‘Not even Tony Ronconi?’
‘Especially not Tony Ronconi.’ She laid her hand over his as she left the bench. ‘Come on, time we got our son home for his feed.’
He tried to return her smile, but he felt as though the first cracks had appeared in the fragile life they had built for themselves. Cracks rooted in lies that could tear the whole fabric of their marriage apart.
Saturday proved to be a long day in the Tumble café, and by the time Ronnie had closed the doors, washed the floor and furniture and locked up, it was an hour into Sunday morning. Apart from a short visit to Megan, Tina and William had scarcely emerged from the upstairs room. Their disappearance had given rise to a lot of ribald comment, but Tina had categorically refused to move out into Laura’s.
Feeling more than a little sorry for himself, Ronnie hobbled up the blacked-out hill trying to ignore the pain in his leg. Turning the key in the door of Laura’s house he walked down the passage without bothering to switch on the light, to find Tony sitting by firelight in the back kitchen, a bottle of whisky and a glass at his elbow.
‘Drinking alone? That’s a bad sign,’ he commented lightly.
‘I saw no point in going out. Will’s shut himself away with Tina, you’re working in the café …’
‘That’s just two of us. There’s always plenty of people in the pubs only too willing to buy returning heroes a drink.’
‘I’d rather drink alone, if it’s all the same to you.’
‘I was hoping you’d ask me to join you,’ Ronnie said as he took possession of the easy chair on the other side of the hearth.
Tony rose unsteadily to his feet, opened a cupboard and produced an extra glass. ‘I’m sorry about Maud. Gina told me what happened.’
‘Thank you, I’ve no doubt you got the full story, so can we talk about something else?’
‘What do you suggest?’
‘Anything other than death, religion and the war.’
‘How about sex and the family?’ Tony lifted the bottle and slopped a triple measure into the glass then handed it to Ronnie.
‘To us?’ Ronnie toasted, wondering what had caused his brother’s peculiar mood.
‘And victory?’
‘Wow, strong stuff’
‘The best.’
‘Where did you get it?’
‘Ask no questions …’
‘And I’ll tell you no lies, I know. You’ve been writing letters?’ he asked, seeing an envelope on the table.
‘Just one.’ Tony picked it up and stuffed it into his pocket before Ronnie could take a closer look.
‘It’s odd to be in Pontypridd and not home, isn’t it?’
‘I might go up to Birmingham at the end of the week and see Mama,’ Tony spoke thickly, slurring his words.
‘Good idea. I’d like to go myself if I have time before I start work.’
‘Gina said you were going into munitions.’
‘I only wish I was fit enough to join the army and fight, but the doctor says no way.’
‘Who says the army fights? I’ve spent most of the last year in base camp, spit, polishing and pushing useless pieces of paper from one desk to another.’
‘But you’ll soon be doing more?’
‘How do you know?’
‘A week’s leave. No one gets that long unless they’re on their way to the front.’
Tony neither confirmed nor denied Ronnie’s suspicion. Instead he reached for the bottle and refilled both their glasses, to the brim this time.
‘Last letter I had, Laura said you were courting strong.’
Tony narrowed his eyes warily. ‘When was that?’
‘Before the war.’
‘Didn’t work out. Can’t see how any soldier would want to saddle himself with a wife when he could be killed at any moment.’
‘Plenty of women are prepared to take the risk.’
‘You telling me I should get married?’
‘God forbid I should try to tell anyone how to live. All I’m saying is that I’m glad Maud took me on. I know it wasn’t quite the same thing, but when I look at Tina, Alma and Bethan none of them seem to have any regrets, or the desire to live their lives any other way.’
‘Is the lecture over?’
‘Sorry.’ Ronnie drained his glass and left his chair. ‘The last thing I want to do is intrude. I’ve promised to take over the café for Tina this week, and that means an early start tomorrow, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go on up to bed. You’ll call down the café for breakfast?’
‘Not too early.’
