‘Stop, Jake,’ she protested with a laugh. ‘I haven’t said I’m coming to join you! In fact, I’ve got a new job, cleaning for three families and I’ve moved back in with Mam and Greg. And Dad, when he comes home.’
‘Cleaning? Don’t you do enough housework, what with your flat and helping out at home? Surely you want something better, more interesting than cleaning?’
‘I won’t be earning much, but with the rent from the flat, there’ll be enough to put something in the savings each week. Have you managed to put away the usual amount?’
‘No, love, but I’ve bought a car.’ He spoke quickly to cover her protests. ‘It’s because I enjoyed that last weekend so much, lovely girl. I love you and I want to see you more often, try to persuade you to come to London.’
‘But we need every penny to buy a property, why waste money on a car?’
‘Don’t be upset, it isn’t anything grand, I’ll be down again soon and you can see for yourself that it didn’t break the bank.’
‘Living in London I wouldn’t have thought you’d need a car; the buses and the underground trains are so efficient. Anyway, why didn’t you discuss it with me? You make decisions with our money as though I don’t exist.’
‘You’re never here. That’s why. When I try to ring Llyn Hir you’re never there. You haven’t replied to the last two letters and, oh it’s hopeless being so far apart. Darling, you make me feel so unimportant. Come to London. Sell the flat and come.’
‘Sell the flat? You know I can’t do that. Gran left the flat to me and the cottage to Greg with stipulations. We can’t sell for a very long time.’
‘There has to be a let-out clause. I spoke to a solicitor and—Not a proper consultation, just a friend,’ he added quickly, as she began to protest.
She moved in to Llyn Hir with Greg’s help and left the flat neat and tidy for her tenants. Jake phoned several times during the following weeks, but there was a strain in their conversations. Zena knew the edginess came from her. She and Jake had both made important decisions without discussing them and that was not how it should be.
It was pleasantly relaxing to be back home. She fitted into the routine with ease. The local farmer, Uncle Sam – honorary uncle – or his father Neville, called often, sometimes bringing eggs or a rabbit, or just to sit and talk about things. Mabs was a regular visitor. Neighbours sometimes called and the evenings were a great improvement on sitting in her flat on her own and she knew she had made the right decision. She’d decided not tell Aunty Mabs or her parents about Jake’s car – more secrets. She’d wait until he came home and pretend she had shared the decision to buy one. She had been defending Jake for so long it was an automatic thing to do.
She did tell her brother about the car and that she hadn’t known before the purchase. ‘I can’t really complain, Greg,’ she admitted, ‘I left my job without telling him and decided to rent the flat and move back here. But my excuse is that he never seems to get my letters and I can never reach him at the office.’
‘Tell Mam and Dad,’ he advised. ‘Don’t complicate things.’
At the hospital, her parents sat holding hands, reminiscing affectionately. She told her parents about the car as though it was the most exciting thing. They were not convinced that Zena had known beforehand of the purchase, but said nothing.
Mabs wasn’t about to hold her tongue.
‘So he’s bought a car, then,’ she said one Friday, as she set out sausages and mash for them both.
‘Yes.’ Zena concentrated on cutting a piece of sausage and didn’t look at her aunt. ‘Isn’t it exciting? We can have some lovely days out once summer comes. We decided that coming home would be a lot easier for Jake with a car. The journey is so tedious, underground trains with two changes and all the rest.’
‘Better sense if he’d bought it for you, gel. There’s you going around on a bike with winter coming. Snow, ice and bitter winds ahead of you. You need a car, not him.’
‘It’ll be lovely to have transport when he’s home.’
‘So he’ll be home every weekend, then?’
‘He’d love to, but he often works at weekends and he travels abroad as well, remember.’ The defensive lies came out, when would they ever stop?
Greg borrowed a car and took Rose out for the day. They drove through the pretty, beautifully cared-for Pembrokeshire villages, stood on a beach for a while but were driven back to the car by a cold strong wind with raindrops at its edge. After lunch at an hotel and a leisurely drive back, they were happy and relaxed as they approached the village of Cold Brook Vale.
