He had been at his most vulnerable. His grandfather and grandmother had died within six weeks of one another. Lonely and totally alone for the first time in his life, he had divided his time between the house and warehouse – domestic and business chores – scarcely thinking about either. Then, like a rainbow breaking over a desolate landscape Esme had burst into his life.
He recalled the first time he had seen her, dressed in school uniform, a ridiculous, pleated gymslip that had made even her slim figure appear plump. She and her aunt had visited the warehouse to look for unseasonable clothes to take them through a cruise her aunt had booked as a reward for Esme’s exceptional performance in the school matriculation examinations. He had shown them to the ladies’ wear section and, after they’d made their choice, Esme had pressed him to buy a ticket to a charity ball her mother had helped organise. Expecting to be ignored, or at best sidelined among her other admirers, he had almost torn up the ticket – but hadn’t.
She had been nineteen, cool, blonde and stunningly beautiful in a white silk gown and her mother’s pearls; he had been seventeen, crippled and ugly, yet, to his amazement, from the moment of his arrival in the Mackworth Hotel, she had singled him out. Flattered, scarcely daring to believe his good fortune, by the end of the evening he would have done anything she asked of him. He could no longer recall their courtship, the exact sequence of events or how it had happened, but within a month he had found himself a married man and six months later the father of a premature baby boy.
Fortunately he’d had no close relatives to question Joseph’s paternity but his few friends and neighbours hadn’t been slow in suggesting that Esme had used him. Apart from their stinging remarks and attitude to Esme, he genuinely hadn’t minded. His disfigurement had tempered his romantic nature, forcing him to become a realist. On the few occasions during adolescence when he had dared to dream of marriage and children, the reflection staring back at him from the mirror every morning had shattered his fantasies. By the time Esme entered his life he had long been convinced that all women – and men – found him repulsive. And yet against the odds, he had found himself married to a beautiful and intelligent woman.
It didn’t take him long to discover she wasn’t easy to live with, but everyone he spoke to said the same thing. It was difficult to adjust to married life after free and easy bachelorhood. His single life had been brief and anything but easy. However, he’d reasoned Esme’s might have been better and he almost persuaded himself she had to feel something for him. After all, she had chosen him to be the father of her child.
For almost two years Esme had been home to greet him at the end of every working day. She had cooked his meals, cleaned the house, washed his clothes and even shared his bed. Shy, diffident, he had hoped she found their lovemaking as satisfying as he did, but he had never found the courage to broach the subject. Looking back, those years between Joe’s birth and Helen’s conception had been the sum total of their marriage. Joseph had been a happy and contented baby he had been proud to acknowledge as his son. But when Esme returned from hospital with Helen in her arms she asked him to move out of their bedroom until she recuperated from the birth.
Sensitive to her needs, he had agreed and carried his clothes up to one of the attic bedrooms. When he had tentatively suggested that he move back a year later, Esme had protested she was still unwell. He left the matter for six months, by which time Esme announced that the doctor had warned her another pregnancy would kill her. When he had tried to bring up the subject of birth control, she closed every discussion with the insistence that none was one hundred per cent reliable. Helen had been two years old the last time he had tried to discuss anything resembling a personal life with his wife.
Esme had continued to keep the house in apple-pie order and, as the business flourished, improved their lives. She employed a daily to relieve her of the housework, and her involvement with the Little Theatre and her nights out with Dot – a feature from the day they returned from their fortnight’s honeymoon in London – increased from one or two a month to three or four and sometimes even more a week as well as most of the weekends. Publicly and privately she was polite, mannered – and distant – towards him. He missed the intimacy of their early married life but made excuses for her absences to their children and himself on the pretext that, as she worked so hard in the house all day, she was entitled to pursue her hobby in her free time.
But after Saturday night he didn’t doubt that rumours would spread from the police station throughout the entire town, that’s if they hadn’t already. The question was, should he carry on ignoring Esme’s absences and nights out, allowing every friend, acquaintance and business contact to laugh, mock and pity him, or confront her and risk hearing her confirm his worst suspicions, perhaps shattering his life and their children’s irrevocably?
