‘Yes,’ she said again.
‘Then that’s most likely what happened,’ Marged said, guessing Huw’s intention of exonerating their distressed daughter.
* * *
In Beth’s next letter to Freddy she told him that Lilly thought she might have been responsible for the fire and that they were all sorry that they had accused Mrs Downs. She also told Peter’s father when she went to Goose Lane.
‘Don’t tell anyone else,’ Mr Gregory warned. ‘You could get your father into real trouble if the insurance people think there’s been intent to defraud.’
‘It isn’t certain,’ Beth told him. ‘She only told us that she and this mystery man used to go into the café after hours and sometimes smoke a cigarette. Dad still believes it was Mrs Downs, because of her grudge against the Castles.’
‘Best if you think so too. Saves complications.’
They walked over to see the donkeys in Sally Gough’s field and Beth helped give them their bran and potatoes. She watched while Mr Gregory examined each one, talking to them as though they were friends.
‘I saw Mrs Downs’s daughter last week – Shirley, isn’t it?’ Mr Gregory said as they walked back to Goose Lane.
‘She works in the paper shop,’ Beth explained, ‘and they live above the shop.’
‘She was a long way from home then! I was delivering a new farm gate in one of the villages and she was coming out of the Grantham. I thought I saw Freddy with her, but I must have been mistaken; so many men are in uniform it’s easy to make a mistake.’
‘What would Freddy be doing at the Grantham?’ Beth laughed. ‘If he had some leave he’d come home.’
‘Of course he would, home as fast as he could with a pretty girl like you waiting for him.’ He spoke brightly but he wore a frown. It had been Freddy. He had been too close for him to have made a mistake. And he could guess why he and Shirley Downs had been there. No mistake about that either.
Beth sensed Mr Gregory’s unease and that evening she wrote to Freddy asking why he hadn’t come home when he had had leave. She also asked what he had been doing in the Grantham in the village of Gorsebank. She didn’t mention Shirley Downs. She waited with something bordering on detached amusement for his reply, vaguely wondering why his behaviour was no longer capable of hurting her.
Freddy received her letter and thought carefully about how to handle it. He eventually decided on a devious plan. Basically, he would write as though he had not yet received her letter.
‘Dear Beth,’ he began.
I was sent out for some extra training last weekend and we were staying in digs with some of the locals in the village called Gorsebank. You’ll never guess who I bumped into? Mrs Downs’s daughter Shirley! We had a drink in some pub there, a bit scruffy it was, mind, but the beer was welcome.
He signed it just ‘Freddy’ and Beth put it on the table for the family to see. Lilly picked it up and said, ‘D’you still think you’re the only one to write to him? They must have arranged it somehow!’
Beth didn’t reply, but she knew Lilly was right. Freddy was a cheat and an accomplished liar, but she still felt unable to tell him goodbye. It was the war, the knowledge that tomorrow you might be dead, that was why he was cheating on her. Once the war was over, everything would be fine.
She kept telling herself this and at times almost believed it. But as she tried to envisage a future with Freddy she knew she was lying to herself. She was not so feeble that she could pretend to feel the same about him. When he was home and safe, she knew they were unlikely to stay together. Too much had happened to them both. The idea of telling Freddy goodbye no longer gave her pain, just sadness, and guilt at the way she felt about Peter Gregory.
She settled down to write to him. She would keep writing, keep up the pretence. She would post it when she went to start her lunchtime shift at the fish-and-chip shop. Still called Piper’s, the name was still a contentious issue between her parents. It was unlikely that she would change her own name from Castle to Clements. Her eyes blurred with tears as she thought defiantly that she didn’t like the name anyway. Bethan Castle was good enough for her. And Mrs Freddy Clements was not.
Ten
Winter slowly drifted in, dusk settling in over the town a little sooner each day, filling the corners with shadows, making silhouettes of the once vibrant trees. Spiky remnants of flowers gave gardens a neglected look, a devastation that had taken only weeks to achieve yet had the appearance of age-old abandonment.