‘I’ll keep back something decent for you. If you dampen down the fire I’ll see to it in the morning.’
‘Don’t bother. The least I can do is take over the domestic chores.’
‘I’m taking my laundry to the Chinese place in Mill Street. If you sort yours out, I’ll pack it together with mine. The girls are too busy to do it.’
‘So I notice.’
Ronnie was tempted to say something in the girls’ defence, then he noticed Tony’s unsteady hand. Experience had taught him that one of the most useless exercises in life was arguing with a drunk.
Tony waited until Ronnie had stopped moving around upstairs. When he was certain all was quiet, he pulled the letter from his pocket, opened the envelope and reread it. All he had to do now was get it to Diana. Gina had let slip that Diana was taking over Wyn Rees’s business because he was starting work in the munitions factory on Monday. If he left the note at one of the shops Diana would get it sooner or later. Hopefully sooner. While he still had some leave left.
‘Put any more bleach in that water and you’re going to come out like Little Nell on her deathbed,’ Megan warned as she dipped a jug into the sink Myrtle had filled to rinse her hair.
‘I’ve got to get these orange streaks out of it by tomorrow.’ Myrtle lifted her head and stared at her reflection in the mirror. It was just as well she’d only met Huw in the dark since she’d started work in the factory. If he’d seen the way the TNT powder she packed into canisters had yellowed her skin and discoloured her dark hair he never would have asked her out.
‘I thought you said you were going to tea with a friend from the factory?’
‘I am.’ Myrtle crossed her fingers behind her back as she lied. ‘Moira James, she lives near Roath Park.’
‘Well if she works with you, she must have the same canary tinge. So I hardly think her family are going to think you’re odd.’
‘She’s blonde so her hair has gone green, not orange. But it’s not meeting her family that’s bothering me, it’s going to Cardiff on the train and walking through the streets afterwards. You know how people stare.’
Megan knew exactly how people stared, but most were too used to seeing munitions workers to bat an eyelid at the strange tints in their hair. She suspected that there was more behind all this bleaching and washing than Moira James’s invitation to tea. Perhaps this friend had an unmarried brother around Myrtle’s age? She hoped she had. Myrtle had sacrificed the best years of her life to looking after her father and brother; it was high time she began to spare a thought for her own future.
‘The streaks are almost out. One more wash after your bath and you’ll be as good as we can get you.’
‘You really think they’ve gone?’ Myrtle pleaded.
‘So faded no one will notice. Just don’t forget to put a good application of goose grease on your hands and face tonight. There’s nothing worse for drying out the skin than bleach.’
‘Thanks, Megan.’
Megan closed the bathroom door and walked past Wyn and Diana’s room. She’d hardly seen them all day as they had elected to spend his last free Sunday for a while in the primrose fields of Creigiau with Billy. She could hear them talking, so she called out a good-night before going into her room.
She couldn’t help mulling over the conversation she’d had with Bethan. She loved Diana with all the fierce protectiveness of a widowed parent, and Wyn’s gentle thoug
htfulness had long since endeared him to her. She hoped her fears were groundless and they really were happy and would remain so, but hoping did nothing to ease her sense of disquiet. Perhaps it was time to tackle Diana, and have that mother-daughter talk she had been postponing ever since she had been released from prison.
Jenny stumbled out of the shop into the blackout and Judy Crofter.
‘Steady,’ Judy warned, ‘it doesn’t take much to knock me off my pins at this time in the morning.’
‘I would have given anything for another ten minutes in bed.’
‘You’ll get used to the hours.’
‘When? I’ve been doing this for a week now.’
‘Wait until you’ve been at it for six months. Here -’ Judy linked her arm into Jenny’s – ‘four legs are steadier than two, or so the sailor said to the prostitute.’
‘Judy!’
‘That’s nothing compared to some of the things you’ll be hearing on the factory floor now you’ve finished your training. There’s no room for prissiness in munitions. Come on, that’s our train whistling.’
