‘As long as you stop after two. But you’d be much better off going to the Pier and meeting some nice girls like Mrs Hunt’s Judy or Lily Sullivan. Boys your age should be courting.’
‘No good me looking at Lily, Mam. Marty’s had his eye on her since he was six.’
‘I have not.’
‘No shame if you have, nice girl like that. You know she’s a banker now.’
‘She’s a typist who works in a bank, Mam.’
Doris sailed on, ignoring her son. ‘Norah did well by keeping that girl on in school and sending her to technological college. She passed all her exams, you know, as high as she could go.’
‘Lily’s a bright girl.’ Adam opened the door. ‘Time we were off.’
‘Here, your suit’s got white bits all over the shoulders. Whatever have you been leaning against?’
‘Nothing I know about,’ Adam protested as his mother took a clothes brush, marked A present from Tenby from a hook behind the door and gave his jacket a good going over.
‘You fit then?’
‘As I’ll ever be.’ Martin rose to his feet as Mrs Jordan replaced the brush on the hook.
Adam kissed the top of his mother’s head. ‘Don’t wait up.’
‘You’ll be wanting your supper.’
‘We’ll stop for chips, Mam.’
‘I don’t know, you boys today, filling yourselves up with stuff and rubbish.’
‘Don’t you worry, Mrs Jordan, I’ll take care of him.’
‘See that you do, Marty,’ Doris warned, not altogether humorously.
‘I don’t recognise that car.’ Mrs Murton Davies frowned as a Rover edged slowly down her drive towards the gravelled parking area at the side of the substantial three-storied Edwardian villa that dominated the cliff top above Caswell Bay.
Mrs Watkin Morgan followed her line of vision. ‘It’s the Griffiths boy. That’s his father’s car; he hasn’t one of his own.’
‘Do we know him?’
‘Larry and Robin do, he’s at university with them.’
‘There was a time when being at university meant something, unfortunately not any more.’ Mrs Murton Davies signalled to a waiter to bring the champagne tray to the bench they were sitting on. ‘Is he a scholarship boy?’
‘He went to grammar school.’
‘I see.’ Mrs Murton Davies pursed her lips, tightening the fine lines round her mouth.
‘His mother was in school with us. Pretty girl, bright, you must remember her – Esme Harris. She does a lot with the Little Theatre these days.’
‘The headmaster’s daughter?’
‘The teachers thought she’d go far. She proved them wrong.’
‘Wasn’t there some sort of scandal there? Didn’t she have to marry young, a dreadful man who’d been horribly scarred in a fire, lived in town and worked in a clothes shop.’
‘Warehouse, actually, Griffiths’s Wholesale, he inherited it from his grandfather.’ Mrs Watkin Morgan lifted a champagne glass from the waiter’s tray. ‘He’s done rather well for himself. The warehouse is quite popular these days and he’s not long opened Elegance, that chic little fashion place on Newton Road. I’m only surprised Esme hasn’t insisted they move out to a better area.’
‘But the boy can hardly be our sort. I’m surprised Larry invited him.’
‘Joe’s very good-looking and positively oozes charm, just like his grandfather the headmaster. Angie adores him.’
‘You know him socially?’
‘As much as anyone ever knows a student socially. He and Robin are close.’
‘I’ve tried to instil a sense of responsibility into Larry when it comes to the friends he brings home. We simply can’t be too careful with three girls in the house. They’re at that impressionable age. Introduce them to the wrong sort and we could have a disaster on our hands – like Esme Harris,’ she added snidely.
‘Richard Thomas is the Griffithses’ solicitor.’
‘I’m surprised they feel the need to have one.’
‘He mentioned some time ago that the boy has a substantial trust fund. His grandfather’s sister set it up. She had no children and apparently looked on Joseph as her own.’
‘How large is substantial?’
‘You know Richard, he wouldn’t be drawn on figures but he did say that between the income from the trust and the house – you do know that his grandmother is leaving him the house?’
‘The ten-bedroomed one above Langland?’
‘I believe that is the only one she owns.’
‘What about Esme?’
