The funeral was a quiet affair with few people present. Shirley and her mother had arranged it with Bleddyn’s help, and the house was locked up to await a decision on its fate. She went every day to pick up the post and separate it into piles of bills, receipts and personal letters, hoping for one from Freddy.
Every time the post was checked and there was no letter from him, her heart gave a lurch of disappointment. The sad words his mother had spoken filled her mind, echoing around, becoming distorted and louder until she thought she was going mad. Our time has come, she had said. She had been right about Mr Clements and had made sure she had been right about herself, so why should Freddy be safe? Didn’t sad things and bad things always go in threes?
All through each day she tried to tell herself his mother had been wrong, but receiving no word, watching the postman walking past as he delivered to Brook Lane each morning, made her confidence weaken. He must be dead. He was certain to have been told and if he were alive he would have been in touch.
She was closing his parents’ front door one morning two days after the funeral, having collected the single letter from the doormat, when the gate creaked and she turned to see him standing there.
‘Freddy!’
‘Hello, Shirley, have you missed me?’
They ran towards each other, tears streaming down Shirley’s cheeks. The strength of him, the rough touch of his greatcoat, the soft coldness of his cheek against hers, and his lips claiming hers, hungrily, memories revived of how dear he was. Then arm in arm, shyly glancing at each other as though in disbelief, they went back into the house. In a dream they kissed, fears fading, the war a million miles away, the months of separation drifting as he led her up the cold, linoleum-covered stairs. Succumbing to each other in a house that still echoed with the presence of the oh, so neat, oh so orderly couple had a tinge of wickedness to it. There was the piquancy of believing they could be seen at any moment, that his parents would walk in and find them making love on the pristine sheets, creasing the immaculate pillows.
It was some time later when Freddy walked from room to room and faced the fact that he wouldn’t see his parents again. Shirley sat in the hall and waited while he said his silent goodbyes.
‘It doesn’t seem real.’ he said when he returned to her. ‘All those weeks without seeing them, it’s easy to convince myself that their absence is continuing, that when the war’s over they’ll be here and everything will be as it was.’
‘Like Max Moon’s song,’ she reminded him. Waiting for Yesterday was one of her most requested songs, one which had been written by a friend of Ken Ward, who had been killed in an air raid in London.
Freddy stayed at the house and met Shirley every day, going with her to her concerts and seeing her on stage singing sentimental songs and knowing she was singing them for him. If he’d had any doubts about what he wanted to do when he finally came home, they had gone. He knew he wanted to settle back into this warm-hearted town of St David’s Well, with Shirley Downs as his wife.
‘The house is rented,’ he told her, ‘and the rent is paid until the end of the year. If you can, will you sell the contents? I won’t be coming back here and I don’t want to pay to store stuff I won’t want.’
‘What about some of the china and linen? It’ll be difficult to get new for a long time yet.’
‘Can I leave it to you? You know more about these things than me. If there’s anything you think we should save,’ he added emphasis to the word ‘we’ and looked at her oddly, as though wanting to say something but unable to decide on the words. ‘Take anything you think we’ll use — things you like — and store them.’ There was that word again. ‘The rest can be sold. Will you look after the money for when I come home?’
‘Of course I will, Freddy.’
‘I want to start a shop selling gentlemen’s clothes,’ he told her. ‘Something like the one I worked in before I joined up, but with a bit more dash.’
‘Dash?’ she asked curiously.
‘Bespoke tailoring, expensive suits and jackets and overcoats. Clothes for the wealthy — who will always be with us — sports clothes: golf shoes and plus fours, riding macs, cricket trousers, pullovers and shoes. Walking shoes and outdoor all weather gear. I’ve seen shops like that in London and other big towns and I think that once this war’s over, the top people, the wealthy, will rise to the top again and want the best.’
‘It’s a gamble in a seaside town like this,’ she wamed. ‘And besides, it’s likely to be a long time before those things are obtainable.’
‘Perhaps, but they will be back and I’ll be ready to sell them.’ He handed her a thick envelope. ‘Talking about a gamble, here’s what I managed to make while I was overseas. Gambling was a way of passing time so I provided it. Luxuries like extra food were there too if you knew how to find them and they sold easily enough. I trundled around and found gifts for the men to give their families when they get home. Nothing really illegal, mind, but the money came rolling in.’
‘What d’you want me to do with it, Freddy?’
‘Mind it for me until I come home. Put whatever you get for the furniture with it and there’ll be enough to make a start.‘
There was a momentary doubt in her mind about the unethical way the money had been earned and she mentioned Andy. As she would have guessed, he laughed and made it clear he approved. ‘There’s a lot who have made money during this war, and I can’t blame anyone for doing what they can, so long as it doesn’t harm anyone.’
‘Some of what he stole came from Auntie Audrey.’ she said.
‘What? Stealing from your family? I’ll kill’im!’
‘What’s good for the goose is good for the gander?’ she teased.
‘It isn’t good for him if the goose is someone I know!’ he warned. He looked at her then turned away and asked, ‘Important, was he, this bloke Andy?’
‘Not in the slightest, although he was useful by giving me stories to tell in my letters to you.’
