Holidays at Home Omnibus

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

  He worked until almost ten o’clock that day and went home satisfied that, at least for a few weeks, the workroom and the new extension to the shop looked their best. The following morning his first job after putting the flowers in tall jugs was to bring up some fruit from the cellar and polish it to fill the shallow display boxes in the window. He noticed a softness on one or two and put them aside. He had promised to take some of the rejects to his landlady. Mrs Denver was always cooking and would find a way of using the bruised apples. He was still busy attending to them as customers began to filter in.

  When he was closing the door at five thirty, a woman pushed her way in. She was clearly very angry.

  ‘I don’t mind paying your high prices for the best, but look at this!’ She opened a paper bag and showed him an apple, cut in half and peppered with brown decay. ‘I want a replacement and an explanation. I took this to a patient at the hospital and, well, just look at it!’

  The following morning there were several other people who had found the fruit far from Chapel’s usual standards. Each one showed the same odd brown flecks. They looked as if they had been pierced with something like a small screwdriver or a piece of wire. Near the till he saw a metal needle, pointed at both ends, which Mrs Chapel used for knitting socks. Comparing it with the damage, it seemed likely to have been the cause. But how? There had been no one in the shop to do it and he never left the place unattended. When he had gone to the cellar he locked the door for the few minutes he was away. Besides, why would anyone want to?

  The following day the same thing had happened to both the apples and the pears. The doors were all locked and nothing appeared to have been disturbed. So he closed the shop, leaving a note on the door stating he would be back within the hour, and went to the police station.

  ‘Someone stabbing your apples and pears, you say?’ The policeman was obviously amused. ‘Sounds real serious, that does. Second only to the Great Train Robbery of 1855, I’d say, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘What about adding breaking and entering? I locked the shop and Mrs Chapel is away staying with her sister. Someone got in to damage that fruit. Someone must have a key, but there are only two that I know of, and I can account for both of them.’

  The policeman took down the details, still smiling. When Maldwyn reminded him about the lorry driven dangerously towards himself and Delyth, and the threats made when he and Delyth were pushed into the hedge near the café, he took the situation more seriously and promised to investigate. ‘Someone wants you to leave the town, you think? Can you suggest why? Upset someone, have you? Stolen someone’s girl? There’s a lot of trouble in that area now, with men away and the women left behind and bored with waiting.’

  ‘I can’t think of anyone who’d be interested enough to want me out of the way. I’m only an assistant in a flower shop for heaven’s sake!’

  They talked around the subject for a while and the policeman made copious notes, but when Maldwyn left the police station he felt no more hopeful of solving the mystery than when he had entered. As he had related the incidents aloud it had all sounded rather silly.

  That night he double-checked every lock and bolt and leaned on the shop door after securing it to make sure there was no weakness. He even went back and pushed against it once more, unable to trust his own competence. He had the needle in his pocket. He didn’t want to leave anything to chance.

  While Mrs Chapel was away, he made a few notes to inform her of what had happened each day. He wrote out a careful report on the damaged fruit and hoped she wouldn’t blame him.

  When she returned, she walked in to see a few customers being served, the shop neat and orderly and the stock at an acceptable level.

  ‘Thank you, Maldwyn. You’re a marvel,’ she said, putting down her suitcase and helping to serve.

  He waited until she had taken off her coat and was sitting with a cup of steaming tea in front of her before he handed her his notes and mentioned the mysterious damage to the fruit on two occasions.

  ‘You are sure you locked everything?’

  ‘Absolutely sure.’

  ‘I believe you. You could never be accused of carelessness. I wonder how it happened? The fruit couldn’t have been damaged before that night?’

  ‘I’d sold most of it the day before and had no complaints.’

  ‘It couldn’t have been him next door, could it?’ She gestured with a thumb. ‘Arnold Elliot and his “Fashion Emporium”. He wants to buy me out, doesn’t he?’