Children no longer pleaded to be taken to the beach, and street games came into their own. Hopscotch numbers were drawn on pavements, skipping ropes were unearthed and long lengths were held across the road in deep loops for children to jump in and out, counting and chanting well-known rhymes. Home-made whips sent coloured tops spinning, hoops made from wheel rims were bowled along with small sticks, and bogie carts were already doing the rounds, their owners begging rubbish for the bonfire that, this year, would not be allowed, though the children hoped to sneak away into the fields, defy the ban and outrun the wardens.
Fire-watchers and wardens were on patrol each evening and Audrey went around the streets selling National Savings and collecting for a Christmas savings scheme she and Marged had always organised for the neighbours. She was out very late one evening, and she was alarmed when she realised that it was past nine o’clock and she hadn’t given Myrtle and Maude their supper.
At fifteen, Maude was quite capable of finding food for herself and Myrtle, but she never did. With food rationed, she was well aware of how carefully the day-to-day use of commodities like butter and sugar and meats were apportioned. Audrey organised the food strictly, and only she knew what they could use each day. Over-generous help-yourself was not possible; it could make the time spent waiting for Friday, which was ration day, seem very long.
She dashed into the house apologising for making them wait, but when she pushed open the door to the living room, where there was always a fire burning, the room was empty. Filled with remorse now, she ran up to their bedroom, ashamed that they had put themselves to bed hungry. The beds were neatly made and empty.
‘Oh no,’ she munnured, ‘surely they haven’t gone off again to look for that brother!’
A search of the house, a hasty visit to Marged and Huw, even a foolish run around the street calling their names produced no response. She was convinced that this time they had run away.
Ronnie and Olive told her not to worry.
‘Why should they leave a comfortable home, Auntie Audrey? It isn’t as though they have anywhere else to go. They’ll be back soon.’ They went back to their card game unconcerned.
‘Of course they haven’t run away! They haven’t taken anything with them, for a start,’ Huw said, to calm everyone down. ‘I bet they heard something that they thought would lead them to this fictional brother and sister-in-law, and they took off, too impatient to wait for you.’
‘More likely they’ve gone to look for you, Audrey,’ Marged offered.
‘I was out so late,’ Audrey wailed. ‘Where will they be?’
‘They were talking to Olive and our Ronnie earlier when we went up to borrow a candle for the outside lav,’ Huw offered. ‘Perhaps they’ll know something.’
‘I’ve already asked and they said not to worry.’
‘Go and ask them again,’ Marged suggested.
Back to the house, and a knock on the door of Olive and Ronnie’s room resulted in the information that the girls had been interested in Olive’s talk about Janet Copp, the lady who worked in the market café, and had learnt that, like them, she was without a family. ‘I bet they’ve gone to see her.’
‘Poor little kids,’ Marged sighed. ‘Desperate they are for this sister-in-law.’
They were standing at the gate of Audrey’s front garden when they heard the sound of singing, punctuated by footsteps. Hope brought them all out on to the pavement in time to see Janet Copp arm in arm with Myrtle and Maude dancing and singing, �
�Show me the way to go home’.
‘I hope you weren’t worried,’ Janet called cheerfully, ‘only we had a bit of a chat. They told me about their name and we compared what we knew of our families, but found no connection. Then we walked over to your Bleddyn’s chip shop. Hungry they were.’
When the girls were in bed, Janet explained.
‘They thought that as I had no family and had narrowly escaped being sent to a home, I might be their sister-in-law, or know something of her and their brother,’ she said sadly. ‘Desperate they are and me unable to help.’
‘Thanks for talking to them. I think they both know it’s hopeless but a dream is hard to discard,’ Audrey said. ‘They don’t even know his name, this brother they want to find. I don’t know whether he really exists.’
‘They seem convinced about having a sister-in-law, mind. But even the name they were given could be wrong. Things get muddled so easily. A spelling mistake perhaps, then someone else thinking to correct it and filling in a different name altogether. I’m called Cope sometimes and have to point it out.’
