“We’ll be looking out for you, sir. Just report to us anything odd that happens and if you think of anyone who might fit the bill, you will let us know, won’t you?”
Gilly saw Gerry step back from sight as the door opened. He closed it quickly and came back into the living room, stooped and obviously very frightened. She savoured the idea that her mother had not been the intended victim. At first it was comforting to know there was no one who wanted her mother dead, then anger against Gerry, simmering for so long, burst out.
“I think you should go. Leave us alone. Go and live with your mother,” she said coldly. “You don’t belong here. Nothing’s gone right since you came on the scene. You’re our bad luck, Gerry Daniels, and I’ve always known it. I don’t want you anywhere near me, I don’t want to look at your face, knowing that by sleeping with some loose woman you caused my mother’s death.” Her voice became shrill as all her grief, unhappiness and dislike of the man poured out.
“Stop this, Gilly, at once. You don’t know what you’re saying. I didn’t pull the trigger. It isn’t me that’s to blame! How can you think it, Gilly. I expected comfort in my grief from the family, not this accusation.”
“Just go away. You’re disgusting! I can’t bear to look at you while we’re grieving for my mam.”
“I’m a part of this business, remember, Gilly. I inherited a share of the profits and the responsibilities from your dear mother. I’ll continue to do my duty and look after it as well as I can until your uncles come home. Your mother promised to keep it going for them. Her promise is my promise. I have that much honour even if you haven’t a high opinion of me.”
“I’ll see to the bakery. Your help won’t be missed. With Auntie Bessie and Dai Smoky and – I’ll get someone to help. We don’t need you, step-father!”
She held back the tears until she was out of his sight. There was so much to cry about: first losing Paul, then Granfer dying and leaving her; now Mam. It seemed so unfair.
* * *
Ivor seemed unmoved initially by the death of Fanny, but Gilly soon noticed a change in his behaviour which she put down to grief. Since Fanny had been killed he rarely left the house. He seemed easily frightened but would tell no one why he was afraid. He wanted to talk about it. He even tried, but the words became jumbled as usual and people soon got tired of listening to his confused ramblings. Gerry got angry with him, told him not to talk nonsense. Gilly always smiled and said, “Tell me later, Uncle Ivor.” Bessie smiled, too, and offered him something to eat. No one would sit and listen.
On witnessing Cyril’s attempt at bathing Ivor had doggedly pursued the man to his room. Cyril had the upstairs-back, the front door of the house was un-locked, so, in the darkness, Ivor made his way up the lino-covered stairs, still carrying the shoes and socks. He heard no response to his knock on the door of Cyril’s room and daringly he opened it a crack.
The remains of a candle glimmered weakly on a saucer beside the bed. He saw Cyril sleeping, fully dressed and propped against the wall. He saw the gun cradled in his hands. Covering his mouth with a fist to stifle the gasp of fear, Ivor backed away, dropping the shoes with a clatter, and hurried from the house.
* * *
“Mam, love, what are you making?” Lucy came into the room after selling their latest stock and saw Polly hastily hide some work under a cushion.
“Nothing, really, just a design I’m working on. I’ll show you when it’s finished, right?”
“All right, but why the secrecy? We usually work designs out together.”
“Did you have a successful day?”
Lucy could see her mother was determined not to discuss what she was working on and she smiled affectionately. Polly led such a dull life, who was she to criticise her for adding a bit of simple excitement to it with surprises?
“I saw Teifion today,” she told Polly. “He’s invited me out and I think I’ll go.”
Polly stared at her daughter, a frown sitting uneasily on her usually cheerful face. “I thought – you haven’t mentioned him for weeks, I thought you’d quarrelled?”
“We had.” Lucy smiled grimly at the memory of the attempted love-making at the hotel. “There was something we – well, anyway, I thought I might as well go. I haven’t been out for ages, apart from selling our work.”
