“D’you think they’ll believe me when I tell them you dived in after the fish?” Viv asked eventually, as the bedraggled pair stood with the pup, restrained on a length of line, cheerfully waiting for the next stage of her adventure. “Damn me, what I wouldn’t have given for a camera!”
“What fish?” Jack asked sulkily. “They all went back into the dock!” Which remark brought a renewal of laughter from Viv and more scowls from Jack.
* * *
Gladys and Arfon Weston considered themselves one of the important families of Pendragon Island. The fact that not everyone agreed did not make any difference. Gladys felt her position as example-to-the-rest very strongly. Which was why she had to make sure the weddings of her grandson, Jack and of her granddaughter, Joan showed others how it should be done.
As usual, when something was likely to cause great local interest, and particularly now when so many waited to see the Weston family fall on their faces, Gladys gave a “royal command” for all the family to attend a meeting. The first one she asked was always Jack, these days. He was the least likely to attend and if she arranged a time he was sure of being free, the rest of the family had to fit around it. On an early June morning, with birdsong rousing her gently from sleep, she woke, prepared herself for the day and realised, as she waited impatiently for her servant, Mair to arrive, that it was not yet seven o’clock.
Making herself a cup of tea and a piece of toast on which she spread the last of the butter ration, she decided to go out and try to catch Jack before he went to school. Arfon was already out. Going up early to visit the shop which was now run by Viv Lewis and his granddaughter, Joan, was a regular part of his day.
She knew he only glanced through the books and examined the stock, looking for faults and rarely finding any. He missed the involvement and was full of regret at the way his sons-in-law had let him down and almost cost him the business.
Gladys had to admit that, although she had hated the idea of Viv Lewis taking over, he, with her dear Joan’s help, of course, had saved the business from liquidation. She had secretly hoped that one day the family would run it once more and Viv would be sent on his way. Now, with her lovely granddaughter determined to marry the man, she had to accept that he was there for good.
She set off to walk to Trellis Street in the quiet of the morning, the sounds clear on the summer air, with few background noises to mask them. Someone dragging boxes out of a shop to start a display. An errand boy whistling the Eddie Calvert hit, Oh Mein Papa. A woman scrubbing her front step. A rattling sound as ashes were dropped into a bin followed by the echoing clang as the lid was slammed back in place. Gladys felt an excitement at being up and about as the town was waking and identifying the various sounds, and her smile widened.
Then the smile was wiped off like chalk from a blackboard as, around the corner strolled two men, dressed in peculiar fashion, one holding a string against which a lively young dog pulled. They were obviously drunks returning from a night of debauchery. They were laughing and staggering slightly and she looked around for some escape from them as they approached. At that moment, Henry Thomas, the postman, stepped out of a short cut, a gap where a house had once stood, and he greeted the two disreputables cheerily. Perhaps she would walk with him until she passed them.
“Hi, Grandmother,” one of the “drunks” called and she stared with horror as she recognised Jack and Viv.
She listened to the story as she and Jack went to number forty-four and she smiled grimly at her daughter, Sian. “At least after this embarrassment he won’t refuse to attend the family conference!”
“What is the conference about, Mother?” Sian asked. “I don’t have much time to spare during the day. I’m a working woman these days and Rose Tree keeps Dora and me very busy you know.”
“It’s a serious family matter, Sian, dear. The weddings. Your Jack’s mainly. Jack is being extremely difficult.”
“As ever,” Sian said with a sigh.
* * *
The large house in which Arfon and Gladys lived was not in a fashionable area of Pendragon Island. It was the house in which they had begun their married life and neither saw reason to change. Now, with family fortunes greatly reduced, they had only one person to help run it. Mair Gregory had once been sacked, when Victoria had returned, but now Victoria was engaged to marry Jack, Mair had been called back. Not as a maid to deal with Gladys’s whims and fancies this time, but to do as much of the cleaning as Gladys could persuade her to do for the money she paid her.
