Thicker Than Water

by Bethan Darwin

  “So long as you cause no damage and keep away when there are guests, you can visit whenever you like,” Mr Wragg says quietly to her during servants’ lunch one day.

  Jean is surprised. She didn’t think anyone had ever seen her.

  “Don’t look so shocked. You’re not the only early riser in this house you know. It’s nice to know my work is appreciated.”

  “Oh it is, Mr Wragg, very much. The gardens are always so beautiful, even now in winter. I am very fond of them.”

  “You’ll like them even more in the summer. Then the gardens don’t just look lovely but they smell lovely too. Lilac and roses but before them, the first flowers of the year are great carpets of lily of the valley. And you wait till you see the chrysanthemums. We grow chrysanthemums that are big as a man’s head, ready for Mrs Adelaide’s chrysanthemum tea every year. Prize winners they are.”

  “I shall look forward to it, Mr Wragg.”

  Mr Wragg was not overstating the position. As the spring of 1928 arrives, so the gardens burst into colour that blazes all summer long. Jean takes to also visiting the garden at the end of her working day with a tray of tea, tracking Mr Wragg down wherever he is so he can tell her in some detail precisely what tasks he and his team of 24 gardeners have carried out that day. She is at her most happy listening to Mr Wragg rattling off lists of flowers deadheaded, bulbs planted, and cuttings taken.

  One evening, when her work has kept her inside longer than usual, it is Mr Wragg who finds her rather than the other way round.

  “There you are girl, a man could die of thirst waiting for his tea.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m just finishing, I’ll make you some right away.”

  “I was only teasing you. I have news and I’ve been wanting to tell you all day. Guess who is coming to visit the gardens tomorrow?”

  “I don’t know. King George V?”

  “No!”

  “The prime minister of Canada?”

  “No. Mr and Mrs Dunington-Grubb!”

  “The landscape designers who designed Parkwood’s gardens?”

  “Nobody less. And guess who is to serve them tea on the lawn tomorrow when they arrive?” Mr Wragg does not wait for Jean’s answer. “You, Jean, you!”

  At dinner that evening, Mrs Meikle confirms the arrangements.

  “Mr Wragg has specifically requested of the Colonel that you be the one to serve tea to the landscape designers tomorrow.”

  “So I understand and I’m very honoured, Mrs Meikle.”

  “What a ridiculous name they’ve got. Dunington-Grubb! Did you know they joined their names together when they got married and emigrated from England to Canada? They took each other’s names. How very modern.” Jean can tell from the way that Mrs Meikle’s face crinkles when she says this that this modern practice is not one she approves of. “Still, I suppose better to be modern than to be called Mrs Grubb for the rest of your life.”

  The following afternoon is gloriously sunny and Jean is delighted that Mr and Mrs Dunington-Grubb will see the gardens they designed at their most beautiful. As she walks out over the lawns carrying the tea tray, she suddenly feels very nervous at the prospect of meeting the landscape architects but she need not have worried. She is greeted very warmly by the husband and wife team as she serves them and Mrs Adelaide their tea.

  “This is Jean, our newest member of staff, all the way from Scotland and mad keen on gardens,” Mrs Adelaide says, kindly.

  “I’m Lorrie Dunington-Grubb and this is my husband Howard, we’re always delighted to meet people who love gardens.” She is wearing a very fashionable three quarter length grey silk dress, with large floppy sleeves like the wings of a bat. Jean wonders if that is what she wears when designing gardens or whether the sleeves get in the way.

  “Pleased to meet you, Ma’am and Sir.”

  “Tell me,” Mrs Dunington-Grubb asks her, “which is your favourite part of the Parkwood gardens?”

  Jean hesitates. “I love it all, of course, but I particularly love the Italian Garden and all the greenhouses. And all the flowers.”

  “Good choice. Excellent. I designed the Italian Garden. Howard here likes to claim that he helped but mostly it was me.” Howard Dunington-Grubb smiles indulgently at his wife.

