* * *
The news came to Eirlys via the police. There was a loud knock on the door of Ken’s parents’ house, a brief, whispered conversation, then they came and stood beside her while the constable told her that Annie was dead. She stared at the constable and he had to repeat it as she seemed not to have heard him.
Her first thought, after the initial shock had receded, was that she wanted to see Johnny. She needed him there to help her over this. Instead there was Ken and his family and she was so thankful that she had not decided to stay with strangers in some anonymous bed-sitter as she had originally planned.
‘I’ll go home with you,’ Ken said, putting an arm around her. ‘You aren’t in a fit state to travel on your own.’
Recovering fast, Eirlys shook her head. Tempting as it was, she knew that at a time like this she could easily give Ken the wrong impression. She loved him dearly, but had no thoughts of a future for them together and she couldn’t allow herself to mislead him.
She asked him to let her new boss know what had happened, and then, carrying only a small suitcase, she went by bus to Paddington and commenced the long, sad journey home. She was unaware that on the same train Stanley, Harold and Percival were playing snakes and ladders with Teresa, in between marking their progress on a list of stations in a railway guide given to them by an elderly passenger.
* * *
Unaware of the tragedy that had taken place, Johnny stood outside Hannah’s front door early that morning and knocked. He knocked loudly and stood prepared to push a foot in the door to prevent Hannah from closing it when she recognised him.
It was still dark and rain was falling, cold rain that threatened to turn to snow. As he waited, the first flakes settled on his shoulder, to vanish immediately into the soft navy cloth of his overcoat.
It was late in the season for snow. He remembered Granny Moll calling it ‘daffy’ snow, sudden to cover the ground but staying only a short time. He was unaware of the cold, thinking only of what he would say to Hannah as soon as she opened the door to him.
The door shifted after he had heard the swishing sound of the blackout curtain being pulled across. Then she was there and at once he stepped forward into the hall.
‘Johnny, you mustn’t come in.’
‘I have something to say to you and it won’t wait,’ he said, firmly guiding her back into her cramped living room.
‘Who is it, Hannah?’ a voice called from the back.
Stifling Hannah’s reply, Johnny pressed a hand gently over her mouth and called back, ‘It’s me, Johnny Castle, and I have business to discuss with your daughter. Private business, right?’ There was anger in his voice but when they went inside the room where the gas light gave its friendly glow there was no anger in his eyes, only love.
‘I don’t want you to think this is desperation, or love on the rebound, or anything else except this. Hannah, I love you. I want us to be a familiar sight, walking around, doing everything together, as a family. You, me and Josie and Marie, never apart, so everyone knows we love each other.’
‘Johnny, what about Eirlys and—’
‘No one else counts. There’s just you and me and the girls. I love them as much as I love you.’
‘I can’t do this, Johnny.’
‘Why? Don’t you love me?’
‘There’s the age difference for one thing,’ she protested weakly.
‘It hasn’t made the smallest difference to how I feel for you so why worry about it?’
‘Your father wouldn’t be happy about us.’
‘He isn’t marrying you. I am.’
‘How can you want to take us on, when you could find someone young and without all my encumbrances?’
‘What encumbrances?’
So far he hadn’t touched her and the air around them was fraught with barely controlled emotion. He lifted her chin with a finger and made her look at him.
‘Tell me you don’t love me and never will, and I’ll go away,’ he said softly. ‘But before you decide, let me show you how much I love you.’
For a long moment he stood there, looking at her, staring at her, pleading silently for her to give the answer he so desperately wanted. When he did open his arms and hold her, she couldn’t explain the tears except to say that they were tears of happiness like she had never believed in before.
* * *
The news of Annie’s death spread swiftly around the town and people visiting her home with sympathy for Morgan had him almost constantly in tears. He felt hollow but couldn’t eat, he was exhausted but couldn’t sleep. He just sat and watched the clock going around, drank gallons of tea, and waited for Eirlys to come home.
Mixed with his grief were regrets at how he had made Annie’s last weeks so unhappy. Why had he been so stupid and started that affair with Irene Castle? If only Annie hadn’t found out, he wailed inwardly. Irene hadn’t been a serious threat to his marriage; in spite of his words of love and his promises, she would never have been important enough to persuade him to leave his wife. If only he had ended it sooner, Annie would have died without the distress of knowing.
He heard the latch on the gate click and jumped out of his chair. Through the front window he saw his daughter and for a brief moment wondered how she would behave towards him. Would this dreadful situation ease her return, make them forget the agony of their parting? The words with which he would greet her were on his lips, practised through the long night and day, but he didn’t say them. Voices accompanied Eirlys’s progress and he stared in disbelief when first Percival, then Harold and then Stanley and Teresa came into sight.
He didn’t get to hug Eirlys, or say the words he had planned; instead he was leapt upon by the boys, their faces showing their grief. Yet their relief at being back in St David’s Well was soon apparent by the way they wandered around the house reacquainting themselves with it. He was grateful that the moment was eased by their affectionate greetings. Teresa followed her small sons and hugged him as enthusiastically as her sons had done.
