Missing the Moment

  “Who was she expecting to come?” Joe asked.

  “Her father,” Bertha said sadly. “Or Father Christmas. It’s all one and the same to her, poor dab.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Eric didn’t know what to do. He had guessed that Danny was blackmailing Jack Roberts. The man’s vague explanations, Danny’s bruised hands, which he himself had treated with vinegar and brown paper, and the fact that Danny had more money than he ought, all added up to blackmail.

  Ugly as it was, he hadn’t dreamed the truth, that Danny had caught up with the man who had cheated his mother and was making him pay the money back. The fighting, or, to be more truthful, the one-sided beating, he preferred not to think about. How could a son of the gentle Gloria be capable of such things?

  The children who belonged to him and Gloria he adored. Miranda he loved almost as much, but Danny, he reflected, he had never felt close to. Money had always been of great importance to him, even as a small boy.

  Refusing to explain it all to Charlotte, he himself had paid back the money Jack had taken from the bookbinding business to pay off Danny’s demands. He had hated covering up for the boy, but he had done it as a gesture of his love for Gloria. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, do anything more. He fervently hoped Danny would soon leave Bryn Melinau and never return.

  That evening, when Harriet and Rhoda were out, he came through the dividing door and called to Charlotte.

  “Charlotte, when you have a moment, I have something to say to you.”

  She looked up from the accounts she was checking and smiled. “Just let me put these papers away and I’ll come. No problem with the children?”

  “No, the children are fine. It’s you, my dear. When I came back I promised myself that I would never interfere with your lives. I’d interrupted them once in a quite devastating way and never want to do that again. But it’s you and Danny. Tell me to mind my own business – it’s what I should be doing anyway – but there are things about the boy that – well – he isn’t as straight and honest as I’d wish.”

  “Can you explain, Dadda?”

  “Sorry, but the story isn’t mine to tell. Perhaps he will tell you himself, then I might think differently about him, but all I can say is, be careful, think before you put things on a permanent basis. Joe is a more admirable character. Bessie brought him up with a decent set of values. There, I’ve said it and I apologise for interfering. But please, my dear girl, make sure you don’t make a big mistake.”

  “But you must tell me what’s going on.”

  Again she cursed the situation she had made for herself by not writing to Danny immediately to tell him she no longer wanted to marry him. Now it might seem that she had decided Joe was a better-than-nothing choice. If ever Joe and she got together again she would hate him to think he was second best, as her father had for all the years of his marriage.

  “Just think about it. If you can, avoid making a decision for a while, let things settle.”

  “What things? You can’t half-tell me then walk off,” she said as her father went towards the hall door, that insurmountable divide between her and his other life.

  “One day I’ll tell you, but I can’t intrude that much, not now. Go and see Joe, he loves you and what you see is what he is, a straightforward, honest man. Danny is complicated and not altogether honest. There, that’s all I can say.” The door closed behind him, cutting off his rather sad smile. Charlotte stood for a while, staring at the door and wondering what to say to Danny when they met. She had to find out what he had done to make her father offer such a warning.

  * * *

  It was during the run up to Christmas when Danny returned. The shop windows were sparkling with multicoloured lights, bunting hung along the street from the station to the road bridge in great loops of red and green, with bunches of holly, ivy, and occasional bunches of mistletoe adding to the fun. This time he had told Charlotte the time of his arrival and, even though the weather was damp and showery, she was waiting at the station to greet him. She wanted her father to be wrong about Danny. Somehow, it was a slur on herself if he was less than the happy-go-lucky, harmless individual she had thought him to be. She wanted him to jump off the train and explain immediately that her father had been misinformed, that he was as transparent as the freshly polished shop windows, sparkling with innocence.

  She tried to put the worry at the back of her mind. She must be patient. Allow Danny time to tell her what the problem was and let her decide on its importance. She began to prepare her speech in which she told him he was dear to her but she didn’t love him enough to marry him. She wondered wryly if he would get round to mentioning that he had been seeing Rhoda, and that he no longer went to sea!