  ‘He wouldn’t! How would he get in? You’ve never given him a key, have you?’

  ‘No, he wouldn’t. And without a key he couldn’t. But who?’

  Maldwyn was not happy leaving Mrs Chapel that evening. He remembered the occasion when someone had stolen the picture frame and threw it aside a few doors further on. Could they have also stolen a key? If someone had, she was not safe. She refused to sleep somewhere else and Maldwyn made another visit to the police station to let them know that she was alone in a house where there had been a suspected intruder a few nights previously. He casually mentioned the fact that Arnold Elliot wanted to buy the property and extend.

  ‘You’re telling me you think he might be behind these threats?’

  ‘No, no. I just mentioned that there might be reasons we haven’t thought of, like someone wanting to buy the premises.’

  ‘He’s hardly likely to go to those lengths,’ the constable said doubtfully.

  ‘No, of course not; I was just thinking aloud.’

  Maldwyn went to see Arnold Elliot, but didn’t explain fully about the damaged fruit or the other incidents. He didn’t want the man to realise he was a suspect. He simply asked him to be vigilant in case Mrs Chapel had an unwelcome visitor.

  ‘What d’you want me to do, sit on the front doorstep all night?’ the man asked aggressively.

  ‘No, of course not.’ Maldwyn spoke calmly. ‘If you do see or hear something unusual will you tell the police or let someone know?’

  ‘Why the sudden concern?’

  ‘She isn’t well. I don’t like leaving her.’

  ‘She’ll be selling up soon, then?’

  ‘I hope not. I like my job and unless it’s taken by another florist I’d be out of work, wouldn’t I?’

  ‘I’ll go and see her, renew my offer on the place. She might be glad enough to retire if she isn’t well.’

  Maldwyn didn’t respond.

  There was a telephone in the shop but he didn’t phone Mrs Chapel even though he was anxious throughout the evening. Better not to disturb her and make her go down the stairs to the shop. He would probably add to her worry by declaring his own.

  Days passed and there was no repeat of the damage to the fruit or anything else to cause concern. Maldwyn began to believe Mrs Chapel’s theory, that the fruit had been faulty when he bought it, and thankfully put aside his fear, that he was the target for this as well as the other incidents. He had begun to think no one was safe around him.

  * * *

  The day of the beauty contest was dry but overcast, with a breeze blowing in across the sea and making people add a warm cardigan on top of their summer dresses. The contestants were disappointed: having to parade in a bathing costume would be much less fun in a chilly breeze.

  It was the last weekend in August. The town was filled with holidaymakers and hundreds of day trippers making the most of their final fling. As the season came to a close, crocheted hats with floppy brims appeared, many made with matching handbags. Rather than the usual jackets carried over the arms of many trippers, people no longer felt confident to travel away from home without the precautionary addition of a coat or mac. The freedom of summer was already receding. Men put on the sleeveless Fairisle pullovers their wives had knitted, and trilby hats reappeared after their brief summer hibernation. But on that day, the weather made no difference. A beauty contest was drawing the crowds. A walkway was set up near the swingboats, roundabouts and stalls. People began arriving hours before the prop
osed start, to be sure of a seat with a good view. The sand around the walkway was soon filled with people pressing up closer and closer, mothers keeping a watchful eye on their broods as the concentration of bustling people made it easy to lose sight of the lively, excited children.

  The tide was ebbing and the semicircle of people around the walkway became deeper as more sand was exposed. It dried quickly in the breeze and a reluctant sun, and was immediately colonised by the continuous flow of families unpacking buckets and spades, windmills, towels, sunhats and parasols, struggling for room to spread, then good-naturedly squeezing up to accommodate yet more arrivals.

  Shirley had taken a taxi to the beach. It would be something to tell Freddy when she wrote. Others probably had the same thought, as it was difficult sometimes to find news to fill the pages.