Jenny clung to Judy’s arm as they pushed and shoved their way through the crowded confusion of the blacked-out station yard. Charging up to the platform, hemmed in on all sides by talking, shouting and laughing girls, she was beset by a sudden pang of terror. What was she doing? She’d led such a sheltered life. When she hadn’t liked school her parents had allowed her to leave early. The only work she had ever done had been in the shop, and that was easy enough. She’d managed her training, but what if she couldn’t cope with the actual work? What if she caused an accident? After all, she’d be dealing with shells, bombs and explosives. It wasn’t like messing up someone’s order, or leaving out a ration of butter.
‘Let’s try and sit together, so we can have a natter.’ Judy pushed Jenny down the platform away from the first carriages, which the men had commandeered and the women never entered unless shortage of standing room forced them to.
‘I’d prefer a nap.’
‘What time did you get to bed?’
‘Judging by the way I feel, too late.’
Once the doors were shut and the blinds checked by the guard the whistle blew again and the train chugged out of the station.
‘Who’s your friend, Judy?’ a voice echoed from the facing seats. Jenny was astounded that anyone could see enough to notice that she was new.
‘Jenny Griffiths, meet the gang. I would introduce you, but you’ll never sort one from another in this light.’
‘First day?’ the harsh voice enquired.
‘After training,’ Jenny qualified.
‘It’s always the worst.’
‘It’s not that bad,’ Judy asserted.
‘What do you think? Erik’s got his friend Wyn the queer into the factory.’
‘Wyn’s married.’ Jenny felt duty bound to stick up for her friend’s husband.
‘From what I hear that doesn’t mean anything.’
‘They have a baby.’
‘Doesn’t look much like Wyn Rees.’
‘You’d better not let him hear you say that, Maggie,’ Judy warned.
‘Why not? What can he do to me?’
‘Sue you,’ Jenny countered.
‘He wouldn’t dare. And I tell you something for nothing now. The foreman will be keeping an eye on him and Erik. If there’s one thing the men can’t stand, it’s pansies on the shop floor.’
‘Maggie …’
‘I’m serious, Judy. Mark my words. He’ll be lucky to get home in one piece tonight.’
Chapter Eleven
‘A letter came for you, Mrs Rees.’ Harriet handed Diana an envelope. ‘I found it under the door when I opened the shop this morning.’
Diana glanced at the handwriting, and failed to recognise it, but a queasy feeling of foreboding stole into her stomach. She tore it open, took one look at the signature at the bottom of the page and pushed it into the pocket of her jacket. ‘Just a bill from a wholesaler. Now, if you open the till I’ll show you how to subtract the takings from the float for the midday banking.’
‘Sorry I’m late.’
‘You are five minutes early.’ Huw Davies lifted his cap and ran his fingers over his bald crown, smoothing back the tufts of ginger hair at the sides of his head. He felt as clumsy and awkward as when he’d first taken a girl out, nearly thirty years before. He’d been sixteen, she fifteen, and he had bought her an ice cream from a cart in the park. Afterwards neither of them had known what to do, so they had hung around foolishly until the park keeper had evicted them when he’d closed the gates. He only hoped this outing was going to end on a more promising note. ‘Would you like something to eat or drink before we go? The buffet’s open.’
Myrtle shook her head as she stole a sideways glance at him. He looked different out of uniform: shorter without the added height of his helmet, and broader dressed in tweeds. ‘No, thank you. Megan let me sleep in this morning. I only finished breakfast a couple of hours ago.’ She followed him out of the booking hall and up the steps that led to the platforms.
She stood alongside him as they waited for the train, not quite sure what to do with her hands. He hadn’t offered her his arm. Did that mean he regarded her as nothing more than a distant relation through marriage?
‘I bought a South Wales Echo to see what’s showing in the pictures in Cardiff. If you’re not in a hurry to get back tonight we could have lunch, spend the afternoon looking at the shops, and finish up with a film. Jesse James is on in the Capitol. But then perhaps you don’t like Westerns?’ he suggested diffidently.
