‘And we’ll be staying for ever?’ Myrtle said in delight. ‘Always?’
‘For as long as you want to stay,’ Beth smiled. ‘But remember your promise to Granny Moll, Myrtle. You’re going to work real hard at school.’
Myrtle nodded and hid her face. She was not getting on very well, but if it was the only way they could stay and be a part of the Castle family, then she’d have to face it. Young as she was, she knew Maude couldn’t cope with another winter on the streets. The only other choice was for her to go back into that home – and without her sister, who was considered old enough to look after herself.
Peter was looking amused. ‘You don’t like school?’
‘They tease me because I don’t know anything,’ Myrtle muttered.
‘They both missed a lot of school,’ Beth explained.
‘But I can read a bit now,’ Myrtle told him, ‘and I can give change for half a crown an’ all, mind.’
‘You’ll be fine.’ Peter delved into his pocket and brought out a shilling. ‘Here, take this and buy yourself some sweets.’
Beth smiled her thanks for his kindness. ‘Your father thought he could help us find their family. They must have someone, somewhere.’ She explained about the old snapshots and Peter turned back to the girls.
‘What do you remember about your mam and dad?’ he asked.
Myrtle shrugged. ‘I only know what Maude tells me,’ she said.
They turned to look at Maude. ‘I remember they laughed a lot,’ she said. ‘Mam used to tease Dad and say he had sticky-outy ears. He pretended to be cross and they chased each other around the room and laughed.’
Peter shrugged. ‘That isn’t much to go on,’ he said, ‘but you never know. Someone might remember those sticky-outy ears. Lucky you haven’t got them too,’ he teased.
Maude lifted her long hair and said, ‘But I have, look.’ She revealed small cars that indeed did not lie flat against her head.
Beth smoothed her hair down and said softly, ‘Beautiful ears you’ve got and not at all sticky-outy, I promise.’
Peter solemnly agreed.
* * *
Lilly had been in the kitchen when the food was being prepared, but after that she had disappeared. Marged asked where she was once or twice, but with all the activity in the house, trying to deal with food and talk to the people who had come to pay their respects, she didn’t have time to dwell on her daughter’s absence. Lilly had always been adept at avoiding work, she thought to herself grimly. Now, with Granny Moll gone, she would be needed to do her share, but she knew her daughter well enough to know that the extra effort would not be forthcoming voluntarily. If Lilly were to help, it would mean arguments and ultimatums, and Marged knew that life would be easier if they allowed Lilly to go her own way. But that wouldn’t be fair on Beth, who had always done more than she was asked.
Marged and Huw had been surprised at the grief Lilly had shown. The depth of feeling had been unexpected. Marged could see by her daughter’s eyes that the girl hadn’t been sleeping. And her restlessness was apparent by the tangle of sheets and blankets each morning when she went to make the bed. Lilly looked ill and her appetite was no longer enormous; in fact she picked, pulled faces and pushed her plate away barely touched most mealtimes. She had been more fond of her grandmother than Marged had realised.
Lilly was in the park, staring around her but seeing nothing. The October day was drawing to a close, the autumn mist with a hint of bonfire smoke on its breath settling over the trees and bringing a chill to her shoulders. She hadn’t bothered to bring a coat. She was responsible for Granny Moll’s death and she couldn’t talk about it to anyone.
With no one close enough to help her, except her parents to whom she could never confess, she was weighed down with guilt and unable to ease her mind by having someone tell her it was an accident and no one was to blame. She wouldn’t believe them if they did, but it would have been soothing to be told. If only Phil were here. He would comfort her, help her to deal with it. An hour with Phil and she would be able to sleep.
A vision of the burnt-out café came to her then. She saw in her mind’s eye the corner where she and Phil had sat to tell each other how much they were loved. Because of her carrying on with a married man, meeting him in secret, Granny Moll was dead and the café was a smoking, distorted ruin.