‘Come back and meet Mam and Zena,’ he suggested, but she shook her head.
‘Another day. I’m tired and I want to go home and sit and dream about the lovely day we’ve had.’
‘One day soon?’ he coaxed.
She kissed him lightly as she stepped out of the car and stood while he drove away. Then she walked to a house several streets away and let herself in, the smile gone, regret creating a sad frown.
Ronald’s health had improved enough for him to be given a new date to leave hospital and although everything had been done, Zena and Lottie set to, dusting, rearranging things with unnecessary care. Greg helped move the furniture and clean the windows and with a fire laid ready to light, they were satisfied.
Her mother was at the hospital and Greg was out with friends and Zena was alone in the house. The day was ending early in a glowering darkness, the clouds were low and threatening and it was very still and cold. She placed the vegetables in the casserole and put it into the oven. She wasn’t sure what time her mother and brother would be home, but guessed they wouldn’t be very late. Mam was visiting the hospital after the stationers closed and visiting at the hospital ended at eight. It was only an hour’s journey to get home.
She appreciated the warmth of the house, glad she had chosen to come back to Llyn Hir. It had been a retrograde step, she admitted that, but it would give her the chance to think about what she really wanted from life. Her greatest disappointment was the lost dream of running a bed and breakfast with Jake. His impulsive move to London had changed everything.
She looked around the room she had known all her life: the couches and chairs where they had flopped each evening, bringing friends and filling the place with their arguments and laughter; the rather battered table where they had eaten so many meals and shared so many secrets. Perhaps she simply hadn’t grown up? Maybe she hadn’t been ready to consider marrying Jake who wanted a life in the big city? A grown-up woman would have supported her future husband and followed him wherever he went, wouldn’t she?
She had been so sure of what they both wanted but they were drifting apart, probably because they saw so little of each other. These last few weeks his travels had taken him further and further away. He rang sometimes to tell her he had been to Spain or Germany and other countries about which he seemed very reluctant to talk. He was out of contact for days at a time and the weekends had no importance in the decisions to send him. She decided that next week she would go to London and talk to Jake and see whether she could clarify her thoughts and maybe make him understand.
On impulse she phoned his office, crossing her fingers as she dialled the number, doubting he would be there, but very much hoping he would be. A young girl answered and told her, ‘No, Miss Martin, Jake isn’t in the office, he’s probably at the warehouse. Shall I tell him you called?’
‘No need, I’ll get him at the flat later.’ She thanked the girl and replaced the receiver. That was another problem, the difficulty of reaching him when she needed to talk. Thank goodness her parents had a phone and she didn’t have to go out in the cold to find a phone box.
She looked through the curtains as evening closed in and shivered at the thought of the winter months still to come. A fresh pile of logs stood near the gate where Sam Edwards had delivered them. The garden looked drab and neglected. Her mother usually made sure it was ‘tidied away for its winter sleep’, as s
he put it, but this year, with her father ill and Lottie spending so much time in hospital the grass and flowers had been left to slowly decay.
There was nothing to do until her mother and Greg were back from visiting her father, although, she thought with a smile, that might be only Mam; Greg would probably decide to stay in town and meet friends. At twenty-one, two years younger than Zena, his social life was very lively. She settled down to write to Jake.
She thought about Jake in London and wondered what he was doing; something more interesting than cooking a meal and an evening listening to the wireless with her mother. But London didn’t tempt her. She had no intention of moving.
The truth was she was contented with her life here in the small Welsh village of Cold Brook Vale and couldn’t imagine ever making such a move. London was a foreign country so far as she was concerned. Jake said he understood and was prepared to wait until she decided to join him but lately he was never willing to discuss it. ‘Just tell me when you are ready to join me,’ were the last words he had spoken to her on his brief visit.
