Unlocking the Past

by Grace Thompson

  She sat in her mother’s kitchen trying to calm herself and watched Barry, waiting for some sign, wanting a romantic gesture, a murmur of encouragement to tell her everything was going to be all right. But he treated her no differently from when they had made their vows, falsely, for the sake of her then unborn child. In fact he had hardly spoken to her throughout the evening. Doubts and fears swelled up and threatened to overflow into a panic that would make her want to grab Joseph and run without stopping until she had left Barry far behind and could hide in a place where she and Joseph would never be found.

  The drive back to her mother-in-law’s house in Chestnut Road was undertaken in silence.

  Chapter Two

  After the party for Caroline and Barry, Hywel eventually went to bed as the sun was coming up at seven o’clock on Sunday morning. Janet had decided it was hardly worth undressing, and stayed up. The last of the guests had not left until almost five o’clock, having found their second wind at three. The place was a shambles with abandoned glasses and bottles and plates perched everywhere, many with forgotten remnants of food; some of which having been found and discarded a second time by the dog and cats.

  Frank and Ernie had gone to bed at a quarter-to-five, only to find their beds occupied by exhausted guests whom they had been unable to wake. They were now sprawled inelegantly on the floor near the still glowing fire, heads together, stockinged feet resting on the brass fender. Asleep on Frank’s foot was a hen.

  Janet sighed, lit the boiler for hot water to wash the dishes, and settled the kettle on the fire to make tea. The house had seen many parties and this was the first time in many years that her daughter Caroline hadn’t been there to help sort out the aftermath.

  By nine o’clock the hens had been fed, the fire revived and the washing-up finished. At ten she kicked Frank and Ernie into action and washed the slate floor and shook the mats. When Hywel came down at eleven the place looked as though the party had been nothing more than a dream.

  “Go to bed,” Hywel urged.

  “They’ll want breakfast,” she hesitated, glancing at the prostrate figures of Frank and Ernie, now asleep on the couch.

  “I’ll get something to eat for them two, and whoever else surfaces.” He looked at the bowl of freshly gathered eggs. “Boilt eggs and toast it’ll be. Whatever time they wake they’ll be convinced it’s breakfast time!” He always pronounced it “boilt” and every time it made her smile.

  “I’m thinking of Caroline. I’m going to miss her so much.”

  “She’ll be here every day, you daft ’aporth! Minding little Joseph aren’t you? How’ll he get here unless she brings him?”

  “I’ll see her, but it won’t be the same.”

  “Not sorry she’s married, are you?”

  “Of course I’m not. But that doesn’t mean I won’t miss her.”

  “Me too an’ all,” he said ungrammatically, around a wide yawn. “She makes better roast potatoes than you!”

  She threw the tea-cloth at him and, smiling contentedly, went up to bed.

  * * *

  Caroline didn’t go straight to bed after the party either. The first official day of their marriage and she stayed up, unpacking the items she had been given, washing a few of Joseph’s clothes, then standing watching the day begin, in her mother-in-law’s tree-filled garden.

  Nia had suggested they stayed the first night with her before setting off for their honeymoon the following day. A night’s sleep was better than setting off after the party, and to miss the party would have been impossible.

  Barry had gone into the bedroom prepared for them by Nia and, collapsing on the bed, had fallen asleep within seconds. Caroline had stood for a moment, looking down at him, loving him but unable to resist comparing him with his brother, whom she had once planned to marry. Joseph had been so different from Barry. Smaller, darker and with such a glow of happiness and fun that people said he lit up a room when he entered.

  She left the room after covering Barry with an eiderdown, and went softly downstairs. When Nia woke at seven and padded down to make herself a cup of tea, Caroline smiled and handed her one freshly made.

  “I’d have brought it up but I didn’t know how soon you would wake,” she smiled.

  “Have you been up long, dear?” Nia asked.

  “Yes well I—”

  “You haven’t slept at all, have you?”

  “It hardly seems worth it. I’d have preferred to stay and help Mam clear up, but I couldn’t, could I?”

