Holidays at Home Omnibus

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

  When she came down, she asked plaintively whether he had any more clothing coupons to spare. ‘I’ve got to have clothes, Maldwyn. D’you think Mr Elliot will let me buy some without coupons?’ Without giving him a chance to comment she went on: ‘Stockings! They take coupons too and I won’t be able to paint my legs now winter’s coming. I’ll get chilblains and they won’t look very glamorous for a beauty queen, will they? Trousers are all right for Land Girls, but not for a fashion salesgirl.’ Maldwyn was laughing as she continued, ‘Mr Elliot will want me looking my best. I’ll go and see Hannah Castle. She might be able to help. Oh, Maldwyn, isn’t it exciting?’

  He wondered, now the romance of the summer season was over and there would be fewer chances of finding someone more to her taste, whether she might look at him as more than someone to use when she had need of company. She was beautiful and such fun. If only she would stop thinking of him as a friend and see him as something more. A minute of hope with Vera and all thoughts of Delyth were wiped from his mind.

  He picked up the letter he had written to Delyth and read it through. He frowned, and looked up the stairs to where Vera could be heard singing. The song was a Cole Porter number, ‘You Do Something to Me’, and he wondered, with more optimism than was justified, if she meant the words for him. ‘Come to the pictures?’ he called up.

  ‘Love to, Mal. We might even find a couple of seats in the back row, eh?’

  He read the letter again. He had intended to persuade Delyth to go out with him on her own, without Madge, but with the promise in Vera’s voice and those excitable kisses his thoughts had somersaulted him back to where he usually was, half in love with Vera. He folded the letter and walked towards the glowing fire. What he had written was too affectionate. He tore it up and watched it burn before going up to wash — in cold water.

  Nine

  When she heard someone banging rather loudly on her front door, Eirlys was ironing. It was a Monday morning and she had been given the day off by her grateful bosses because of the work she had done on the previous Saturday. She frowned as she put the iron down on the hearth and patted her hair to make sure it was tidy, wondering who it could be. So few people would know she was at home. Two policemen stood there, not local bobbies, but strangers.

  ‘Mrs Ward? Mrs Ken Ward?’

  ‘Yes?’ She frowned, waiting for an explanation, then horror made her clutch her unborn baby as the thought of an accident came to her. ‘Ken? Is he all right? Has something happened?’

  ‘So far as we know he’s fine, Mrs Ward. May we come in?’

  She stood back and allowed them to enter, and stood staring at them, waiting for them to tell her the reason for their call. In 1942, the third year of the war, news was more likely to be bad than pleasant.

  ‘It’s Mr Ward we’d like to interview,’ one of them said.

  Interview? This sounded alarmingly serious. Gesturing for them to sit, she asked, ‘Will you please tell me what this is about?’

  ‘Can you tell us where he is? We’d like to see him as soon as possible.’

  ‘I don’t know where he is. London, I think. I know it sounds vague but he travels around the country arranging fund-raising concerts, and entertainments for the forces, factory workers and other organisations.’

  ‘We know what he does, Mrs Ward. If you could give us an idea of how we can contact him and when he’s likely to be at home, we won’t disturb you any further.’

  ‘But what’s wrong? Why do you want to see him?’

  ‘An address? Or a phone number? A friend, maybe, who would know where he is?’

  They weren’t answering her questions. ‘Tell me what this is about,’ she demanded, ‘then I might be able to help you.’

  One policeman sat with a pencil poised; the other just looked at her.

  Unnerved, she stood up and took an address book from the sideboard. ‘You could try his parents.’ She gave them the address and, to her further alarm, she was told they had already tried the house in London. Fumbling now, her brain leaping around between unanswered questions and a need to ask more, she thumbed through the book. She gave them a few phone numbers of people Ken regularly worked with and they thanked her and stood to leave.

  ‘It isn’t anything for you to worry about, Mrs Ward. It’s just a case we are investigating that we think his movements might have some bearing on.’

