Holidays at Home Omnibus
Page 114
* * *
Ken didn’t stay away from home so frequently since the arrival of baby Anthony. He delegated whenever he could and found people in various places to act on his behalf. If only they could have a phone installed he would cope much better, but that seemed to be an impossibility, although he wondered sometimes whether the phone company enjoyed making people wait.
He continued to be thrilled with his baby son and wrote long letters to his parents describing his progress. He and Eirlys were happy too, sharing the joy of their child. There were moments when he thought of Janet, but even the best memories couldn’t compete with what he now felt for Eirlys and his son. ‘It’s like I’ve been reborn,’ he told Eirlys affectionately.
He hadn’t contacted Janet since she had been posted to the training camp and presumed she was already overseas, so he was stunned to bump into her as she was leaving the gift shop on Wednesday afternoon. The shop was closed for business but he could see Hannah and Beth inside, busily sewing, and they had been joined by Delyth and Madge, refusing to abandon their day trips in spite of the cold, dark weather.
‘Janet!’ he gasped. ‘I thought you were far away. What are you doing home?’ He looked uneasily at the four women watching from inside the shop.
‘Selling the café business and saying my goodbyes to St D,’ she said sadly. ‘There’s no place for me here, not any more.’
‘I’m sorry. I feel guilty, letting you down after all the dreams we had.’
‘Don’t be sorry, Ken, your decision was the right one. Is the baby all right?’
‘He’s wonderful. Already trying to lift his head, and I’m sure he smiles at me.’
She laughed then. ‘You’re just like all the other proud dads. Only one perfect baby, and every father has him.’
They moved away from the shop; Ken was trying to work out what to say to Eirlys. Perhaps nothing. It was obvious they had met by chance and not by arrangement, and surely the four women wouldn’t say otherwise?
At the corner of the street, Eirlys stopped pushing the pram and stood watching them. She turned, went home and sat waiting for him to come in, then waiting some more, for him to tell her about meeting Janet, but he did not.
The local Red Cross had arranged a concert in aid of parcels for prisoners of war and Janet and Shirley Downs were singing. She and Ken had been invited and her father had promised to look after the baby for the hour and a half she would be out. Unable to face meeting Janet, and unwilling to tell Ken he had been seen talking to her, Eirlys left the concert early; Ken left with her.
‘What is it, love? Are you feeling all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ she said sharply. ‘And what about you?’
‘You’re in a funny mood. Was it seeing Janet?’
‘Not this evening, no,’ she replied enigmatically. Ken shrugged and tried to put her arm through his but she resisted and they walked the rest of the way in silence.
The next morning she made an appointment to see her ex-boss and before she kept it she called on Alice Castle.
That evening she was so angry and upset that there was no need for Percival’s urging for her to make sure all the lumps were out of the mashed potatoes; she almost beat them to a pulp. After they had eaten, she told Ken she was going back to work part-time as soon as the baby was changed to bottle-feeding, leaving him pan of the time with Alice and pan of the time with Hannah.
Ken was furious, and demanded to know why. She didn’t explain, except to say she wanted to. How could she tell him she was alarmingly insecure? How could she put into words her conviction that one day, sooner or later, he would leave them, and she needed to be sure she could earn the money to look after herself and Anthony?
With no explanations or even accusations, they began slowly to drift apart once again. Someone told Ken that women sometimes became unreasonable after they’d had a child, and he wondered if that were Eirlys’s problem and how long it was likely to last. There was also the dread that she would take Anthony away from him: he loved him so much. If they separated, the baby would have to stay with his mother, and Ken wasn’t sure how he would cope with such a loss.
* * *
The flower shop was quiet during the early part of the year. What flowers were available were expensive, and things wouldn’t change until the arrival of spring. Flowers for graves were almost a thing of the past, as most people were too anxious about the living. The recently bereaved had no graves to attend. Post was a daily hope, telegrams a daily dread.
Maldwyn did extra work for Mrs Chapel, painting walls and repairing shelves and the outside work area. He was worried about her. She became tired more easily and was leaving more and more of the decisions to him. When he opened the shop after a lunch break one day and found several displays of flowers cut into pieces, she did no more than sigh and reach for a brush to clear the mess.
