Hywel and his sons were well known to the police due to their persistent poaching. Taught by their father, the boys were experts and, although often caught, their efficiency at gathering fish, fowl and game to sell was legendary. Basil, now married and with two small sons, went out only rarely and Ernie, too, was caught up in the attentions of his new wife.
Frank still roamed the fields at night mostly to satisfy himself that he still had the skills, and to take home one or two items for the family pantry. Sometimes with Hywel but more often alone, he wandered the fields and woods and river banks, knowing every path and short cut, unerringly finding his way on the blackest of nights. He boasted that he could find his way home blindfolded.
Frank followed Mair again the following night. She again left at the same time as her father, and again entered the Railwayman’s to sit with Viv, Basil and Jack. This time she didn’t stay long and left before Carl, without exchanging a glance with him.
Frank guessed their plans. So devious he thinks he is, he said to himself as he rose to follow: pretending not to know her, and then staying the night. Why can’t she see how he’s using her?
Pushing Mair’s bicycle into a gap in the hedge as they had done on the previous night, Carl and Mair walked along the dark lane hand in hand. Frank followed like a cartoon character, slipping from cover to cover, lost in shadow, and not making a sound on the crisp cold ground.
He watched as the bedroom light flicked on then off, ending all hope of Carl being turned away. The darkness was a comfort to him. Frank didn’t go home, just wandered around his regular haunts, making small circuitous forays through the trees returning regularly to see whether there was a light showing or any other sign that Carl was leaving. Imagining him there with Mair was painful, but he knew that even if Carl hadn’t been the one there would have been someone other than himself. Mair considered him a fool – if she considered him at all.
Although there was no moon and few houses offering even the slightest light, Frank moved around the wood as though it was daytime, listening to the small rustling sounds as the denizens of the woodland went about their night’s activities. But instead of seeing the creatures in his mind’s eye and imagining their perambulations in search of food, he could only see the bedroom of the Gregory’s cottage, and two people there making love.
At three a.m. he stopped his aimless roaming through the narrow, almost invisible paths made by the animal population of the wood. An expert at keeping still he stood, unmoving, leaning against a tree and watching Mair’s house. He wasn’t tired. He was used to being out most of the night, but he felt a weariness that was due solely to the realisation that Mair was lost to him. He spent the next two hours motionless, listening to the sounds of the night and planning ways to annoy Carl.
Carl left at five thirty, allowing plenty of time before Mair’s father was likely to return. Always secretive, Frank thought with a sneer, although, this time he had good reason. Big Carl might be, but Constable Gregory wouldn’t be an easy man to manage if he caught him with his daughter. The Griffithses were frequently in trouble for fighting and Frank felt rage growing and swelling inside him; he allowed it to develop, enjoying it, until he was actually moving towards the tall figure hurrying away from the cottage. But he held back. What good would it do? It would only alienate Mair even further. Slowly, anger subsided leaving a dull, aching sadness in its wake.
He waited until the bedroom light was extinguished, then quietly went to collect her bicycle and placed it outside the back door where Mair was certain to see it. She would guess who put it there, and perhaps experience a couple of guilty moments.
For no reason, Frank watched the house until the wavering light of Constable Gregory’s bike appeared. House lights told of his movements as he went into the kitchen to make tea before going upstairs where a light appeared in the bedroom as he apparently changed out of his uniform before coming down again. Creeping closer, Frank heard him scraping together the ashes of the fire, and he stepped back as the door opened and the constable came out to collect wood and coals to relight it. There was a yell, a stream of invective and Frank saw that Mair’s father had tripped over the bike. Chuckling, he loped off on his long legs, through the wood and home.
* * *
In the continuing absence of Peter, Jennie was still uneasy in the house at night. Sometimes she dozed fully dressed on the bed, at other times she fought her fears and half undressed, before giving in to her nervousness and adding a dressing gown and extra blankets and sitting propped up with pillows, waiting for dawn.