  Hastily finishing the ironing, Eirlys grabbed a coat and went to find Beth. She had to talk to someone. She found her in the market café, serving a couple of shoppers with tea and scones, and waited impatiently until they were settled.

  ‘They used phrases like “interview”, “investigation”, “his movements might have a bearing on a case”. They want to talk to him as soon as possible. What on earth can it be? He’s hardly a criminal.’

  ‘There are lots of reasons for them wanting to talk to him.’ Beth soothed, handing her a cup of steaming tea. ‘He might have been somewhere near at the time of an accident and they’ll want to know if he saw something. Or perhaps someone he knows has been in trouble or hurt. Don’t worry until there’s something to worry about,’ she teased.

  ‘But they were so cold. They sat there and asked for his whereabouts and just ignored my questions.’

  ‘Well,’ Beth said, still trying to make light of it, ‘if he’s a master criminal, they don’t want you, as a gangster’s moll, to warn him, do they?’

  ‘All right, I’m panicking,’ Eitlys admitted. ‘But it was so frightening.’

  ‘Can you get in touch with him?’ Beth went on serving the straggle of customers as they arrived and in between came to sit with her friend.

  ‘No, not unless he phones the office, and today I’m not there. Oh! D’you think I should go in? He might be trying to get in touch.’

  ‘Go home and rest. You and that baby of yours need an hour lying on the bed thinking of nothing more than what to feed the boys on.’

  ‘Heavens, I have to get back. They’ll be home in twenty minutes!’

  ‘Get some chips to go with these.’ She wrapped four pasties and handed them to Eirlys. ‘Cut some bread and jam to fill them up and they won’t complain — although Percival might,’ she laughed.

  * * *

  Ken was in a boarding house near Brecon. The landlady had a strange expression on her face when she came to tell him he had uniformed visitors and, like Eirlys, his first thought was of an accident.

  ‘What’s happened? Is my wife all right? My parents?’

  ‘So far as we know they are fine. It’s you we want to talk about, Mr Ward.’

  When they began to question him about Delyth and the cliff path beyond Castle’s Café, he bluffed for a while and insisted he knew nothing about the girl. When they calmly made it clear that they knew about the meeting with a woman in the park, and the threat to Delyth Owen, during which he had taken her drawings, he admitted it.

  ‘And the photographs of her taken on the beach on the day of Eynon Castle’s wedding?’

  ‘Photographs? I don’t even have a camera!’ Then he remembered the baby Brownie his mother had bought him a couple of years before, which lay at the back of the wardrobe at home. ‘Well, I do have a camera but—’

  ‘Forgive me, but are you saying you do have a camera or you do not have a camera, Mr Ward?’ The pencil of the note taker was poised and they both looked at him. This was ridiculous. They made everything sound like a confession of guilt.

  ‘I do own one but it isn’t something I use. My mother bought it; it cost a pound and I thought it was a waste of money as photography wasn’t something that interested me. It still doesn’t! And I certainly didn’t take photographs of Delyth Owen on the day of Eynon Castle’s wedding. Now, when are you going to tell me what is this all about?’

  The questions went on and he answered as fully as he could, in the hope that would hasten their departure. He had a concert that evening which included new acts, and he needed to be there for the rehearsal as everything had yet to be t
imed and the running order decided.

  As the subject changed and he was asked about lorries being driven at Delyth, and illegal food and supplies, he began to panic. Then, just as he was expecting to be arrested, they stood up and left, promising him he would be contacted again a day later when he was back home.

  ‘You won’t have to mention the — er — woman in the park to my wife, will you?’ he asked as they stepped outside.

  ‘There’s enough of the world at war without us adding to it, sir.’

  He went to the rehearsal and saw the concert through without being aware of whether it was good or bad, and instead of going back to the guesthouse and sleeping he caught the milk train. Unless there was an air raid to cause delays, he would be home before Eirlys, or Morgan, was awake.

