A Shop in the High Street

by A Shop in the High Street (retail) (epub)

  Janet glanced at Caroline. She wondered whether the thought of another wedding in the family while her own was such a failure, would upset her. Caroline stood up, dropping the dress and a tape measure onto the floor, and hugged Helen.

  Happily, Janet agreed.

  * * *

  At the restaurant, renovation was still continuing. During the hours when there were no customers, builders were making the final touches to the house. The restaurant and kitchen had been in reasonable condition, needing only a few items to update them plus some restoration to cover the scars of the building work. But behind the scenes, decorating bedrooms and hallways and staircases still had to be dealt with. Margaret was tired, and every day wished Edward were there to help. He was so hard-working and a calming presence, and she needed both.

  Islwyn appeared to be doing something whenever she saw him, but the result of his day never reduced the amount of work to be done. Besides being slow, he was clearly uninterested. Even unwilling, she admitted to herself sadly.

  Before they had sold Montague Court he seemed as excited as she when they made plans for their restaurant. But now that they lived in a partly decorated house, with constant money worries, with exhaustion and no time to relax, the novelty had faded. She faced a growing realisation that Islwyn wanted to give up on their future. She hoped he didn’t want to give up on her too.

  Having had him sharing her life for a number of years, although until recently secretly, she didn’t think she could face being alone again. Would she have to choose? Either giving up on all this and keeping Issy, or staying here and struggling on alone?

  It was three o’clock and they had two hours before starting on dinner. Abandoning the work that awaited her, she locked the door, placed a ‘Closed until five’ notice on it and invited Islwyn to come to bed.

  They woke up at five-thirty and at once Margaret was in a panic. Jumping out of bed they ran like clockwork toys gone berserk, unable to decide what to do first. Islwyn ran a bath while Margaret opened the curtains, took out a clean overall, and hopped around looking for a second shoe.

  “Issy, go and open the door, quickly! We could be missing customers!” No answer. “Issy!” she shouted in panic. “Issy!”

  “What on earth is it?”

  “The door. The door! There’s someone knocking on the door!”

  “Give me a chance to dress,” he shouted back, running from the bathroom and streaming water over the carpet. “I doubt we’re missing anyone wanting to book, people usually telephone don’t they?”

  “Stop dripping on the carpet. It soon gets grubby if it gets wet!”

  “Oh give over woman!”

  “Well you’re making a mess!”

  “I came urgently because you called me urgently!”

  “I didn’t mean you to charge about naked!”

  Islwyn dressed at top speed and ran down to remove the notice from the door. A car stood in the driveway. He combed his still-wet hair, adorned a smile and walked across to speak to the driver.

  “I’m sorry, were you waiting to book a table for tonight?”

  “No, I want to see Margaret Jenkins.”

  The man wouldn’t give a name or explain his business, he just followed Islwyn into the hallway and waited. When Margaret came down, freshly bathed, dressed and smiling politely, he handed her an envelope. After opening it and reading the contents, she stared at it in disbelief.

  “Tell me this isn’t true,” she whispered, her face white, her eyes wide and staring. “Just tell me it isn’t true.” When he took it from her shaking hands, Islwyn saw that it was a County Court summons for non-payment of debts.

  * * *

  Edward was surprised when a taxi drew up and his grandfather stepped out. How odd, he thought, for the old man to call again so soon. He went out, paid the taxi and helped his grandfather into the shop. He thought he looked pale and less healthy than when he had last called.

  “Are you well, Grandfather?” he asked, as the efficient Mair attended to a customer. “It’s very nice to see you again. Would you like to go out and have tea in the Bluebird Café? It isn’t far.”

  Mt Jenkins accepted and although they stayed for almost an hour in the café, he said very little. Edward waited, expecting to be told the reason for the visit, but any conversation was confined to discussing the people around them and the food they ate.

  They returned to the shop and his grandfather asked a few questions about the business, as if ensuring that Edward’s decision had been a good one. Edward still wasn’t sure why he had come. Then the old man began talking about the friends he had lost and how, at the age of ninety-six, he had realised he was the only one left out of a group of lifelong friends.

  “All gone, Edward. There isn’t a living soul that I’ve known since childhood. It’s a sad world when you haven’t any friends left.”

  Edward tried to console him, remind him that he still had family, but he wasn’t to be comforted with false words. His family had no time for him and hadn’t for a long time.

  “I’ve just been to see Wilbert Howells’s son,” he said. “Poor old chap, he’s past seventy you know, and ailing. And Harriet Coleman, and Gordon Rees and little Johnny Jones. And that William Jones you told me about who used to run this place. I called on him, too. All gone, the parents I mean. There’s no one left. I’m in the front line now and standing alone.”

  Edward reminded him of the younger members of the family and the grandchildren of his friends.

  “The world goes on, Grandfather, and you have your memories. Besides, you’ll be here to watch it for a while yet.” He took out a photograph of Megan’s baby daughter that Sally had given him and handed it to the old man. “Terrence is the father, so Rosemary is your great-great-granddaughter. Isn’t that something to be happy about?”