‘Mrs Harris never did approve of her marrying that man. She tells everyone who’ll listen she cut her daughter out of her will the day she announced her engagement. Richard says young Joseph’s going to be a wealthy man one day and whatever Richard says you can take as given.’
‘Wealthy and well-educated if he’s at university,’ Mrs Murton Davies mused. With three daughters on her hands, there weren’t so many independent, eligible young men available that she could afford to ignore one. ‘What is he reading?’
‘English, he’s taken a research job with the BBC for the summer with Robin. Rumour has it, the powers that be are impressed.’
‘So he could be heading for a career in broadcasting?’
‘He could.’ Mrs Watkin Morgan smiled as she read her friend’s rather obvious train of thought. ‘He’s certainly talented. Two of his poems were published in this month’s Gower.’
‘Larry must introduce him to the girls. They’re so fond of poetry.’ Mrs Murton Davies’s frown deepened, as Mrs Watkin Morgan’s smile widened. Angela Watkin Morgan was halfway across the lawn. As they watched, the girl stepped on to the gravel, bypassed the fleet of open-topped sports cars and opened the door of Joseph’s Rover.
‘Darling Joseph, as handsome as ever. You wouldn’t believe how much I’ve missed you.’
Joe brushed his lips across the cheek Angela offered him before locking his father’s car. ‘No, I wouldn’t, not from what Robin’s been telling me about your exploits. How were London and France?’ He stood back and looked at her. She seemed taller, slimmer, older and more sophisticated than when she had left Swansea in April for what her mother called ‘the season’. He’d expected to admire her less and feel more at seeing her for the first time since their separation. But she was still the pretty girl he had lost his heart to last winter. The only thing that surprised him was the realisation that since then he had somehow managed to retrieve it.
‘Bor-ing! Full of silly girls chasing chinless boys, but don’t tell Mother that.’ She took his arm. ‘She thinks she’s done me a favour by making me a deb.’
‘You were looking forward to it before you left,’ he murmured absently, mesmerised by the vista that stretched from the front lawn of the house down to Caswell Bay. Gower scenery never failed to take his breath away, making him glad he lived so close to so much unspoilt coastline and envious of those who could afford to live within sight and sound of the sea.
‘I was, after listening to Mother’s stories. But then, as she said, and often since April, it was all so different for debs in her day. They had proper evening frocks, arrived at the Palace in chauffeur-driven cars and were given evening buffet on gold plate. I had a short afternoon frock my mother picked out. It was hideous. The skirt looked like a chiffon lampshade and after we’d made our curtseys all we got was tea and ghastly little cakes. The whole time I was there, I kept wishing I were back here with you.’
‘Poor Angie, it really must have been a let-down.’
‘I’m serious, Joe. I’m sorry I said those awful things to you before I left.’
‘They weren’t awful; in fact, with the benefit of hindsight they were sensible, considering we had to spend the summer apart.’
‘Sensible! You’ve found another girl!’
‘None who could take your place,’ he responded flippantly, amused by her sudden anxiety.
‘Why don’t I believe you?’ She gave
two of Larry’s sisters a ‘keep off my property’ warning look as they scrutinised Joe. ‘This way.’ She steered him towards a bar set up inside the entrance of a marquee that had been erected on the main lawn. ‘I’ve spent all afternoon mixing cocktails for this bash. There’s one I’ve christened “Gower surprise”. You simply have to taste it.’
‘Joe!’ Angela’s brother Robin waved him over to where he was standing – or rather swaying – next to Larry Murton Davies.
‘I’d better pay my respects to the birthday boy first.’
Angela wrinkled her nose. ‘I’m not talking to Larry.’
‘What’s he done now?’
‘Got himself stupid drunk.’ She hugged his arm tighter. ‘It is great to be together again, Joe. We have so much time to make up – and all the time in the world to do it. I’m starting in art college in September.’
‘Robin told me.’
‘He shouldn’t have, that’s my news and I wanted it to be a surprise. Robin showed me your poems. They’re good.’
‘High praise, coming from you.’
‘Every writer I know says you have to be an absolute genius to get published these days.’
‘Not in the Gower. The editor’s a friend of our tutor’s.’
‘He didn’t publish Robin’s.’
‘That doesn’t mean mine are better.’