  “No, dear.” Nia poured a third cup of tea and handed it to her. “Take this and wake Barry. Little Joseph will be awake soon, and I want you all to have a good breakfast before you set off for Aberystwyth.”

  * * *

  They travelled to their “honeymoon” destination, with Joseph, in Barry’s van. It was another silent journey, Joseph sleeping much of the way, and Caroline atypically subdued. Barry said little, wondering if Caroline was regretting their decision to stay married. Afraid of the answer, it wasn’t a question he wanted to ask.

  The hotel was away from the sea-front, but within an easy walk of it and as soon as they had settled into their room they put an excited Joseph into the pushchair and walked to the beach. It was very cold and they were all three muffled up in scarves. The grey skies made Constitution Hill look uninviting, but they strolled along the front and around the castle ruins before heading back to the town to find somewhere to have a cup of tea.

  They drove through the surrounding countryside during the afternoon and the mood of quiet contemplation continued, although both Caroline and Barry made an effort to encourage the child to see and enjoy the different sights. Back at their hotel, when it was time to put Joseph to sleep, they sat watching him for a while, each unable to judge the mood of the other. Caroline was achingly tired, not having slept the previous night, but somehow it was impossible to suggest an early night, the connotations of that phrase were making her uneasy.

  Barry solved the dilemma by going down to the bar for a nightcap.

  “Go to bed, love,” he said, kissing her cheek. “You’re dead on your feet. I’ll have a few drinks and sit there for a while. You need a good night’s sleep and I expect you’ll be well gone by the time I come back.”

  She undressed and slid beneath the cold sheets, not expecting to relax in the strange room with Barry about to return and share her bed. But when Barry looked in half an hour later she was fast asleep. He stared down at her, a worried frown on his face, then slipped in beside her. They slept, straight as two pokers. Not touching each other, unmoving, as though encased in ice.

  During the following two days as they explored the area, Barry tried to bring up the subject. Longing to know how she felt but afraid of what Caroline would say, he ended each attempt by turning the disjointed, stumbling words into a discussion of his plans for his photography business.

  He suggested that, as she was continuing to work at the wool-shop, they should use her wages for housekeeping while his earnings would be ploughed back into the business. She agreed willingly, as if glad to be included in his future ambitions. Making plans for the future was a safe subject and one to which they returned each time the conversation touched a more personal zone. Hedging around their emotions was a relief to them both, although every time they got into bed they were dragged down with disappointment that another day had passed without bringing them closer.

  * * *

  Janet was pleased with the success of the party. Frank and Ernie had managed not to pick a fight with anyone and for the Griffithses that was a success. Sunday lunch was quiet, conversation desultory, in fact Frank kept dropping off to sleep; once falling forward to land with his face on his plate.

  “Come on, shake yourselves,” Hywel said when the meal was finished. “We’ve got work to do.”

  Frank and Ernie groaned but Hywel insisted. “You promised, mind. We’ve got to get all the surplus out of that flat so Caroline and Barry can move in when they get back from A
ber.”

  “Give me another hour,” Ernie pleaded.

  “Another cup of tea?” suggested Frank, but Hywel pushed them towards the door. “We don’t know when they’ll be back, so today it is. Come on, shift yourselves.”

  “They won’t be back today.”

  “Can’t we do it tomorrow?”

  “All right, don’t push, our Dad.”

  Janet chuckled as the voices drifted away towards the van.

  * * *

  Frank was tall and lanky like his brother, Basil. He often wore a lugubrious expression so that, again like his brother, he was called upon to act as mourner when the funeral director needed an extra man. He earned his living in a variety of ways, mostly petty thieving and poaching, although he had never been as skilled at taking the occasional bird or rabbit as Basil, who, Hywel said, was capable of coaxing a wildcat to treat him like a brother.