‘Angie, if you and Emily don’t go into the house this instant I’ll tell Mums about this.’
‘No, you won’t, because you’d have to admit you were swimming in the buff and you know she doesn’t like it.’ Angie lay back in the deckchair and filched a cigarette from a box on the table next to her. ‘Em, pour yourself a drink and get one for me, please, while you’re at it.’
‘Babycham?’ Emily took two bottles from the rattan cocktail cabinet in the sun lounge and held them up, either side of her face.
‘I’d love a Babycham.’ Angie parodied the advertisement.
‘And we’d love you two to disappear into the house,’ Robin called from the pool. ‘It’s bloody freezing in here.’
‘Especially when you can’t move a muscle,’ Joe added heatedly.
‘I wouldn’t have invited Joe back here if I’d known you were going to tease him.’
‘We’re not teasing. The male nude is part of our art course and we’re searching out as many examples as we can to carry out an in-depth study.’ Angie took the drink Emily handed her.
‘If I stay here a minute longer my examples are going to freeze and drop off, so study away.’ Heaving himself up on his arms, Robin left the pool. Emily screamed. Angie tossed him a cushion from one of the chairs. Holding it in front of himself, Robin threw a towel into the water close to Joe. ‘As these are no ladies you don’t have to behave like a gentleman. Right, Emily, do you want to make a detailed sketch right now?’ Lurching towards her, he laughed as she ran off into the hall. ‘That proves it,’ he called after her. ‘You’re all bluff.’
‘Beast!’ Angie pouted as Joe followed Robin out of the pool, the towel dripping round his waist.
‘Spoiled your fun?’ Joe didn’t even try to conceal his irritation.
‘Well, as the sights are under wraps’ – Angie gazed coolly at the wet towel that clung round Joe’s hips, bringing a flush to his cheeks – ‘I may as well get the sandwiches Mrs John left for supper. Not that you two deserve them.’
‘Out,’ Robin snapped sharply as he reached for a dry towel.
‘You’re shivering, Joe. How about a whisky to warm you up before I go?’ Angie held up the bottle.
‘You determined to give me pneumonia?’
‘Nursing you better could be fun – for both of us.’
‘Out!’ Robin repeated, exchanging his cushion for a dry towel and throwing the wet cushion at her.
‘I can take a hint.’ Angie followed Emily into the house.
Pulling the blinds that screened the sun lounge from the hall, Robin locked the door and briskly towelled himself. ‘You’ll have a drink?’ He reached for his father’s whisky.
‘No thanks, I’m working early tomorrow and it’s time I dusted off my books. I can’t believe it’s our last year in Uni.’
‘The telling one.’ Robin made a face as he poured himself a drink. ‘I don’t know why you’re worried. You’re bound to get a first, everyone’s blue-eyed boy.’
‘I wish.’ Drying himself quickly, Joe reached for his underpants. Even with a closed blind and a locked door between them he didn’t trust Angie. ‘I take it Emily’s n
ot part of Larry’s disgrace.’
‘That would hardly be fair.’
‘I suppose it wouldn’t,’ Joe conceded grudgingly.
‘Emily’s a nice girl.’
Joe raised his eyebrows.
‘All right, I admit I fancy her.’
‘You want to take off more than her blouse?’
‘A fellow could do worse.’
‘You’re going out with her?’
‘Give me a chance, she’s only just got back from London.’
‘But you will?’
‘Probably. We could make it a foursome. Angie’s keen on you.’ Abandoning his glass on the coffee table, Robin pulled on his underpants and trousers.
‘She has a funny way of showing it.’
‘You decent?’ Angie called from the other side of the door.
‘Just about.’ Robin unlocked it, as Joe buttoned his shirt.
‘Sandwiches and coffee for those who don’t want to steal Pops’ whisky.’ Angie handed the heavy tray to Joe.
