Missing the Moment

  “Loyalty and control of your wicked tongue,” Harriet said. “Those are the things you lack. You and that nephew of yours.”

  “It wasn’t my Joe who let on, so don’t think it. No, Bertha told me. She heard it at the doctors. Don’t go blaming Joe.”

  “Bertha Evans is as bad as you. Fine pair you are, no wonder you’ve never found yourself a man!” she hissed.

  “At least I’d look after him if I had one and visit his brother if he was in hospital!” Lowering her voice, and turning to the rest of the queue. Bessie said lugubriously. “You can tell a lot from the way a woman treats her in-laws.”

  “I’ll talk to your nephew about this. You’re wicked, Bessie Philpot.” Unable to wait for a taxi, Harriet walked home, fuming at Bessie and her repair-man nephew and with Charlotte for involving herself with them.

  * * *

  “Now what will we do!” Charlotte wailed, when her mother told her Bessie was no longer their cleaner. This was another problem that would increase her burden. “I’m not doing it, I want to spend more time at the factory with Uncle Peter, not less!”

  “Miranda must help more.”

  “She’s busy with the baby.” Charlotte argued.

  “I saw that Danny when I was in town with Rhoda,” Hariet said to change the subject. “I expect he’ll be coming to call, don’t you?”

  Harriet was pleased when the young seaman began showing an interest in Charlotte; it couldn’t be anything but good for someone to push that Joe Llewellyn out of her daughter’s life.

  She didn’t want Charlotte to marry Danny any more than she wanted her to marry Joe. He was just a diversion, a means of getting her free from the bicycle repair man. She would encourage him for a while but not for long. She didn’t want a pregnant daughter to cope with… everyone knew what sailors got up to.

  * * *

  Bessie was distressed at leaving Mill House, where she had worked for so long. Notice had been given and accepted many times and had been ignored, but this time she knew Harriet, the old screech, had meant it.

  She soon found work to replace the hours she had given to Harriet. Kath, who had managed all the work in her small boarding house herself, agreed to Bessie giving a hand with some of the routine cleaning.

  Charlotte couldn’t persuade her mother to discuss the need for a replacement for Bessie so she and Miranda, and Eric when he was home, shared the work between them. Harriet did nothing extra, but pointed out any areas where their efforts were less than perfect. It was hard though, cleaning several mornings each week, feeding Eric’s brood and attending to the endless washing and ironing. Twice a week, the kitchen was filled with steam, as they boiled whites and rubbed the coloureds on the washing board. Eric being the only one able to use the new washing machine.

  Harriet accepted the situation without a moment’s guilt. Eric was to blame, so Eric should deal with it. She ignored the fact that it was her daughter, and young Miranda, who bore the brunt of the extra work.

  One day, she returned from an afternoon shopping trip with Rhoda and flopped in her chair. The house was unusually quiet. The fire was almost out. She wondered where Charlotte was. She relit the fire with sticks, set the kettle to boil and waited, relishing the thought of a good strong cuppa, even if she did have to make it herself.

  There was a knock on the door and a delivery van stood outside, the driver’s assistant waving a piece of paper.

  “Got a delivery for a Mrs Eric Thomas,” the driver announced.

  “That’s me, but I’m not expecting anything,” Harriet frowned.

  “There’s a cooker by yer, smart white one it is, and electric. My missus would give her eye teeth for one of them – if she had any! And there’s a fridge as well. God ’elp missus! Someone loves you all right! Fifty-six pound for the fridge alone! Don’t I know! I’m buying my missus one on the never-never, paying six shillings a week I am.” Joking, and chattering about how fortune smiled on some, the two men struggled through the passageway and into her kitchen where they set up the machines, connected them, tried them, and left a bemused Harriet stroking them as if they were pets.

  * * *

  Danny’s sister Miranda had been born in 1932 while Gloria was married to Geoff Saunders, who had been killed during the war. She was now eighteen and, when her mother died soon after giving birth to baby Matthew, she had given up her job of shop assistant, to look after her half-brother and -sisters. When Eric arranged for the family to move to Harriet’s house in Bryn Melinau, she had continued to care for them while Harriet determinedly went on with her own life.

