Goodbye to Dreams

by Grace Thompson

  ‘After seven years he couldn’t know he would still affect you so much.’

  ‘He does now,’ Cecily said with a harsh laugh. ‘Left him in no doubt. He touched me and I felt the same as I did all those years ago. How could he stay away without a word all this time then come back and casually tell me he’s marrying someone called Jessie?’

  ‘Give me your coat and hat, I’ll take them upstairs.’

  Ada went to the back bedroom where six-year-old Myfanwy slept. The little girl was again out of the covers, her rosy cheeks fanned by long eyelashes blinking as Ada stepped into the room. The white counterpane had been folded back and had slipped to the floor. ‘Still too early to rise, lovey,’ Ada whispered. She re-covered the child and tiptoed from the room.

  ‘Tell me about the dancing, Auntie Ada,’ the sleeping voice pleaded.

  ‘Later, lovey, when the shop closes, we’ll both tell you all about it.’ She blew a kiss. ‘Cecily,’ she said when she re-joined her sister, ‘I know we’ll be tired, not sleeping last night, but shall we go out again this evening, just for an hour or two? There’s a dance at the Regal Rooms. What d’you say?’ She watched her sister, hoping she would agree. It would be better than her staying home thinking about Danny’s reappearance.

  ‘If I can stay awake past teatime I say yes, we go. If we can get someone to stay with Van. Dadda’s working, remember.’

  There was no time for more than another cup of tea and some toast made in front of the revived fire before they began their day.

  ‘Mad we were, wasting all that time wandering around over the beach instead of coming home to sleep,’ Ada grumbled as she dragged barrels of goods into the shop porch. It was New Year’s Day but they would open for half of the day. Cecily hung up strings of onions and carried baskets of fruit to the window. Oval dishes containing the stiff, board-like salt-fish were placed in the other window on the marble slab. It was heavy work but they were accustomed to dealing with it, had done so for so long that, as Cecily put it, the jobs were only worth two groans now instead of a dozen. It was something that had to be done.

  Inside the shop they displayed dishes of brawn, cooked pigs’ trotters, chitterlings and black pudding, all protected by muslin dipped in vinegar to discourage flies. The shop also had barrels of corn, pigeon food, dog biscuits, lentils, dried peas and rice, a freshly washed scoop in each one. They hung paper bags in bunches in various places around the shop, patted their hair and stood, ready to serve. Owen’s Grocery and Fish was open for business.

  Lots of shelves around the shop were empty, wooden boards with their surfaces knobbly and white with constant scrubbing. If only Dadda would let us expand, Cecily thought each morning as she gazed around the wasted spaces, then we could really show what this shop could do. Stubborn he is and won’t even listen to our ideas.

  Willie returned and was standing by, waiting to deliver orders and deal with anything heavy. They had told him to stay home and get some sleep but he had refused. Miss Cecily and Miss Ada were his responsibility and he took that very seriously.

  ‘Willie, what would we do without you?’ Ada smiled at him.

  Cecily laughed a lot that day. Determined not to allow the unexpected reunion with Danny to disturb her, she sang and joked and seemed in very high spirits and only Ada noticed how frequently she glanced at the door and how her face fell in disappointment every time it was not Danny who walked in.

  When the shop was quiet, which happened too frequently to please Cecily, they went into the living room and watched for customers through the window between the living room and the shop.

  ‘Sinking for a cuppa I am,’ Ada said, and Cecily turned the kettle on its swivel over the fire where it at once began to murmur. They were both achingly tired but remembering the fun of the previous evening and discussing some of the happy moments, they decided it was worth it. Neither mentioned Danny again.

  The clock went slowly: the day seemed neverending. They didn’t close the shop; a few customers might need a few things. It all helped, with business so poor. At five o’clock when Van had been given her tea and was playing ‘shops’ with her dolls under the big table – made into a tent with a blanket – Willie came in from the stables.

  ‘Finished the orders. D’you think I can leave a bit early today?’

  ‘Of course you can. We told you to finish at midday, didn’t we?’

  ‘Well, there were a few customers hanging about and the stables needed cleaning.’

  ‘Thanks for staying,’ Cecily said. ‘And thank you for waiting for us last night. The drive around the beach made a perfect end to the evening. Did your mam mind? You being so late?’

  ‘No trouble.’ He nodded in the direction of the stables. ‘The horses are fed and everything is put away for the night. See you tomorrow.’

  ‘Wait,’ Ada called after him. ‘There’s some fresh plaice left. Take it for your mam, will you? Loves a bit of plaice, doesn’t she?’