“Yes,” Polly tried to sound cheerful. “Go and enjoy yourself, it’s a short life.”
Lucy stared at her mother, her blue eyes showing concern. “Mam? You aren’t ill? You’re all right?”
“I’m fine, love. At least, I do feel a little unwell.”
“I’ll go for the doctor.”
“No, I’m not that bad.”
Lucy ignored her mother’s plea and pulled on her coat. Polly rarely complained and if she so much as hinted that she was unwell, Lucy knew it was time to get medical help. In a wheel-chair for so many years, there were so many problems that could occur.
It was after Polly was comfortably in bed and the doctor had gone, reassuring her that it was nothing to worry about but that he would call in the morning, that Lucy found the crotchet her mother had hidden under the cushion, a collection of half finished brooches, small animals, book-marks and pencil cases, designs she hadn’t seen before. Each one carried a label with their name written on it.
“Mam, what are these?” she asked, spreading them out on the narrow table.
“Look in the Oxo box on the shelf,” Polly smiled. “I wasn’t going to tell you yet, but now you’ve found them you might as well know.”
The Oxo box was half full of coins, at a guess Lucy thought it contained about three pounds. She frowned at her mother, waiting for an explanation.
“It was Gee’s idea,” Polly began. “He thought with Christmas coming and everyone searching for inexpensive presents we’d do well if we made smaller, cheaper items, so that’s what I’ve been doing at odd moments, between the bigger items. Don’t you think it was a good idea?”
“What has this Gee got to do with us?” Lucy felt anger rising and tried to hide it from her mother.
“He’s a friend of mine. He pops in most days to see if I need anything and stops for a chat.”
“I see. And he told you where I was going wrong in business, did he?”
“It wasn’t like that, love. He mentioned how well some of the market stalls are doing and, well, the idea grew between us. I make them and he sells them, but he won’t take a penny of the profit. And they’re quick and cheap to make. Only odds and ends left over from other things.”
“Mam, why did you put our name on them!”
“Because Gee thought it would be an advertisement.”
“Gee, Gee, that’s all I seem to hear these days. Mam, love, I’m trying to make our name by supplying only the most exclusive shops and departments stores and there’s this Gee, selling cheap oddments on a market stall, with our name on them – an illegal one, too, for sure.”
“Well, yes, he doesn’t have a license if that’s what you mean. Oh, Lucy, I didn’t think. It seemed an easy way to make a bit of extra money for us to have something special for Christmas.”
Lucy fumed inside against this man who seemed to befriend her mother and persuade her to do things without telling her own daughter.
“I’ll go and see him.” She stood up and straightened her skirt purposefully but Polly stopped her.
“No, love. Don’t upset him. I’d miss him terribly if he stopped coming. He meant no harm and it’s me to blame if anyone is. I’ll tell him I can’t make any more and I’ll thank him. He really is very kind. I wish you would meet him, but not now, not when you’re angry.”
“It’s very odd that he keeps out of my way, only calling when I’m out.”
“It isn’t odd at all. Thoughtful he is. He knows I’m lonely for most of the day so he comes to keep me company. Then, when you’re home, he knows I don’t need him so he stays away. Besides, he works funny hours, being a bakery assistant. He knows all about you, mind,” she added with
a smile. “He’s always asking, wants to know all about you.” Lucy found that a bit creepy but she smiled at her mother and said, “All right, I’ll accept he’s your friend and I won’t tell him off but, Mam, don’t do anything like that again without discussing it, please.”
“Still going out to meet that Teifion, are you?”
“I doubt if he’ll still be there. The film we were going to see started ten minutes ago. Still, it won’t harm him to be stood up for once.” She chuckled. “It might do him a bit of good!”
Polly didn’t reply.
* * *
A month after her mother’s funeral Gilly received a letter from Paul. It was warm and full of sympathy, describing the death of her mother in such a bizarre way as insane, and promising to write more often in future to comfort her and let her know she was constantly in his thoughts as she had always been.