  She had been in the park, with baby Matthew in his pram and Petula, aged two sitting on the edge of it. Four-year-old Louise was walking beside her, chattering happily about all she could see. Isabelle and Ellie were at school, and after playing ball with the two little girls, Miranda sat outside the school and waited for them.

  She was very like her mother Gloria in appearance, long, wavy hair, a serene expression on her face, a quiet manner that made people warm to her.

  She smiled a welcome as the two girls ran out of the school gates to kiss Matthew and hug their sisters. Throwing their bags, cardigans and books onto the pram, they began out-shouting each other, telling her all that had happened in the hours they had been apart.

  The move from the small terrace in Barry to the large house in Bryn Melinau had been a happy one. Here there was more room for the children to spread their treasures; a town filled with caring people who took the motherless family to their hearts. The upheaval seemed to have affected the young ones very little and Miranda knew that most of that was because of Harriet’s kindness in allowing them to stay. She would always be grateful to her for keeping the family together and perhaps, one day, she would find a way to repay her for her generosity.

  * * *

  Harriet walked up and down with impatience, stopping now and then to listen to the hum of the fridge motor, and give the new cooker an extra wipe, waiting for Eric to return. He came in at five, after the children had had their tea and were out in the garden building dens with the empty boxes.

  She wondered if this gift had been intended as the start of a new phase to their relationship. It had been a complete surprise. She had complained about the difficulties of cooking on the small, worn-out stove but never on the lack of a fridge. She was pleased and intended to tell him so. Perhaps her grateful thanks would grow into a closer partnership. She decided she would take out one of her best nightdresses just in case.

  Apart from brief moments when the children did something amusing, there had been a formality between them since his return with which it was more and more difficult for her to cope. Eric was polite and he seemed relaxed during the occasional moments they were together, but he had never even attempted to touch her. His thanks, often repeated, were given in the company of others. It was a further humiliation.

  To her friends she had pretended that she’d had to fight him off, declaring loudly that she would never take him back into her bed.

  “A stranger he is, mind,” she told Rhoda and the customers of Vi and Willie’s café. “All that time being out of his mind has changed him. I don’t want a stranger in bed with me.” But still she hoped.

  She heard him coming through the door and felt the familiar surge of blood as her heart began to beat faster. She stood near the cooker, a cloth in her hand, giving it yet another rub. Eric smiled at her as he came in, stopping at the kitchen door and nodding approval.

  “Pleased then, are you?” he said. He was smiling, looking into her eyes, a warmth in his expression which she read as invitation.

  “Delighted.” She stepped forward, half expecting him to hug her but sensing the move he turned and said. “Glad I am to be able to help, after all you’ve done for me and my family. A saint you are, and that’s a fact.”

  Embarrassed by her incipient show of affection that he had neatly fielded, she began to wipe the dishes resting on the draining board.

  “Yo
ur Miranda told me to tell you it’s only corned beef hash for your supper,” she said sharply. “We haven’t worked out how to use that cooker yet. And I don’t know where Charlotte’s got to.”

  “Well look at it afterwards,” he said, his eyes showing guilt and regret. “Sorry, Harriet.”

  “What for?”

  “For landing you with all this.”

  “I can cope.”

  “Could you cope with the children for an hour or two tomorrow? I want to take Miranda to buy a new dress for her birthday. She has so little and deserves a treat.”

  “I can cope,” Harriet repeated dully.

  * * *

  Danny went straight from the station to Bertha’s cottage near the old bridge. Lillian was feeding the hens and he stood at the door waiting for Bertha to rise from where she was deeply embedded in an armchair and come to answer the door.

  “Hi yer, Lillian,” he called and the girl spun around. She threw down the rest of the feed and came to greet him.

  “Danny! There’s lovely,” she said in her slow voice. “Shall we go for fish and chips again?”

