Unlocking the Past
Page 15
Barry was filling the flat with a surplus of things as if to disguise the fact that it had been intended to be his home. Chairs were pushed out of the way and cameras and flash lights and all the paraphernalia of a professional photographer filled every space. She opened the door one day to call up and ask if she could come up and make some tea, and found the sides of the stairs filled with boxes.
“Barry? What are you doing? This isn’t safe you know. What if there was a fire? You could be blocked in.”
“It’s only until I get my new premises,” he called down. “Stay there and I’ll make your tea and hand it to you.”
The doorbell tinkled and a voice said, “Make one for me as well, will you Barry?”
“Nia? Is something wrong?” Rhiannon asked.
“Wrong? Why should there be? I was passing and I called to see you, that’s all,” Nia smiled.
As customers called in, she helped serve and when their tea was handed to them across the barricade of boxes, she sat beside Rhiannon and asked her in a whisper,
“What’s going on?”
“He’s trying to forget that he was hoping to live there with Caroline. That’s what!” Rhiannon whispered back. “He’s cramming the place till he can hardly move. Any old thing, just to hide the fact it could have been a home. He has the double bed propped against the wardrobe and he sleeps on the couch. He’s so stiff he can hardly move some mornings and serves him right too. What’s happened to those two?”
“Caroline walked out, that’s all he’ll tell me. My son absolutely refuses to discuss it, dear.”
“I don’t know what’s happened either,” Rhiannon said. “I can make a few guesses though.”
“I think they both lost their nerve and each believes the other regrets the attempt to stay married.”
“I think it’s ghosts,” Rhiannon said firmly. “Living here has unlocked the past for them both, but especially for Caroline. It’s brought it all back; the happiness she and Joseph shared and the tragedy of his death. Sorry if it upsets you, saying this, but don’t you think they were wrong to set up home in the very place Caroline intended to live with your Joseph?”
“I thought so at the time. I still think so, but I daren’t mention it.”
“Pity, it might have helped. They used to meet here before they told anyone they loved each other, didn’t they? Secret meetings that must give every room a special memory.”
“Exactly. How could Barry expect her to live with him in a place resounding with such memories?”
At the top of the stairs, Barry was listening. He hadn’t given a moment’s thought to Caroline’s request for them to live somewhere else. What nonsense to think the flat was the cause of their problem! Caroline wasn’t a fanciful kind of girl and she understood that it wasn’t sensible to pay a high rent when his mother allowed them to live here practically rent-free. But at least it was something to discuss, when everything he said of late was a conversation stopper.
As soon as his mother had gone he went around to the Griffithses in high hopes and asked Caroline if she would start again in a different place.
“Everything else would be the same, would it?” she asked in her quiet, calm voice. “Nothing else would change?”
“I’ll still work hard at building the business and I’m afraid you’ll still have to spend a lot of evenings on your own, but it’s for our future, yours and mine and little Joseph’s.”
“No, Barry. I’m sorry, but I’m staying here with Mam.”
* * *
The wedding dress was delivered to Goldings Street and Victoria carried it upstairs to the small bedroom she shared with her mother. The wardrobe was old and smelled slightly of damp so she hung it on the picture rail and sat on the bed to admire it.
Her mother followed her up and sat beside her.
“Go on, try it on again,” she coaxed. “The boys won’t be home for ages yet and the youngsters are both asleep.”
Together they removed the tissue that protected its shoulders and, with her face aglow, Victoria stood and allowed her mother to slip the dress over her head. It felt crisp and cool and gave her a feeling of excitement the like of which she had never known. Jack would see her in this as she walked down the aisle to become his wife.
Entering the church filled with people would be terrifying, but once she could see Jack, the faces would fade to a misty haze and she would be aware of no one but him. Her face glowed with happiness as she imagined it all.
Stepping onto a stool to protect its delicate lace train, she admired herself in the yellow mirror on the old wardrobe.
“Jack will be so proud,” her mother whispered.
“And so will I. The Westons will never have had such a lovely bride.”
The Westons. For a moment Victoria had forgotten them. That sea of faces in the church became sharply focused and she saw Jack’s family looking at her with their false smiles. They would all be there, watching, criticising and waiting for her to do something embarrassing. Turning away from her reflection she gave a deep sigh.
“It’s a beautiful dress, Mam, but I still wish Jack and I were marrying in a register office. Don’t you?”
“No, dear. Not now I’ve see you wearing this dress. I want the whole town to see how lovely you are.” She guessed the reason for her daughter’s show of nerves and, after hanging up the dress and covering it with tissue paper, she hugged her daughter for a long, long time.
* * *
Frank met Percy as arranged and, this time, he was given more of the plan. He tried to talk himself out of listening. He wanted to get out while he still could. Once he knew the finer details he would be unable to escape, he would be a danger to the other members of the team.
“Don’t tell me, Percy. I’ve changed my mind, I don’t want to know. Find someone else will you? I won’t say a word about it. You can be sure of that.”
“The stockroom will be full, and at the same time there’ll be money to pay the workers. It’ll be there for two nights only, so we have to be ready,” Percy said, ignoring Frank’s plea.