She became expert at recognising the various sounds, listening and becoming attuned to the very different world of the darkness hours. She learnt to know every noise and when to expect that wonderful moment when the light changed and dawn crept around the curtains. She was surprised at how early the day began. Even in the winter, there were sounds long before she had expected them. Birds began to stir and neighbours rose, to visit the bathroom, or open the door for a dog, or sometimes to stoke a fire, hopeful of reviving it. Men’s feet passed as they set off for work, with murmured conversations.
The milkman was often the first to relieve her feeling of isolation, whistling as his chinking bottles were left, one beside each front door, his van purring away to his next stop. No matter how she pretended, Jennie always welcomed these sounds, grateful for the end of the worst of her loneliness.
Windy nights were most unsettling, with unexplained sounds frightening her by their suddenness, encouraging fanciful thoughts of damage or of someone breaking in. On these nights she didn’t go to bed at all, but sat near the fire drowsily waiting for the hours to pass. She kept the fire alight, its occasional flickering a comfort and the snap of a piece of wood or a fall of coals friendly sounds.
In her angriest moments she blamed Peter’s mother. In her saddest she blamed herself. In her weakest she wished Peter’s mother were dead.
She needed to contact Peter and speak to him without the presence of his mother. She thought that if they met they might start talking and come to see their present separation as a mistake. She searched her mind for an excuse. Any bills that came, she re-addressed and posted to him at his parents’ home. There seemed no excuse for her to go and see him, and she was too proud to go without one. She remembered that the front window was rattling and needed fresh putty. Was that a reason to call? To warn him of the extra expense if the window fell out in a strong wind? March was always a wild month.
That evening, when she knew Peter was home from work and would have eaten his meal, she knocked on a door through which, in normal circumstances, she would have walked. Peter answered and at once he glanced behind him clearly not wanting his mother to see her there.
“What d’you want?” he asked coldly.
“There’s work needed on the house and I thought you should know,” she answered, equally indifferent.
He reached up and snatched a coat from the row of hooks and checked his pockets for a torch, as he called to tell his parents he was going for a walk. Slamming the door behind him he began to stride off down the road. Mulishly she stood beside the door and waited until he turned, waited for her, then walked back.
“Aren’t you coming?”
“Why wasn’t I allowed in? Am I likely to soil the carpets with my shoes? Or poison the air?”
He had the grace to mutter, “Sorry.” She waited and he added, “It’s just that I didn’t want to start Mam off again.”
“That I can understand. All this is because your mam won’t allow you to think for yourself, isn’t it?”
“Why haven’t you found a job?”
“There isn’t anything available at present, at least, nothing I’d enjoy. I want to work for myself.” Why should she get a job she thought as she walked beside him watching his face, curled up with – what? Anger? Frustration? As soon as she had a wage coming in he would only pay half of her outgoings on the house. Some incentive for getting work!
“You’re being difficult.”
“Don’t keep on about Mam, the decision that our marriage was ended was mine not hers.”
“There is a job going that I’m pretty sure I would get,” she said. “Old Gladys Weston wants a cleaner. How about that?”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” He snorted. “Mam would – I mean – I would be embarrassed.”
“I heard you the first time,” she said sadly.
Peter saw her home but didn’t stay to make sure she was safely inside. Standing for a moment outside the house where they had begun their married life he was filled with disappointment. He hadn’t wanted to buy a house. They should have lived with his parents for a year or two and saved properly so they could have afforded something better. But no, Jennie had to have her own way, as usual.
He didn’t return to his parents’ house straight away. He walked around the empty streets of the town, fumingly angry at life, and how badly it had treated him. Mam had been right about Jennie, he admitted. She was selfish, greedy for her own success instead of supporting him in his career. She was constantly letting him down. He remembered the leaving do for Freddy Parker. He had been asked to give a speech and she hadn’t bothered to remember.
