Holidays at Home Omnibus

by Wait Till Summer; Swingboats On the Sand; Waiting for Yesterday; Day Trippers; Unwise Promises; Street Parties (retail) (epub)

  For a fleeting moment she thought of Ken Ward, someone who had been filling her thoughts more and more as they now worked in such close proximity. Had she imagined that glimmer of interest for her in his eyes? She brushed the romantic image aside. Ken wasn’t for her and she knew it was little more than physical attraction she felt for him. Besides, he was going to marry Eirlys. She looked at Max again and felt the warmth of his love enfolding her. He opened his arms and she fell into them, his strength, security and desire enveloping her. She had someone to love and would never again be alone.

  * * *

  It was to Ronnie Castle in his fruit and vegetable stall that Janet went first to spread the news of her engagement. Olive was there with their baby daughter, Rhiannon, and Janet said, ‘Max proposed last night and I accepted. What d’you think of that, eh? Pity you aren’t old enough to be my bridesmaid, little Rhiannon Castle.’

  Their congratulations were loud and enthusiastic and several other stallholders including Sally and Arthur from a rival fruit stall, came over and joined in with good wishes. Max himself appeared later that morning and at once the ribald remarks were flying.

  ‘Our Janet’s a popular girl, mind,’ one of them warned. ‘You make sure you take good care of her, or you’ll have us after you.’

  ‘Her happiness will be my life’s work,’ Max said, smiling.

  Wherever she went that day people smiled at her news. There was so much to bear that was sad, that happy news was welcomed. It was not until she called on Shirley, after she had closed the café, that she had a different response.

  ‘Getting married? What are you thinking of, Janet?’ Shirley demanded. ‘What about your career? You’ll end up supporting Max and following him around or sitting in a soulless room all on your own until he comes home for a flying visit. You’re an orphan – surely you’d want a man who stayed with you? Haven’t you spent enough of your life alone? Think about your talent. Janet, and don’t waste it.’

  ‘Entertainment isn’t my life as it is yours. I’ll be happy supporting Max,’ Janet replied. The disappointment of her friend’s reception of her news was surprising and hurtful.

  ‘You and I can really hit the top if we give up on happy families, Janet,’ Shirley persuaded. ‘Think of it, singing in the best theatres, on the London stage, it’s all possible if we dedicate ourselves.’

  Janet stared at her and knew that the words were not intended to give her good advice but to make sure she was there for Shirley Downs, or Jane Downs as she wanted to be called.

  ‘I’m thrilled to be marrying Max. I love him and he’s the kindest, most thoughtful man I’ve known. I’m so lucky that he feels the same way I do.’

  ‘Well,’ Shirley said doubtfully, ‘I wish you luck, really I do. I think you’ll need it, mind. But, Janet, don’t give up on your singing. You won the competition the other night, didn’t you?’

  ‘We both know you should have won,’ Janet said. ‘What the judges were thinking about I don’t know.’

  Shirley looked at Janet thoughtfully and added, ‘Mam wonders if someone paid the judges to make sure you won.’

  ‘You don’t think Max—’ Janet gasped in disbelief. ‘How could you think him capable of such dishonesty? Or me? I’m your friend and I expected you to win!’

  ‘Everyone there that night believed I should have won.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean that Max was involved.’

  Janet left the flat and walked home, running at times, wanting to cry for the disappointing reaction to her news and for the accusation against Max. Shirley’s ambition was distorting everything else in her life. It soared high above friendship.

  She had ignored Shirley’s dishonesty several times in the past, pretending to believe her, making excuses, but now her selfish ambition was making it difficult to consider her a friend. With a shock she realised that, having faced up to Shirley’s selfishness, she had no one she could really rely on apart from Max, and Shirley wanted to spoil even that.

  Max’s family lived in London, not far from Ken Ward. ‘You’ll have to manage a weekend off and come to meet them,’ Max said that evening, after Janet had told him about Shirley’s disappointing reaction to her news. She said nothing about Shirley’s accusation regarding their being chosen as winners. It was so unpleasant it was not worthy of repeating.