He held her close and whispered, ‘Glad I am that he wasn’t important to you, because, you, Shirley Downs, are very important to me.’
Making an excuse that she was singing and would be away over night, they went to the Grantham Hotel and booked a room as Mr and Mrs Clements. Shirley was a little nervous as, being quite well known, she knew the chances of her being seen were stronger than when they had stayed there on previous occasions. The place hadn’t changed in the couple of years since their last visit but everything was more shabby. The towels were threadbare, the curtains faded, the food was less exciting, but they loved every moment. Until, at breakfast, which they were unable to take in their room owing to the shortage of staff, they were greeted by one of the café owners from St David’s Well Bay.
‘Damn,’ Freddy muttered, ‘I’m real sorry that happened, didn’t want to embarrass you.’
Shirley shrugged, ‘I don’t suppose he’ll mention having seen me. I don’t think that woman he was with was his wife!’ Laughter, a constant companion during those precious days, rang out unabated.
The ten days passed too quickly and it seemed only hours before Shirley was standing on the railway platform waving at the train taking Freddy back to the hell of battle. She turned as the train disappeared from her sight and went back home. Her leg ached a little and she marvelled over the fact that she hadn’t been aware of its discomfort all the time Freddy had been home.
* * *
Using the Castles’ van, Huw, Bleddyn and Keith Kent moved the furniture Audrey needed from the house in Sidney Street into the flat above the café. Maude and Myrtle helped too and the girls and the three men were cheerful and wishing her well as the moment she dreaded, when she closed the door behind her, was eased into light-hearted fun.
When Bleddyn and Huw had gone, Audrey and the two girls walked proudly around the premises which now had a cheerfully painted green shop front with the name, Corner Café, in cream with an edging of gold. The furnishings had arrived, bought fr
om a café that had closed its door permanently, and the kitchen fittings were installed. The plan was to open for business in November, but this idea was criticized by Marged.
‘November isn’t a time for women to sit in cafés, Audrey. They want to get straight home after their shopping and get in by the fire. You’d do better to wait, really you would.’
‘We’ll be busy, just wait and see,’ Audrey said. Myrtle giggled and covered her mouth with her hands and Marged began to wonder what they had planned.
‘There’s hardly anything they can do that I haven’t thought of. I can’t imagine why they have to pretend the opening is such a secret. It’s a café, that’s all it is, and even if they get a few curious people going in for a coffee and a look around, there isn’t anything to make it different from all the other cafés in the town. I don’t know what Audrey’s thinking of,’ she complained to Huw.
‘Let her have her fun, Marged. It’s certainly helped her to get over the death of poor Wilf.’
‘And that’s another thing. She’s seeing far too much of that builder of hers, Keith what’shisname. She’s invited him back to the house for meals and everything.’
‘Yes, with Myrtle and Maude there as well! Give over, Marged. Let the woman alone.’ He could see by her expression that his plea was landing on deaf ears.
‘Have you seen the chairs and tables in that café Audrey’s supposed to be opening?‘ she asked a few days later.
‘All painted green, with touches of gold. Yes. Smart isn’t it? I wonder where Keith managed to get that gold paint?’
‘No tablecloths, just some bits of cork she’s picked up somewhere and how smart is that?’
‘She’s opening it on November 13th, so you’ll be able to see how well it works.’
‘That’s another thing. The thirteenth is a Saturday.’
‘More people about on Saturdays. Our Beth’ll tell you that. Her café is always busy on Saturdays.’
‘And that’s another thing—’
‘Leave it, Marged.’ Huw gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘You have to face it. Your Audrey has stopped working for Castle’s and has started a business on her own. It’s only the same as our Beth has done, after all.’
‘Audrey promised our mam that she would never leave the family firm.’
‘An unwise promise that your mother had no right to ask of her.’ Huw raised his voice and Marged said no more. She would have to wait until the opening, then her views would be proved correct. She imagined how magnanimous she would be when Audrey asked if she could come back to work for Castle’s. Not a mention of ‘told you so’. She would behave impeccably.
* * *
It was Bleddyn and Huw who dealt with the sale of the furniture in Freddy’s home, advertising the better items, delivering chosen items in the firm’s van and arranging with a house clearance firm to take the remainder. When Shirley and Hetty went to do the final cleaning they made sure every cupboard had been checked and nothing remained. As they left, they closed the doors and locked them firmly, but one of the back windows was left unintentionally unlatched.
* * *
Maldwyn Perkins, who worked in the flower shop, was engaged to be married. He had originally lived in the town of Bryn Teg and before he moved to the seaside town, Maldwyn had known Delyth slightly but their friendship had grown into love during the previous summer when they’d both worked in St David’s Well. Now, all that was stopping them from marrying was finding a place to live which they could afford.
‘Heard about the deaths of Mr and Mrs Clements?’ Mrs Chapel asked one morning as Maldwyn returned from the early morning market. ‘Now there’s a strange thing. Both of them on the same day.’
‘Seems she couldn’t face life without him.’
‘And that poor Freddy having to come home and sort out the house and everything.’