For the family conference, Mair was ordered to work during the evening to serve the food and add to Gladys’s self-illusory belief that the Weston family was still superior to most.
When the whole family was gathered Gladys took out a notepad and began to run her fingers down a list.
“Jack first, as he and Victoria are the slowest at getting things organised. Now, have you chosen your dress, dear?” she asked the shy girl whom she had so recently ordered about, for three pounds ten shillings a week.
“No, I haven’t seen anything suitable,” Victoria replied, looking at Jack for support.
“Come into Gwennie Woodlas’s shop and I’ll choose something,” Megan said in a bored voice.
“Don’t you mean help Victoria choose?” Jack said sharply.
“Of course she does,” Joan retorted. “Stop nitpicking, Jack or we’ll be here all night.”
There was an obstruction at every suggestion to every item on Gladys’s list. No, they hadn’t thought about flowers, they weren’t sure whether they wanted a choir, and no they would prefer not to have a peal of bells. In despair, Gladys snapped the notepad shut and turned with a forced smile to her granddaughter.
“Joan, dear, shall we start with you? Now, you’ve chosen your dress haven’t you? And we are going into town on Saturday to select headdresses and a veil.”
“Here’s what we’ve managed so far, Grandmother.” Joan handed her a piece of paper. “These are the hymns Viv and I would like and we’ve already discussed them with the organist. The choir is singing Ave Maria while we sign the register, and colours have been discussed and the flowers are ordered.” She smiled sweetly at Gladys and glanced, with a hint of triumph, at Victoria.
Jack stood up and offered Victoria his hand.
“Well, that’s quite a lot achieved then, isn’t it Grandmother? Now, if you’ll excuse us, Victoria and I have some plans of our own to prepare. You coming, Viv?”
“Plans?” Gladys looked alarmed at the prospect of things being taken out of her hands.
“Colour schemes and all that, for the house we’ll live in.” He looked lovingly at Victoria as he added, “Victoria is dealing with it, so our future home is in very good hands.”
“Joan is the one to help with colour schemes, dear.” Gladys said.
“Not this time. Victoria is having the first and the last word. I’m just the slave who does the work, aren’t I love?”
When Jack and Victoria had gone, Gladys tapped her notepad again. “Now, Joan dear, I’ve consulted several caterers and—”
“No, Grandmother,” Joan said. “You and Mummy have already been told. Viv and I haven’t changed our minds. We want a buffet. And,” she added with a warning gleam in her eyes, “Viv and I have decided that his mother and my aunt will prepare it.”
“But they can’t, dear. Seriously, how can the mother-of-the-bride be responsible for something so vital when she’s there as a most important guest?”
“Don’t worry, Mother,” Sian said. “Dora and I have it all worked out. Most of the cooking will be done on the day before. After all,” she added with a hint of rancour, “you’ve taken over all the wedding arrangements, so I’ll have plenty of time.”
It was a quiet Gladys who put aside her lists and poured tea a while later. Quiet, but simmering with frustration. She blamed Victoria for Jack’s stubbornness, although, she admitted, he had never been easy to persuade. But this time it was Victoria who, as the daughter of
a drunk and a poverty-stricken washer-woman, was dragging her grandson down to an unacceptable level. She would have to have strong words with Victoria’s mother.
Megan and Joan discussed Victoria’s certain lack of taste.
“Can you imagine what she’ll choose?” Joan said.
“Can you imagine what she’ll look like if she tries to carry off one of Gwennie’s model dresses?” Megan added.
“You will let me know what happens?” Joan smiled.
“Girls,” Sally said. “I don’t want to hear another unkind word. You should be helping Victoria, not standing by, waiting for her to ruin her special day.”
Neither girls showed regret at their unkind remarks. “Sorry, but you must admit, it’s rather odd, her marrying our cousin, Mummy. We still think of her as Grandmother’s maid sometimes, forgetting she’s marrying Jack.”
“Then don’t forget!” Sian snapped. “We must all help her through a day which is sure to be an ordeal. But especially you two!”
