Holidays at Home Omnibus

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

  Mrs Chapel shook her head. ‘You have to be careful with fruit. It can kill off flowers in no time.’

  ‘I know we’ll have to keep them separate, that the acid in apples can harm flowers, but so can putting tulips and daffodils in the same vase, and we manage not to do that. We could try, couldn’t we?’

  Mrs Chapel looked up at him and smiled. ‘Very persuasive you are, young Maldwyn. Pity ’elp that girlfriend of yours, once you start using your pretty words.’

  ‘Not a girlfriend, Mrs Chapel. Just a friend.’ He tried to talk brightly so she wouldn’t guess his disappointment. With all the opportunities they were given, he hadn’t managed more than a chaste kiss on Vera’s cheek since she had started sharing lodgings with him at Mrs Denver’s. Earlier kisses, filled with passion and promise, were forgotten and Vera treated him almost with indifference. Hopes that had blossomed during their moments in that railway carriage had been dashed.

  * * *

  Sunday found Delyth and Madge on the train to St David’s Well with a crowd of lively travellers intent on having a day of fun. It was impossible for Delyth not to become as enthusiastic as the rest as she and Madge stepped off the train and took a deep breath to savour the sea air with its harmonious blend of seaweed, warm sand and the stronger infusion from the chip shops.

  It was ten thirty and Delyth’s first thought was of food. ‘I know we’ve got a picnic, and we’re a bit short of money, but we can afford a cup of tea and a cake, can’t we? We could go to the café on the cliffs as we’re going that way. The Castle family are very friendly and it would be a nice start to the day.’ She didn’t add that she hoped Maldwyn would be there. She knew he sometimes called for Vera to spend her off-duty hours with him. Amiably, Madge agreed.

  Everyone seemed to have the same idea. There were queues at every café they passed, and looking up at where Marged. Huw, Beth and Vera were serving teas, coffees and snacks they doubted if things were any different there. People were coming down the metal steps to the beach carrying trays of teas. So instead of going to Castle’s they caught the bus into the town.

  The gift shop was closed, being Sunday, but inside they saw Hannah with her two little girls. They could hear Hannah singing, Josie and Marie’s voices a thin echo as they learned the words. ‘This old man, he played eight, he played knick-knack on my gate.’ There was laughter as one of the girls sang ‘plate’. On the strength of their previous visit, Delyth and Madge leaned towards the letterbox and joined in the chorus: ‘Knick-knack, paddy-whack, give a dog a bone …’

  Still laughing. Hannah opened the door and invited them inside.

  There was a kettle filled ready on the single gas ring and Hannah lit the flame, warning the girls to stay away from the shelf on which it stood.

  ‘Beth is working at the café with her parents, but Eirlys will be calling in soon. We can all have a cup of tea.’ She reached for the tea caddy and spooned tea leaves into the pot, which she put near the kettle to warm.

  When there was a knock at the door, she smiled. ‘That will be Eirlys,’ she said as she opened it. But it was Ken instead.

  ‘I’m looking for Eirlys. Is she here?’ he asked as he walked in.

  ‘Not yet. Would you like a cup of tea while you wait?’ Hannah introduced him to Delyth and Madge, who stared at him, trying to remember where they had seen him before. It was Delyth who remembered. When Hannah was behind the screen attending to the tea, she dug around in her shoulder bag and retrieved her almost full sketchpad. Flipping through the pages, she held it out to Ken.

  ‘I thought I remembered you. We saw you in Coronation Park back home. Quarrelling you were, but you made it up quick enough.’

  Ken looked at the drawing and fear curled in his stomach. It was him and Janet Copp. There were no features shown, but the clothes and the situation beside the three-sided summerhouse where they had met in Coronation Park left him in no doubt. The sketch of the surroundings was as clear as a photograph. Of all the places to meet they had chosen the park where this young girl had been casually practising figure-drawing! Or perhaps not so casual, he thought, suspicion and fear filling his head with ugly thoughts.

  When he turned to look at her, Delyth was smiling, about to offer it to him as a memento of that afternoon, but to her surprise he snatched the book and demanded, ‘What d’you want? What are you playing at?’