  She thought of Alice then. She would probably tell her father but Shirley doubted whether he would understand. She had visited the hospital once with Alice and was saddened by the emptiness of the man’s life, but impressed with Alice’s determination to reach him through the vacant expression and the uncanny silence. Alice insisted that while there was a chance he might understand she would continue to tell him about her day-to-day activities. Shirley sent a message to the sweet shop, telling Alice where she was and asking her to join her when she was free.

  * * *

  Eirlys didn’t feel well. She had been up since early morning, going over her lists and making sure nothing had been forgotten or left to chance. The boys would go with Hannah and her two girls for the day, and Ken — she wasn’t sure what Ken would be doing. They hardly spoke to each other these days, she thought in a moment of melancholy.

  She felt strange: her body ached and her legs trembled and seemed unable to hold her. How would she cope for another eight hours? She wondered how long she could continue. There were only one or two more entertainments still to come and she would be disappointed not to see them through.

  Her bosses, Mr Gifford and Mr Johnston, called at midday and she went through the plans for the day with them, wishing she could curl up in bed and leave it all to them.

  Ken came to the house while they were there and, glancing at Eirlys, could see she was not her usual bright and capable self. When she went into the kitchen to make tea he was alarmed at the slow way she moved. Her eyes were heavy and she looked exhausted. ‘Eirlys, is everything all right?’ he asked, genuinely concerned.

  ‘I think so, but I do feel rather tired,’ she admitted. ‘Once today is over most of the summer’s entertainments are finished and I can relax. Thank goodness. This summer has been harder than usual.’

  ‘It’s time you finished work completely,’ he said, ‘and I want you to tell Mr Gifford that you will.’

  ‘Let’s get today over and we’ll talk about it,’ she promised.

  Ken listened to the final discussion about the day’s events and quickly agreed to take on several of the duties to ease the day for her.

  At twelve o’clock, when she had taken Stanley, Harold and Percival to join Hannah and her daughters, Eirlys could no longer stand. She collapsed on to a chair, laid her head on the table and sobbed. When Ken returned to the house he took one look at Eirlys, who was bent over the table, head on her hands, crying softly, and ran to call the doctor. He came at once and put her straight to bed.

  ‘I don’t think there is anything terribly wrong, Mr Ward, fortunately!’ he told an anxious Ken. ‘She has been doing too much and should have stopped work several weeks ago, as I firmly told her, not run around organising the entertainments for the town. It’s an enormous undertaking at the best of times, and being in an advanced stage of pregnancy is not the best of times. I don’t know what you and Mr Gifford have been thinking about to allow it.’

  ‘I didn’t really notice how tired she was becoming. She loves her job so much and wouldn’t hear of giving up until the season is over. I should have been more aware.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Ward, you should.’

  Ken ran around for the rest of the time left before the start of the contest until he felt like crawling into bed with Eirlys. He hadn’t realised just how much was involved, even at this late stage, to ensure everything went according to plan. Mr Gifford took over and, with Ken helping and Mr Johnston in tow, they were ready as the town band struck up the tune of ‘It’s a Hap-Hap-Happy Day’ and the crowd settled to enjoy the spectacle.

  Ken had suggested a comedian to act as compere and it had been a good decision. Dressed in an evening suit and bow tie, acting the toff, a bottle and a glass at the ready, the talented comic quickly degenerated into performing as a drunk. His humour was aimed mainly at the children and was saucy without giving offence — perfect for the end-of-summer atmosphere. Before the girls had completed their first walk-past he had everyone’s full attention. From then on they thought what he told them to think, smiled when he told them to smile and clapped with him as the girls did their brief act.

  One by one the girls paraded across the makeshift stage in bathing costumes, their smiles hiding the fact that they were freezing. Vera didn’t walk, though; she performed. She didn’t just scuttle self-consciously across the stage as many of the others did but paused as she entered, slowly turned and pirouetted and stretched to show her figure at its best. She even returned as though for an encore, and the compere reacted as though frightened by her unexpected reappearance. She made sure she would be remembered.