  Willie thanked them and left – to face a situation he had been dreading for more than a week.

  The house where Willie lived was a poor one, with a holed, badly leaking roof. The walls were of earth which had once been whitewashed but were now a dirty brown, coloured with lichen and mosses and patches of strong-smelling mildew.

  It was damp inside and far too small for Willie’s family, but with only the few shillings earned from his job at Owen’s shop and the odd extras from running errands or cleaning stables and grooming horses for the brewery, he couldn’t see the possibility of ever improving their situation. Now, from the gossip he had picked up, it appeared that his mother was planning to change things.

  It was one of the delivery boys from the large and prosperous Waldo Watkins’ grocery store on the main road who had been first to warn him of what was going on at home.

  ‘Don’t rush home on Wednesdays, Willie Morgan,’ Jack Simmons had jeered. ‘Wednesday’s her busy day. Curtains drawn, door shut tight and never answering a knock. Wouldn’t hear if the fire bell rang next to her gate, she wouldn’t, not on Wednesdays!’

  ‘What d’you mean?’ Willie had jumped from the cart and grabbed the head of the boy’s horse to stop him then he leaped on Jack and pulled him off his cart and rolled him on the ground.

  ‘It’s true, Willie Morgan! Your mam’s no better than she should be!’ The hateful words stopped as Willie’s powerful fist hit Jack’s face. Then there were few words, just grunts and shouts of pain as the two young men battered each other almost senseless. A crowd had quickly gathered and formed a ring, calling encouragement to first one then the other as the fight wavered to and fro between the boys.

  Phil Spencer, who ran a small printing business, began to take money on the outcome and, seeing the fight going in favour of Jack Simmons for a while, began to get anxious and looked around wondering whether to make a run for it. But then Willie revived and the fight was his again. Jack was the favourite and to make a profit Phil Spencer needed soft Willie to surprise them.

  When a policeman rode up on his bicycle to see the cause of the uproar, he had to push his way through almost fifty people to reach the now weakly flaying arms of Willie and Jack. He pulled them apart but neither could stand; the battering had made jelly of their muscles.

  The crowd quickly moved away and gathered around the weasel-faced Phil Spencer. He insisted that the result was a draw and there was no payout. It was only the presence of the constable that prevented another, more vicious fight taking place. Both boys were helped back to their respective carts and the horses led the bruised and bloody participants away.

  As Willie, lolling back in his seat, moved past Jack Simmons, he leaned up a little, pretending not to be in pain, and whispered in a voice distorted by a blocked nose, ‘Say another word about my mam and I’ll hammer you proper. Right?’

  ‘Don’t go home early, not on Wednesdays. That’s all I’m sayin’. Hate for you to find them all tucked up in bed. It’s her who needs a hammerin’, not me! Gettin’ talked abo
ut like that ACH Y FIE!’ he shouted as his horse moved on.

  Willie moved as though to pull him out of the cart again and Jack clicked to move his horse faster and hurried away, laughing.

  That had been the first time. Since then, several others had hinted at what went on at home on Wednesdays. Today was the first time he had been able to face going home early to see for himself. There had been several times when he had been close enough to call, delivering groceries not far from home, but he hadn’t been ready to face the confrontation and its aftermath.

  He had been trying – not very hard – to ask the sisters for an early finish for quite a while. He wanted to know but hadn’t the nerve to find out. Today, after bringing the sisters home so late, he had no excuse for not leaving early.

  He walked home, forcing each foot forward, his heavy boots like lead weights. To stop at the park on the way home was a strong temptation. From what he’d heard, the man left at six o’clock, long before he, Willie, was due home. It was rarely earlier than eight before work at the shop and seeing to the horses was done. He dragged himself on. He was sixteen, a man: he had to face the situation and deal with it.

  Chapter Two

  WILLIE WAS JUST sixteen and a tall, rather handsome young man, sure of himself and confident in a way that was unusual in the area and conditions in which he had been brought up. Since his father had died of consumption two years before, he had been the man of the house, caring for his mother and his three younger sisters. Now, things were happening that needed his urgent attention.

  His long legs took him home through the streets and across the fields to the older part of the town where he and his family lived. His face showed a tenseness unusual for him and his hands, swinging to match his strides, were tightly clenched.

  He normally walked down Green Hill, with the house in view for the last few minutes but now, although the darkness of the winter evening prevented anyone from seeing his approach, he turned past the bridge and along Nightingale Lane and reached the house by passing behind the row of willow trees along the meandering brook.