  * * *

  Eirlys waited anxiously for Ken to come home. She knew he wouldn’t be there until the following day but still jumped up every time she thought she heard the gate, and insisted on the wireless being played low so she would hear his key in the lock. Then it occurred to her that he might have been arrested, and she listened for the door, expecting not Ken but the police. Her father was working the night shift and when the children were in bed she went too, wanting the day to be over, to lose anxious hours in sleep. But sleep wouldn’t come.

  She went downstairs several times, even opened the door and looked out as though that would make him come more quickly, like impatient people looking around the corner to hurry the arrival of a bus, she thought foolishly. She made cocoa, and tried to read, then filled a hot-water bottle to hug, and settled with the light low to try again to find peace in sleep.

  Before the alarm clock gave its strident demand for her to rise she heard the sound of a key in the door and for a brief moment thought it was her father. Then memory flooded back and she went down to see Ken dropping his case and throwing off his coat.

  ‘I’ve had the police here looking for you, Ken. What’s happened?’

  He put an arm around her and murmured reassuringly, ‘It’s all right. They thought I could help with a case, that’s all.’ He switched on the electric fire while Eirlys filled the kettle. ‘I’d been in the area where some illegal foodstuffs had been hidden. I wasn’t involved and neither would I be. I think it’s disgraceful. Food isn’t something to make money from when everyone is so tightly rationed,’ he said. ‘You know me better than that. The black market is something I disapprove of, the same as you do.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I didn’t want to alarm you. I knew the police would soon find out the truth and then it would be over, so why upset you for nothing?’

  He was so convincing, and told the story with such brevity, that she relaxed and believed him. He sighed with relief and hoped the rest of the inquiry, regarding Delyth’s sketchbook and his shameful, bullying behaviour on the cliffs, would never reach her ears.

  They sat on the couch, close together, Ken’s arm protectively around her, and she felt more secure in his love than she had for a long time. They had talked, shared a worry, and it made her feel more hopeful about their future. When Morgan came in at seven he found them there in each other’s arms, fast asleep.

  Although the night had been restless and disturbed, she felt restored when she went to the office to deal with the last of the summer events. The final game in the giant chess tournament was easy. All she had to do was arrange for a team of young people from the local school to be there in fancy dress to set out the three-foot-high pieces and move them around to the players’ instructions. The mood was a carefully balanced one: the more the helpers fooled around, the more irate the participants would be, but the more the audience would enjoy it. Most onlookers would know little about the finer points of the game and were ready for more relaxed entertainment. The commentator would try to add a little sobriety to counteract the children’s actions.

  The Dancing by Moonlight was hardly difficult either and for the most part was just left to chance. She had no idea how many would turn up, and knew that if the weather didn’t co-operate there could easily be no one at all. It had been advertised, the charities which hoped to benefit had a number of people ready to run around the crowd with their collecting tins, and a small committee had been set up to count and distribute the money.

  * * *

  Vera was furious. She had been promised a job in Mr Elliot’s clothing shop, then a letter had arrived telling her she had to report for war duties. She went to the employment offices and was told that she had to do something and they had arranged for her to go to the local factory that made engine parts. She protested, insisted she wasn’t strong enough, and even tried to tell them she was considering ENSA, the forces entertainment organisation, but when she could produce no evidence of an audition they handed her the card and told her to present it the following Monday morning at eight.

  She had to get out of it somehow, but as she was now in the age group when the government had the final say, she had no idea how. She thought she would call on Ken. He might be able to arrange an audition to give some validity to her claim to being considered by ENSA.

  She called to see Ken and was fortunate enough to find him at home. She explained her predicament truthfully and asked if he could help.

  ‘I won that beauty contest, so I know I have the looks. I just want a chance to prove myself and I know I could be successful.’

  ‘Successful at what?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, singing, dancing. I’m sure I can learn.’