  “When are you and Margaret going to start having babies?” he asked gruffly. “About time, isn’t it? Or you’ll be my age with no one, friends or relations or memories.” It wasn’t until he was leaving that he asked, “Tell me Margaret’s address, will you? I’ve forgotten.”

  When the taxi came to collect him, Edward heard him give the driver Margaret’s address. He had a cold, fearful thought that the old man was doing the rounds saying his goodbyes, knowing he was about to die.

  * * *

  Margaret didn’t receive her grandfather very graciously. She was frantically busy, doing the preparation for seven different recipes, setting tables and wondering if she would ever have time to get to a hairdresser, when he arrived unannounced.

  “Darling Grandfather, how nice, but you’ll have to talk to me as I flit about I’m afraid. I have less than an hour to prepare for the first sitting. Eight covers, three different main course choices, and Issy isn’t back from the bank yet.”

  “Bank closed hours ago,” the old man muttered.

  “Well, he had other things to do besides boring old money to pay in.” She wished Issy would hurry. He could entertain her grandfather while she got on with the meals. Where was he?

  The tables were set, with flowers arranged in the centre of each. The vegetable waters were simmering, the casserole finishing cooking and the fish and meats ready to grill, and still the old man sat there. With ten minutes to go before the first customers arrived, irritation simmered faster than the vegetables. Didn’t the old man realise how valuable her time was?

  In desperation, she asked, “Would you like to stay for dinner, Grandfather? You can sit in the bar while I finish my preparations. I won’t have a spare second to talk for an hour or two.”

  She hoped the hint was sufficient for him to be on his way, but he said, “Thanks. Edward took me out for tea and now you’re inviting me to dinner. Quite an eventful day I’m having.”

  Margaret ushered him into a small area which was separated by yucca palms and ferns that they called the bar, where people waited until their meal was ready to serve, and silently begged Issy to hurry back. She had served the first course to all eight pe
ople and was juggling with the main course when Issy finally came in.

  Aware of her agitation he began to tell her where he had been but changed his mind. Better he tried to ease her into it gently. So he said brightly, “I met Ryan. Seems he’s much better and Sally has been talking as though he’s forgiven. I never thought he’d get away with beating up his wife, did you?”

  “Where the hell have you been?” Margaret shouted. “No one here to deal with dishes and my grandfather’s in there expecting to be entertained. I’ve been trying to cook for all these people and amuse him while he’s drivelled on about all his friends who’re dead, and what they died of, and how well Edward’s doing and Megan’s illegitimate child!” Not allowing him a word, she went on, “Can’t you get it into your thick head that we’re running a business here and you’re needed?”

  Islwyn’s response was to turn around, collect the coat he had just taken off, and walk out.

  Somehow Margaret managed to survive another evening on her own. A couple of irate diners who had to wait an excessively long time were given a free meal to compensate, but the rest seemed happy to talk for longer than usual, and smile when she apologised with a free glass of house wine.

  It was nine o’clock when she saw her grandfather into a taxi and gave his home address, eleven-forty-five before she closed the door on the last of the diners.

  Tired though she was, she didn’t collapse into sleep as she had on a previous occasion. This time anger kept her wide awake and impatient for Issy to return home.

  He came in at three, stood there as she berated him, then said quietly, “I’ve seen the bank and a solicitor, Margaret. We have to cut our losses and sell.”

  * * *

  At number seven Sophie Street, Lewis continued to work on the garden. Gradually a routine developed and Dora looked for him during the times when neither he nor she had office work to do, and she would prepare a meal. They worked alongside each other, sharing the work, discussing each flower bed and each path. The lawn was seeded and regularly watered when necessary. They went to the nurseries and chose rose trees and shrubs and planted them. When the weather didn’t allow work outside and on the occasional evening they pored over catalogues and discussed the merits of various flowers.

  Across the road, Rhiannon and Charlie metaphorically held their breath.

  * * *

  Edward telephoned Sally and asked whether she would mind if he invited Megan out for dinner. “I realise it will mean you looking after little Rosemary and I don’t know how you feel about that,” he explained.

  Sally assured him it would be a pleasure to take care of the baby and then brought Megan to the phone.

  “I want to take you out for dinner, to Montague Court. Will you come?”

  “When?” she asked in her abrupt manner.

  “Tonight? I’ve already asked your mother if she would look after Rosemary for us.”

  “Thank you Edward, but I can speak for myself.”

  “I know that,” he laughed, “but foolish, vain old thing that I am, I didn’t want you to accept and then be disappointed when you couldn’t come.”

  He arranged to call for her at seven-thirty but was there early so he could see Rosemary being prepared for bed. There was something wonderful about the feeling of that fragile little child in his arms; she was so vulnerable, creating such feelings of love and tenderness. He was surprised at the strength of emotion such a tiny person could produce.

  The dining room at Montague Court looked much the same as when he and Margaret had owned it, but the table linen was different; Annie had chosen pink tablecloths and napkins, edged with maroon embroidery. And there was a set of antlers over the fireplace; Edward had found them in one of the loft rooms and given them to a delighted Annie. Windows too were bright with generous frills of lace curtains over which maroon velvet curtains were set to be drawn.