  If asked to state his favourite pastime he would have said fighting, and in this he had a willing partner in his cousin, Ernie. The pair of them were frequently in court accused of causing a disturbance, and they were both proud of their record. Hywel was a regular in court too, although he always insisted he was trying to break up a fight and not start one. Janet bathed their wounds unsympathetically, and philosophically refilled the first-aid box for the next time.

  Ernie was one of Hywel’s nephews. When his mother and father died, Ernie had been taken in by the family and treated the same as Frank, Basil and Caroline. He and Frank were very close, although Janet suspected it was Frank who was the instigator of their various escapades and Ernie the follower. He wasn’t tall and skinny like Frank and Basil, following instead, Hwyel’s family’s stocky build. To Janet’s constant dismay, neither boy had yet brought home a serious girlfriend.

  They worked willingly once Hywel had started them off by explaining what was needed. All the photography equipment was to go up to Harry’s studio and the flat put in order ready for the honeymooners’ return. It was five o’clock when they finished and as they were walking out through Temptations sweet shop, Ernie’s hand wandered towards the blocks of chocolate. He picked up two and handed one to Frank.

  “That will be one shilling please!” Rhiannon’s voice ringing through the quiet shop made Ernie drop the chocolate and turn around in alarm.

  “Two shillings, for your cheek!” Hywel echoed, holding out a grubby hand and glowering at Ernie.

  “Stealing from your brother-in-law’s Mam! You’re a disgrace.”

  “What are you doing here?” Rhiannon demanded.

  “Emptying the flat ready for when our Caroline and Barry get back. Sorry we startled you. Ernie! Hand over the money!”

  A sheepish Ernie handed a half a crown to Rhiannon who looked at it and said, “You’ll have to come back for your change, the till’s locked.”

  They shuffled out with Ernie and Hywel repeating their apologies and Frank chuckling at his cousin’s discomfiture.

  “You needn’t look so innocent, Frank Griffiths,” Rhiannon said. “You were about to take one of the bars yourself!”

  “Keep the two and sixpence, and there’s sorry we are,” Hywel muttered.

  Rhiannon watched them walk to the van and smiled as Hywel aimed a swipe at Ernie before getting in and driving off, leaving both boys to walk. Frank gave the bar of chocolate to young Gwyn Bevan who was delivering papers, and looked at Rhiannon for approval.

  Making sure the shop door was locked, Rhiannon went up to the flat. It had been emptied of all the surplus but it still didn’t look welcoming. She placed the card and the flowers she had brought on the kitchen table and then took a duster and put the final touches to the rooms. It wasn’t perfect, but she knew that Caroline would soon make the sparsely furnished rooms into a home, as she had once planned to do herself.

  She went back down the stairs and through the shop without looking back. All that was behind her and as she closed and locked the door she knew all traces of regret had gone. But, what now?

  She wanted to continue running Temptations. She was coping with the embarrassment of working for Nia, with whom her father now lived, and would soon accept having Barry and Caroline living in the flat that would have been hers. The job was one that interested her and her plans to expand the business had been a success. She was happy in her work but there was a need for something more, a social life so long abandoned on account of Barry, had to be revived. Jimmy Herbert was kind and very good company, but she knew that he did not hold the key to her future, and she was guilty of using him. It was time to let him go, fade from his life gently but firmly and start anew. This would be difficult, as he was a rep, calling on her for orders of sweets and chocolates.

  She walked towards the docks and crossed them to visit the sandy bay. The Pleasure Beach appealed even in the winter months, but in a different way from the rowdy, overcrowded, kiss-me-quick, happy days of summer. The out-of-season emptiness showed its other side, the natural beauty of the wide stretch of sand unmarked by people and their possessions. And the bleak headlands, hardly changed from the glorious, muted shades of autumn, coming down to touch the protruding feet of the cliffs and the white frills of the sea’s edge.

  Behind her, the shuttered cafés and fairground amusements were somnolent, their facades slightly battered by the storms of the past months, like sleeping giants about to wake up and clean up, to change the solitude once more into a trippers’ paradise.