  Ken tried to be sympathetic, but with no proof of her talents nor evidence of experience, he could do nothing. ‘You’ll have to do this on your own,’ he told her. ‘Everyone is too busy to train people; they have to prove themselves before they’ll be offered an audition.’ She looked surprised, then disappointed, and, letting her down lightly, he suggested she took singing lessons and went from there. ‘Your teacher will advise you on the best way of getting started.’

  ‘Shirley Downs and Janet Copp did it without teachers,’ she protested.

  ‘Shirley and Janet were naturals. They had a terrific talent.’ The mention of Janet saddened him; he ended the conversation abruptly and closed the door.

  Vera turned huffily and went back to talk to Mrs Denver about how difficult it was for someone like herself, who wanted to rise above waitressing. ‘And I refuse to work in a dirty factory ruining my hands,’ she added with a shudder.

  * * *

  The weather was not kind to the chess competitors. A misty drizzle kept many people away, but the entrants seemed not to notice. This left Bernard Gregory, puffing amiably at his pipe, which defied the rain and continued to burn, facing a headmaster who had come out of retirement when most of the teachers had been called to fight.

  The children, dressed as clowns, moved the pieces, ducking in and out of the shelter of the tents where the competitors stood cogitating on their moves. Bernard lost, but it was a satisfying event and he looked forward to writing to tell his son of his success in the tournament. Peter would be proud of him.

  Once the result was announced and the prize given, the children began leap-frogging the pieces, and the small audience joined in. So in spite of the uncooperative weather the day ended happily. Eirlys was once again congratulated on her success.

  Although it was a Saturday, Mrs Chapel had insisted Maldwyn went to watch, and he had invited Vera, thinking it would be fun even though neither of them understood the game. Just to be in a crowd, taking part, supporting the town’s efforts, seemed to Maldwyn to be sufficient reason for going, but at the last moment Vera declined.

  ‘All right, we can go somewhere else if you like, as I have the afternoon off,’ he offered. They had been seeing a lot more of each other recently and he was beginning to hope for more than an occasional hug. She kissed him from time to time, but only when she chose. She still pushed him away when he wanted to kiss her with any depth of feeling, telling him not to be so daft. ‘Pictures?’ he offered, although he didn’t
really want to spend the money. He was going home on Sunday to see his stepmother and wanted to take her a gift. And there was the Dancing by Moonlight on the following Saturday. He had high hopes of the dancing.

  Vera screwed up her nose. ‘I don’t think so. I promised one of the girls from the shop that we’d go dancing, so I’ll want the afternoon to get ready.’

  ‘All right. I don’t mind dancing, it’ll be a bit of practice for next Saturday.’

  ‘I mean just her and me. A girls’ evening.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Well, all right, but don’t forget the dance next Saturday. You’re definitely coming to that one with me.’

  ‘I’ll be there,’ she said gaily.

  He watched the chess then went home. Vera had washed her hair and wore a new outfit, a very short skirt and a blouse with a low neck. Jealousy was hidden as he smiled and hoped she would have a good time. He sat with Mrs Denver and listened to the wireless, but he couldn’t settle and at half-past eight went for a walk, his feet taking him to the school hall where the dance was being held. There were records being played and he heard the sound of Henry Hall’s signature tune. ‘It’s Just the Time For Dancing’, and wondered whether he could risk going in and claiming just one dance. He paid and went in.

  As the music faded he saw Vera dancing with a soldier. He smiled and was about to go over and say hello when there was a drum-roll and the compete announced the singer. Shirley Downs stepped on to the stage. With the aid of her stick she walked over to the piano and began to sing.

  Her voice was powerful and utterly enchanting. No one moved as she sang. ‘Embrace me, my sweet embraceable you.’ Slowly, as the words wove themselves around his heart, Maldwyn turned his head to look at Vera. Surely she must be thinking of him. But she was moving her head too, and with a sinewy movement her body was wrapping itself closely around the soldier sitting next to her.