Holidays at Home Omnibus
Page 98
‘If you go to the council offices and explain, you might get some more,’ he comforted. ‘You can’t be the first person to lose everything like this.’
‘Very convincing I’ll be, won’t I? When I tell them I’ve been sleeping illegally like some tramp, trespassing on railway property, d’you think they’ll want to help me?’
‘I would,’ Maldwyn said, looking at her admiringly. ‘If I saw someone like you in trouble I’d break every rule in the book.’
They went to the bus stop, as it was nearer than the station and they had so much to carry. They stood, self-consciously aware of how bedraggled they looked, feeling more and more uncomfortable in their wet and crumpled clothes. On impulse Vera asked Maldwyn for half a crown, dashed into a chemist’s shop and came out with a small lipstick. Handing him his change, she applied the colour to her lips and declared herself one hundred per cent improved. ‘If only I could comb my hair I’d be ready to face anyone.’ Struggling with his assorted and inadequately packed load, Maldwyn managed to put his hand into a pocket and retrieve a comb. A few seconds later, Vera smiled at him and gave a sigh of relief.
‘You’re amazing,’ Maldwyn said admiringly. Her eyes were shining, her face with its addition of lipstick bright and fresh, and the rain had added a sheen to her hair, which framed her face, emphasising her loveliness. ‘Just amazing.’
With their excess baggage they took up extra seats on the bus, receiving disapproving looks from people forced to stand, until they reached the sandy beach and alighted. They were so wet they were oblivious of the continuing downpour and walked without haste to the café.
‘Sorry we’re a bit early—’
‘We’re in a spot of trouble—’
‘What on earth—? Where’s your mac? Where’s your umbrella?’ Marged demanded, reaching for a couple of towels and handing them to the apologetic pair.
‘I’ve lost all my clothes, everything,’ Vera began. Then she looked to Maldwyn to tell Marged the rest.
‘Vera’s been sleeping in a railway carriage, just until she could find a room she could afford. Last night when we got back, it had gone, with all of her things. So I took her back to my lodgings and smuggled her in.’ He looked at Marged’s face, anxious to see how she was taking it. ‘Nothing wrong, mind, I slept on the floor,’ he added quickly as Marged’s lips began to curl. ‘Then, this morning, before she could get out, we were seen, and — well, now we’re both homeless.’
Marged stared at them for a long moment then, from the kitchen, deep booming laughter was heard. She joined in as both Huw and Bleddyn appeared.
‘It isn’t funny,’ Maldwyn complained huffily, which only made the laughter double in volume.
‘You’d better go back to Sidney Street and clean yourselves up,’ Marged said, handing them her door key. ‘Knock on my sister Audrey’s door and she’ll give you some clothes. There’s bound to be something that will fit.’ She scribbled a note to her sister and saw the couple on their way.
‘Hang about,’ Huw said, ‘I’ll take you in the van.’
‘And you’d better take the morning to look for somewhere to stay,’ Marged called.
Audrey ran a bath in her house for Vera, and Huw did the same in his house a few doors away for Maldwyn. On the way back to the café, Huw called to tell Mrs Chapel that her assistant would be later than intended. He was unable to resist telling the whole story, with much exaggeration.
Once they were warm and dry in borrowed clothes they took a huge black umbrella, which Audrey said was normally only used for funerals, and went looking for accommodation. It was June, the season was beginning to build up and there were no vacancies. All the spare rooms were occupied or booked in advance for the summer visitors that were flocking into the small town.
‘Just for a couple of weeks before your visitors start coming,’ Maldwyn pleaded on their seventh try.
‘Sorry I am, but I can’t risk it. You might make a fuss about leaving when the time comes. Or you might make a mess after I’ve got it all clean and ready for my visitors.’ Even by promising to do little more than breathe in the rooms, they couldn’t persuade any of the landladies to help. They had to accept that there was little chance of finding a place until October.
Disconsolately they made their way back to the beach, trying at every likely house on the way. ‘What will we do, Maldwyn?’ Vera sighed. ‘I don’t want to give up and go home. Perhaps we can sneak into another unused railway carriage, eh?’