  ‘I suppose she was miserable about us winning that competition,’ he said. ‘That’s understandable with someone as determined to succeed as Shirley.’ She nodded thoughtfully but didn’t reply.

  ‘Forget Shirley for tonight and let’s talk about us,’ Max said. ‘You and me singing together. I think we have a good future, but only for as long as you want it. I can do something else. Teach perhaps; I’m a qualified teacher, I can teach music in schools, give lessons on the piano and I can write songs. My dream is to write a musical one day. But you are more important to me than any of this. I’d like to stay within the world of entertainment but not if you are less than content.’

  ‘I’ll be happy sharing your life wherever your talents take us,’ she said happily.

  Beth Castle and her sister Lilly agreed to run the café for Janet the following weekend and Janet travelled with Max to meet her future in-laws.

  The devastation in London horrified her and she felt vulnerable, as though there was a threat hanging over her in the skies, hidden in the brightness of the late summer’s day.

  The meeting was a success and Max’s family welcomed her, hugging her more like a long-lost daughter than a stranger who came and announced her intention to become their daughter-in-law. Max’s father was tall and thin like his son but without his unruly red hair. His mother was small and neat and seemed to wear a constant smile.

  She and Max spent most of the weekend talking to each other, slowly learning a little about their different backgrounds, their dreams and ambitions, either strolling through the streets or sitting in the pleasant garden behind the house.

  He wrote two songs that weekend, both love songs, his quick mind writing the melody and the words, humming sometimes and discussing his ideas with her in a way that delighted her. They were going to be so happy with their interests shared.

  Aware of the fact that Janet had no relatives, Mr and Mrs Moon suggested that Janet might like to be married from Max’s home and invite several of her friends from St David’s Well to come for a weekend stay. ‘So many weddings and so little excitement these days,’ she said sadly. ‘Being married from here with friends to wish you well might make it a little more special.’

  ‘We’ll certainly do everything we can to make it so,’ his father assured her.

  ‘That would be wonderful,’ Janet said. ‘I’ll invite them as soon as I get back.’ She began listing them, hand spread, a finger tapped for each of her friends, wondering whether Shirley still counted as one of them.

  In the brief visit, they managed to send out invitations for the wedding booked for September, and even chose a dress which Mrs Moon promised to alter for a perfect fit.

  On the morning they were leaving, Max decided to go to a friend’s house to pick up a guitar he had bought.

  ‘It’s only around the corner, it won’t take me long. It’ll be useful for concerts when there’s no piano,’ he explained as he pulled on his coat. ‘I’ll teach you to play if you like. It’s easy to pick up a few chords to accompany songs. Great for a singalong.’

  Janet had brought a dozen fresh eggs for Mrs Moon and in return, Max told her, his mother had made a sponge cake with some butter illegally bought from the grocer, butter gleaned from the scrapings of the paper in which the bulk delivery was packed.

  ‘Tastes a bit funny but better than the awful fatless sponge,’ he said with a laugh.

  While Max was visiting his friend, Janet spent the last half hour sitting in the garden discussing with Mr and Mrs Moon the possibilities of a brief honeymoon.

  ‘You have decided to stay on in the market café?’ Mrs Moon asked.

  ‘I think it’s
best, at least until the war’s over. Then we’ll live where it’s best for Max. London probably.’

  ‘You won’t mind moving away from all your friends?’

  ‘I’ll go anywhere with Max. He’s talented and I want him to achieve all he’s capable of. No point marrying a man like Max if you aren’t going to support him. He is a bit special, I’m well aware of that.’

  Mrs Moon hugged her and said she was happy for her son. ‘I know he’s chosen wisely and I’m thrilled with his choice,’ she said, smiling.

  The air-raid siren sounded then and with a sigh, Mrs Moon led her to the Anderson shelter in the garden. It looked like nothing more than a mound of earth until you walked around to the entrance. Jumping down into the dark, damp place, Janet shuddered, the thought of beetles and spiders more of a worry than bombs, of which she’d had no experience.