  “So Jean, have you ever considered becoming a landscape architect?”

  Jean hesitates before answering politely. “I’m a parlour maid, Ma’am, I don’t know anything about gardens.”

  “Well that’s clearly not true is it? You evidently know a great deal, but more importantly you are interested and you care. I realise you may not be able to go to horticultural college but there’s nothing stopping you becoming a gardener at Parkwood rather than a parlour maid is there? Is there now, Adelaide?”

  Mrs Dunington-Grubb turns to face Adelaide McLaughlin. “You can sort her out with a job with Mr Wragg can’t you?”

  “We’ve never had a female gardener before but I don’t see why not. Would you like that Jean?”

  “I love the gardens, Mrs Adelaide, but I love my parlour maid work, too, and I would not want to let you or Mrs Meikle down.”

  “Leave it with me, Jean. Let me have a word with Mr Wragg and Mrs Meikle first.”

  “There you go Jean. It may take some time, but us girls will get to all the same places men do. Eventually.”

  Jean clears away some of the empty plates and cups and saucers, marvelling at how one afternoon might change the course of your life. Just like that.

  *

  Maggie’s letter is addressed to Idris at Mr and Mrs Williams’ house in Fairlawn Avenue. It is picked up from the mat by Rhydian, the Williams’ new lodger, a farmer’s son who has come to Canada from their hometown Carmarthen. Mrs Williams had found she missed being a landlady and cooking for someone who really appreciated it and Idris’ room had lain empty less than a fortnight.

  Mrs Williams takes the letter from Rhydian and puts it in her handbag ready to give to Idris on Sunday at church.

  “Idris not in church today, Aeronwen fach?” Mrs Williams asks before the service starts.

  “No, he said he was in the middle of some plastering that he couldn’t really leave.”

  “That’s no excuse not to come to church now is it? It’s the Lord’s Day.”

  “Which is what I said to him, Mrs Williams, but he said he’d make it up to the Lord another time.”

  “Did he indeed? Could you give him this letter that arrived for him? You will see him now before I do. It’s come from Wales but it’s not his mother’s handwriting. I hope nothing is wrong at home.”

  Aeronwen takes the letter. “Of course, I’ll be seeing him later, I’ll give it to him then.”

  Aeronwen knows that letters should only be read by their addressees. But she is curious to know who other than his mother is writing to her betrothed and why. She reasons with herself that the letter must be in some way connected with her – has to be – what else is there to write to Idris about, except their forthcoming wedding? It must in some ways be a letter to her too, and so, during the sermon, Aeronwen quietly opens the letter addressed to Idris.

  Dear Idris

  Gwen tells us of your wedding plans and of the family you are to marry into and your new job as hat maker. It all sounds very exciting and so very different to being at home here with us in Wales. I hope you shall be very happy.

  I know Gwen has already told you no one from the family will be able to come to the wedding. She says it is because Davey is so young but really it is because we could not afford the fare for even one of us to make the journey. That I am sure will come as no surprise to you.

  I know Gwen has also told you all about Davey. He means the world to us all and is such a happy, good-natured baby. We all love him dearly. He arrived a month early of which I was glad as no one could then make a connection between his birth and the amount of time you and I spent together before you left for Canada. But he is your son Idris. In case either of us was in doubt, I have not fallen a
gain since, and I know that I will not again. But Tommy and I have Davey and although I would have liked him to have a brother or sister, it is enough that we have him.

  I could not bear to say goodbye to you the morning you left. I am sorry. I should have. Then I could have said to you in person what I now say in this letter. Thank you for the gift of my son. Know that I love you, and that I always have and always will, and that I hope for you that your wife loves you even more than I do.

  Yours, always,

  Maggie

  The minister is stopped dead in his tracks. The scream that Aeronwen lets out is so loud that the youngest children in the congregation start to cry. Still screaming she pushes her way past everyone in her pew and tries to run out of church but ends up flopping and fainting around the aisle like a new born lamb trying to find its feet. A great many people try to fuss around her. Her father stands over Aeronwen’s slumped body and reads the letter she has dropped. The minister is fairly certain Mr James is cursing and not under his breath either.

