. She would have to phone for an ambulance from the box on the corner. She’d have to tell Caroline.
His eyes opened and a grin widened on his face.
“Fool that I am. I tried to put a box of china on the top shelf and I slipped.” He stood up easily and offered her a hand.
“You’re all right? You let me struggle with that door with your weight against it and you’re all right?”
“Sorry, Rhiannon. I didn’t mean to frighten you, but I felt such a fool.”
The ambulance came that evening, but not for Barry. It was for Rhiannon, who lost her baby.
Chapter Ten
Rhiannon tried not to show her distress at the miscarriage, but when her parents came together to see her in hospital, she burst into tears. Charlie was beside her, his arms consoling her and promising her things would soon come right.
Lewis comforted Dora when they left the hospital. “Let’s visit our Viv and Joan, they’ll want to know.”
He put an arm around his small wife’s shoulders and for once she didn’t complain.
* * *
There was a week of sweltering heat. The skies were the deep blue of high summer, yet this was September and no one expected it; few could cope. The beaches were abandoned until evening brought hope of respite; even then, the sun was painful to the eyes. No one did much work, animals and humans alike tried to find places where it was cool, but there weren’t any. Even in the shadows the sun’s heat was felt. There was no movement of air and humidity soared.
Rhiannon lay awake listening to a child crying somewhere, the sound plaintive and lonely. Why didn’t someone go and comfort her? She wouldn’t leave a baby to cry like that. She fought back tears and tried to think of something other than children. She knew Charlie would be upset if he heard her crying again. She didn’t want to make him more unhappy than he was already.
* * *
Percy Flemming wasn’t asleep either. He had no robbery planned, and with so many people awake and sweating away the night hours it wasn’t a good idea, yet the thought of all those houses with windows wide open and sometimes doors as well, was too good a one to ignore.
Barbara had been getting restless lately. She was tired of living in a miserly manner, in a small rented house, knowing they had enough to live well. Once they had moved into the new house and furnished it as she wanted, she’d be content.
He wanted to be finished with this place. If his plans went well they would be able to move right away early in the new year; 1956 would be the beginning of the best time of their lives. No more going out at night. No more looking over his shoulder for fear of the police. He usually chose a time when the occupants were out, but tonight would be an exception. Windows wide in welcome, it would serve them right for their carelessness. He dressed and left the house without a sound. A few pounds extra would bring the move that much closer.
* * *
Barry had shown concern for the loss of Rhiannon’s baby and offered any help he could give.
“Tell her to forget about coming back to the shop until she’s quite recovered,” he told Charlie, then went to tell Caroline what had happened.
“I feel so guilty,” he admitted, when he and Caroline were out in their usual place, near the goat pen - the only place where they could find privacy in the Griffiths’s busy house.
“What you did was stupid, Barry,” Caroline said. “But I think the baby would have been lost anyway. A baby hangs on determinedly, whatever happens to the mother. There might have been something wrong and the shock you gave her only brought on the inevitable.”
“I still feel ashamed of my behaviour,” he sighed. “I fell while I was lifting the boxes and knocked over a pile of books and cameras and the like. One of the boxes was weak and it collapsed, spilling dishes and plates from the high shelf onto the floor. The noise was terrible. It seemed to go on for ages. I stayed where I’d fallen for a moment or two, then Rhiannon came up and - I felt a bit silly I suppose and covered it by joking.”
It was still very hot. The air hadn’t cooled as evening drew in. When Barry suggested taking the three-year-old Joseph-Hywel for a walk before his bedtime, Caroline agreed. He wouldn’t sleep in this heat.
“I’ll be working in the sweet shop until Rhiannon is well enough to return,” he told her a
s they walked hand-in-hand with Joseph. “If you’re passing, call in and say hello.” It seemed an idiotic thing to say to your wife, estranged or not, but Caroline smiled and said she might.
He went home and spent half the night getting the flat in order in case she did. It was too hot to sleep anyway.
* * *
Lewis couldn’t sleep. He got up at midnight and sat for a while looking across the road to his former home, where Dora was probably as restless as he was. Thinking of the sea and a cooling breeze, he dressed and as quietly as possible went down and got into the car.
In the next bedroom, Charlie heard him and wondered where he was going at such a late hour. He hoped it wasn’t a woman. Like Rhiannon, he had dreams of Lewis returning to Dora and leaving their house.
Driving to the beach, Lewis sat in the car for a while with the doors open in the hope of a movement of air. Even waving a map as a substitute fan didn’t help, for as soon as he stopped the heat intensified, leaving his face feeling stickier and hotter than before.
He got out and looked towards the sea. It looked tempting and he wished he’d thought to bring his dippers. Then he walked around the headland to a smaller bay, dark and eerie in the almost complete darkness. Standing below the cliffs he blended into the shadows and enjoyed the slight movement of air, which although warm, was soothing to his hot skin.
* * *
Edward was another who couldn’t sleep. He had opened the door to the basement and several of the windows of the flat, but the air was static and stale. He thought of the beach, and envisaged walking along the edge of the tide, barefoot and wearing only an open-necked shirt and light trousers. It soon became irresistible.
He dressed, closed the doors and went out.
Edward soon realised he wasn’t the only person wide awake that night. As he drove through the streets, he noticed several lights burning, and in one or two doorways a figure could be seen sitting on a chair, staring out into the relentless dark and heat of the late September night. When he reached the pleasure beach he parked the car and discarded his shoes and socks.
A Shop in the High Street Page 17