  On the way home she stopped to talk to Mr Windsor, the owner of a garage where her father usually bought his petrol and brought his repairs and maintenance. Her reason for calling was to ask him if he would consider talking to Charlie Bevan, recently out of prison for robbery.

  “He needs someone to give him a chance, Mr Windsor,” she explained. “I don’t think he’ll let you down, he’s that determined to make a home for his son. With old Maggie Wilpin dead there’d be no one to look after Gwyn if he went inside again, you see.”

  Mr Windsor looked doubtful but agreed to talk to the young man. “No promises, mind,” he said wagging a finger at Rhiannon’s smiling face. “I’ll talk to him and see what I think of his promises.”

  * * *

  Caroline and Barry stayed three nights at Aberystwyth, but they didn’t consummate their marriage. Caroline became tense every time Barry even kissed her and he was afraid of sending her deeper into the shell she had grown around herself. He wondered whether, at moments approaching tenderness, his bride was thinking about his brother who had died. Every time he thought of taking her in his arms, the look in her eyes was like a barrier keeping him at bay. They both used young Joseph as an excuse, bringing the little boy into their bed to lie between them.

  They returned to the flat above the sweet-shop as Rhiannon was closing for the half-day on Wednesday. She was shy of meeting Barry’s gaze and felt her colour rise. They were back from honeymoon where Caroline would have done with Barry what she, Rhiannon, had dreamed of doing for so long. But she kissed Caroline and welcomed her home. She didn’t stay, just delivered the takings to the bank then hurried home.

  She had the house to herself. Her mother, Dora, was working at The Rose Tree Café over near the lake and wouldn’t be home until six-thirty. Her brother, Viv, was still at Weston’s Wallpaper and Paint Shop. He would be home, starving hungry, in less than an hour. But for a while at least she had time to sit and think.

  Her wages were generous. Nia appreciated how much effort she had put into increasing the trade in the small corner shop and paid her accordingly. She hadn’t used much of it, paying her share of the household expenses and putting the rest into the Post Office. She had quite a few pounds there and wondered if she might use it for a holiday. Butlins was supposed to be good fun, but she would have to find someone to go with her. Fun never came to someone on their own, it had to be shared, expanded by another’s contribution. That sombre observation made her thoughts return to Barry and the wedding that had once been so certain.

  She wondered how Caroline w
ould cope with living in the flat with only Joseph for company after the lively home of her parents where a day never passed without someone calling in. She was going to continue working at the wool shop in town, taking Joseph to her parents each morning, but the evenings were sure to be strange for her, sitting on her own while Barry went out on one of his many party and dance appointments.

  Gathering together the ingredients for an omelette, using off-ration duck eggs and left-over vegetables, she waited for her brother to come home. She didn’t have to wait long. She heard him whistling before she had beaten the eggs.

  “Rhiannon?” Viv called as he banged the door shut behind him. “It’s me and I’m starving.”

  Rhiannon said the last words with him, and promised an omelette in five minutes.

  As usual, Viv was in a hurry to be out. “Joan and I are off to Cardiff,” he explained between mouthfuls of the delicious, fluffy food. “Pictures I expect. Or the theatre.”

  “Why go to Cardiff for pictures? Plenty of choice here in Pendragon, surely.”

  “Shops,” was the succinct explanation. “Joan wants to look at dresses and stuff for the wedding.”

  “It isn’t until August. It’s a bit early isn’t it?”

  “Can you imagine Joan waiting to spend money, when she can spend it today?”

  “She won’t be buying, though?”

  “She might, if she sees something she likes. Not her wedding dress of course. Her mother will go with her to choose that and I mustn’t see it, must I?”

  “It’s all weddings at the moment,” Rhiannon sighed, sitting down to begin her meal. “You and Joan Weston, Jack Weston and Victoria Jones. Both unbelievable a few months ago. How Gladys and Arfon Weston have had to swallow their pride. Their grandson, Jack, marrying their ex-servant, and their granddaughter marrying you, a mere employee. I never thought I’d see the day!”