  The minister has no option but to put his sermon on hold and call an early end to the service. He consoles himself with the idea that he can use the same sermon next week, as he barely got going on it today.

  Chapter 20

  After years of working in a butcher’s shop on a high street, small talk comes easy to Liam.

  “What’s Toronto like as a place to live?” he asks Cassandra as soon as they drive off.

  “I’m biased of course, but I think Toronto is one of the very best places in the world to live. Plenty to do and see and eat, tolerant and diverse, great art galleries, thriving place for business and the best hockey team in the universe.”

  “The Maple Leafs?”

  “That’s them.”

  “I like ice hockey.”

  “Not ice hockey. Hockey. It’s just hockey in Canada. We’ve got hockey and you’ve got field hockey. Hockey is extremely important to Canadians.”

  “Gotcha. Toronto sounds really cool.”

  “It is. You should come see for yourself. I could hook you both up with jobs at Perfect. We always need people in admin support – stuffing envelopes, shredding, making coffee, that sort of thing. Not high level work but international work experience looks good on the resumé, right?”

  “It looks great,” Eloise agrees. “How about we start next week when school is finished?”

  “Why not? Let me talk to Human Resources tomorrow.”

  “I was just kidding! My Dad is going to go ape when I tell him I’m not coming on holiday with all the family this summer. He’d fizzle and melt like the Wicked Witch of the West under a bucket of water if I suggested going off with a boy I only just met to work on the other side of the Atlantic.”

  “I don’t see why. It would be a great opportunity and it’s only for the summer. There’s always notices pinned up in the staff room asking for roommates. You guys get working visas easy enough don’t you? We’ve had plenty of British people working with us in the past. No wait, Eloise, you’re not 18 yet are you?”

  “No, not till next year.”

  “Too bad. You need to be 18 to get a working holiday visa, I’m sure of it. But hey, you can just come and hang out. I am sure HR can devise some sort of internship programme in return for expenses that the immigration people will be happy with. You guys should think about it. It’d be fun for you. Here, give me your cell numbers and I’ll make some enquiries and get back to you.”

  “Really? That would be fab, thanks so much.”

  Cassandra taps the numbers that Eloise gives her into her mobile.

  “Here you go Cassandra, this is your hotel,” Liam announces as they pull up outside.

  “Good night both, thanks for the ride. You really should come to Toronto for the summer. It’s a great city and greater still in the summer. Gotta warn you though, no hockey till September.”

  “Is there any point getting excited about this?” Eloise asks on the drive back.

  “Not if your Dad’s going to melt. I’m working quite hard at keeping on his good side, if you hadn’t noticed.”

  “I thought you were just naturally that smarmy! I’d love to go. It would be such an adventure. Well, so long as you were there it would be.” She goes quiet. “I just said that out loud, didn’t I?’

  Liam laughs. “We could at least think about it I suppose. Depends on the cost of flights and stuff. And how much it pays. But I’m planning on making sure you think every day with me is an adventure.”

  Eloise feels her cheeks turning pink. “OK, let’s look into it this week. But first we’ve got a full 40 minutes before I’ve got to be in the house, so let’s park up somewhere. Snogging is all I’m suggesting mind, before you get any ideas beyond that. For now anyway.”

  “Yes Ma’am,” Liam lifts his hand to his forehead in an exaggerated salute.

  *

  Gareth tries to get ready for work the next morning without waking anyone up. He showers in the family bathroom and creeps around the bedroom in the semi-dark getting dressed.

  “Make sure you wear one of her shirts,” Rachel mumbles, half asleep. “I think she’d be disappointed if you didn’t wear one for this site visit.”

  “Already on it,” Gareth whispers as he bends to kiss her goodbye.

  “You look great,” Rachel says, without even opening her eyes.