Feeling guilty at the way she was neglecting him, she wrote a loving letter filled with enthusiasm with ideas of where they would live, and how she was looking forward to all the pleasure they would have discovering the joys and excitements of living in the capital city. She felt even more guilty when she finished it as none of it was true. She didn’t want to move away, she was a small town girl at heart and didn’t think she would ever change. She hoped that Jake would change his mind and come back to the village filled with friends. She tore up the letter and threw it on the fire. Adding lies and dishonest promises wasn’t the answer.
She went to pull the curtains across and was surprised to see that it was snowing. It was only early December but large flakes were already settling on the garden and partly blocking the outside light. She hoped her mother was already on the way and would arrive safely. She pulled the curtains tight and, as she did so, the lights in the house went out and the oven fell silent.
‘Oh, no!’ she said aloud. The outside light had failed too and the darkness was almost complete, just the flakes softly falling catching the ambient light of the day’s ending. She stared in the direction of the light for a few seconds. Surely it was just a blip and it would come on again? After a disbelieving few moments she felt her way through the house to the kitchen to where her mother kept emergency candles, torches and matches. She lit candles in the kitchen and the living room and carried the torch in her pocket.
The first thing to do was contact a neighbour. Although neighbour was a misnomer, the nearest houses were on the small estate at one end of the lane; in the other direction along the narrow lane shadowed by overgrown trees on both sides, was an empty property with a large overgrown garden, that everyone called the haunted house and beyond that, a bluebell wood and Uncle Sam’s farm.
But first she’d ring the hospital to warn her mother to stay with Aunty Mabs instead of trying to drive up the lane. Then she’d ring her to make sure she was safe, but she was shocked to find that the telephone was dead.
Seriously alarmed, she opened the door to look out hoping to see or hear her mother’s car but the silence was absolute. So far from another house and with that strange hush created by snow, she could have been the only person on the planet. She hoped her mother and Greg would have the sense to stay in town, but she stood a candle inside a jar on the shelf near the front door to help guide them if they managed to walk.
Greg came out of the cinema and was surprised at the suddenness of the snow storm. Seeing the thick covering of snow and aware of the rising wind that was threatening to build drifts, he wondered how he would get home. The possibility was that the lane would be blocked and he didn’t fancy burrowing through snow drifts. He and Rose had been for a meal, but she had refused to go with him to the pictures and had gone home earlier, preferring, she told him, to have an early night.
If he could reach the hospital and meet his mother there, maybe they could work out the best way of getting back to the house. The only alternative was to stay with Aunty Mabs and perhaps, he decided, as he looked up at the large flakes, that might be the wisest decision.
Then his thoughts turned to Rose and her reluctance to progress to a different level with their friendship. He had never met her parents; she had been very reticent when he’d suggested it, but in an emergency like this she might be more easily persuaded. As he walked towards the hospital he wondered why Rose had been unwilling for their families to meet. Shyness was hardly an acceptable reason; after all they had known each other for a long time and had been dating steadily for six months, with neither his family nor hers aware of their growing attraction.
His mother was in the phone box outside the hospital and came out when she saw him. After discussions about Ronald’s progress, Lottie said, ‘Thank goodness you came here. We won’t be able to get home in this. No buses, cars are slithering all over the place, and when I tried to phone Zena to tell her we’ll be staying with Mabs, the phone is down too.’
‘With Mabs? If she’s in!’
‘Don’t be silly, of course she’s in.’
‘Mam, I saw her a few nights ago in the main street, dressed in about four layers of coats and that huge old hat of hers.’
‘She’ll be back home at this late hour for sure. She doesn’t go far in the evenings.’
‘I’ve seen her a few times late evening and I didn’t know how to ask where she’d been going. She’d probably tell me to mind my own business!’
‘Layers of clothes and a big hat? You were obviously mistaken. She doesn’t go out at night, hasn’t for years.’
‘It was Aunty Mabs, Mam. There’s no mistaking her swaying walk.’