‘I like all kinds of films. Well, almost all kinds,’ she amended, blushing at her eagerness to please. ‘And I’ll watch anything that has Tyrone Power in it.’
The train drew in. Huw walked along the platform ahead of her, and held the carriage door open.
‘That’s first class,’ she said, preparing to walk back to third.
‘I thought I’d splash out. Special occasion, first outing and all that.’
He helped her up the steps and through the door. She sat back in her seat trying not to look overwhelmed at the unaccustomed extravagance, hoping that his gesture meant that he intended to ask her out again. If only she could think of something witty and amusing to say, something that would make him laugh and at ease with her. The way the men in the factory were with Judy Crofter and the other young girls who never seemed to be nervous and tongue-tied when they were in male company.
Diana forced herself to leave the letter in her pocket until she reached the park. Halting at the first seat, she looked around before removing it. Impatient, she accidentally tore the single sheet of paper. Jigsawing it together she read,
I have to see you. I will be at the bandstand in the park at one o’clock on Monday and Tuesday afternoons. If you don’t come, I will visit you on Wednesday in Wyn’s house. I know where it is.
Tony
She looked at her watch, it was twelve-thirty. She had promised Wyn that Tony wouldn’t make any difference to their marriage, but if she didn’t meet Tony, and he did visit the house there was no predicting what he might say or do, and probably within earshot of Wyn’s father.
She sank her face into her hands. Why did life have to be so complicated? It had all seemed so simple when Wyn had asked her to marry him. They had set up home, created a haven for themselves and Billy outside of the world, but between Erik and Tony it now looked as though the world was beating a path to their door. Why wouldn’t people allow them to live in peace?
‘That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I invited you for lunch.’ Huw surveyed the remnants of their meal. He’d wanted to buy Myrtle something special, but the Ministry of Food directive that protein was to be included in only one course of a restaurant meal, and the limited menus outside most places that no amount of imaginative labelling could conceal consisted of variations on vegetable stews, had led them to a small coffee shop in the Royal Arcade. The blackboard in th
e window had promised beef fritters, mashed potatoes and carrots, but the description had proved more impressive than the reality. There was more batter, mashed potatoes and carrot in the fritters than the occasional greyish strand that might have been meat or – as one of their neighbouring diners had suggested – gun-cotton.
‘It was fine,’ Myrtle lied valiantly.
‘Do you have any pudding?’ he asked the waitress as she approached to clear their plates.
‘Danish Apple or prune flan,’ she answered briskly.
‘Custard?’ Huw ventured hopefully.
The waitress shook her head. ‘But we do have mock cream, sir. It’s sixpence extra.’
‘Just the Danish Apple pudding, please,’ Myrtle said shyly, hoping the apples would take away the cloying, greasy taste of the fritters.
‘You sure you don’t want the mock cream?’ Huw urged, wanting to spare no expense.
‘No disrespect intended, but if it’s anything like the mock cream I’ve eaten in the canteen at work I’d rather not.’
‘Can’t say I blame you, madam.’ The waitress poised her pencil over her pad. ‘Just the one Danish Apple?’
‘Make that two,’ Huw looked to Myrtle. ‘And coffee?’
‘That would be nice.’
‘Let’s hope the pudding is better than the meal,’ he said, as soon as the waitress was out of earshot.
‘It wasn’t that bad.’
‘No?’
‘I’ve eaten worse in the canteen.’
‘This isn’t a canteen.’
‘It’s just good to be outside the factory.’ She looked at her watch. ‘On a normal working day I’d still have three hours of my shift to go. But instead of being tied to a bench, straining my eyes and cramping my fingers, here I am being waited on hand and foot, with window shopping and a film to look forward to, and nothing to do until tomorrow morning. So,’ she smiled, ‘this is absolute bliss.’
‘It is good not to be working,’ he agreed.
‘What would you be doing now?’
‘Depends on what shift I was on. If it was nights, I’d be thinking of getting up.’
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