  When she saw him, the words she had rehearsed vanished and all she could see was a handsome man bearing down on her with coat flying open, suitcase swinging wildly and arms held wide to greet her.

  “My darling Charlotte,” he said, holding her tightly against him. “I’ve missed you. There wasn’t a moment to see you last time I was home. Apart from struggling into town with that sister of yours to buy wallpaper and paint, I never left Bertha’s. I decorated her kitchen and scullery ready for Christmas. Did Rhoda give you the message? Oh, Charlotte. I felt deprived.”

  Her emotions were swamped. He hadn’t been taking Rhoda out. He hadn’t avoided seeing her. Oh, what a confusion of emotions! She was drowning in the pleasure of his embrace. She tried to pull away from his arms. What was the matter with her that she couldn’t stay with a decision for more than two minutes?

  The opportunity of bringing up the subject of dishonesty came almost at once, although it didn’t get her very far. As they walked through Main Street they saw Constable Hardy standing at the kerb beside a purring car, taking down some details in his notebook.

  “Speeding, I’ll bet,” Danny chuckled. “It’s about the only thing that ever gets written in that notebook of his. When was there anything wicked to report in this quiet town?”

  “Have you ever been in trouble with the police, Danny?” she asked.

  “Why d’you say that?” He stopped and stared at her.

  She saw him frown in the neon light of the florists and greengrocers. “No reason, it’s just that I remember being escorted home by a policeman once. When I was about six. Constable Hardy’s father it was. He’d caught me climbing into an empty house.”

  “What were you doing?” he chuckled.

  “I’d heard a cat crying and thought it was locked in.”

  “I suppose I was as mischievous as most when I was young, but no, my name isn’t in any police file, as far as I know.” He laughed again. “Not even for catnapping!”

  “You would tell me, Danny? If you were in trouble of any kind?”

  “Who’s been talking to you?” he demanded, dropping his case and holding her arm.

  “Talking? About what?”

  “About me? Has something been said? Gossip is as important as bread in this place.”

  “Nothing’s been said,” she lied. But she knew from his fierce reaction that her father had been right, there was a side to Danny that he didn’t want her to know. “I just want to know everything about you.” She looked at the suitcase. “Where’s your kitbag?” she asked. “I haven’t seen you with a suitcase before.”

  “I borrowed this, it fits on the railway carriage rack better.”

  So he still wasn’t going to tell her he no longer had work. She covered her disappointment, smiled, took his arm and pulled him over to admire the magnificent display outside the butcher’s shop.

  “Come on, I will be in trouble if we don’t get a move on. Not with the police, mind, with Bertha. She’s promised to have dinner ready for me. I’ll walk you home then borrow your bike to come back down.”

  “No, you go straight to Bertha’s. I’ll see you later.”

  Charlotte momentarily put aside her worries about Danny. She would tell him tonight.

  “Tomorrow I want you to
come out with me for the day,” Danny said, as they pushed their way through the busy shoppers. He stopped when they reached the end of the lane. “I’ll call for you at nine. Right?”

  “Danny, I can’t. You know I have to work.”

  “It’s Saturday, the day before Christmas Eve! Please, Charlotte, it’s important.”

  “I can’t leave Miranda to cope alone.”

  Danny threw his suitcase onto the pavement again and stared at her. “There’s always something, isn’t there? Either your mother, or the factory, or some other urgent thing that demands your personal attention. When will I come first, Charlotte?”

  Now was the time. It would be easy just to say, “Danny, I think we should stop seeing each other”. Instead she said, “Is it something special?”

  “There is something special, yes. It’s a pub that I want you to see. We made enquiries. After doing a course in public house management we could run our own business. Looking at one or two will give us an idea of what we want. Please, Charlotte. It’s important. It’s our future, you must come.” His lips tightened with insistence. Charlotte lowered her eyes.

  “Sorry, Danny, I can’t.”