‘Find anything?’ Huw asked when they went into the crowded café, where he and Marged were serving a long queue of holidaymakers escaping from the rain.
‘We’ve tried everywhere, but the rooms are either full or ready for visitors.’
Marged looked at them sympathetically. Vera looked ready to drop just where she stood, and fall asleep on her floor.
‘Come with me after the café closes and I’ll take you to see Mrs Denver. She doesn’t normally let rooms but she might if I ask her.’
Maldwyn left Vera at the café and went to make his apologies to Mrs Chapel. His employer was both sympathetic and impressed. ‘Good on you, Maldwyn, for looking after that poor girl. You couldn’t have left her on her own without a place to stay. What you should have done, mind, was tell your landlady. She’d have helped if you hadn’t tried to cheat on her.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘What’s happening now?’
‘Vera is working, and when the café closes we’ll go to see someone who Mrs Castle thinks might help us.’ He took off his mac and reached for an overall. ‘Until then I’ll do what I can to clear out the back room and rearrange the last of the flowers.’
‘Not a tidy worker, am I?’ Mrs Chapel laughed.
Maldwyn began collecting the half-empty buckets and other containers and clearing up the remnants of wreath- and flower-arrangement-making, cut stems, pieces of wire. When the shop was quiet, Mrs Chapel had busied herself making the evergreen-covered forms ready for wreaths and the floor was cluttered with pieces of fir-tree branches interspersed with yet more pieces of green wire. His movements were automatic as he restored order in the cluttered and overfilled room, his mind with Vera.
‘Thanks, Maldwyn,’ Mrs Chapel said when he had finished and she stood to admire the now orderly space. ‘I know you hate working in a muddle, but I seem to attract mess, don’t I? I stand there and it just sort of happens,’ she laughed.
‘You are wonderful with flowers and I wish I had your talent. I’ve learned more since I’ve been with you than in all the years I worked in Bryn Teg,’ he said shyly. ‘So it’s me who should be thanking you. A bit of clearing up is a small price.’
She looked at him and smiled. What luck it had been for him to call in and ask for a job. She hoped he didn’t plan to leave and go back home. Working alone was something she would no longer enjoy.
* * *
That evening, when the café was closed, Vera and Maldwyn met at Marged and Huw’s home in Sidney Street and enjoyed a meal of vegetable soup and crisp fresh bread. Nothing had ever tasted better, Vera told them. It was seven when a weary Vera and an anxious Maldwyn knocked on the door of Mrs Denver. Huw waited in the van and they left Marged to do the talking. They quickly found themselves invited out of the rain and into a tiny living room that was made even smaller by the over-large furniture. It was chilly and dark with the rainclouds still low over the town.
Marged explained briefly what had happened and Mrs Denver nodded at almost every sentence, longing for Marged to come to the point so she could agree to what was almost certainly going to be the question.
‘Of course they can stay,’ she beamed, her rosy face with its bright blue eyes a picture of delight. ‘They’ll have a bit of sorting to do mind.’
‘We don’t mind that,’ Maldwyn said at once, standing up and shaking the woman’s hand.
The stairs were without carpet or even linoleum, but they were well scrubbed and smelled sweetly clean. The bedrooms were a shock. The two rooms
they were shown were full of furniture, which had obviously been pushed in and discarded with no attempt at arranging it. A quick assessment, once Mrs Denver had increased the light by opening the curtains to their full extent, showed that everything they would need was there; the place just needed ‘a bit of sorting’, as Mrs Denver casually put it.
‘You’d better stay with Huw and me tonight and come back tomorrow to get it ready,’ Marged said.
‘Thank you Mrs Denver, we’ll be pleased to take the rooms and we’ll try not to cause you any extra work,’ Vera said.
‘And please don’t try to shift any of this stuff yourself.’ Maldwyn said firmly. ‘I’ll go into the shop tomorrow morning and ask Mrs Chapel for the afternoon off. I’ll have the place straight in no time.’