  “Yes, but not tonight,” he whispered. “I’ve got a date, with any luck.”

  “Kissing and all that stuff?” she asked, blushing to the roots of her pulled back hair.

  “All that stuff,” he laughed.

  Bertha gave him the room as before and he unpacked his belongings, drank two cups of tea and went to find Charlotte.

  The door of Mill House opened as he was about to knock. “Charlotte. You look stunning!” he smiled. Her slim-fitting dress was of crisp seersucker cotton. It was white with sprigs of flowers over it. She had a pair of lacy gloves on her hands, in which she grasped a shopping basket. “Aw, just going shopping are you? I’d hoped we’d be able to go for a walk,” he sighed.

  “Hello again.” Charlotte was thrown by his unannounced appearance. “I’m only going for a few duck eggs from Bertha.”

  “I’ve just come from there. What say I bring some up for you tomorrow’? Then you’re free to come for a walk up on the hill.”

  She laughed and put the basket down on the hall table.

  “Mam’?” she called. “I’ve changed my mind about the eggs. I’ll get them tomorrow. I’m off for a walk, all right?”

  Harriet’s pained voice pleaded with her not to be too long. Gloves discarded, sandals changed for more comfortable shoes, Charlotte set off.

  As they left the main path and began to walk amid the summer display of cornflowers, poppies and lilac-hued scabious, Danny took her hand. The path narrowed and it was almost impossible to walk side by side but he didn’t release his grasp. When they reached the shelter of the first ruined windmill, he pulled her to face him, looked down at her with such a loving expression on his face that her heart leapt; then he kissed her. His hands played up and down her spine, pressing her against his body in a way she found utterly thrilling.

  “I’ve dreamt of nothing else but this since we parted,” he said.

  “But there’s Joe—” Her feeble protest was stifled by his lips.

  He touched the back of her knee and gently lowered her to the ground and they lay kissing, caressing each other. Danny wriggling until he was half on top of her, Charlotte more daring than she had ever been with Joe. The wonder of it made her want to stay for ever in Danny’s arms. Thoughts of Joe and her disloyalty danced like dust motes in a sunbeam, faded and were gone.

  He began to slide her skirt up, his hands roving further and further, exploring her thighs. Hypnotised by the sensation, she lay there, knowing she should stop yet wanting him to succeed. Then, as every inch of her began to respond in an alarming, rhythmical way, she pushed him aside and stood up. She was shaking. “No Danny. I’m sorry. I – I shouldn’t have led you on like that.”

  “Its all right, Charlotte. I’d never do anything you didn’t want. You must believe that. I wouldn’t harm you, you’re too precious. Come on, I’ll take you home. I was overcome. I’ve been filled with longing, you see. I’ve wanted you so much, ever since we first met and you showed me the mills on the hill.”

  They walked back silently, still holding hands. Charlotte’s heart racing, her body hungry for his loving. Confused and guilty, she was hoping that Joe wouldn’t call that evening as he sometimes did. She couldn’t face him, not until she had calmed down. He would look into her eyes and he was sure to guess.

  * * *

  Joe worked all day and often long into the night to get the shop ready to sell. Thankfully, soap was no longer rationed. The original purchaser, after messing him about for months, had backed out but a new one had come forward and it seemed to Joe that at last he could make a start on his new business. With petrol off ration – although the price had increased to three shillings a gallon – the future for the British motoring industry looked hopeful.

  On the evening of Danny’s return, he cycled up to Mill House to invite Charlotte to see what he had done. The last lick of paint had been applied, the shop was spotless, the smell of burning had been vanquished. Shelves were pristine, waiting for the new stocks which were about to arrive.

  “Come and see the shop, Charlotte. It looks great. Never think there’d been a fire. Now we can move into our marble hall,” he said, as they embraced in the little hall. “Don’t let anything stop us this time, Charlotte, my pretty,” he said. “I want us to start out new life together at the same time as starting the business. We’ll grow together, a proper little empire, you, me, the shop and our family. Sounds perfect, doesn’t it?”