His mother dismissed it with a ‘Nonsense, dear’, and Greg decided that tonight wasn’t the time to argue. ‘The flat is quite small, what if I stay with a friend of mine? Rose lives not far away, I could take you there, then go on to stay with Rose. I’m sure her family will take in a stray out of the storm,’
‘Who is Rose?’
‘Rose Conelly. She works in Davy’s shoe shop. We’ve been seeing each other often these past weeks.’
‘Someone special, is she? So when will we meet her?’ Lottie turned her head to look at her son, preparing to tease but at that moment her foot slipped and they continued the journey laughing, with her hanging on to fences and being supported by Greg.
Mabs was in and welcomed them with a sigh of relief, thankful it wasn’t one of her evenings for her night-time activities. ‘Come in, I’ve put some blankets to warm in case you turned up. Kettle won’t be long and I’ve got some soup ready to heat. You’ll have to sleep on the couch, Greg.’
‘It’s all right, Aunty, I won’t stay. I’m going to stay with a friend.’ He darted off before the questions could begin. He had walked Rose home on many occasions so he didn’t hesitate to push open the gate and knock on the door. When the door was opened an elderly woman stood there. He offered a hand. ‘Hello. Mrs Conelly? Is Rose in, please? I’m Greg, Gregory Martin.’
‘Who?’ the woman questioned. ‘Who’s Rose? No one of that name here.’ She closed the door and he heard bolts pushed home. Puzzled, he stood for a few moments staring at the door. He looked around. He hadn’t made a mistake, this was the right house. There was the tree behind which they kissed goodnight. Slowly he walked back to Mabs’s flat through swirling snow which had settled to an alarming depth and was almost obliterating abandoned cars. He had to think of an explanation that would be far from the truth. Then he had a better idea. Staying with a friend would avoid a lengthy list of questions to which he had no answer.
The wind was rising, the still falling snow finding ways to sneak around his collar and slide down his neck. He pulled his already wet coat tighter around him and walked on past Mabs’s flat. A few people were walking purposefully along the road, under the street lights but unrecognizable, huddled as they were in thick coats and hats and scarves. His friend welcomed
him and they made supper companionably then Greg settled on the couch and lay awake all night trying to fathom what Rose’s true story might be.
Chapter Two
The snow continued unabated and Zena settled in an armchair, somehow unable to undress and get into bed; the empty house and the silence outside was unnerving her. Unable to cook she had tried to sleep without eating, but that too was impossible. She foolishly waited for her mother and Greg to join her, three plates set out on the kitchen table. She sat up, pushing aside her attempts to sleep. She was hungry! And thirsty. Gathering a jumper and a dressing gown, she made herself a sandwich and wondered how long it would be before she could make a cup of tea.
An hour passed slowly and she emptied the last of the coal onto the fire. If she were to stay warm she needed to get more fuel. The flickering light from the fire was a comfort as well as warmth. With a torch to light the way she went to the barn to collect the two filled coal scuttles. A fox howled in the distance and she thought the poor animal would go hungry tonight.
The swirling snow, moved by the gusts of wind, disorientated her and she missed the door to the barn by a few feet. She found her destination with the aid of the torch and grabbed the filled scuttles, her heart racing. Something was disturbed by her moving them and there was the sound of something shifting behind her as she left the barn. With visibility so restricted, and imagining someone unseen standing close by watching her, she stumbled in an attempt to run the last few yards despite her burdens and hurried inside. The short walk in the darkness had unnerved her more and she picked up the poker for a false sense of protection, then laughed at her stupidity. She would never be able to use it on an intruder.
To reassure herself she held it aloft and went into every room, checking wardrobes and cupboards even glancing up at the loft door which was undisturbed. Slowly she relaxed, comforted by the thought that at least the fire wouldn’t fail her.
She slept very little, just dozing and waking with the hope of someone arriving. She frequently tried the telephone, half believing she had been mistaken; its loss had been a bad dream. She also made up the fire: at least the house would be warm when her mother got home.
The End of a Journey Page 3