‘I take it the party wasn’t any good.’ Robin pulled Emily down on top of him as he fell into a chair. She sat on his lap, squealing as he tickled her.
‘It was boring. Everyone was talking about Larry’s disgrace.’
‘He wasn’t there?’ Joe set the tray on a side table.
‘He’s been exiled to great-uncle Charles’s house in Cardiff,’ Emily gasped between shrieks. ‘Stop it, Robin.’ She slapped his wrist. ‘I’m sorry, Joe. I heard it was your sister’s dress he ripped. I wish Larry hadn’t got stupid drunk. I’m not sticking up for him or trying to excuse what he did but he was well out of it at the party. He probably didn’t have a clue what he was doing by the time he got to Mumbles.’
‘Probably,’ Joe muttered noncommittally. Pulling on his sweater, he reached for the car keys in his pocket and held them up. ‘You sure about this, Robin.’
‘Yes, but don’t go yet.’
‘If I don’t, I’ll never get up in the morning.’
‘I’ll walk you to the car.’
‘There’s no need, Angie.’
‘I want to. Besides, I could do with some fresh air.’
‘Didn’t you walk back from the party?’ Robin asked.
‘We called a taxi.’
‘See you tomorrow around five, Joe.’ Robin poured himself another whisky.
‘I’ll be here.’
‘I’ll only be working for a couple of hours, if you hang around we could ...’
‘Sorry, Robin, I have plans tomorrow night. See you.’
Stepping through the French doors, Joe walked around the side of the house.
‘Plans that involve a girl?’ Angie queried, running to catch up with him.
‘Plans that involve my sister.’ Joe was surprised how easily the lie rolled off his tongue. ‘She is very upset.’
‘Give her my best wishes and tell her I’m sorry.’
‘She doesn’t know you.’
‘That doesn’t mean she won’t.’ As they reached a gap in the shrubbery she grabbed his hand. ‘Are you very cross with me for teasing you?’ she asked, pulling him back.
‘I’m not a great one for practical jokes.’
‘It was meant as a bit of fun.’
‘Like Larry with my sister.’
‘I didn’t jump on you or tear off your clothes.’
‘It wasn’t funny, Angie.’
‘I’m sorry. Don’t be such a grumps. Give me a chance and I’ll show you just how sorry.’ Standing on tiptoe she kissed him, pushing her tongue into his mouth. Before he realised what was happening he found himself kissing her back. As she pulled him deeper into the gloom beneath the close-growing rhododendrons her fingers trailed over his fly.
‘Angie!’ He retreated quickly, hitting his head on an overhanging branch.
‘I’ve shocked you?’
‘Nice girls ...’
‘Don’t think about sex like nice boys?’
‘You weren’t like this before you went away.’
‘Only because I didn’t know what I wanted before I went away. It took London and France for me to realise how special you are. And eight weeks of missing you for me to want you this much.’
‘And an entire summer for me to get over you,’ he murmured warily.
‘We’re not over, Joe. We’re just beginning.’ She pushed him back against the boundary wall.
‘Robin ...’
‘Is besotted with Emily. Let’s go to the summerhouse. You can see the sea from there.’
‘I know,’ he murmured thickly as she touched him again.
‘Joe ...’
‘I really do have to go, Angie.’ Turning on his heel, he almost ran back through the bushes to the front of the house.
‘You don’t have to be kind, I know everyone thinks the worst of me.’ Helen lifted her chin defiantly, challenging Lily to say otherwise as they sat either end of the window seat in the kitchen that her father had categorically refused to allow her mother to rip out.
‘No, they don’t,’ Lily demurred.
‘But you don’t want to go round with me anymore. You’ve made that obvious; none of you called here yesterday and Joe said he saw you, Katie and Judy in Mumbles.’
‘It wouldn’t have made any difference if we had called. Your mother won’t allow you out.’