* * *
For the Griffithses, the goat milk idea was not a success. Janet had not remembered the basic rules and, having neglected to “strip out” the goats to ensure the last milk had been taken, the goats dried up in a very short time. Until they were mated and produced a kid, they would simply be unproductive eating machines.
“Not one of your father’s best ideas,” Janet told the boys.
Ermintrude still treated Frank like her best friend and he spent some time with the affectionate creature, talking to it and telling it how hurt he was by Ernie’s deliberate rejection of him the moment a pretty girl winked her eye.
He was sitting in the pen, out of sight of the house one morning, when he heard Ernie come in. The van trundled along the rough path and stopped outside one of the outbuildings that Hywel intended to repair one day, but on which the corrugated iron roof still lurched drunkenly on weakened walls.
He watched as Ernie unloaded boxes and stacked them in the shed. When the unloading was done and the van driven away, he went to see what was there. Soap and soap powder. So much for Ernie’s avowal that he wasn’t dealing without him. For the first time in days he felt easier about his involvement with Percy Flemming. He’d make a lot of money and was glad Ernie wouldn’t share it.
The first hint of trouble was in The Railwayman’s later that evening. Someone at the bar was complaining that a warehouse had been broken into. When he began to describe what had been stolen, Frank left his pint and hurried home. There was no time to find Ernie. He’d be out of sight somewhere kissing and canoodling with that Helen Gunner.
Working at a speed he rarely found, he took the boxes and dropped them all over the edge of the quarry beyond Pigog Wood. Then he swept up and burned the litter, and went to bed.
When the policemen came and insisted on searching the place, he woke up and stood beside Janet, Hywel, Caroline and Ernie, his hair across his face hiding the wink he gave them, and waited until the police had given up and gone away.
Then he poked Ernie in the chest with a bony finger.
“You owe me one, mate!”
Chapter Eight
Helen Gunner was becoming a regular visitor at the Griffithses, settling in and becoming an approved member of the family circle. Gradually, Frank accepted that she was going to remain so. Helen and Ernie were casual towards each other when they were with the family, there was none of the embarrassment Barry had caused by kissing Caroline, and making love to her with his eyes, in the time leading up to when they had decided to make their marriage real. No need to cough before entering a room where they were sitting. And for that Frank was grateful. He grudgingly admitted to his mother that, “She isn’t half bad.”
On the Sunday following the visit from the police, Helen invited Frank along when she and Ernie were going to tea with her parents.
“Mam and Dad would like to meet you,” she said, smiling as she lied. She had lost count of the hours spent persuading them to lower their defences and talk to a Griffiths. “I’ve told them about you, but it isn’t the same as meeting you themselves.”
He got out of it by insisting the goats and chickens needed cleaning out and set to with a vengeance when Hywel agreed with him.
“I think you’re afraid you and Ernie will lose touch with each other because of me,” she said, following him to where Ermintrude was bleating her delight as seeing Frank.
“He can do what he likes. It doesn’t worry me. I’ve got my own life. Just tell him to make sure he doesn’t bring stolen stuff to the house again, that’s all.”
“That was stupid, he knows that. But you and I know he is a bit thick,” she teased, “and I doubt if I can change that. I’ll have to think for him, like you’ve done over the years. Thank you for getting rid of it before the police came searching.”
“Needs a keeper he does.”
“And what about you, Frank? You’re planning something, aren’t you?”
“What d’you mean? I share my deals with Ernie and we both check to make sure it’s safe. I’m not stupid enough to bring dodgy stuff home.”
“Not planning something to get your own back on him?” She tilted her head and looked at him thoughtfully.
“That’s what Ernie says is it?”
“That’s what he thinks. Be careful, Frank. Because when I’ve persuaded Ernie to propose, he’ll want you to be his best man. You can’t do that if you’re in prison, can you?”
“You don’t have to worry.”
“But I do, Frank. About all of you. I know you do these little ‘deals’ as much for the devilment as profit, but if you step over the line of mild trickery into the world of the real villains, your life will never be the same again.”