“We’ll be caught.”
“The goods will be taken straight to London and sold on before anyone realises they’re missing. You can safely leave that side of things to me, boy.”
“What about the watchman? He’ll know if he’s been knocked out or coaxed away from his post won’t he? And what about me? Won’t he recognise me if I sit and have a cup of tea with him all cosy like, and put a few tablets in to close his eyes for a few hours? No Percy. I’m out of it.”
“Too late for that. We can’t risk anything at this late stage, boy.” He smiled in the darkness and added, “You haven’t asked yet where it’s to be.”
“I don’t want to know. Count me out before you tell me.”
“It’s Waterman and Francis.”
“What? Then you know I can’t do it! That’s where our Basil works!”
“And that is exactly why you must, boy.”
Chapter Nine
Charlie spent a couple of hours every evening helping Gwyn to ride his new bicycle. Once he had cleaned himself up after his day in Windsor’s Garage, he prepared a meal and then gave the boy his attention. After three sessions, Gwyn was able to ride a wobbly course up and down the stretch of road from the corner near Temptations to the next corner and back again but he wouldn’t let him go out on his own.
“I want to be sure he’s safe,” Charlie told Rhiannon when she had overheard his son’s pleading. “At the weekend I’ll go out with him and then perhaps—” He grinned at Gwyn.
“Perhaps, is it, Dad? That usually means yes,” he confided to Rhiannon.
“If you fancy coming with us,” Charlie invited. “We won’t be going far, just to the beach and back.” He stepped closer and added, “Gwyn doesn’t realise it yet, but he’ll be fit to drop after a couple of hours concentrated riding.”
“I’d like to, Charlie, but I’m not sure.”
“Glad to have you with us if you ca
n.” He smiled.
She turned to go, giving Gwyn an encouraging wave as he stopped to allow a van, slowly cruising along the street, to pass him.
Charlie said, “That’s funny, I’m sure that’s the van I worked on when I first started at Windsor’s.”
“So?” Rhiannon queried.
“So why is it a different colour and why do I think the number is different?”
“Come on, Charlie, you have to be mistaken. You can’t remember all the numbers of vans you’ve worked on!”
“Plenty of cars and a few motor-bikes, but only two vans and I remember that one because it was the first one Mr Windsor trusted me with. I recognise the damage to the mudguards and the pattern of rust under the passenger door. It was green and now it’s a badly-painted grey. It’s changed. And that’s for definite.”
“If you’re sure, shouldn’t you tell the police?”
“Ha! I can just imagine them listening to me, an ex-burglar. Listen with bated breath they will!”
“Then you aren’t sure,” she challenged.
“Oh, I’m certain. The colour’s changed and that numberplate isn’t the one it had when I worked on it. In fact I can soon check. The number will be in Mr Windsor’s book.”
“Why would someone want to change the number?”
“I don’t know,” Charlie shrugged, “but it can’t be innocent fun, can it?”
“Tell the police.”
“Come with me?”
* * *
The sergeant was very off-hand, but told them the matter would be investigated and when they emerged from his solemn presence, they both burst out laughing. “Fat lot of good that’s done!” Charlie sighed. “Probably thinks I’m inventing an alibi.”
* * *
Helen Gunner lived not far from Gladys and Arfon Weston, although her family had never been included in the circle of people whom Gladys considered acceptable. Her father worked as a painter and decorator and had contracts to keep the schools and libraries of the town in good order. Comfortably placed but not pretentious, the Gunners lived simply in a modest terraced house, and had two holidays a year, one in Butlins holiday camp and one at Bournemouth in a boarding house.
Helen’s father, Wilfred Gunner, knew Viv Lewis as he sometimes bought his supplies at Weston’s Wallpaper and Paint stores. “Decent chap,” he told his wife, “and he’s a friend of the Griffithses.”
“Pity for him,” Gloria said through pursed lips. Gloria Gunner was acquainted with Caroline Martin, whom she described as “the least worst” of the Griffithses. Being a dressmaker, she used the wool shop where Caroline worked for all her sewing needs.
Mrs Gunner continued to be unhappy about her daughter’s involvement with Ernie Griffiths, as, besides belonging to that notorious family, he didn’t have a trade. Having a list of court appearances against his name, even though they were mostly for poaching and trespass, didn’t augur well for his prospects in getting one either. She tried every way she could to discourage her daughter from seeing him, but Helen was adamant.
“I’ll look at no one else, Mam. It’s Ernie Griffiths or a nunnery!”
“Now you’re being ridiculous.”
“So are you, inviting him here and trying to trip him up with all your tests.”
“What is the girl talking about?” Gloria looked at her husband and shrugged. Wilfred grinned and said nothing.
After a few more visits in which Wilfred opened up to the young man and tried to make him feel more comfortable in the neat and orderly house, Gloria relented.
“He’s untrained but malleable enough for our Helen to do something with,” she confided in her husband.
“You talk about him as if he’s a gorilla,” Wilfred protested.
“Is he the kind of young man you want our daughter to marry? Is he?”
“We could lose her,” Wilfred warned. “Best we make him welcome.”