‘You still could have called,’ Helen persisted illogically as Katie walked into the kitchen. ‘Did my father give you a job?’
‘Yes, isn’t it wonderful, he ...’
‘Has done more for you than his own daughter.’ Helen knew she was being unfair but she couldn’t help herself. She didn’t want to be fair. She wanted to hurt and humiliate someone – anyone – the way her mother, the police and the police doctor had hurt and humiliated her.
‘Helen, you have a job in Thomas and Butler’s. Can’t you be pleased for Katie?’ Lily chided, as Katie’s eyes welled.
‘Why should I be pleased for her when none of you even called round to ask after me yesterday? All I did was stand outside the ballroom. Stand, mark you. I didn’t say a word or put a foot wrong. Just stood there. And after I get attacked by a maniac who tears my dress and bruises my arms I get punished by being locked up. And what do my friends do? Come and sympathise? Oh, no, not them. They go off down Mumbles for ice cream and a good time.’
‘Be reasonable, Helen, what else could we have done?’ Lily asked.
‘Sit here with me.’
‘Your mother wouldn’t have let us in.’
‘She was out so she wouldn’t have known.’
‘We didn’t know she was out.’
‘No one cares what happens to me.’
‘We do,’ Lily contradicted earnestly. ‘Your mother will soon calm down and then you’ll be able to come everywhere with us again.’
‘You don’t know my mother.’ Helen sat back and crossed her arms. Conscience pricked by the tears in Katie’s eyes, she muttered, ‘I suppose as my father has to have a secretary, it may as well be you.’
‘You don’t mind?’
‘It’s nothing to do with me who he employs.’
Lily checked the time. ‘Time we were going.’
‘Careful you don’t stay with the scarlet woman too long.’
‘Now you’re being silly. We promised Auntie Norah we’d be back in the house by ten thirty. I’ve work in the morning.’
‘I suppose I’ll see you the next time you feel like making a charitable visit to the outcast.’
‘We’ll come again as soon as we can,’ Lily replied diplomatically.
Helen stayed in her seat as Lily opened the door.
“Bye, Helen.’ Katie followed Lily down the passage.
“Bye, Katie, ‘bye Lily,’ Helen shouted after them. ‘I’m sorry ...’ She looked up to see the front door already closed. Clenching her hands into fists, she grabbed a cushion from the window seat and hurled it across the room. It hit the dresser, knocking over a black, white and red vase her mother had bought th
e week before.
‘What was that, Helen?’ her father called from the parlour, as she scooped up the pieces and wrapped them in newspaper.
‘A milk bottle, Dad.’
‘You all right?’
‘Going to bed,’ she snapped. ‘There’s no point in my staying up.’ Hiding the newspaper-wrapped fragments beneath a pile of potato peelings at the bottom of the bin, she ran up the stairs, slammed her bedroom door and threw herself on her bed.
If Jack really cared for her he would have left his skiffle group practice early and met her in the garden. He should have realised she’d wait for him from nine o’clock on. Did he love her or didn’t he? Or was he just playing stupid games? The ex-Borstal boy putting one over on the respectable girl next door – only now she wasn’t quite so respectable. Had he only asked her to be his girl so he could treat her like that horrid Larry Murton Davies? Like a ... a common tart, as her mother had said. She fingered her lips, remembering Jack’s kisses – warm, tender – and the way they had made her feel. He had to love her after kissing her like that – didn’t he?
Had he turned up after she’d left? Or hadn’t he any intention of coming at all? Surely he realised she couldn’t hang around the garden all night waiting for him – not after Brian had seen her.
Lying face down on the bed, she pulled at the fringes on her candlewick bedspread. He loved her – loved her not – loved her – loved her not ... She was still holding the fringes when she woke the next morning, fully dressed and lying on top of her bedclothes. Loved her – loved her not –
‘You look ridiculous,’ Esme commented as Helen appeared at the breakfast table in one of Joe’s old rugby shirts and a torn pair of pedal pushers.
Swansea Girls Page 19