‘Yes it does. And don’t try to argue. I’ve read Robin’s, they’re banal. And Robin’s green with envy at the way you’ve been given all the best jobs this summer. Pops says you’re the main topic of conversation in Alexandra Road. Rumour has it BBC Swansea will close down when you go back to university.’
‘They don’t think more of me than they do of any other student researcher,’ Joe interposed swiftly, hoping that news of his confidential interview with the Director of Programmes in Cardiff hadn’t leaked out. He’d already accepted the offer of a job when he graduated, although he knew it would annoy his mother. She assumed he would teach, like his grandfather. He hadn’t disillusioned her. An argument delayed meant fewer quarrels and a quieter life in Carlton Terrace until graduation.
‘Have you come to wish me happy birthday or flirt with Angie?’ Larry demanded petulantly as they approached.
‘Both,’ Joe answered easily. ‘Happy birthday.’ Extricating himself from Angela, he shook Larry’s hand before delving into his pocket for the gold tiepin his mother had insisted he buy in Samuel’s rather than his father’s warehouse ‘for appearances’ sake’.
‘Thanks, old man.’ Larry tossed the parcel on to a side table set up next to the bar without giving it a second glance. ‘Drink?’
‘Is that one of the Gower cocktails Angie’s been telling me about?’
‘Is it hell,’ Robin dismissed scornfully. ‘It’s best brandy.’
Larry tottered precariously as he leaned heavily on Joe’s shoulder. ‘Come and meet the family, then we can get on with the serious business of the evening. Drinking!’
‘Joe ...’
‘Stop chasing Joe, Angie. This is boys’ time.’ Dismissing his sister with a wave of his hand, Robin pushed Joe and Larry out of the marquee towards the bench set in front of the French windows that opened into the drawing room. Looking back at Angie, Joe mouthed, ‘Keep me a dance.’ She smiled and nodded.
Larry straightened up as he stood in front of his mother and by making an effort to speak slowly, managed to conceal just how drunk he was. ‘Mums, I’d like to introduce Joseph Griffiths.’
Mrs Murton Davies looked Joe up and down. ‘I’ve just heard you’re poor Esme’s boy. I am so glad you could accept our invitation. You’re in university with Larry?’
‘Has been for two years, Mums.’
Joe tried to shake Larry’s mother’s hand as if he hadn’t heard the ‘poor Esme’. His admittance to Swansea University had also gained him entry to some of the best houses in Swansea, but he found it difficult to take the pity of his friends’ parents for what they regarded as his mother’s ‘unfortunate’ marriage and his even more ‘unfortunate’ home address.
‘You’re like your grandfather,’ Mrs Murton Davies gushed. ‘We girls all absolutely adored him when we were young. I think it was the moustache. Have you thought of growing one?’
‘I can’t say that I have, Mrs Murton Davies.’
‘Yes, well, you’re young yet. Poor Esme must have some photographs of her father. You should look at them ...’
‘Cigar, Joe?’ Robin thrust one into his mouth before he could answer. ‘Don’t worry, Mrs MD, we won’t smoke anywhere except out here and in the billiard room.’
‘I should hope not. Aren’t you young people going to dance? We have engaged a very good band.’
‘Just going, Mums. Marquee, boys, last one on the floor has to pour the next round.’ Larry stumbled over the lawn towards the shrubbery.
‘Robin, where have you been hiding? I’ve been searching for you for years.’
‘And now you’ve found me what do you intend doing with me?’ Robin opened his arms as Larry’s sister, Emily, bore down on him. ‘You have brought your car?’ he whispered over his shoulder to Joe, as he embraced her.
‘As ordered.’
‘You can take us into Mumbles later.’
‘On Larry’s twenty-first!’
‘Exactly, my twenty-first,’ Larry slurred from somewhere behind them, ‘and I want to have fun, which I can’t have with my bloody family and all these damned people around.’