Gloria reluctantly agreed, still clinging to the hope that Ernie Griffiths was a novelty, a fascination with which Helen would soon tire.
* * *
Helen worked in a large grocer’s shop and was presently involved in making an impressive display of the new fats they would be selling once rationing finally ended. Pyramids of one pound and half-pound boxes of Spry and Trex, which promised pastry that melted in the mouth, made a window display that attracted a lot of attention. Whole fifty-six pound cheddar cheeses were exhibited with Caerphilly and Gouda decorated with Danish Blue and the cheerful red Edam and many more. Fruit was added to the eye-catching display, making passersby stop, look, and pop in to ask when these exciting items could be bought.
All this was to remind shoppers that from the third of July they could forget weekly allowances and buy in quantities only limited by their pocket. Bacon and ham had been off-ration since May, but the display in the main window showed models of pigs routing in clean sweet-smelling straw, and artificial sides of bacon amid the rest, all decorated with flags and bunting to mark the end of all food rationing.
It was reported that people were planning to gather together and burn their ration books, the fire a symbol of the end of frugality, and a celebration of a new beginning, the prosperity that was to come.
* * *
“I’m going to eat butter until it comes out of my ears.”
“Cheese on toast with more cheese than toast.”
“Imagine making proper pastry instead of making do with a miserable scrape of fat.”
“Strawberries smothered in cream!”
Everyone had something they had only dreamed of for the past fourteen years.
Stepping outside to check on her display, Helen almost knocked over Janet Griffiths who was standing there studying the new products, many of them never seen before. Clutching her hand was Joseph.
After discussing the window’s contents briefly, Janet said, “Half-day today, isn’t it, Helen? Fancy coming over for a cup of tea?”
“Love to. Thanks,” Helen said as she tripped back inside. That was a step forward, being invited to visit Ernie’s mother by Ernie’s mother. She was even more than usually light-hearted as she cleared away the rubbish left from her work on the window, and went to ask the manager to examine and judge her efforts.
* * *
When she arrived at the Griffiths’s house, Caroline was there. She smiled and appeared friendly enough, but Helen found it difficult to involve her in conversation. She wondered if her subdued mood was because she didn’t approve of her interest in her brother, but being an optimistic young woman, put that idea aside and decided Caroline was feeling low because of the estrangement with her husband, Barry Martin. She wasn’t clear about what was going on, as Ernie seemed unwilling to discuss his sister’s affairs.
While Janet was in the kitchen preparing tea, she tried to persuade the quiet young woman to open up, but Caroline seemed lost in her own thoughts. All Helen had gleaned from Ernie, was that she no longer lived with her husband. Caroline’s withdrawn state made it impossible to bring the conversation around to that personal and painful matter, so while she waited for Janet’s return, she talked to the little boy.
She wasn’t easy with children. They stared so. But she had to make an effort. She was thankful when Janet had made the tea, set the table and returned to sit with them.
“Have you made any more progress in the search for your sister, Mrs Griffiths?” she asked. “Wouldn’t it be exciting if you found her after all these years? In-laws, out-laws, nephews and nieces and heaven knows who else besides!”
Janet brought out the box in which she kept all the information they had so far learned, and gave her the letters to read.
“A policeman she married, was it? Couldn’t you find something out from the police then?”
“He left soon after Marion left the farm.”
“What about an advertisement in a few newspapers, then? That might rouse a few memories. Our brains only need a bit of a jog sometimes for all sorts of forgotten things to spill out.”
“You can be too close to the problem to see it easily,” Helen chirped knowingly. “‘Can’t see the wood for the trees’ sounds daft but makes sense really, doesn’t it?”
Janet glanced at Caroline and they shared a smile. When Helen had gone, she turned to her daughter and mused,
“I wonder if Ernie knows how that bright, lively girl will change his life? At the moment he’s so dazed by love he can’t see the wood for the trees either!”
“You can be blinded by love,” Caroline said sadly. “I didn’t see clearly when Barry said he loved me, did I?”
“Perhaps it’s now that your sight is distorted, love,” Janet replied as she gathered up the plates and took them into the kitchen.
When Caroline and her mother went the following week to visit one of the addresses on the letters from Marion, Janet invited Helen to go with them. They took the van and a picnic and went through the pretty villages of Glamorgan Vale. They found the address they were searching for after being confused by false instructions several times, but to their disappointment the house they were seeking had been demolished.
Janet shrugged off her disappointment saying, “What was it about my sister? First Spring Cottage left to fall down and now this one pulled down. A vandal was she?”
Janet was aware that Caroline was even quieter than usual. She was always one to sit back and let others talk, but accompanied by the lively chatterbox that was Helen Gunner, she seemed to have sunk deeper and deeper into her shell. She began to wish she hadn’t invited the girl. Perhaps, if she and Caroline had come alone Caroline might have been persuaded to talk about what was troubling her. She was well aware that Caroline had once tried to kill herself, just after the death of her fiancé, Joseph Martin, when she had discovered she was to have his child. Although reassured by all who knew of it, there was always the fear in her heart that her beloved daughter might reach those depths again.