Maldwyn said he would talk to the police again, but she shook her head. ‘Whoever’s doing this will get bored eventually.’
Mr Elliot called as the broken flowers were being cleared away, asked for an explanation and offered sympathy. Maldwyn was suspicious. Was the man there to gloat? He knew he had a key. He imparted his suspicions to Charlie Groves, but with little hope of an outcome.
* * *
Unable to accept her mother’s new husband, Delyth was dreading the marriage, feeling uneasy about Trevor Gronow moving in and sharing her mother’s bedroom. It was embarrassing and didn’t seem right, although she knew she was being selfish by begrudging her mother a happy life.
Like all wartime weddings it would be a meagre occasion with no great spread, no beautiful dress and no honeymoon. Instead, the neighbours had all promised to contribute something and join the couple for a knees-up in the Owens’ house. In an attempt to please her, Mrs Owen told Delyth she could invite as many friends as she wanted, and at once she wrote to Maldwyn and Mrs Chapel. She also invited Hannah and the children, Beth and Peter if he were home, and as many of the Castle clan as she could think of. Madge’s parents next door agreed that their house should be included as part of the venue and to accommodate the guests, and everyone looked forward to a good afternoon and evening.
The train was unusually crowded as friends made their way to the wedding. The Castles couldn’t use the firm’s van: driving for pleasure was no longer allowed, and in any case the van would not accommodate many, so they all took the train.
As they spilled out of the train at Bryn Teg, the mood was already set for enjoyment. They were met by Delyth and Madge and led to the church where the ceremony was to take place. Maldwyn took Delyth’s hand and walked with her, but he was uneasy, looking around as though expecting some trouble to emerge out of the quiet streets and threaten her.
When they went back to the house, Maldwyn sat beside his stepmother and took the opportunity of her mood, after sipping a few glasses of port, to ask why she had sent him away.
‘I promised your Dad, Maldwyn, and it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, believe me,’ Winifred told him. ‘I miss you, son.’
‘Why?’ he insisted.
‘He was afraid you’d stay in the flower shop until old Mr Jolly died, then have to leave once his daughter took over, and drift into something else. He thought you’d make more of your life if you left home and had to look after yourself.’ She touched his arm and smiled sadly, morbid with the unaccustomed effect of alcohol. ‘I’m sorry, son.’
‘I’m not. Dad was right. I’ve been so lucky working for Mrs Chapel. She’s taught me more than I’d ever have learned from Mr Jolly. I’m well looked after by Mrs Denver and I’ve made some good friends.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said again, not having taken his words in. ‘Now’s a good time to come back, mind. The Jollys’ flower shop is for sale and perhaps you could get one of them mortgages?’
It was tempting. Living back home and close to Delyth seemed a perfect base on which to plan his future, but he knew he would miss St David’s Well and the happy summers on
the sands. He also knew he couldn’t let Mrs Chapel down. She relied on him and he owed her a lot. He wondered how Delyth would feel about leaving and coming to live there with him.
While everyone danced, he went to find Delyth. They sat alone in the back kitchen of Madge’s house and talked. Without committing himself, he discussed owning his own shop, either in Bryn Teg or in St David’s Well. Maldwyn held back from asking how she felt about working with him. He wasn’t sure what would happen to his job when Mrs Chapel retired, and he needed to be secure before telling her how important she was to his plans.
The atmosphere — the crowd all intent on making it a day to remember — the unaccustomed drink and the fact that they were alone all contributed to a sensation of deepening love. Their talk became affectionate and the kiss when it came startled them both with its intensity. Maldwyn held her tight and knew that she was the one he loved and wanted to be with for the rest of his life. Delyth knew that the impossible had happened — he had forgotten Vera and was choosing her.