“If you know what Ernie’s like, why bother with him?”
She tilted her head again in that fascinating way and laughed. “Even the Griffithses have to grow up some time, Frank.”
“Oh, I see, marry the bloke and then change him so his best friends won’t know him.”
“I confess I have something like that in mind. I’ll tell you in confidence, Frank, Ernie wants to marry me but I won’t agree until he gives up this stupid way of earning a living. I don’t intend to survive by grubbing along on the bottom in the sludge. I want to swim in the clean, fresh stream. No, your Ernie’ll have to get a job before I say yes.”
“You think he’ll ask you?”
“He’ll ask,” she said with a confident smile.
“Good luck,” he said doubtfully.
* * *
Rhiannon answered a knock at the door and saw a smiling Gwyn there with his father.
“Hello, Charlie. Don’t tell me. You’ve lost the pup again!”
“No, it’s about my bike,” Gwyn replied. “Basil Griffiths, in Trellis Street, he reckons he’s got one.”
“We wondered if you’ll come with us to look at it,” Charlie said.
She gathered a jacket and slipped on some tidier shoes and they set off with Gwyn chattering non-stop about where he was going when he had transport. Rhiannon shared a smile with Charlie and felt a wave of pleasurable excitement.
Basil was sitting behind a heavily loaded dinner plate and helping to coax Ronnie to eat a spoonful of mashed vegetables that he was spitting out as fast as his father was pushing it in. Basil was laughing as Ronnie wrinkled his little face in outrage.
“Doesn’t think much of your cooking, Eleri, love,” he said as the visitors sat down.
“So long as he’s had a little,” Eleri said, coming in from the kitchen with cups of tea.
Basil pushed his plate aside. “Keep this hot for a few minutes will you, love? I’ll show them the bike before I eat.”
“We can come back another time.” Charlie began to rise. But Basil shook his head.
“You can wait but I don’t think your Gwyn can, eh, son?”
The bicycle had been in a bit of a crash and the paint was badly scraped, the handlebars had been slightly buckled and straightened, but Charlie and Basil
examined it minutely and decided that it was safe, and in need of cosmetic treatment only. Delving in a shed, Basil found several tins of paint and promised to help clean the vehicle so it would be ready for the weekend.
Then he pulled from the back of the shed his own bicycle and said, “Borrow this for a week or so, Charlie, so you can go with him and make sure he’s behaving sensible on the roads.”
“Can I take it home now?” an anxious Gwyn asked.
“Go on then, but don’t ride it ‘til we’ve greased it and checked the brakes, right?”
When Rhiannon and Charlie walked back with an excited Gwyn “scooting” on the pedal beside them she wondered at the kindness of people.
Charlie had announced that he was determined never to break the law again and he had been taken at his word and offered help.
“Aren’t people kind,” she said. “Basil only charged two pounds ten shillings for the bike and I don’t think he made a profit.”
“And Mr Windsor giving me, an ex-jailbird, a job in his garage. Yes, I’m lucky to live around here where people care.” He looked at her and smiled ruefully. “Most of it’s thanks to you,” he said. “Knowing you trust me and treat me like a friend has made a difference. People wouldn’t have accepted me so readily and I certainly wouldn’t have been offered the job in the garage if you hadn’t told Mr Windsor I was a reformed character. Thank you.”
“Oh, I didn’t think you knew I’d spoken to him?”
“He told me what you said and I promised him I’d never let you down, Rhiannon, and I meant it.”
He leaned towards her and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek before turning away, and hurrying across the road to help his son push his bike inside.
* * *
Afternoon tea with the Gunners was not one of Ernie’s most enjoyable experiences. As Frank was “unavoidably” detained, he went into the living room alone, to see Mr and Mrs Gunner standing side by side behind a lavishly set table, as if intending to ward him off with forks and knives. He had been warned in advance to insist on washing his hands before sitting down but failed her mother’s first test of a gentleman by going into the kitchen and not the bathroom to do so.
Unlocking the Past Page 13