  ‘What a place to have to spend nights,’ she said as Mrs Moon unfolded a chair for her. The door, which was halfway up the wall as the corrugated building was partly buried, was closed. It was pitch black until Mrs Moon lit a candle placed ready beside a small cigarette lighter. ‘Matches soon become too soft to strike,’ she explained, as she struck the wheel with her thumb. Revealed in the candle’s flickering light, Janet saw two rolls of bedding, a small primus stove and a second chair. Once the beds were unrolled there would be no room for anything else. ‘The chairs go outside when we sleep here at night,’ Mrs Moon explained.

  Janet had never experienced bombing raids, her only knowledge second-hand from newsreels and the sight of the ruined streets that had met her when she reached London. She was apprehensive, aware that for this area the raids were more severe than at home, where an air-raid siren only meant planes passing overhead on their way to destroy other, distant homes. There were no important targets for the enemy to destroy in St David’s Well.

  ‘Don’t worry. Janet dear. It’s probably a couple of German aeroplanes on their way back home. The siren goes often but the worst of the raids are over. Hitler is too busy in Russia and is giving us a rest, for which we are grateful!’

  The scream and the crump that developed into the loudest bang Janet had ever heard, came unexpectedly and was immediately followed by two more. Dirt and dust from the seams of the shelter filled the air, the candle went out, the door fell in and everything shook, a trembling that seemed, like the roar of the explosions, to go on and on endlessly.

  The two women clung to each other until the sound subsided and the temporary deafness they experienced had eased. Soon afterwards, while dirt still trickled on to their heads and the wail of ambulances and fire engines could be heard in the distance, the all-clear sounded.

  They stepped out of the shelter to an unbelievably changed world. Every window in the house was broken, the frames hanging at odd angles, curtains torn and limp. The chimney pots teetered and, as they watched in horror, fell into the garden not far from where they stood.

  ‘Max!’ they both uttered. Stumbling over the fallen bricks and wood that littered the garden, they went into the street. A house further down the street had collapsed. Probably the long, continuous rumbling she had heard, Janet thought. Everywhere people were emerging from houses, staring around them in disbelief. Most were stunned, many were crying, a few were calling for help or shouting the names of people they had lost sight of in the chaos. As Janet and Mrs Moon watched, their thoughts paralysed by shock, people were struggling to carry victims from the ruins of once neat houses. They knew they should help but were unable to move. ‘Max,’ Janet murmured again.

  ‘He’ll be safe,’ Mrs Moon said. ‘He’s certain to have found a shelter.’

  The sound of engines and sirens drew closer as did the shouts of men and women bringing assistance to the stricken area. The momentary immobility that had affected Janet and

  Mrs Moon left them and they began to join others, calling for Max, asking for news of him from neighbours hardly recognisable with the dirt and dust on their faces.

  There were a few bodies, already covered with curtains or bedding or whatever came to hand. Every part of Janet’s body shook as they examined each one, fearful of recognising Max and sighing with undisguised relief with each false alarm. No thought then for the tragedy that belonged to someone else. That would come later when they had found Max safe and sound.

  They found him after about fifteen minutes, hope growing as the moments passed and they had almost reached the house of his friend.

  He had died in the street, walking home in defiance of the warning, with the guitar which he wanted to include in his act for those occasions when there was no piano.

  * * *

  Joseph was sitting in his wife’s bedroom, planning to redecorate when he could decide on a colour that would obliterate the memories of Dolly’s last months.

  He still felt a mixture of relief and guilt when he thought about her. But as the weeks passed relief became the stronger. He was twenty-eight, with a safe and easy job and, he told himself, quite good-looking.

  His mother could not be described as rich, but they owned the house in which they lived and another besides, where his grandparents had once lived. He had enough to live on without having to work hard. An easy job without too many responsibilities suited him, and he’d be able to give Shirley a good life, once he had broken her away from the idea of a career in show business.