Mam had warned him she wasn’t a loving, caring woman. Jennie was too thin she had told him, and vain. A wife needed to be plump and affectionate; Jennie was neither. She had said the same about any girl he had brought home. Fat girls are happy, and not constantly worrying about their appearance and whether they can attract other men, she had said. He had often laughed at her insistence that his girlfriends needed to be plump, but perhaps she had been right about that, too? Perhaps Jennie was too attractive? He remembered taking her arm and being aware of its thinness. It had been repulsive then, in his anger and hurt, but now he remembered it as vulnerable and wished she needed him and hadn’t caused everything to fall apart.
* * *
Most of the shops in Pendragon Island closed for the half day on Wednesdays. Rhiannon often went back to Temptations to clean the top shelves and do other tasks while the shop was closed. This had become a little difficult as Barry Martin, who owned Temptations met his estranged wife in his flat above the shop each Wednesday in an attempt to give their marriage one more try. Hearing them arriving, and moving about as they made tea and settled to talk was rather embarrassing. These days, if she did go back after lunch, she no longer stayed more than an hour. Caroline and Barry’s marriage had been on and off more times than Rhiannon could remember. She wondered whether they would ever be content, or if the ghost of Barry’s brother, who had died in the same crash that killed her own brother, Lewis-boy, would always be there, between them.
One Wednesday at the beginning of March she decided to take Gwyn’s dog, Polly, and go for a walk instead of trying to work in the closed shop. She had a lot to think about. She was almost certain she was pregnant again. Having lost a baby the previous September she was in no hurry to tell people. Too many told meant too many explanations if it went wrong again. Charlie knew, of course, and he was thrilled and so was Gwyn. But fear of a repeat disaster made her hesitate to make the news generally known, although, she knew it was time to tell her mother.
Rhiannon’s feet took her to Dora and Sian’s café that cold but sunny afternoon. The wind that had tormented the town for several days had stopped and the debris of a few fallen tree branches were littering the streets. The steamy windows of the café told her it was full. For years it had been a place for women to meet for a cup of tea and a gossip, and the service provided by her mother and Sian Weston had increased its popularity.
Stepping inside, engulfed by the warmth, she wondered how to begin her announcement. She looked at Dora, searching for the words, unable to hide her smile and didn’t need to explain.
“A new baby on the way, Rhiannon, love?” Dora whispered, as she found a table for her daughter and promised tea and lemon pancakes.
“Mam! How did you guess?”
“Don’t really know, something about the shape of your face, and the look in your eyes I think. Hang on while I see to these customers and I’ll be back.” She busied herself dealing with the requests at two newly occupied tables then told Sian that she was going to talk to Rhiannon.
“Take your time, I’ll manage for ten minutes or so,” Sian replied.
“So, when’s it due?” Dora asked. “Oh, I should say congratulations or something first, shouldn’t I? I’m very pleased for you both, love, and so will your dad be, you know that.”
“I am pleased of course, but I don’t feel able to talk about it yet. You and Charlie and Gwyn are the only ones to know.”
“Losing a baby like you did is bound to make you anxious, but there’s no reason to suppose the same thing will happen. When’s it due?” she repeated, patting her daughter’s hand.
“September. The same month I lost the last one.”
“What a perfect time to have a baby! He’ll be sitting up and taking notice in time for the spring. Wonderful. Now, how long will you go on working at Temptations?”
“Charlie wants me to leave straight away.”
Dora took her lead from the doubtful look on her daughter’s face. “But you’d rather continue for a while?”
“I’d worry more sitting in the house with nothing to do, wouldn’t I? Sit there panicking at every twinge and waiting for a repeat disaster.”
“Come on, Rhiannon! This isn’t like you, worrying about nothing at all.”
“I couldn’t bear the disappointment of losing another child.”