Remorse, shame and the need to tell someone was overwhelming. The café wasn’t the only thing to be ruined. If Phil were here, they wouldn’t have their secret hideaway any more. It was as though, with the burning of the café, she and Phil and all they had said and done had been destroyed too.
She had been writing long, loving letters to Phil but not posting them. She planned to read them to him when he came home on leave. He had warned her that letters could easily allow their secret to escape. ‘If people find out before we’re ready,’ he had said, ‘it will be more difficult for us. And it will delay the time when we can be together all legal, and safe from difficulties. We have to keep our secret until the moment is right for me to ask my wife for a divorce. She mustn’t know about you or she’ll never agree.’ She knew he was protecting her, making sure she wasn’t shamed by being named in the divorce. She hugged herself. Dear Phil. He was so thoughtful. But now there were things to discuss, urgent things. Surely he wouldn’t expect her not to tell him about the fire they had caused? She had to write to him. There was no one else.
She walked down the road, past Granny Moll’s house where a few mourners remained with Audrey, who wanted them gone. Her parents looked at her but didn’t demand an explanation of her absence. The room was not in its usual state of orderliness. Cups and saucers and plates were piled on the table ready to be returned to the café when it was once again habitable, the burn marks on some of the boxes a stark reminder of her guilt.
Taking out the writing pad, she began again to write to Phil, telling him all her fears and worries: the fire, the death of Granny Moll and all the other things that were on her mind.
Beth had written to Freddy and they walked together to the pillar box and dropped their letters in, both with the fervent hope of a swift reply.
* * *
Freddy was on leave but he wasn’t sharing it with Beth and he knew nothing about the fire or the death of Granny Moll. Listening to the exploits of others in his group, he wanted some true stories to tell to add to the many untrue ones he had boastfully recited. So he had gone home with a mate and they had gone on the town dressed in uniform and tried their luck at the local dance.
When the last evening of their leave arrived and they were about to give up hope of a flirtation, Freddy caught the train and went to St David’s Well to call on Shirley. The dark evenings and the black-out meant there was little chance of them being seen.
She didn’t mention the tragedy that had hit the Castles, thinking that there was no point in spoiling the one evening they’d have together, so when Freddy saw the headline in the local paper he didn’t at first realise it referred to Beth’s family. When he did, he was in a state of shock. He needed to go and see Beth, make sure she was all right, although the article said nothing about anyone being injured. But how could he go? He wasn’t supposed to be there. He went back to camp filled with shame at the way he had cheated on her, hiding away and meeting another girl when he should have been with her.
* * *
Once the funeral was over, Huw and Marged started making arrangements to repair and redecorate the café.
‘Now Moll is gone, and Audrey is the only member of the Piper family left, I think it would be a good time to change the name,’ Huw said, as they looked at the blackened interior and began to assess the work that needed to be done.
‘Of course we won’t change the name!’ Marged said in surprise. ‘Piper’s it is and always will be.’
‘But there aren’t any Pipers working for the firm. We’re all Castles! You and I are Castles. Bleddyn and his sons are Castles. I think it’s about time we faced the fact that it’
s run by Castles. We should make the name match the business. You ashamed of the name you married into or something?’
‘Of course I’m not ashamed. I’m always known as Mrs Castle, aren’t I? What else would I be called?’
‘Then give the café the name of the family who run it.’
‘No. I’m sorry, Huw, but I can’t do that. My great-grandparents started the business and Piper’s it will remain.’
‘Then let the Pipers sort out this little lot!’ He left her in the doorway of the damaged café and walked off. At the van he hesitated. He couldn’t very well leave her to catch a bus home; she’d be furious with him for days. But he couldn’t help her with the plans for reopening either. Castle’s it should be and would be before he set foot inside it again. He didn’t have a say in anything, yet he and Bleddyn carried most of the responsibility. He wasn’t going to put up with it any longer.
‘If you want Bleddyn and me to get this place sorted in time for next season, you’ll have to change a few things,’ he called to her.