  ‘How could she imagine being a success in something like singing?’ he asked his mother. ‘People like us, nobodies born of nobodies, we don’t climb to the heights except in films and romantic stories.’

  ‘Come on, Joseph, you know that isn’t true. People who are gifted will rise to the top no matter how lowly their beginnings. You only have to read about the famous stars of film and radio and theatre today to know that. Talent is a gift and should be developed. I think you should support Shirley in what she’s trying to do.’

  ‘Mam, she sells newspapers, she hasn’t any training except for the lessons she had from a failed singer in Rock Terrace! What chance does she have?’ ‘Not much perhaps, but some. If you love her, you’d want her to have the chance.’

  ‘She can’t be that good. She lost in the talent competition last week.’

  ‘She won plenty of others.’

  ‘I want to be there for her when she fails. She’d be devastated if she lost again,’ he said, looking away from his sharp-eyed mother in case she saw the expression on his face. An expression not of concern but something more malicious. If only he could devise some means of arranging another failure. He couldn’t be fortunate enough to meet the judge and find him sympathetic a second time.

  The opportunity came sooner than he expected. When he called at the newsagent, Shirley was out and her mother was standing behind the counter. She looked upset. After serving the two customers with their magazines, she took a letter from her pocket and beckoned to Joseph in a confidential manner.

  ‘This came for Shirley,’ she told him. ‘I haven’t told her in case it’s bad news.’

  ‘What is it? Nothing about her job here?’ he asked, aware of the possibility of their losing their flat if Shirley no longer worked for the newsagency.

  ‘No, it’s from London, from one of those agents she met. If he’s turning her down she’ll be so upset. Since losing that talent contest she’s very despondent.’

  ‘Would you like me to read it? I can throw it away if it’s bad news,’ he offered. At that moment, Shirley came back from her errand and when she went through to discard her coat. Hetty handed the unopened letter to him and he hid it in his pocket.

  When Shirley came back, tying the belt of her overall, she glanced at him, hardly acknowledging his presence. ‘D’you want anything, Joseph?’ she asked, sounding offhand and slightly bored.

  ‘I was wondering if you’d like to go to the dance on Saturday.’

  Shirley shook her head. ‘I don’t think so, but when Janet comes back from London tonight I’ll ask her.’

  ‘I’ll call later, shall I?’


  She shrugged. ‘If you like.’

  ‘You don’t fancy the pictures?’

  ‘No, I fancy a night in to wash my hair and things.’

  ‘I see.’ Waving to Hetty and patting his pocket with a conspiratorial nod, Joseph left.

  ‘You could have been a bit kinder to poor Joseph,’ Hetty said. ‘It’s hardly his fault the judge chose Janet and Max.’

  ‘Janet had no right to enter with Max. He’s a professional.’

  ‘They’ve done it before, Max and Ken have both entered. It increases the standard you told me, having professionals taking part.’

  ‘This time it was different. I think Max talked to the judge to impress Janet before he proposed, and to bring me down a peg or two.’

  ‘Ridiculous! Don’t quarrel with Janet, or Max, Shirley love. And certainly don’t finish with Joseph. You’ll need them all when you’re a success. Friends to support you are essential, believe me. Otherwise the life can be a lonely one.

  ‘You really think I can do it? Become a star of the stage?’

  ‘I believe it and so do you, so stop pouting at the world and get on with your life.’ She smiled and added, ‘You never know, there might be some good news just about to burst in on you.’ She crossed her fingers as she spoke, hoping to see Joseph return with the news for which Shirley desperately hoped: a contract with a London agent.

  * * *

  Joseph’s heart leapt when he read the letter. It was the offer of a contract giving Shirley a small part in a musical extravaganza, rehearsing in preparation for a tour of provincial theatres. The money was more than he had ever imagined would be paid to an unknown on a first engagement.

  He thought about it briefly, then tore it up and scattered the pieces along the street like confetti. She would never know. It was kinder for her never to know.

  Later that evening he called again at the newsagent, knocking at the door of the flat and being let in by Shirley’s mother. There was something wrong, he sensed it in seconds.