From then on, his letters changed. At first they were only details of the news he was allowed to impart. How he had not managed to fly a plane but instead had found himself in the cook-house catering for hundreds of men. And how he was enjoying it, much to his surprise.
Gradually the letters became more personal and they slowly, cautiously, returned to the loving relationship they had begun to enjoy before he had joined the RAF. She wrote to tell him of her plan to open a second café, one she could truly call her own, far away from the influence of the family. And he encouraged her, admired her enterprise and offered advice. Across the miles their love revived and blossomed so the end of the war became a desperate longed for mirage, seen as a shimmering fantasy, but never coming closer.
It was Bessie who suffered most from the loss of Fanny. She sobbed uncontrollably for most of the week that followed her sister’s death. After the inquest and the funeral her tears continued to fall unabated. Gerry, confined to the house by fear, showed her scant sympathy. She set about her work in the bake-house with her usual dedication but gradually she became less and less reliable.
Gerry found ways of adding to her confusion by a few carefully arranged “accidents” for which the unhappy woman was blamed. A sack of flour became damp through neglectful storage, Gilly found weevils in boxes of sugar. They ran out of coke, the cakes didn’t get baked and orders had to be cancelled. In the afternoons when she wanted to go and talk to her friend, Edna, he pointed out that if she did then the shop would close, he being unable to expose himself to the risk of another bullet. While he made appointments for the bank manager and solicitor to come to the shop and discuss plans, Bessie scurried around trying to cope with the shop, the bake-house, ordering stock and gathering in the money that was due to them. All she could think of was the day her brothers would return and remove her burden.
With the business falling about their ears, Gilly found it difficult to help. Gerry had put himself firmly in charge and the way they had always baked bread was changing. The things Granfer had considered important, even the almost ritual cleaning to make sure the floor and every utensil was free of a speck of dust, seemed no longer important. She no longer had any heart for the work and involved herself completely with the new café. Only Dai Smoky showed any interest in baking bread, determined to have something for the boys when they returned. Gilly closed her mind to the problems that arose with increasing regularity and pinned her hopes on Uncle Sam sorting it out when he came home.
Her new café was situated in the main road, not far from the bus stop into town. With the help of her two assistants she also ran the one in the bakery shop. She knew she should be concentrating on the bake-house but had scant time to feel guilty at not doing more to preserve the family business.
Thoughts of Paul filled every free moment. What a surprise he would have when he came home to see the new and thriving cafés. And herself a businesswoman, set up for a successful future. She pushed aside the problems facing her Auntie Bessie and began preparing the menus for opening day.
The content of the discussions between Gerry, the bank and the solicitor were not revealed to Gilly or her aunt. Gilly looked at the desk in the living room and occasionally tried to open it to see for herself, but it was always locked and the key kept in Gerry’s waist-coat pocket.
The police continued their enquiries, calling on all Gerry’s friends and several times including Cyril in their questioning. But they hadn’t given any hint of the possibility of an arrest and slowly the tension eased and Gilly and Bessie resigned themselves to the fact that they would never know why Fanny had died.
Gerry finally accepted the danger and walked out purporting to visit his mother. He went to talk to Maisie and together they planned their move.
While he was out, Edna and Vic Smoky, Dai and Bessie came to Gilly and told her of the situation they faced. “There’s nothing left,” Dai told her. “The stores come in and disappear and there’s me not seeing the going of them. Selling it he is, for sure. Him and that mate of his Derek Green I suspect.”
Gilly felt her stomach shrink against the idea, not now when Paul and she seemed to have forgotten that earlier accusation. “Give me one more week to get the café underway,” she said, “then I’ll find someone to run it and I’ll come back to working in the bake-house with you both.”
“Not with me, love,” Auntie Bessie said sadly. “I’m leaving. That Gerry has spoken to me like I was his personal skivvy once too often. Going to live with Edna and Vic I am, just as soon as I can get packed.”