  “I want that too, Joe, but—”

  “Oh, not more ‘buts’! What’s the old Dragon dreamt up to stop us this time!”

  “Nothing. It’s just me. I want to work for a while at least in the factory, that’s all.” She could hardly admit that her thoughts were on Danny, that now she wanted time to decide whether her future lay with him or Joe.

  “At least let’s go and tell your father. He’ll be pleased for us,” he pleaded.

  ‘No, not yet.”

  “But what’s there to wait for now?” he asked, exasperated. “Worked damned hard I have so as to get the shops sorted and for us to make our plans. Our home is ready, waiting for us to move in.”

  “Mam’s superstitions have begun to rub off on me, I suppose,” she lied. “Each time we announce our wedding plans, Uncle Peter’s taken ill.”

  “You are joking! Please tell me you’re joking, Charlotte, that is nonsense.” He turned away from her, biting his lip in irritation.

  They cycled down to admire the replenished bicycle shop and rode past the old butcher’s shop with hardly a glance. Joe suggested they cycled out of town and stop somewhere for a drink but she declined and said she wanted to go home. The strain between them was inexplicable to Joe.

  They rode in silence through the town, like two people who hardly knew each other. As they dismounted on the hill and began to walk, Joe looked at her face, its expression taut and strained. He wanted to hug her, tell her he loved her and they would work out whatever was worrying her but was afraid to risk even reaching out and touching her: a dread in his heart warning him that the moment was a precarious one, without understanding why.

  He wondered if it was the extra work tiring her, now that his Auntie no longer worked at Mill House.

  “What if I ask Auntie Bessie to defy the Dragon and go back to doing your cleaning? Won’t say no, will she, your Mam? Although,” he said stiffiy, “I don’t suppose any of the extra work has affected her.”

  “It’s the factory, Joe. I want to work there full-time.”

  “I think it’s great, you wanting to get the family business back on course. I do. I really do. I’ll support you from my feet to the top of my trilby, but why can’t we be supportive of each other at the same time? As man and wife?”

  “It won’t be easy and—”

  “Listen my pretty, now Rhoda is getting over her double loss she’ll keep your mother out of your hair and you can spend time worki
ng beside your uncle. There’s glad he’ll be to have your help. Smart girl you are, my pretty. I can spare you for a while, all day, every day, I won’t mind. We’ll manage the chores between us, how’s that? A real partnership, until the babies start coming,” he whispered, and laughed at her blushes.

  “Can’t we leave it until Christmas? That will give me time to satisfy myself that I’ve done something to help.”

  “We can marry now, this month. You can cycle up to the factory in about twenty minutes, and freewheel back down the hill in ten!”

  “No, Joe, love. I don’t want to marry until I can give you my full commitment.”

  “That sounds ominous! Not going off me are you?”

  “How could I? Part of my life you are Joe Lewellyn and always will be.”

  “It’s what part that worries me,” he said slowly. “You still want to marry me, don’t you? After all the hanging about trying to start a new business, your uncle ill, then your father turning up like that, and your Mam acting the dragon and putting every obstacle in our way. It’s enough to put anyone off.”

  They had reached her front door. She didn’t reply but pressed herself closer to him. She couldn’t answer, not with complete honesty. She was no longer sure whether she wanted him for his love or because he offered a safety net in case she fell from the suddenly discovered charms of Danny Saunders with a bump.

  Chapter Ten

  Charlotte spent several evenings with Danny during his occasional visits to Bryn Melinau. He seemed to have plenty of money and was generous with his gifts. She said nothing about their meetings to anyone, deliberately avoiding being seen with Danny, although her mother knew and approved.

  “Best you see a few others, then you’ll see just how unsuitable that bicycle repair man is for you,” Harriet said. “You watch yourself mind, everyone knows what sailors are like, experienced with women from other lands. Notorious they are. You avoid trouble by never being alone with him.” Charlotte chuckled. That was the nearest her mother had ever come to telling her the facts of life!