Then a screech of brakes outside, as a lorry pulled up to avoid a dog, brought Maldwyn’s mind back to reality and he moved away from her. She was still in danger by associating with him. There had been no explanation of the attacks and whoever was responsible was still out there. He said goodbye to the new Mrs Trevor Gronow and left long before the party was over, using the excuse that Mrs Chapel was tired and needed to get home.
Delyth was devastated. So close and loving, sharing kisses that filled her body with warm desire, then walking away as though she meant nothing to him? Why had he done that? Was he afraid she would cling to him and demand what he couldn’t give? Was he still thinking of Vera, who couldn’t come today because she was feeling unwell? Perhaps he was hurrying back to make sure Vera was all right and had been amusing himself with her, affected by the romance of the moment, nothing more than that.
She freshened her make-up and forced herself to go into the front room and dance with one of her mother’s friends to the recording of ‘Begin the Beguine’ played by Joe Loss’s band. Later she joined enthusiastically in all the crazy party dances, like Hands, Knees and Bumps-a-Daisy and the Conga, in and out of neighbours’ houses with the rest. No one would know how hurt she felt. The last thing she wanted was sympathy.
* * *
On Monday morning, Maldwyn picked up the van and went to the early-moming fruit and vegetable market to see what flowers he could find. There were very few. The weather was holding back deliveries and there wasn’t much to deliver anyway. He settled for some rushes, which he planned to dye, and a few dried grasses. It would be paper flowers again to fill the window, and yet more painted fir cones fastened to yet more branches.
Whistling cheerfully, he went into the shop and called up, ‘Fancy a cuppa, Mrs Chapel?’ When her croaky voice answered, he ran up the stairs, knocked on her door and went in. ‘What’s up? Got a cold, have we?’
‘I don’t feel well enough to come down this morning, Maldwyn,’ she said.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll get the doctor, and while we’re waiting I’ll make you a hot drink. Pity we can’t get a lemon, damn old Hitler, eh? Winifred swears by lemons. I’ll dig in your pantry for a tin of soup later. That’ll warm you, and you have to eat.’
He ran back downstairs, still whistling to hide his alarm. She seemed to have shrunk, and her face had lost its roundness. While he waited for the doctor to arrive he busied himself filling the window and running up and down asking her for suggestions, telling her what he was doing, to make sure she was drinking the hot tea he’d made and was warm enough.
While Maldwyn was looking after Mrs Chapel, Mrs Denver was attending to Vera. Maldwyn knew she was feeling ill, but privately presumed it was what many now called ‘skiving‘. He was unaware that Mrs Denver was up and down stairs, taking Aspros and hot drinks, using up all her milk ration, and most of her butter too, trying to coax the girl to take some nourishment.
Mrs Denver had her suspicions about Vera’s condition and wondered vaguely whether Maldwyn was responsible, or if it was the unknown soldier Vera was dating. She also wondered whether Vera knew and if she should tell her.
She decided to wait awhile, in case her suspicions were wrong.
* * *
Delyth talked to Madge about the sudden change in Maldwyn, just when they seemed to be getting close. ‘It was as though he’d just remembered something and moved away from me as though it was wrong. Vera, I expect,’ she sighed. ‘But it seemed so good — why did he act as though he really liked me then change so suddenly?’
‘Go and see him. He might have an explanation. It could be to do with those threats. We can still go on Wednesday afternoon. There’s no law that says we have to stop when the weather turns to ice and snow. And there’s no reason we can’t call at Mrs Denver’s and ask to see Vera. Maldwyn is bound to be there.’
On Wednesday, wrapped warmly in thick coats, fur-lined boots, scarves, gloves and hats, they set off as soon as the shop closed at one o’clock. Delyth was still undecided on whether or not to go to Mrs Denver’s. If Maldwyn didn’t want to see her it could be embarrassing for both of them.
Mrs Denver told them that Vera was at work and Maldwyn was still at the flower shop. ‘Seems poor Mrs Chapel isn’t well and he’s staying awhile to make sure she’s all right,’ she told them.