There was no persuading Bessie to stay on and Gilly faced the prospect of sharing the house with only Gerry and Ivor for company. “Give me another week, please,” she coaxed.
“Sorry, love, but I’ve had it up to here with him in by there.” Bessie gestured with her plump hand to the living room where Gerry had returned and sat waiting for his tea.
Gilly kept her letters to Paul personal and didn’t mention anything about the low state of Jenkins’ bakery and the consequent rise of Green’s. She reminisced about the things they had done before war had separated them and promised that he would return to revive old memories and create new ones. She talked about her Uncle Sam and his desire for a blackberry pie and asked if there was something he longed for as part of his homecoming.
She hoped for a sentimental response but he wrote back and told her that his dream was for a paddle in the sea where he could smell seaweed and warm sand, which made her smile.
On a whim she went to the beach and sat among the laughing late-summer crowds to write a reply. She described the little girls in their bathing costumes made from oddments of material shaped with shirring elastic, the boys energetically playing leap-frog, when there was room. There were few men present and most of them were wearing suits and shirts and ties, clearly there on sufferance while the women were busy feeding their little tribes from tea-towel-wrapped parcels of sandwiches supplied by the guest-house proprietors. She reminded him of how the holiday-makers would have had to give up their ration books and part with a week’s supply of the basic foodstuffs to stay with the landladies of the town.
It was a long letter, very different from her usual style, and she wondered, after she had posted it, whether it would amuse him, bore him or make him sad and homesick.
* * *
Shirley had seen little of Gilly since the war had really taken the town in its grip. Threatened with war work and the prospect of having to wear an unattractive tan-coloured overall with metal buttons, Shirley had swiftly found herself a job in Derek’s bake-house which, she insisted, was imperative to the war effort. In fact the position was a sinecure and after walking around behind Derek and taking a few dictated letters, wearing an attractive white turban and white flowing overall that hung open to reveal her trim figure in a sheath dress, she was free to spend the day as she wished.
One day she saw Marigold Richards walking her baby through the town, carrying a heavy bag. “Where you off to, on holiday?” she laughed. “Winston Churchill won’t like that you know, told to holiday at home we are, for the war effort.”
“Fat ch
ance of a holiday. No, I’m trying to find someone to mind the baby while I get a job,” she said. “Mam and Dad are good and they’d help but I’m determined to stand on my own two feet and look after Stella without help. I’ve heard of a woman in Bin Tally Street. Don’t know what she’ll be like, mind, but I’ll have to give her a try. The other woman let me down.”
Shirley looked after the young woman struggling to carry the necessary clothes and bottles for the baby’s day with the stranger. On impulse, she called after her.
“Give her to me, I’ll mind her, nothing better to do for the afternoon.”
So baby Stella Richards found herself an Auntie Shirley who soon became her devoted slave.
One afternoon Shirley took the baby to Jenkins’ shop to show Bessie and Gilly. Gerry was there and he ignored the visitor and her charge.
“Embarrassed,” Shirley excused. “Some men can’t help feeling shy with babies. They stare so accusingly don’t they?” she added with a thoughtful glance at Gerry. Forgetting the fear that had dragged at his heels since the murder, in the new fear of someone finding out about Marigold’s baby, Gerry hurried from the house and went again to see Maisie.
* * *
A visit from a friend of Uncle Vic and Uncle Viv gave cause for concern. He told them both men were ill and, far worse, they had been separated. Apart from being told that they were in the hands of the Japanese, there was no further information.
Eventually they were told officially that the men were missing, presumed to be prisoners, but there was nothing more and Gilly felt certain that she would never see them again. She prayed for them all and wrote, hoping that somehow, amid the chaos of war, the words would reach them. To Sam she said nothing about the difficulties and unexplained disasters in the bakery. But she did tell him about Gerry and Maisie’s wedding.
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