‘So that’s where I’ve seen you! I go into the flower shop to buy a bunch for my Philip’s memorial.’ Mrs Denver said, pointing to the vase of flowers in front of a fan of photographs showing a baby, then a child in various stages and ending with a photograph of a handsome young man in Army uniform. Facing the array of photographs, on the other side of the shelf, was a picture of a small baby in the arms of a young woman. ‘That’s my Phil,’ she said, tapping the photograph of the man in uniform, glancing at Marged. ‘No grave, see, him being lost in battle.’
‘And the baby?’ Vera asked politely.
‘My granddaughter. Beautiful she is, and so smart you’d never believe.’
‘And she’s our granddaughter too.’ Marged said sharply. ‘The mother is our daughter, Lilly.’
On the way back to Sidney Street, Marged and Huw explained that although Lilly was now married the child was not her husband’s. ‘Mrs Denver’s son, Phil, was the father.’ Marged explained harshly. ‘Best you know so the gossips don’t get their fun telling you.’
‘We wouldn’t criticise,’ Maldwyn said uncomfortably. ‘Mrs Denver seems a nice lady. Fond of your granddaughter.’
‘She didn’t criticise either. She wasn’t in a position to criticise! She never married Philip’s father. So don’t make it three in a row, right? Behave yourselves. Being under the same roof doesn’t mean you have an excuse for any hanky-panky.’
Vera blushed and Maldwyn’s imagination took flight.
* * *
Delyth told Madge about the lorry being driven towards her, and Madge tried to make light of it. ‘Drunk he was, for sure,’ she said.
‘No, it was deliberate. I should have told the police, but they’d probably do what you’re doing, pretend I’m making a fuss over nothing.’
‘Sorry, Delyth.’
‘The driver aimed the lorry right at me, and if Maldwyn hadn’t thought quickly, well, I wouldn’t be here trying to convince you, would I?’
Delyth was afraid to go out at night, insisting on staying at home, listening to the wireless or reading. On most evenings Madge kept her company. Even walking home from the shop, she was nervous and glad Madge was there. She still started every time an engine revved loudly, and crossing the road was never a casual race against approaching traffic but a cautiously executed move.
‘Let’s go to St David’s Well after work on Saturday,’ Madge suggested. ‘If the lorry driver is from around here, you’ll feel safe there.’
‘In this weather?’ Delyth was searching for an excuse not to move from the house all weekend.
‘We could go to the pictures. Your mam’ll meet us at the station if we’re home late.’
‘It’s a long way to go to the pictures,’ Delyth said, unconvinced.
‘Better than getting into the habit of being a prisoner in your own home.’ She could see her friend was weakening and added, ‘Less chance of an accident so far from home, eh?’
Delyth finally agreed, and when they told their kindly boss, he said they could leave early. ‘I’ll ask my wife to come and help for the last couple of hours,’ he promised, and they jigged about like children at the thought of an extra treat as day trippers heading for their favourite beach.
* * *
Two days later the rooms were ready, and Maldwyn and Vera moved into their new accommodation. The small front room with its dark, heavy furniture was given to them as a sitting room and they immediately felt at home. Mrs Denver fussed over them happily and did everything she could to make them comfortable.
Maldwyn’s first task was to write to tell Winifred his new address. Vera wrote to her parents but did not include that basic information.
On Saturday evening Maldwyn suggested the pictures, and they were settled into their seats when they heard their names hissed and turned to see, a few rows behind them, Delyth and Madge.
Madge threw them a toffee each and the audience moved irritably as the search for them disturbed their concentration. Delyth appeared outwardly to have fully recovered, and it was only Madge who heard the extent of her fearful imaginings. She had made light of it when she told her mother and ‘Uncle’ Trev. When her mother had wanted to inform the police she had refused. ‘The driver probably got his sleeve caught in the steering wheel,’ she had laughed, pooh-poohing the idea as a waste of police time. But at night, and other times when she was alone, the image of that lorry increasing its speed and being deliberately aimed at her brought fear that almost amounted to panic. If she weren’t careful she’d allow fear to take hold and would become afraid to go out. As always, Madge was right.
When they returned from their Saturday outing they sat in Delyth’s front room and talked.