* * *
The fortune teller, who had a stall on the beach until the end of summer, continued to trade. Sarah lived in two rooms on Sunnyside Road, and her living-cum-consulting room was bedecked with scarves and shawls and sparkling mirrors, and stars and moons and many other mysterious symbols. Low-wattage light bulbs draped with thin veils of cloth added to the mood and people who came quickly absorbed the atmosphere and were ready to believe anything.
Sarah was standing on her front doorstep one evening when Maude and Myrtle passed on their way home from the pictures. A glimpse of the interior made Myrtle want to hurry past, but Maude held her back.
‘Can you help us find our sister-in-law and our brother?’ she asked, her heart racing with her own temerity.
‘Come with money and your friend, Audrey Piper, and I’ll seek knowledge from within the crystal ball,’ the woman said, before Myrtle grabbed her sister’s arm and pulled her away.
‘You’ll never guess what Maude did,’ Myrtle said as they burst through the door and greeted Audrey. ‘She went up to that gypsy woman and asked her to find our sister-in-law.’
‘Oh? What did she say?’ Audrey asked, smiling at Wilf who was chuckling at their story.
‘She said we have to go with you and take some money, and she’d insult the crystal. What d’you think she means? Will she help us?’ Myrtle asked in a hushed voice. ‘Will she find them, d’you think? If we pay her?’
‘It’s consult the crystal,’ Maude said scathingly, ‘and of course she will. You only have to look at her to know she’s clever about such things.’
‘Then why didn’t we ask her before?’ Myrtle demanded.
‘Don’t get your hopes up, girls,’ Wilf said. ‘She might have the gift of seeing, I’m sure some have, but there are also those who are cheats and just take your money, talk a lot and tell you nothing.’
‘But we’ll try?’ Maude asked hopefully.
‘We’ll see what Auntie Marged has to say.’
Maude’s shoulders drooped. ‘She’ll tell us no,’ she said sadly.
Surprisingly, Marged, again defying Huw’s common sense, agreed.
‘Where’s your sense, woman?’ Huw protested. ‘Gullible they are - like you and your Audrey - and they’ll believe everything the woman says and expect miraculous results. We don’t want them upset for nothing. Best they forget they ever had a sister-in-law. We don’t even know if that’s true, do we?’
‘It won’t do any harm. We have to show the poor dears we’re willing to help.’
‘Daft nonsense. I should have said yes, shouldn’t I? You’d have been sure to say no then, contrary woman that you are,’ Huw muttered.
* * *
Freddy came home on a ‘forty-eight’ and Beth dreaded his arrival. She didn’t know what to say to him. Should she mention Shirley Downs again? Or just pretend she hadn’t given her a thought since Freddy was last home?
It was Freddy who broached the subject.
‘Would you mind if Shirley came to the pictures with us tonight?’ he asked.
‘The pictures? Why are we going to the pictures? You’ve only got a few hours before going back to barracks. I thought we’d go somewhere where we can talk.’ She didn’t see the pained expression on Freddy’s face at the prospect of ‘talk’. ‘And why should Shirley Downs want to tag along? She has friends of her own, surely?’
‘You don’t like Shirley, do you? And your father hates her mam. Have you ever wondered why?’ Freddy asked.
‘I suppose it was the story about Granny Moll’s grandfather buying Piper’s from Shirley’s great-grandfather. The place being a mess and Piper’s working the business up from nothing.’
‘That isn’t what I’ve been told. The Downs were cheated.’
‘Granny Moll said the place was run down and filthy, and her grandfather bought it from Mrs Downs’s grandfather and built it up. Mrs Downs and her daughter are talking rubbish. Piper’s Café’s success is due to my family’s hard work, not robbery.’
‘And there’s nothing else?’
‘I haven’t heard anything more, but I think my father upset her again somehow. No one will talk about it. Mam gets all tight-lipped if I ask, so I’ve given up being curious about it all. They dislike each other, that’s plain to see. And, at first, Mam and Dad believed Mrs Downs set fire to the café as some sort of revenge. That’s all I know.’