Eirlys had decided to ignore her father. How else could she deal with all this? She couldn’t pretend to have forgiven him. The death of her mother couldn’t wipe out his shameful behaviour towards her. Having someone to blame eased her pain, and added to his.
She had been shocked at his appearance when she walked in, and was glad of the chance to recover while the boys fell on him with such delight. He was pale and his face seemed to have lost its roundness, his eyes were large and deeper in their sockets. It was obvious he hadn’t slept since being told of Annie’s death last night, and sympathy swelled but receded quickly, as she thought of her mother and remembered how deceived she had been by Morgan.
Leaving Teresa and her sons talking to him, she went into the kitchen and began to prepare a meal for them all. Crosse and Blackwell tinned soups were always a favourite with the boys. With some bread, and with cakes and fruit to follow, it would have to do until she could do some shopping in the morning.
She began to work out where they would all sleep. She unkindly decided that the quickest and simplest arrangement was for her father to give up his room and allow Teresa to use his bed. When she suggested it his look of horror changed her mind for her and she was ashamed. How insensitive she was becoming.
She knew she should talk to him, let him share his grief with her, but she wasn’t ready for that, although she knew the moment would come. With complete lack of logic she blamed Morgan for everything, and the pain inside her made her unaware of how unsympathetic she was being, thinking of herself and her own aching misery and not sharing with her father the tragedy of his terrible loss.
* * *
Teresa made herself at home, spreading her things around the various rooms, demanding various changes in the way the furniture was arranged and accepting Eirlys and Morgan running around after her as her right. While Eirlys and Stanley washed the dishes, Teresa announced that she was taking Morgan for a drink.
‘Do ’im good, poor man
, it’ll make sure he sleeps.’
Eirlys wanted to say something but she was too amazed at the woman’s suggestion and too offended by her father’s swift agreement. She ran upstairs. Teresa’s clothes were everywhere, and she pushed them unceremoniously into a corner.
Stanley followed her and said, half apologetically, ‘’Ard work, ain’t she, our ma. She loves clothes and she’s pretty, ain’t she?’
‘Yes, Stanley, she’s a very pretty lady, but she’ll have to learn that there isn’t room for her to spread all her things about. We’re seven – I mean six,’ she corrected sadly, ‘and there isn’t the room.’
* * *
Hannah had persuaded Johnny not to make their love for each other public. They decided that they would wait a few months, and only gradually let it be known that they intended to marry. Johnny had willingly agreed with Hannah’s wish, as he did not want people to whisper that he had turned to Hannah in his disappointment over Eirlys.
‘It will soon be time for the new season to begin,’ he told her on the day that Eirlys returned to St David’s Well. ‘I’ll be caught up in the last-minute painting and repairing and all the usual stuff that the new season brings, so we won’t be able to meet regularly. Then when the season begins you won’t see much of me, except when you bring Josie and Marie to the beach, which I hope will he often. The family will soon get used to seeing us together and will soon love you as much as I do.’
They had met on the morning Eirlys and the four Loves had arrived, and were taking Josie and Marie to Mr Gregory’s smallholding, to see the donkeys. Mr Gregory took them to the barn, which he boastingly called the tack room, and explained about the repainting that would be done on the collars bearing the animals’ names before the summer season began.
While Josie and Marie were happily entertained, Hannah asked, ‘What has happened about the rooms in Mrs Hibbert’s house, Johnny?’
‘Eirlys told her we won’t be using them after all, and no, I don’t have any regrets,’ he smiled. ‘I don’t think Mrs Hibbert has any either; she’s had the place cleaned up and decorated for nothing, and Dad paid her four weeks’ rent, so she’s happy.’
He talked about the beach for a while, telling her she must ignore Granny Moll’s inevitable pestering and decide for herself whether or not she wanted to help out now and again. ‘The trouble with Granny Moll Piper is that she loves the sands and can’t understand those who don’t.’
‘You love it though, there isn’t any persuading needed to get you there, is there?’
‘I’ve worked the beach for so long I can’t imagine any other life. When Taff and I were at school, all our holidays were spent on the beach – helping Dad at first, then, as we grew older, we took on one of the regular jobs. In fact I think I learnt arithmetic and lots of other things besides, from the need to give change and to count the takings, and helping Uncle Huw and Auntie Marged with the orders and the like.’ He laughed, then his face took on a serious expression. ‘I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to enjoy it, though. I’m afraid I might have to accept an enormous change before very long. The call-up of men is increasing to men a lot older than me. Most of my friends have already gone. One has been killed. I have doubts about any chance of deferment, just because we work at Piper’s.’
‘Let’s not think about it and be happy while we can, Johnny. I can’t bear to think of you going into danger.’
Ignoring her reminder of what call-up actually meant, he said cheerfully, ‘The swingboats and helter-skelter and the stalls and Piper’s Café stay open for as long as there’s daylight, and I’ll be there until everything is locked away for the night. You won’t see much of me, but when we do have time to be together, I’ll make sure every minute is treated as something precious.’
It was as they were walking back across the fields that they learned of the death of Annie Price.
When Hannah recognised the figure of Eirlys walking towards them, she felt a sort of panic that threatened to close her throat so that she couldn’t breathe. If Johnny saw her, would he regret telling her goodbye? Would Eirlys reclaim her place in his heart?