  A huge log fire burned in the fireplace around which brass and copper gleamed. It looked more cheerful than he remembered, and Annie’s greeting added to the feeling of warmth. The place exuded friendliness and a generous welcome.

  “Annie and Leigh Grant have changed everything, yet very little has actually been altered,” Edward remarked to Megan. “Their personality has made the difference. Margaret always resented having to allow people into her home, didn’t she?”

  “Yes, but she’s doing the same thing now, opening a restaurant in what is also her home.”

  “Not her home for long, if what I hear is true. They’re in trouble and there doesn’t seem much chance of getting out of it.”

  “Financial?”

  “Yes, and caused no doubt in part by the fact that my Uncle Islwyn doesn’t like work!”

  While Megan went to ring her mother to assure herself that Rosemary was all right, Edward spoke to Annie and Leigh.

  “Are you happy now that you’ve lived here for a while?” he asked.

  “Deliriously so,” Leigh replied. “It’s what Annie’s always wanted, giving people good food and seeing them go off contented and warmed by friendliness. It’s something she’s good at, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Definitely. We noticed the difference the moment we came in.” Edward looked at Annie, rosy-cheeked and smiling, her gentle eyes checking and rechecking the tables to ensure that no one needed anything more. “What about staff, do you manage all right?”

  “With the hotel bookings increasing we need a housekeeper,” Annie told them when Megan returned. “We have parties booked for the Christmas weekend already. We’re offering five-day breaks from Friday the twenty-third until Wednesday the twenty-eighth, then another weekend to include New Year. There’s a dance here on New Year’s Eve, why don’t you come?”

  They discussed their evening as Edward drove Megan home.

  “I can’t help thinking that Margaret and I could never have created such a pleasant atmosphere as Annie has done,” Edward said. “You have to be happy in what you’re doing before you can make others feel the same.”

  “And you, Edward, are you happy in what you’re doing?”

  “I am. I know it doesn’t seem much compared with Margaret’s grand schemes, but it’s what I’ve wanted and I consider myself fortunate to have achieved it.” She was silent for a while and he asked, “What about you? Have you thought of where your life should lead?”

  “Not really. I have to concentrate on Rosemary for a year or two at least.”

  “And you’re not sad about that?”

  “I enjoy every moment spent with her. I don’t need anything else for the moment.”

  “I can understand that,” he said, saddened by what he understood to be a warning off. Why should she need me? he asked himself. She had a loving mother and a close family. She lived in a comfortable home, had money enough to survive and a child of her own.

  When she went inside, after running up the path anxious to see her child, he was engulfed by loneliness.

  * * *

  At the restaurant, Margaret was going through the accounts. Whichever way she wrote them out, there was a serious shortfall. Islwyn was right, they would have to sell. But still she fought against the obvious.

  “Issy, if we take in boarders like your sister-in-law Sally did, wouldn’t that bring things around?”

  “It’s too late for that. Too late for any last-ditch attempts. We have failed and if we don’t sell now, we’ll be in debt for the rest of our lives.”

  “But if only you could—”

  “I hate the work. I’m not like Edward. Oh, I tried to be for a while, but I hate it. I hate being subservient to people with money and no manners, people who come here and expect to treat me and talk to me as though I were stupid. I hate the mess they leave, and the stale food that we have to clear away, the dirty dishes and – oh, everything about this business.”

  “Then you won’t help me to fight for survival.”

  “It wouldn’t do any good if I did. But no, the best way I can help is to refuse to help. You must see that t
he only way we can survive to start again, is to sell. Immediately. Sorry, my love, but this is one of those times when taking a long step back is the only way forward.”

  * * *

  Edward couldn’t stop thinking about his grandfather; lonely and preparing to die alone, apart from people paid to look after him. A few years previously, the old man had tried to sell the house near the pleasure beach, and move into a hotel. But although several people, including Gladys and Arfon Weston, had looked at it, no one had made an offer and there he had stayed with his housekeeper and one servant; an anachronism in a changing world.

  When the phonecall came later that day to tell him the old man had died in his sleep, he felt guilt that he hadn’t bothered to show more concern, and a determination that, as the oldest member of the immediate family, he would take it upon himself to deal with the funeral.

  He rang Margaret to tell her, and when she put down the phone, her words to Islwyn were, “Perhaps he’ll leave enough money to straighten us out?”

  Islwyn shook his head. “I’m leaving, and I want you to come with me, but if you choose this place, then you’re on your own.”

  He knew that wasn’t true; he would never leave her. The relationship was stormy, but Margaret made him happier than he’d ever been with Sian. Besides, he didn’t want to find a job, not even cooking fish and chips. No, his future was with Margaret, but he had to persuade her that Waterside Restaurant was not the place in which to live it. A conversation with Edward, as arrangements for the funeral were made, gave him an idea.

  * * *

  Terrence wasn’t expected to come down for the funeral. When he was told of his grandfather’s death, he simply asked Edward to let him know whether his grandfather had left him any money.

  “There’s got to be something. There’s the house,” he interrupted excitedly as Edward began to speak. “Once that’s sold—”