‘There is something else, but Shirley doesn’t know the story either.’
‘Talk about us often, do you? Is that why you go out with her?’ she asked. ‘So you can solve the mystery and get hold of some sordid gossip about the Pipers and the Castles?’
‘I don’t “go out” with her!’ he protested. ‘We’ve met by accident once or twice, that’s all.’
She tried, but couldn’t believe him. ‘I don’t think I want to go to the pictures tonight,’ she said, ‘but you can go if you like. It’s rare for me to have a Saturday off; Uncle Bleddyn only agreed because you were coming home. I’d rather spend it somewhere else. A walk perhaps?’
She was horrified when he accepted her invitation for him to go without her.
‘You wouldn’t mind?’ he asked cheerfully. ‘Only I promised Shirley that we’d go. Come on, love, come with us. You’ll enjoy it. We can have some chips after, and—’ He grinned as he realised what he’d said. ‘No, not chips; you see enough of them, don’t you?’
‘Quite enough.’
‘All right, then,’ he retorted. ‘and remember I get enough of walking, usually wearing heavy boots and weighed down with kit.’
They went to the pictures.
* * *
‘Why don’t you tell him goodbye?’ Lilly asked when a despondent Beth came in. ‘He doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he’s more interested in Shirley, does he? Give him more than you do, does she?’ she asked coarsely.
‘Freddy is sorry for her; she doesn’t have much of a life, living in that flat with her mother, working all hours selling papers, up at the crack of every dawn and delivering them too when the boys don’t turn up.’
‘Aw! Pity for her too,’ Lilly mocked. ‘What about the long hours we work over the beach week after week in the summer?’
Beth declined to argue about just how much of that work involved Lilly.
‘I bet she sees more of his money than you do too,’ Lilly went on. ‘In fact, I bet you paid for the pictures and for the sweets he bought her.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ Beth protested.
Lilly grinned. ‘I’ve seen you putting postal orders into the letters you write.’
* * *
Eynon was still on the run. Since leaving the farmer’s house near Aberystwyth, he had continued to sleep rough, staying away from habitation except at night, when he would go searching for food.
The closest he’d been to home was when a lorry driver offered him a lift one evening. He had approached as close as he
dared to Sidney Street and had stood for long hours, just watching the comings and goings of his family.
He saw Mam and Dad, arguing as usual, go in with some shopping. He watched as Audrey and Maude and Myrtle set off to collect National Savings, smiled at the warden’s ‘put that light out’ and marvelled at the ordinariness of it all.
Later he dared to walk through the streets, half hoping, half dreading being seen by someone he knew. He knew he was reaching the stage when to be caught would be a relief. He couldn’t walk into a police station and give himself up, but knew he would be relieved to be caught and taken back.
The only person he met that he knew was Mrs Downs. She stared at him and said clearly, ‘Well, if it isn’t Eynon Castle.’
Panic overwhelmed him and he said quickly, ‘No, I’m not, I’m Frankie Davies.’ He tried to walk away but she caught hold of his overcoat and pulled him towards her. It was then that he realised that she was drunk.
‘Frankie Davies I am and I’ve never heard of this Evan, or whatever you called him.’
Confused, the woman released her hold and wandered away. Lowering his head, Eynon went through the lanes intent on putting as much distance as he could between himself and St David’s Well. It had answered one question for him. He might be a bit low, but he was not ready yet to give himself up!
He had regretted joining up before he was made to, and now he regretted even more the foolish impulse that had led to his absence without leave. ‘AWOL’, it sounded daring and a bit of fun, but he knew the punishment he would receive if he were caught would be far from funny.
Turning off the quiet road as the silhouette of buildings appeared in the distance, he walked along the hedgerow and found the bedraggled remnants of a haystack. This would have to do for a resting place until the early hours, when he would be able to wander around and find something to eat undetected. He was lucky, there was a piece of tattered tarpaulin which had kept a section of the rotting hay relatively dry. Luxury indeed, he thought sadly, as he curled up and settled to sleep.
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