‘I try to tell myself it was an accident, that it wasn’t intended, but the driver was looking at me; he knew what he was doing. If it hadn’t been for Maldwyn’s quick action, I—’ A great shudder ran through her. Madge let her talk. ‘Why should anyone want to harm me?’
‘No one! You have to believe it was unintentional, Delyth,’ Madge urged. ‘He was drunk, or perhaps he was an injured soldier thinking he was back in the battlefield aiming his Army lorry at a German gunner. It has happened. Mental images can make a man do strange things.’ Her voice dropped a little as she said, ‘There’s poor Vera’s mother as an example of illness being in the mind, poor dab, and it’s harder for others to accept than a broken leg, or — or a boil on your bum.’ Her ruse succeeded and she saw Delyth smile.
‘You’re right, the man was looking at me and seeing Hitler.’ She pulled a length of hair across to imitate a moustache and put a hand straight out in front of her as a Nazi salute and said, in a high voice, ‘He vill be punished!’
‘Let’s cheer ourselves up and go to St David’s Well again tomorrow,’ Madge suggested. ‘I can afford the fare, and we’ll take a picnic and go up on the cliffs. Nice up there in the sun.’
‘What sun?’ Delyth laughed. ‘It hasn’t stopped raining for days!’
‘It’ll be fine tomorrow. You’ll see. There’s bound to be something interesting for you to draw.’
‘What’s the point? I’ll never get to art school, why go on kidding myself?’
‘Oh, poor thing you! We are a little misery today, aren’t we? Come on, Delyth, you know it takes perseverance to get anywhere, specially now with the war and everything. You have a talent and you should use it.’
‘If Dad had lived there might have been a chance, but can you imagine “Uncle” Trev supporting me while I study?’ She looked at Madge’s doubtful expression and said, ‘No, neither can I!’
‘Go on with your drawings though. They’re a wonderful record of our lives. We’ll value them when we’re old and cranky.’
‘A record of our youth and how it was wasted!’
‘Shall we get some chips?’ Madge knew that Delyth had to face the dark streets sometime. ‘Come on, Del, I’m sinking for something tasty!’
They walked along the pavement and Madge tried to be casual as she made sure she walked nearest to the road. She felt almost as scared as Delyth with the public houses closed and few people around, but she talked and made jokes and tried to appear relaxed.
When they got back with the savoury packages, De
lyth admitted to feeling as though she had run a five-mile race, and Madge felt little better herself.
* * *
The suggestion of arranging a dolls’ picnic pleased Eirlys and was quickly arranged. Posters went up and all they had to do was hope for a fine day. Hannah quickly made patriotic clothes in red, white and blue for Josie and Marie’s favourite dolls, and Beth filled the window with some they had made to sell.
The park was the venue and they asked Mrs Chapel to be the judge. She and Maldwyn dressed the judge’s table with flowers and Mrs Chapel made an enormous doll out of paper flowers, twigs and flowerpots. Eirlys was constantly amazed at the way everyone contributed when there was a need. People were so busy but, when asked, they managed to find time to help.
* * *
Maldwyn had settled into a very happy routine. Mrs Denver provided breakfast at a time convenient to his hours, except on the mornings he was up specially early to go to the market with Mrs Chapel to buy their stock. Mrs Chapel was teaching him the trade in a way his previous boss had not, and he was enjoying it enormously. He soon learned to choose what he knew they could sell quickly and with a reasonable profit.
He had been taught the basic rules and was talented at displaying flowers and making a bunch into a bouquet. It was the business side he appreciated being taught, and also being allowed to experiment with ideas of his own. Mrs Chapel left the window for him to fill and he had added a few carefully arranged displays in buckets outside the doorway to attract the attention of passers-by.
One morning, as they were on their way to market, he asked, ‘Have you ever thought of opening up the back room and extending the range of what you sell?’
‘What good would that do? All I can buy, we can sell. We don’t have a lot of choice. Since the war started everything has changed.’
‘A lot of flower shops sell fruit as well as flowers. They go together well. And fruit makes an attractive display.’