  ‘I don’t want anything!’ she protested. ‘I wasn’t trying to sell it, if that’s what you think. I thought you might like it, to remind you of a day when you quarrelled, then kissed and made up.’ Her voice softened as she added, ‘One day you’ll look back on it and laugh.’ She took the book back from him and turned a page to show him another picture of the same couple walking off arm in arm, heads almost level and close together.

  Abandoning the offer of tea, Ken left, asking Hannah to tell Eirlys he wouldn’t be home until later. If Hannah had heard the strange reaction to the drawing she said nothing and, embarrassed but not knowing why, Delyth and Madge remained silent.

  The next time there was a knock at the door, they were introduced to Ken’s wife and at once they realised why he had been so suspicious. Eirlys was several inches shorter than the woman in the sketch.

  Seeing the pad open on a shelf, and before Delyth could stop her, Eirlys picked it up and admired Delyth’s skill. She turned the pages, studying each drawing with interest before returning to the page on which Delyth had depicted Ken and a mystery woman. She clearly did not recognise her husband as the man in the drawing.

  ‘You’re very observant, Delyth. I can see that these two are quarrelling although their faces aren’t clear. I hadn’t realised how the way we stand, the position of people’s bodies, the movement of an arm, can give so much away. I’ll have to be careful in case someone like you sees something in me I don’t want known.’

  ‘Oh, it was just two people in our local park. I’m trying to concentrate on figure-drawing, learning to quickly sketch the relevant lines and increase the speed at which I draw. Although I do like to take memories of a scene back home sometimes.’

  ‘You’re very good.’ Eirlys said, handing the pad back. ‘You ought to be at art school; I’m sure you have the talent.’

  ‘Talent isn’t enough,’ Delyth sighed. ‘I don’t have anyone to support me. My father is dead and my mam thinks my scribbling is just an idle waste of time. Poor me, eh?’ She hastily stuffed the pad into her shoulder bag.

  * * *

  Ken cancelled his plans for the morning and walked home, his strides revealing his anger. Had that girl been following him? Would she ask for money not to tell Eirlys about his meetings with Janet Copp? What should he do to stop her?

  Threaten her? Warn her that the police don’t approve of blackmail?

  He went into the house where his father-in-law, Morgan, was cleaning shoes, and the three boys were playing a game of draughts which was slightly revised to their own rules. The counters were horses, and when the counters were crowned with another, they were horses and riders and were noisily galloped back to the corral. Too many cowboy films, he thought irritably, telling them to be quiet.

  ‘Hello, Ken. We didn’t expect you back till later. Eirlys said—’

  ‘I changed my plans. That is all right, is it?’ Ken snapped. Then he apologised. ‘Sorry, I’ve had a bad morning. Two acts I depended on for next week’s concert in Newport have let me down. Then there’s the singer I hoped to take to record Worker’s Playtime, who’s sick. I’ll have to leave tonight and try and find replacements.’

  ‘Oh, that’s a shame. I’m taking the boys to see a football match in the park, and Eirlys was cooking you something special, as you’ll have a rare evening on your own.’

  ‘Oh.’ Guilty at his meeting with Janet, alarmed at the drawings of them together and aware that he spent hardly any time with his wife, he agreed to change his plans again and stay until the following morning. ‘As it’s special, d’you think Mr Gregory would sell me some flowers?’

>   Morgan smiled. ‘Eirlys would be pleased. You can borrow my bike if you like.’

  The evening wasn’t a success. The meal consisted of roast potatoes and very little else. The slice of mutton Eirlys had saved from the lunchtime joint enjoyed by the three boys and her father was hardly visible it was so small, whilst the home-made custard was boring even with her attempt at dressing it with fruit and a pattern of heated jam. She thought it was disappointment that gave Ken his irritable mood, but in fact he hardly tasted the food. Try as he might, he didn’t want to be there. He wanted to be with Janet.

  Eirlys wished he would go out and allow her to tackle the pile of ironing waiting for her. There were three school uniforms urgently needing to be dealt with ready for the morning, as well as her father’s limited supply of shirts. The evening together was so rare, she felt unable to leave Ken and it irked her.