Maldwyn opened the door to them and they went inside. Delyth didn’t know what to say, and Madge didn’t know whether to go or stay. Maldwyn took them up to see Mrs Chapel, who was improving; she was sitting up beside a roaring fire, her face aglow and her eyes brighter. ‘Visitors. There’s lovely,’ she exclaimed. The awkward few moments were eased by her obvious delight at seeing them. They sat drinking tea and talking about the wedding, and told her some stories about their customers that they knew would amuse her.
As they stood to go, there was a knock at the door and Mrs Chapel said, ‘More visitors? I’ll have to be ill more often!’ Delyth noticed a frown crossing the old lady’s face when the voices below were heard raised in anger. ‘Oh dear, it sounds like my nephew, Gabriel,’ she whispered conspiratorially. ‘A bit of a grump, he is, between you and me. Thank goodness Maldwyn’s here. He’ll sort him out for me.’
When the man walked in, Delyth had a feeling she had seen him before, but although she searched through her brain for the memory, it refused to come. It was something about the shoulders, uneven in height, making his head unbalanced and at an odd angle.
‘Why wasn’t Mam told you were ill?’ he demanded. ‘Maldwyn should have written.’
‘He would have if I’d wanted him to. Now, Gabriel dear, it’s nice to see you, but the doctor said I have to rest in the afternoons, didn’t he Maldwyn?’
Gabriel stood, aggressively refusing to go, insisting he wanted to talk to his auntie alone. But eventually he was persuaded to leave. Outside, he stood beside an old Austin van, its back doors wide open, and looked up at the window with an angry stare.
When Delyth, Madge and Maldwyn left a few minutes later, he was still there. Ignoring him, Delyth glanced inside the van and saw a pair of cut-down wellingtons. Then she remembered. There was something about the way he held his head, tilting it slightly to one side. He was the man on the boat with the broken mast. She turned and looked at him, and he saw recognition and fear in her eyes. He smiled and slammed the door closed. As they walked away she knew, without turning around again, that he was still watching her, and she was afraid.
‘It’s him. I’m almost sure—’ Then she stopped. Better to forget it, or she could be starting something she’d regret. Thoughts of the police, the questioning, giving evidence in a court, the possibility she had made a mistake, all this crowded in on her and she said nothing. She confided her fears to Madge as they were on their way home.
Delyth refused to leave the house apart from the hours she was in the clothing shop. As she walked to and from the shop she nervously waited for the sound or sight of a van, expecting to hear the revving of an en
gine and see a vehicle being aimed directly at her. If the street was empty she still imagined Mrs Chapel’s nephew there, watching, waiting for a chance to harm her.
She wrote to Maldwyn, telling him of her belief that Gabriel had been the man in the boat involved with the theft of illegal food. But she tore it up before posting it. She could have been mistaken. Seen from above, the man was bound to look a little off balance, and it could also have been because of the way he was standing, looking around the bend in the shoreline as he made for the cave.
* * *
Anthony Kenneth Ward was an easy baby, and Eirlys coped very well with the addition to her family. She kept busy to stop her mind straying to the feeling of failure she felt. When Ken was in the house, she polished and scrubbed and everything was shining brightly — except her spirits.
One morning, while her father was at the allotment and the boys were in school. Ken asked her to explain, although he thought he knew.
‘You saw me talking to Janet, didn’t you?’ he said, and his voice was gritty with tension. ‘It wasn’t arranged. She didn’t come back to see me, she came back to arrange for the sale of the café and we met by accident. By accident!’ he insisted angrily.
‘Yes. I saw you,’ she said, rubbing furiously at the sideboard with a polishing cloth.
Neither heard Morgan walk through in his stockinged feet, having left his muddy boots at the door. He stopped before entering the room, not wanting to listen but caught in a situation from which he couldn’t escape. If he called to let them know he was there he couldn’t prevent them knowing he’d heard enough.
‘It’s over, Eirlys,’ Ken went on, and the words chilled Morgan and brought him almost to tears. He knew that sharing a house with himself and the three boys had added to the problems of their marriage. ‘I want you and our baby.’ Ken’s voice was still harsh with suppressed emotion. ‘But if you can’t trust me ever again, well, I’m not going to live like this for the rest of my life.’