  “Come on, Charlotte, no one is that indispensable. Christmas Eve, and you can’t forget work for a couple of hours to do something towards our future?”

  We have no future, she shouted inside. She still couldn’t say the words. He’d be so hurt. How could she hurt him so badly? There was no real reason for telling him goodbye. Or not one that she could explain. “Danny, doesn’t it cost a lot of money to run a pub?”

  “Don’t worry about that. I’ve enough.”

  “But where did you get it from? It will be hundreds, won’t it? Have you arranged a loan? Or borrowed it from someone? Isn’t that risky?”

  “Leave that side of things to me. I’ve sorted it, that’s all you need to know.”

  “You won’t be borrowing it then?”

  Presuming that was her worry, he said, “Come with me tomorrow and look at the place. I promise I won’t be getting us into debt. I have enough cash to get us started. Then when you sell the business you can put your share in and—”

  “Where did you get it?” she insisted.

  “For God’s sake, Charlotte! What d’you want? I have it. Isn’t that enough for you?”

  She shook her head. “No, Danny. It isn’t. I need to know everything, don’t you see?”

  “I see a woman who’s too scared to live. That’s what life is for, Charlotte, living. Grabbing what you want and enjoying every moment. Are you with me or not?”

  “Tomorrow I have to work,” she said dully.

  He swung away from her and she watched him walk along the path, quickly swallowed up by the darkness, without turning for a final wave. She almost ran after him, she was so frightened, standing there watching him disappear. She was seeing a future without Danny, without Joe. She might spend the rest of her life alone, or with her mother.

  She loved Joe. And as for Danny, well, she was curious about her father’s warning, and human enough to want to know how he could possibly have saved enough money to buy a public house.

  What had happened to make her so confused? Once life had been straightforward and clear. She and Joe, together, working to build a business and have a family; it had all gone wrong and she didn’t know how. A strong sense of duty perhaps. That might be the reason she had put emphasis on the wrong things.

  She stopped and looked for a long time at the twinkling lights in the town below. The shop lights were going out one by one as she watched. The street lights were hazy and the people scurrying back to their families were lost to her sight once they left Main Street. Charlotte felt a sense of real despair.

  * * *

  Danny walked along the lane towards Bertha’s cottage feeling less than happy. He could see his plans slipping away from him. He had hoped to marry Charlotte and be a part of the family at Mill House. He had doubts about Charlotte as a lover, she was too strong. Or she didn’t love him enough. But there was Rhoda, she might still be fun, a worthwhile diversion once he had his feet under the table at Mill House.

  The lights of the two cottages appeared out of the darkness and he could see through the curtains of number one. Joe’s Auntie Bessie was preparing his meal. The door of Bertha’s house was open, lights ablaze but with no sign of anyone there. He cursed. If he’d been wrong about Bertha having a meal ready he’d have been better going home with Charlotte.

  The dinner that had been promised was there, ready to cook. Eggs, a rasher of bacon, black pudding, a small sausage and some bread. Near the fire a frying pan stood with a lump of dripping slowly melting.

  “Bertha?” he called. “Anybody home then?”

  “Mam’s gone off to the church to do some flowers.” Lillian sidled shyly into the room, a huge apron covering her ill-fitting clothes. Her grey corduroy skirt was fastened with a safety pin; her purple jumper was too small and so tight her arms bulged at the cuffs. “I got my clothes mucky playing with the hens and had to change,” she excused, brushing imaginary dust from herself. “Mam says I’ve got to cook your dinner.”

  “Hello my beautiful! There’s a surprise, being waited on by the best-looking waitress in Bryn Melinau.” Lillian covered her face and giggled. Her eyes were bright as she looked at him over her fingers. “Thanks Lillian, just give me ten minutes. I’ll just go and have a quick swill.” He gave the giggling girl a hug and took his case up to his room.

  He stripped and began to wash in the bowl of cold water in his room. When he went down, his meal was cooked and Lillian stood proudly holding the plate.