  At ten o’clock, when Morgan and the boys burst in, they were sitting at opposite sides of the room, the wireless playing softly, Ken slouched and stealing glances at the clock, Eirlys tense, doing the same, still wishing she could get on with the ironing.

  The boys began shouting before they came in, excitedly telling Eirlys about the football game, which had been invaded by a couple of toddlers who had escaped from their mothers. Eirlys hugged them; Ken stared at them glassily, pretending to be interested, then went to bed. Eirlys gave the boys a snack and settled them into bed, then began to deal with the clothes for the next day.

  ‘Better put some more coal on the fire, Dadda; these clothes will need to air for the morning.’

  ‘Did you enjoy your evening?’ Morgan asked as he unfolded the clothes-horse and placed it near the fire.

  ‘Lovely,’ she lied.

  * * *

  Apart from her red coat and a skirt and blouse, Vera had nothing to wear, and she was too proud to go home and explain to her sisters what had happened. Besides, they couldn’t help so what was the point? Their childish clothes would have been unsuitable for her, they wouldn’t have had coupons or money to spare to give her, and Dad wouldn’t offer anything more than criticism, threats and a demand for her to come home.

  There were times when she thought that eventually she would have to go back. There was growing guilt over her mother’s inability to cope, concern about her father trying to support an ailing wife and even, on rare occasions, a desire to see her sisters. Selfish I am, she told herself. She told Maldwyn how she felt about her lack of clothes but not about her feelings of guilt. ‘Here I am with no clothes, no money to buy any, and no coupons either, so even if I found a five-pound note lying on the ground I’d still be in this mess.’

  It was Marged again who helped. At first she lent her own clothes, but knew they were an embarrassment to the smart young woman; and she explained the situation to Hannah.

  ‘I’ve got ten clothing coupons to spare and I’ve offered her an advance on her wages. Can you do anything for her?’

  Hannah forgot about the clothing coupons and went around the second-hand clothes shops. They were doing a busy trade, buying from some of the better houses and reselling to people like herself who were proficient at sewing. She bought dance dresses and unpicked them, using the full skirts to make blouses and summer skirts, following Vera’s instructions as to style. There was a black-market outlet for parachute silk, which made lovely underwear, and within a few weeks Vera had a wardrobe to be proud of.

  She enjoyed being admired by men. It was definitely a case of ‘Look but don’t touch’, but her confidence was heightened by the admiring glances she received. So the necklines were sometimes altered to reveal a little more than Hannah had intended and skirts shortened more than government demands for reasons of economy. She had the knack of making the more ordinary outfit into something to turn heads. Maldwyn walked beside her proudly, and hoped fervently that none of her admirers would turn hers and cause her to leave him.

  At the flower shop, Maldwyn finally persuaded Mrs Chapel to remove the walls on either side of the back room’s doorway, extending the shop and making room to sell fruit. The cellar could be cleared of the clutter of many years’ disuse, and could be both workroom and storage area, replacing the space lost upstairs.

  ‘All right in the summer, when there are apples and pears and even a few peaches, but there isn’t much about during the winter. What will we do then?’ Mrs Chapel had asked. ‘More expense with a bigger shop to keep warm — or suffer chilblains from the cold. And a long way to walk to the cellar to collect what we need. And what about working down there out of sight of the shop, eh? That isn’t such a good idea, leaving the place unattended.’

  ‘There would still be room for some stock, to replenish the displays as we sell. Let’s try it for a couple of months. The market usually has something extra we can buy if we have the room,’ Maldwyn pleaded. He wanted to earn his wages by working harder. The shop was very quiet on some days and he felt he owed Mrs Chapel more than he was giving. And so it was decided.

  Mrs Chapel lived in a flat above the shop and she agreed to leave Maldwyn to deal with the work of taking the door down and getting a builder to remove some of the wall on either side while she was away visiting her sister. Mondays were quiet, so they would close until Tuesday, by which time the work should be far enough advanced to reopen for business.