‘Sad, but I bet he was glad to get home for a few days, and from what I’ve heard, that Shirley Downs was glad to help him enjoy it,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘I confess that I enjoy listening to the gossip when two or three of the local ladies spout their opinions as they choose flowers,’ he confessed. ‘I’m getting to know all the families and about the skeletons rattling in their cupboards.’
‘Maldwyn,’ she asked curiously, ‘how would you feel about living in a house where there’s been a death?’
He laughed. ‘I doubt if there are many houses in the town where there hasn’t been a death. Old places, many lifetimes,’ he said, coaxing a bloom to stay where he wanted it in the window display. ‘Why, were you wondering about the Clements’s house? It’ll be sold and I can’t afford to buy just yet. Delyth and I thought we’d start in a nice little flat or a couple of rooms, and one day we’ll buy a house of our own.’
‘I think it might be for rent, and if you hurry you might be lucky.’
He stared at her for a while then said, ‘Too expensive.’
‘You won’t know unless you try.’ She handed him a piece of paper. ‘Here’s the man you have to see, there’s his phone number and you can take an hour off while I finish the window.’
He came back an hour later to tell her that he and Delyth were seeing it on Sunday morning.
* * *
Andy Probert was having a tiring night. In a borrowed van he had driven to Hereford and during the hours of darkness, with the aid of a friend, he had loaded up the van with some potatoes and greenstuffs stolen from a barn where they had been packed and labelled ready to be collected and taken to the early morning market the following day. A crate of eggs was also removed from a shed. A dog barked, a door opened and they heard footsteps scuffling on the yard, but the dog was soothed with a piece of liver, and no one disturbed them during the short time it took to fill the van.
‘Not a very profitable load,’ Andy said as they drove quietly away. ‘but they’ll sell quick enough.’ The two men discussed the possibilities and decided on a small town where they knew they would be able to find a stallholder willing to buy at a low price and not ask questions.
When the transaction was done and the money shared, the van was abandoned for the day in a field, hidden by a rotting hay stack that had been partially burnt. No one would see it and it would be there when they next needed it. They went their separate ways, the man who helped him back to his wife and Andy to search for a place where he could get some sleep. The weather was mild for November and he slept the sleep of the innocent on the back of a lorry heading for South Wales with a load of wood.
A few days after the Clements’s house had been cleared out, Andy had made a comfortable bed for himself in the corner, and he was hoping this would still be there so he could rest until he went in search of another deal. He had changed his appearance again. This time his hair was black and a beard covered his face. The beard would be strictly temporary but it might confuse his followers for a while longer.
* * *
Audrey put the finishing touches to the café. Maldwyn had advised her about floral decoration and had recommended dried grasses and painted twigs, those mainstays of the flower sellers during the times of year when flowers were scarce and expensive. He built up quite large displays with just a few artificial flowers to brighten them, and filled high corners and edged the doorway and the windows, giving the cheerful café a feeling of spaciousness without using any precious floor room. There were mirrors on the walls and in front of them narrow shelves on which smaller displays were placed. By the end of the first day the shelves would have been put to a better use.
‘Two more days and we open,’ Audrey said to Myrtle and Maude as they closed the door one Wednesday evening. ‘Today the advertisements go in the newspaper, and it will be shown on posters from tonight. Our secret will be out.’
They went up to the flat above, filled with excitement, planning to go back down to the café later that evening to stick their posters on the windows telling people what kind of café it would be.
‘I’ll never sleep again,’ declared Myrtle.
> ‘What will Auntie Marged think?’ Maude wondered.
‘Will anyone come?’ Audrey wailed.
The posters described the new café as a place to meet friends, sit and talk, listen to music, and patrons could stay as long as they liked.
‘That can’t work,’ Marged said when she and Huw were told by Bleddyn what the posters offered. ‘Having people sitting for hours on end just talking doesn’t make money. It’s just a scheme to get people in, she’ll soon change the rules.’
‘We’ll go up in the afternoon and see how she’s getting on, just before it closes, about four,’ Huw suggested.
‘You’re wrong there, Huw,’ Bleddyn said. ‘It says on the posters that she’s staying open until nine o’clock to give young people somewhere to sit and talk and meet each other. Good idea, eh?’
Opening day began slowly, with people wandering past looking in but few entering. However, as news spread more came and by lunchtime, when they offered drinks, sandwiches and cakes and nothing else, they were kept busy serving them all. The tables were filled and a queue formed as people waited to be seated.
When Huw and Marged arrived, Huw brought in a few extra chairs from the yard where surplus furniture had been left. They were unpainted, but in between settling newcomers, and smiling encouragement at those still waiting, he promised that he would deal with that the following day. There were customers unable to find a chair leaning on the wall and using the shelves in front of the mirrors as somewhere to put their cups and plates. He offered them chairs which were accepted with delight and he thought that it was more like a party than a café opening its doors for the first time.
Marged went into the kitchen and began making extra sandwiches. When Stanley, Harold and Percival appeared, she sent them to buy extra bread.
‘Can we have a cake for free?‘ Harold asked.
‘You’d better ask Auntie Audrey, this is her place not mine.’
Holidays at Home Omnibus Page 137