  “Look, Danny, I didn’t forget and the egg isn’t even stuck to the pan.”

  “That’s just perfect, Lillian. Clever girl you are.”

  She put the plate full of overcooked food on the table and watched with shining eyes until he had eaten every scrap. Then, as he stood to take the plate into the scullery, she leaned against him, arms around his waist and pressed her plump belly against him. “A cuddle, Danny? I like your cuddles.”

  “Hang on, love, your Mam’ll be back.”

  “Not for ages.”

  “We’d better not.”

  “A cuddle,” she said with a hint of stubborness.

  “A quick cuddle, then. Too tempting by half you are, lovely girl.” He put his arms around the fat shoulders, and kissed the top of her head then pushed her gently from him.

  “Make it happen again, Danny,” she whispered. “Make it happen like before.”

  Suddenly it was impossible to resist. Her eyes so trusting and pleading for his loving… Life was hell at times, why shouldn’t he give the kid a little pleasure? There was little likelihood of anyone else giving this sort of attention to poor, simple Lillian. Convinced he was only being kind, Danny bent his head and touched her lips with his own, saw the fluttering eyelids and felt the shiver of ecstasy run through her and was quickly lost in the need for his own fulfilment.

  They lay together on his bed for a while. He felt sleepy but daren’t succumb. Lillian stared at the ceiling, her eyes glowing, her face so magically transformed that for a moment Danny thought she had been misunderstood, that hidden behind the childlike features was a normal, mature woman. He wondered if there had been others; she seemed to know instinctively how to please him.

  “Have you cuddled with anyone else, Lillian? Come on, you can tell me. Friends we are, lovely girl.” He felt her shaking and thought for a moment she was laughing, then she raised her tear-streaked face to him and said:

  “Only Danny. I waited for you on the river bank. Mam was cross. She shouted at me. Waiting a long time.”

  He sighed inwardly. The child was back. The woman only a brief echo of what might have been.

  “You didn’t say who you were waiting for?” He crossed his fingers and said a quick prayer.

  “Secret, isn’t it, Danny?”

  He let out his breath in a long, slow sigh of relief. “Our secret, for alwa
ys and always, lovely girl.”

  * * *

  Charlotte didn’t see Danny that evening. She waited in, hoping, expecting him to call as they had arranged but he did not. The following day she went to the factory, watching the door, waiting for the phone to ring, but by lunchtime when the rest of the staff, apart from the loyal Miranda, had left to begin their Christmas holiday, she had heard nothing. Before leaving the office to cycle home for lunch, she asked Miranda if she had seen her brother.

  “No, but Dad met him last night. They had a drink together,” Miranda said.

  “Danny said something about going to look at a public house today. I wonder if he did go?” Charlotte tried to speak casually, as if it were nothing to do with her.

  “Is he thinking of you and he buying a place, when you marry?” She glanced at Charlotte apologetically. “Sorry, is it supposed to be a secret?”

  “It’s no secret he’s asked me,” Charlotte smiled. “Miranda, can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “Where would Danny get that sort of money? He’s twenty-two and your mother had nothing to leave. He’s hardly well paid. Sorry,” she added when her companion didn’t reply. “I shouldn’t be talking to you about your brother.”

  “I think that’s what Dad wanted to see him about last night,” Miranda said. “I think Dad’s accused him of something dishonest. I don’t know what but it was serious. They quarrelled, I know that.”

  Charlotte sighed. It was all getting so complicated. Why, oh why, wasn’t Joe there for her any more?

  * * *

  On Christmas morning Charlotte was the first to wake and she became aware of a strange sound. Children laughing, shouting, singing. She smiled as she dressed and went down to make the mince pies. She smiled even wider when she saw them already made, golden and delicious, on the cooling trays. Surely Rhoda hadn’t – but no, surprise after surprise, the pastry was her mother’s handiwork. She began to hum a carol, accompanied by the radio, as she laid the table for breakfast.