“For lots of women, a first pregnancy ends in disappointment. Some don’t realise it’s anything more than a late period.” She mentioned her own experience, although it was something she still had difficulty discussing. “Your dad and me, we still think about the baby we lost, you know. Before we had Lewis-boy and our Viv and you. Full term he was and we lost him. So, if anyone understands how you’re feeling it’s me and your dad.” She watched her daughter’s face sadden even more, regretted mentioning it, and said brightly, “Come to supper tonight, you and Charlie and young Gwyn. We’ll celebrate the news and decide who to tell next.”
“Viv, of course, and Eleri and Basil.”
“Of course our Eleri. Lewis-boy’s lovely wife. That was another loss of a child,” Dora couldn’t help saying. “Our Lewis-boy was a grown man, but his death in that stupid accident was just as hard. Harder really, we’d had him for so long we believed him to be a permanency.” What a lot of other troubles his death had revealed, she remembered with sadness. Revelations that had split herself and Lewis up and had her life tumbling about her ears.
Dora and Lewis still thought of Eleri as their daughter-in-law, even though Lewis-boy was dead and she was now happily married to Basil Griffiths and had two small sons. For Rhiannon too, Eleri was still the sister she had always wanted.
“Eleri will be pleased, won’t she? Charlie and I want her and Basil to be the baby’s godparents.”
This was more positive thinking, Dora was pleased to notice, and when Rhiannon left half an hour later she relaxed, believing that Rhiannon’s fears had been soothed away.
Charlie was home when Rhiannon dragged a tired Polly through the back garden gate and opened the back door.
“Charlie! This is a surprise. Mr Windsor let you off early, did he?”
“I thought we’d go out tonight, to the pictures, there are one or two Gwyn might like to see.”
“Oh, but Mam’s invited us all to supper,” she interrupted. “If that all right with you?”
“You’ve told her then?”
“Thrilled she is. I expect she’ll be looking out knitting patterns the minute she gets home.”
“Good on ’er!” Seeing that his mother-in-law had succeeded in lifting Rhiannon out of her apprehensive mood, he added, “I’ll slip up to High Street and buy her some gorgeous flowers, shall I?”
“Good on you, too,” she teased, with a smile
.
* * *
“I asked Mr Windsor for more work today but he refused,” Charlie told them as they ate supper in 7 Sophie Street. “I want Rhiannon to pack up work and stay home. We three have to enjoy these next few months. The build up to the new arrival should be special, don’t you think so, Dora?”
“Yes, and no. These next few months will be specially sweet, but I don’t think Rhiannon is ready to give up her job yet.”
“Mr Windsor said he doesn’t want our Dad to do more work because he needs him to be efficient and hardworking but not tired,” Gwyn explained. “He said a car mechanic is a very important person, didn’t he, Dad?”
“He told me that once, a long time ago, he heard someone refer to him as, ‘only a mechanic’,” Charlie explained, “and he realised then that his job, his skills, were far more important than some believed. We put cars on the road knowing they are as safe as we can make them, he reminded us. People depend on us, people like me and Gwyn, for their safety.”
“And that’s big responsibility,” Gwyn added proudly. He loved his work.
“So, no overtime for Charlie,” Rhiannon said, “and, as I want to carry on working, we’ll have a chance to put a bit by for the new baby. There’s a lot it will need.”
“I wish we knew whether it was a boy or a girl,” Gwyn sighed “I hate saying ‘it’.”
“Let’s call it he-she, and cover the choices,” Lewis smiled. “Now, Rhiannon, come and look at these knitting patterns and tell me what you think we’ll need,” Dora said. She was surprised when Charlie, Rhiannon and Gwyn looked at each other and laughed.
* * *
Baby talk was an occasional subject for discussion in 19 Philips Street, where Sian Weston’s son, Jack, lived with his wife, Victoria. They both wanted a child and having no luck was beginning to worry them. “It’s so odd, with my mother producing seven, that I can’t manage one,” was Victoria’s oft repeated statement. “Perhaps I should get a job,” she said. Word had reached them, via Viv and Joan, of Rhiannon’s happy news and for Victoria it was an added reminder of her own failure.
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