‘You were glad when my mother died,’ she accused as she walked back to the van. ‘You think that with her out of the way you’ll get anything you want. Well, you’re wrong!’
‘Rubbish, woman. I liked the old girl, but it’s time to rethink.’
‘What a time to choose, when I’m grieving.’
‘Whatever time I chose it would be wrong,’ he muttered. ‘You never allow me any say. I didn’t want you to employ that Hetty Downs, for a start. Went ahead and did it, though, didn’t you? And who’s to know that it wasn’t her who set fire to the place because of some imagined cheating on the part of your great-grandparents about fifty years ago?’
‘You don’t think she burnt the place for spite, do you?’
‘I’m only saying you should have listened to me and not allowed her anywhere near the place. She knew where to go to sort out that disgusting stink that time, didn’t she? A bit of rotten fish she found, and she knew exactly where to go to find it. She thinks I didn’t see her, but I did. And she blamed our Eynon! I don’t trust the woman, she’s cracked when it comes to your family, but, as usual, you wouldn’t listen to me.’
‘Perhaps we ought to talk to the police—’
‘How can we without evidence?’
Huw drove home in silence, Marged tight lipped and offended, he himself determined not to give in. This was his only chance of succeeding with his plans for the business.
Huw went to see his brother that evening and found him writing letters. ‘God ’elp, Bleddyn, writing letters is all anyone seems to do these days. Writing letters or knitting socks for soldiers. There’s our Beth writing to that Freddy and facing disappointment whenever the postman comes without a reply. There’s Marged writing to everyone she’s ever known to tell them about Moll, and praying every night for news of our Eynon, and our Lilly is writing to some bloke in secret. A mysterious boyfriend who, like that Freddy Clements, brings nothing but disappointment.’
‘Let’s talk about opening the stalls next spring, shall we?’ Bleddyn said, putting the letter aside. ‘There’s plenty to sort out. More restrictions, and ice-cream making is banned. Although I think we might risk a fine or two to give the kids a treat now and then, what d’you say?’
‘I told Marged I’m not going to help,’ Huw told him. ‘I want to change the name to Castle’s. There are more Castles than there’ll ever be Pipers. I don’t think Audrey will produce an illegitimate son in Moll’s memory, do you?’ he joked.
‘I don’t think now is the time,’ Bleddyn said quietly. ‘Marged was close to her mother and they’ve worked together for so long it must be difficult for her to cope with Moll’s death, losing her so sudden an’ all.’
‘I still think she should listen to me sometimes,’ Huw argued.
‘I think she will now. After all, there is no one else.’
‘Thanks. Last-hope Huw, that’s me!’
‘Come on, let’s go and see what we can salvage. Thank goodness we’d reached the end of the season. Just think how much worse it would have been if this had happened in May.’
* * *
Peter Gregory called on the Castles to see Beth. He brought the snaps from his father’s collection and together they showed them again to the girls, this time with a powerful magnifying glass. Maude, being the oldest, thought she might recognise others in the group photograph but she didn’t.
‘Can you see your father there?’ Peter coaxed.
Maude shook her head. ‘I look too old. I think this was when we were with Auntie Flossie.’
Myrtle stared at the pictures as though begging them to reveal a secret, but it was a waste of time and Peter put them back in his pocket disappointed. As he was leaving, he told Beth, ‘My father doesn’t have a clear memory of the girls, but I suspect there was some scandal attached to them. It’s frustrating to have a glimpse of their past and nothing more.’
‘Thank you for trying to help, Peter. Somewhere someone must have that snippet of information that will set us on the right track. There’s nothing more your father can tell us?’
‘I’ll talk to him again; you never know, something I say might trigger his memory of that time.’ He left a card when he went, propped on the mantelpiece with the others, still in its envelope.
Marged opened it and said in surprise, ‘It’s from an old friend of your gran’s, she must have just heard.’
‘Isn’t it too late?’ Maude asked.