  When he picks her up at her hotel, Cassandra too is wearing a Perfect shirt and a black trouser suit, this time with high-heeled ankle boots.

  “Can you walk OK in those?” he asks, pointing at the boots. “We’ve got quite a bit of walking to do today.”

  “Thought of that. I’ve got some sneakers in my purse.”

  Gareth looks confused.

  “My purse is my handbag. What you guys this side of the Pond call a purse we call a wallet.”

  “Thanks for the translation. OK, what do you want to work on while we drive?”

  “I made a list last night.”

  They don’t get to the bottom of the list in the 45 minutes it takes to drive to the Rhondda and to the location of the industrial estate.

  “Here we are, bit early, Mr Griffiths and Mr Alun and Adrian should be arriving very soon.”

  “Adrian won’t be. We’ve agreed not to work together.”

  “What happened?”

  “Oh nothing. We’ve been out for dinner together a few times, that’s all. We both felt it better not to work together as well.”

  Jealousy knifes through Gareth, hot and sharp.

  “Right, let’s get a move on. I’ve a factory to inspect and some government officials to impress. And some sneakers to put on.”

  Cassandra walks faster than any woman Gareth has ever met. She whips around the industrial site, making notes in her notebook, identifying units that can be knocked together or knocked down so new units can be built. She fires off questions to Mr Alun and Mr Griffiths. She had requested they set up a meeting for her with some of the former employees of the factory and she insists on meeting these workers privately. When this is all done, she bids goodbye to Mr Alun and Mr Griffiths and turns to Gareth.

  “I want you to walk with me up that mountain over there. That way I’ll get a proper feel for this place.”

  “Didn’t you already get that from the factory site and all those questions you asked?”

  “Not quite, no.”

  “Fine.”

  It’s been a long time since Gareth climbed the mountain behind his parents’ house. He climbed it so often as a child that he thought he knew it like the back of his hand but as he and Cassandra start the steep climb, he realises that it doesn’t look quite as he remembered it. He has to lay over the top of his memory the reality of the mountain as it is now, greener, minus pits but with supermarkets. He feels guilty about being home and not calling in to see his parents but has no intention of doing so. He couldn’t cope with the possibility of his mother inviting Cassandra to join her in the hot tub and perhaps a stiff Dubonnet and orange or two. />
  Cassandra stops walking quite so fast a little way into the climb.

  “Jeez, this is tough.”

  “Worth it when we get to the top though.”

  Both a little out of breath, they climb in silence for the next twenty minutes or so, until finally they reach the top and look out over the valley.

  “That view is really something!” Cassandra says once she has her breath back.

  “It is, isn’t it? Thanks for dragging me up here. It’s been ages since I made it up here, might even be years.”

  “Point out the places you went to growing up.”

  “Well there’s my Mam and Dad’s house, and there’s my primary school, and over there is where I went to secondary school, and that there, that’s the rugby club. Next to a rugby pitch, funnily enough. Not that I played much rugby. I wasn’t particularly good at it. But that’s where the discos were. And the beer.”

  “And the girls.”

  “Those too.”

  “It’s a strong community still, you can still feel it. It’s going to be a great place for Perfect.” Cassandra looks at him and smiles.

  “Seriously? You’re going to do it?” Gareth’s grin is so wide he can feel it hurting the corners of his mouth.

  “Of course we’re going to do it. I was almost certain before today, but I was absolutely certain once I’d seen the factory site and spoken to some of the former employees, who I know are going to be great trainers and supervisors of the new talent we bring on. And there was the added bonus of Mr Griffith giving me certain assurances about financial support.”

  “So you didn’t need to climb up here then to get a feel for the place?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Why did you want to come up then?”

  “To celebrate.”

  Gareth knows what she is going to do and he doesn’t try to stop her. He lets her put her arms around his neck and lift her face to him and kiss him. He kisses her back greedily. Up there on the mountain, wind whipping their hair, neither of them is put off by thoughts of Rachel or the children or of Sunday dinners and laughter shared around a bashed up kitchen table just the night before.