  Excitedly Maldwyn told Vera of the plans. ‘Just as well you’re busy,’ she said. ‘I’ll be working all Saturday and Sunday to make up for the time I’ve had off moving into Mrs Denver’s and seeing Hannah about my clothes.’

  ‘You’ll be able to manage pictures on Saturday?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I’ve promised to help with a bit of extra cleaning. You wouldn’t believe how fussy Mrs Castle is.’

  After a great deal of persuasion, the builders came on Sunday morning, after being reminded that there was a war on and everyone had to forget previous restrictions on working on the Sabbath. What flower-selling had to do with the war effort, Maldwyn would have been unable to say. Fortunately he wasn’t asked.

  The two men arrived at eight as promised and Maldwyn worked with them, labouring, fetching and carrying, clearing up in his orderly way as they worked. With a wheelbarrow he trundled the rubble and old bricks through the garden and on to the builders’ lorry parked in the lane behind.

  Arnold Elliot came in and complained about the noise and told Maldwyn they were wasting their time trying to improve their business. ‘The place’ll be mine before long anyway, so you’re only doing all this to save me the bother.’ Maldwyn smiled and asked him politely to move in case the wheelbanow accidentally tipped its load over his feet.

  The cellar was full of unwanted rubbish. He gradually emptied it, carting load after load up and on to the lorry parked in the lane. He disturbed mice, spiders and an assortment of beetles and found some damaged vases and pots, which gave him an idea. Apart from one or two of them, everything went on the lorry and by four o’clock, when the men were finishing plastering the new doorway arch, he had cleared the garden too. Among the shrubs which they used occasionally for foliage were broken toys, watering cans and other abandoned items and, once cleared, he saw that the place could be made into a pleasant area for Mrs Chapel to enjoy on summer evenings. At five o’clock, stiff, filthy, dirty and exhausted, he paid the men for their work.

  He looked with pleasure at the new frame the carpenter, Sammy Richards, had fixed around the now wide access to the second part of the shop. He hoped the extra business would justify the expense.

  He went down to the cellar and gave it one more wash with a mop and soapy water. He thought he heard someone in the shop and tutted impatiently. Surely no one would expect to be served at this time on a Sunday afternoon?

  He moved quietly up the steps, as he wore soft shoes and always trod lightly. He heard something fall and, alarmed, he stopped to listen. There was silence for a few moments and he smiled at himself. He was being foolish; it was probably nothing more worrying than a cat walking in to investigate
. But, only partially reassured, he picked up a tall slim vase as a weapon before continuing up the stairs. The shop was empty but the door was wide open and he knew he had closed it although he hadn’t bothered to turn the key. He stepped outside and looked around but there was no one near. It must have been a cat.

  When he went inside again and closed the door, a man moved out of a doorway a few shops further on and walked quickly away. Maldwyn looked around and realised something was missing. It was an ornate picture frame he sometimes used for a window display. ‘Strange cat!’ he muttered to himself.

  He locked up and as he was leaving he saw the picture frame in a doorway of a shop further along the road. Was it Arnold Elliot playing tricks? Mystified, but too tired to ponder long, he put it in the shop and went back to Mrs Denver’s to wash and change his clothes. He didn’t eat, apart from a piece of toast spread with Marmite; he was too weary. Rather than sit around, he decided that he would sit in the park to kill a couple of hours then leave in time to meet Vera when she finished work. They might treat themselves to supper at Bleddyn’s fish-and-chip café in the town. She was sure to be hungry, even if he was not.

  * * *

  Delyth and Madge were on their favourite part of the cliffs that day. They had brought a picnic and planned to go back home on the nine o’clock train as the rain had ceased, the day was warm and the holiday mood of the town hard to leave.

  Standing near the edge where Vera and Maldwyn had been warned of danger, Delyth leaned over to look at the beach far below. A small boat went past, and she lay on the springy turf and drew it. The engine phut-phutted calmly in the summer air, sounding relaxed and adding pleasantly to the lazy mood of the afternoon. She noticed that there was a mast that had been broken and was no taller than the man who stood beside it. There was something in the boat, a mound barely distinguishable from the brown of the seat and its shadow.