‘Never too late for a kind word, fach,’ Marged smiled.
That afternoon, Maude and Myrtle went to the newsagent above which Mrs Downs lived and chose a sympathy card. ‘I told you we should have sent one,’ Maude admonished her sister.
Mrs Downs was in the shop and she saw the two girls giggling as they read some of the words they considered too fancy. Then they looked at postcards and laughed at one which showed a cartoon of a young boy with very large ears.
‘Sticky-outy ears just like our Dad had!’ Maude said.
Mrs Downs came over and looked at them as though she hadn’t seen them before. ‘What’s your name?’ she demanded.
‘Maude Carpenter, and this is my sister Myrtle.’
‘How old are you?’ They gave her their birthdays and she asked, ‘Your father, what did you mean about big ears?’
‘Our Mam used to tease him and they’d laugh,’ Maude said, holding her sister’s hand and edging out of the shop away from this angry-looking woman.
‘Get out of here! D’you hear me? Get out and don’t come back!’
‘Mam?’ Shirley asked, coming out of the back room. ‘What is it?’
‘These girls, they were giving me cheek.’
Maude and Myrtle fled.
* * *
Forgetting his ultimatum, over the next few days Huw helped Bleddyn sort out the demolished stalls. Some cafés were still open and they managed to serve a few of the diminishing number of visitors, most now without children, who still found their way by bus and car and train to enjoy the quiet of an autumn break.
The weekend still produced trippers, coaches bringing families on day trips, leaving earlier than in the summer but enjoying themselves just the same. There was lethargy among the few still trading and a false gaiety about the beach, fewer people making more noise to fill the void.
The rock and sweet shop still opened with Alice serving, thankful to get away from her difficult father for a few hours each day. The number of customers dwindled but Audrey kept the shop open for them, glad of the few extra pounds they brought.
Bernard Gregory spent some hours on the wilder beaches with his pony and flat cart gathering driftwood, which he would saw and chop to sell around the houses now fires had become a necessity once more. The rumours about coal being rationed made him more diligent in his searches and he went further afield than usual, the amiable pony taking him to the less frequented beaches to increase his stock.
While the Castle family gradually recovered from the loss of Moll, an
d continued to grieve over the disappearance of Eynon, Beth and Lilly each waited for a letter. A postcard came from Freddy addressed to the whole family and containing no words of love. It showed a view of another seaside town, in the west country, and he told them how pretty it was and how much more lively than St David’s Well Bay.
Beth read it and reread it, trying to find some comfort hidden in the casual words. Surely he should have received her letter telling him about Granny Moll by now? But then, if he was away from camp on some exercise, he might still not know.
* * *
Audrey Piper and Wilf Thomas spent some time clearing out Moll’s bedroom. In privacy they put their arms around each other, looked at the huge white-counterpaned bed and dreamed of sharing it as Mr and Mrs Wilfred Thomas.
‘I have bouts of guilt about Mam’s death,’ Audrey told him. ‘All these years we’ve delayed getting wed, looking after your mother and mine, hoping for a miracle that would make it possible for us to marry, and knowing that the death of one of them was the only hope.’
‘Now it’s too late,’ Wilf said sadly. ‘You’re free but my mam is too frail to face it.’
‘There’s plenty of room for her here,’ Audrey suggested. ‘I have to stay because Maude and Myrtle need a home, and Olive is here of course. But there are spare rooms. We could live on the top floor. Three nice rooms there are up there and we could make them into a beautiful home for the two of us, and I could still run the house. What d’you say?’
‘It’s too early, love. There’s some who’ll say we’ve benefited by poor old Moll’s death and that would be hard to live with.’
‘In a month or so? What about the spring?’
‘Well, we could think about it, but d’you think Mam could cope with the upheaval at her time of life?’
‘Probably not,’ Audrey sighed, content to continue as they had done for so many years, unable to relish the idea of upheaval herself but unwilling to admit it. Pretence was kinder for them both, she thought philosophically.
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