The bar of the White Rose in Walter Road was crowded with young men downing as many pints as they could cram in before it was time to head for Mumbles and the Pier. While Adam tried to attract the attention of the besieged barman, Martin looked around, narrowing his eyes as they adjusted to the dark-oak and polished-brass gloom, after the early-evening, late-summer sunlight outside. He tried to put the ugly scene and problems at home from his mind by concentrating on the simple pleasure of being back in civilian clothes in a pub devoid of uniforms, but his mother’s face, lined, bruised, old before her time, intruded into his consciousness. And even when he finally succeeded in relegating her to the shadows, she was supplanted by Katie’s thin, cowed figure, small, narrow face and enormous, terrified eyes or Jack’s outwardly sharp Teddy boy image. But for all his veneer of truculent defiance, Martin knew his brother feared their father every bit as much as did their mother and sister.
‘Clay?’ A solitary figure, standing, foot on rail at the opposite end of the bar hailed him.
‘Powell?’ Martin murmured hesitantly.
‘Clay and –’ Brian glanced across as Adam finally succeeded in collaring the barman. ‘Jordan? I had no idea you two lived in Swansea.’ Picking up his beer mug, Brian edged his way through the crowd to join them.
‘And I thought you were from Ponty.’
‘I am but I’ve moved into lodgings here. Work,’ Brian explained succinctly. ‘So what are you doing now?’
‘Same thing I did before conscription. Apprentice in the council garage.’
‘I thought you passed your mechanics exams.’
‘The army ones. I’m carrying on in night school. Fancy a top-up?’
‘Ever known me to say no?’
‘Look what the cat dragged in, Adam. You remember Powell?’
‘I remember you two getting orders for Cyprus, lucky sods. From the uncensored version Marty gave me I gather it was all sunshine, wine and gorgeous girls queuing up to fulfil your every fantasy.’
‘After Germany, Adam served out the rest of his time in Yorkshire,’ Martin explained as he handed the pint Adam pushed towards him to Brian and asked the barman to pull another.
‘In a miserable, cold, damp barracks,’ Adam embellished dolefully.
‘Look on the bright side, with your fair skin the sun might not have agreed with you.’
‘I would have liked to have had the chance to find out.’ Adam raised his glass and the others followed suit. ‘Here’s to reunions. So, what you doing in this neck of the woods, Powell
?’
‘Just moved into digs round the corner, Carlton Terrace. Do you know it?’
Adam glanced at Martin and they burst out laughing.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘It’s only where we live. Who you lodging with?’
‘Mrs Evans.’
‘You always did have the luck of the devil.’
‘She makes a good cake.’
‘Good cake, nothing,’ Adam dismissed. ‘You’re living under the same roof as the gorgeous Lily.’
‘We’ve been introduced. Pretty girl. Here, have this one on me, Jordan. Clay’ll only tell you I owe him one if I don’t cough first shout.’ Brian thrust his hand into his pocket, pulled out his change, picked out four shillings and sixpence and handed it to the barman. ‘I can’t quite work out where Lily fits in. She looks too young to be Mrs Evans’ daughter but she calls Roy Williams uncle.’
‘She was an evacuee. No one turned up to claim her after the war so Mrs Evans kept her.’
‘She is a pretty girl,’ Adam observed darkly, ‘but I’d keep my hands off her if I were you. Marty, here, saw her first.’
‘That joke’s wearing thin, Adam. Besides, Lily’s just a kid.’
‘Eighteen isn’t a kid.’
‘If she is the love of your life, Clay, I don’t envy you. From what I saw she’s kept on a tight leash.’
‘Not that tight.’ Adam grinned. ‘You on for a trip down Mumbles?’
‘What’s there?’
‘The Mumbles mile.’ Reading the mystified expression on Brian’s face, Adam explained. ‘You haven’t lived until you’ve travelled the Mumbles mile. Pubs stacked up end to end. Rumour has it there’s a prize waiting for anyone who can down a pint in everyone and stand upright afterwards.’
‘Take no notice, Powell, Jordan here has yet to discover delights beyond drinking.’
‘Poor bloke.’
‘The poor bloke was about to tell you that as well as the Mumbles mile, tonight is dance night in the Pier Ballroom and ten to one the gorgeous Lily will be there along with a selection of the other girls Swansea has to offer.’
‘Ah, but will there be any like Maria?’ Brian teased.
Swansea Girls Page 5