  Next the entrants walked on to the stage smiling. They moved in line along the walkway, first in summery skirts and blouses, then long and elegant dance dresses. A partner appeared for each girl and they danced to the band’s rendering of ‘Begin the Beguine‘. The comedian kept the crowd amused before the girls finally reappeared in bathing costumes, to the accompaniment of cheers and whistles. Judging partly by the volume of applause and partly from their own discussions. Shirley, Ken and the two men from the council offices decided to award the first place to Vera. But to prolong the event, they told everyone that before the announcement they would be entertained by a children’s dance troupe.

  * * *

  Janet thought it was safe to visit St David’s Well, believing Ken to be in North Wales on a tour of factories with a variety show. She had the weekend off and, having no home to go to, the usual routine was to stay in the room she shared with eight other girls and catch up with some reading, sewing and letter-writing. This time she decided to find a cheap bed-and-breakfast and call on Beth to see how the café was coping with the troublesome shortages of food.

  There was a thought in her mind to hint to Beth that the café business might be for sale. The premises were rented and under the jurisdiction of the market management regarding opening times and the limits of what she could sell, but it was a good business. The situation with Ken made it unlikely she would ever be able to return. She would stay in the Naafi at least until the war ended, and perhaps afterwards, to make it a career. If not she would find a place to settle far away from the temptation of seeing Ken, loving him and being unable to show it.

  Beth was serving a line of ladies with teas and cakes, taking the orders, delivering the food to the tables and handling the payment steadily and efficiently. After exchanging greetings, Janet took off her jacket, scrubbed hands that were dirty from travelling on sooty trains, set to and helped.

  When there was a break in the demand for teas and snacks, Beth laughed. ‘This isn’t much of a change for you, is it?’

  ‘Only the name. Char and a wad is what we’re asked for in the Naafi, which means tea and a cake.’

  Clearing tables, washing dishes and the rest of the chores were done in a rush while they were free to do so, then another queue and another busy few minutes. ‘Will you take my brother and Olive a tray of tea and a couple of cakes?’ Beth asked. ‘They’d like to say hello.’

  Janet went to the fruit and vegetable stall where Ronnie and his wife were selling the last of some rather weary-looking cabbages and carrots.

  ‘Life saver,�
� Ronnie said as he took the tray. There was no time to chat because the queue at the café was growing, so after exchanging a few words Janet went back.

  It was almost four o’clock, and Beth and Janet were able to think about clearing up and closing. Beth told Janet about the beauty contest and about Delyth and Madge, who had come on a day trip to watch their friend Vera Matthews taking part. ‘Perhaps we could see the end of it if we hurry.’

  They joined the crowds, who were still being entertained by the young dancers, and stood with the rest to see Vera being presented with the prize — a large bouquet, a book on flower-arranging and a £5 note — by Shirley Downs. Vera accepted the applause like a professional and as soon as she was off stage gave the book to Maldwyn, who had just arrived. Janet tried to get through the crush of people to talk to Shirley, but she failed and turned the other way. Perhaps she would go to the house later. Soon afterwards, she came face to face with Ken.

  ‘Where’s Eirlys?’ she asked, looking around, trying to avoid his eyes.

  ‘She was tired and had to stay home,’ Ken told her. ‘Pity, after all the work she put in.’

  The crowd was impatient to move away now the show was finished and in the pushing and struggling Ken and Janet found themselves together, with no sign of the others.

  Delyth spotted them and, worried that Ken might look up and see her, she pulled Madge away. She still wondered if he was the one trying to frighten her with repeated threats.

  Janet saw Shirley watching her, disapproval on her face, and tried to move away from Ken. ‘I have to go,’ she said, but his hand on her arm gripped her firmly; he led her to a café. where he found a space and sat down facing her:

  ‘This can’t go on,’ he said.

  ‘I wouldn’t have come, but I wanted to see Beth and I thought you were away from home.’