Johnny saw her at almost the same time and sensing Hannah’s uneasiness, lifted Marie up into his arms and reached out for Josie’s hand. Eirlys’s first glimpse would see them as a complete group, a family. No words would be needed to explain.
‘Hi, Eirlys,’ he called as they drew nearer. ‘Couldn’t you stay away from us then? London not as exciting as you hoped?’ he teased lightly. Then seeing her expression, he asked, ‘What is it? Is something wrong?’
‘It’s Mam. She was killed. Hit by a car in London when she went to see Stanley, Harold and Percival.’
At once Hannah ran to her and held her. ‘Oh Eirlys, what a terrible thing to happen. You and your father must be distraught.’
Johnny hugged her too, still holding Marie, who insisted she couldn’t walk a single step more.
They walked back together, Eirlys explaining that she wasn’t going anywhere, just out to get a breath of air and to escape the stream of visitors calling to offer help and sympathy. Johnny set a complaining Marie on her feet and took Hannah’s hand in his.
‘Your father?’ Hannah asked. ‘Is he coping? Thank goodness you were able to get home so quickly. He must have been so in need of you.’
Eirlys couldn’t explain her inability to comfort her father, and she didn’t reply.
Hannah went on, ‘My parents have never been very kind to me, they often told me they wish I had been the one to die instead of my brother. But in spite of that, I’d do everything I could if they were in trouble. It’s a time for families, isn’t it?’
Only then did it occur to Eirlys that Hannah and Johnny were holding hands, and she saw then that the group was more than a few friends out for a walk, but four people joined together in love.
It hurt. Seeing him with Hannah, knowing that he had found with her friend what she had thrown away, she was afraid to stay with them and drink in their happiness. She loved Johnny and her father had ruined her hope of a future with him.
‘I have to go,’ she told them, but instead of running home she went across the fields and stood, looking at the caravan where her father and Johnny’s mother had frequently met.
She felt about in the most likely places for a key and found it tucked behind one of the wheels. Going inside she was aware of the cold dankness of the place. Everything was dreary except for the moss which grew at the base of the windows, bright green and alien in that drab place. The windows were wet from winter’s melted frost. The ice would have been beautiful, delicately ornamental, with leaves and exotic flowers formed by the tightening of the frozen water into many and varied shapes. If it was beautiful once, all that had gone, and what was left were smells, invasive mildew and cloth already beginning to rot.
She felt an aching and overwhelming sadness as she imagined her father seeking secret and forbidden pleasures in such a place. Mould was creeping across the cushions and there was a smell of decay and neglect. It was a sordid picture, she told herself, but her emotions twisted away from her resentment and anger and hurt and she began to think of her father as a lonely man, weak and foolish but not wicked. Locking the door and putting the key back in its hiding place, she went home. It was time for her to forgive.
They talked long into the night and both felt happier for accepting that they were still important to each other.
‘I still want to keep my job in London, Dadda,’ Eirlys explained. ‘But I’ll come home often and make sure you are all right.’
‘I’ll manage fine,’ he assured her. ‘I’m not helpless and there are bound to be those willing to offer a hand. That’s the best of living in a small town like St David’s Well. There are plenty of friends when you need them. As long as you and I are still friends, that’s all that matters to me, love.’
The funeral took place in a cemetery which had a light covering of ‘daffy’ snow, making the stark and gloomy place beautiful,
if only for a while. Eirlys didn’t attend; it was men only at the graveside. She stayed at the house, and, with Teresa doing her best to help, and several neighbours and friends doing what they could, she prepared the food for those who would return with her father.
Most of Johnny’s family attended the service and many of them came back to the house. Johnny was there with his father Bleddyn, his brother Taff and Evelyn, but without Hannah, who had no one to look after the children.
In a brief moment between attending to the food and drinks, Johnny came into the kitchen and asked her how she was and what her plans were. It was strange to talk to him as though they were no more than friends. She coped by pretending he was someone she hardly knew, not the man she loved and had planned to marry. Then he spoilt it all by telling her how much he loved Hannah and how it was all for the best, even though he still didn’t understand why she had suddenly left him.
‘I can’t explain, Johnny. Something happened that made it impossible for us to marry. Please don’t ask me to tell you what it was.’
Then Evelyn came in and, seeing their serious faces, presumed that Eirlys was telling Johnny about his mother and her father.
‘So now you know, Johnny. Sordid, mind, hearing this about your own mother, but better that you know.’
‘Don’t, Evelyn!’ Eirlys pleaded.
But Evelyn went on, believing she was helping. Her voice was full of sympathy; there was no malice in her expression. She believed that telling Johnny was the best way of dealing with it, and that was what she thought was happening now. ‘I think Eirlys is very brave and honest to have told you. It couldn’t have been easy. But secrets fester and it’s always better to deal with things rather than try to hide them, isn’t it?’ She looked at Eirlys with an affectionate smile. ‘I’m so glad you faced it, Eirlys. I’m so sorry about the way I’ve behaved towards you.’
Holidays at Home Omnibus Page 29