  The door was closed and the curtains drawn. He crept to the window and heard soft voices, one his mother’s, the other that of a man. So Jack Simmons had been right, damn him! He wondered where his sisters were. The door didn’t lock and the bolt across the bottom had long since fallen away from the rotting wood. He pushed against it and the voices stopped. Holding back his temper, but tense with the prospect of a fight, he walked past the peeling walls of the passage and into the small living room.

  The visitor stood up to greet him, and Willie stared. He didn’t know what he’d expected but it wasn’t this. He saw a portly and rather elegantly dressed middle-aged man with his hair combed forward with rather old-fashioned neatness onto his forehead, almost touching his thick dark eyebrows. His clothes were well fitting and he looked successful and assured.

  Willie was conscious of his own shabby hand-me-down trousers and the jacket with torn pockets and buttons missing. He was aware of the shirt, patched and thin, and the white scarf that was an attempt to hide it. They stared at each other for a moment then the man smiled and offered his hand – which Willie ignored.

  ‘Who are you and what do you want?’ Willie demanded.

  ‘I’m a friend of your mother. My name is Derek Camborne. You must be Willie,’ he added as a frightened-looking Mrs Morgan failed to introduce them.

  Belatedly, Mrs Morgan smiled at her son and explained, agitation showing in her blue eyes as she watched Willie’s fists tighten and his stance begin to stiffen.

  ‘Mr Camborne is a dear friend, Willie, and I want him to be your friend too. Sit and talk to him while I get you something to eat, is it? I know you and he will get on, once the ice is broken.’ She edged out of the room and into the smaller room at the back where she hastily prepared a piece of fish ready for the pan waiting near the fire. The anxiety didn’t leave her face as she cooked the food and listened for the dreaded sound of fighting to reach her from the other room.

  When she returned to the living room, both men were seated on the edge of chairs, studying each other, and the air between them prickled.

  ‘Tell him, Derek, dear,’ she urged. ‘There’s no sense in delaying any longer.’

  ‘Your dear mother has consented to marry me,’ Derek said baldly, and he at once moved back as Willie stood and glowered at him.

  ‘Now, Willie,’ his mother said nervously. ‘It’s all decided and there’s nothing you can say that will alter things.’ Her voice was still nervous as she watched her son’s face. ‘It’s happy you should be. Derek will give me and your sisters a good comfortable home in Cardiff and we’ll see you often. Now, what’s there to be upset about that, eh?’

  ‘What about me?’ he asked. ‘You needn’t think I’m moving to Cardiff! I have the Misses Owen to look after. Need me they do.’

  ‘That’s what we thought, Willie.’ Derek smiled, unable to hide his relief. ‘Best you stay here. There’s this house with the rent paid up for a month after we leave. We thought that’s what you’d prefer.’

  ‘Gladys Davies will help if you need her,’ Mrs Morgan added. She sat beside Derek Camborne, calmer now Willie had relaxed from the threatening posture he had shown from the moment he had walked in.

  ‘What sort of house will it be?’ Willie demanded. He tried to think of all the questions he should ask, feeling the need to remind this interloper that he was the head of the family and its guardian. ‘Can you look after them proper? I want to see for myself before they go, mind!’

  ‘Quite right too. I’m impressed with the way you look after your family, Willie. Your father would have been proud of you. Yes, of course come and see where we’ll live. I have a small but well-furnished house and a job in the railway offices so there’s no fear that I won’t take proper care of them. Come often and if there’s anything you can suggest I can do to make things better for them, well, you won’t find me a sluggard in doing it.’

  When the man had gone and the girls were back from their weekly music lesson, paid for by Derek, the family sat and discussed the future. It was clear to Willie that his sisters welcomed the change. His mother’s eyes showed excitement and joy and he knew that however lonely the prospects were for himself, he couldn’t spoil things for them.

  ‘All right, then, I’ll stay in this house, for a while at least, to see how I get on. If it’s too much of an effort to shift for myself I’ll find a room where the landlady will cook for me and do my washing.’ Willie was cheerful as they discussed plans, forcing himself to put aside fear of the empty life ahead of him. ‘But,’ he added, waving a warning finger, ‘I’m going to Cardiff to have a look-see at this man’s house and to ask a lot more questions before you say for definite that you’ll marry him. Right?’

  ‘Of course, Willie, but you’ll find nothing bad about him.’ She patted his arm and added wistfully, ‘Lonely I’ve been since your dad died. I couldn’t miss this chance, now could I? Not with him being such a kind man an’ all.’

  ‘No, Mam. I don’t begrudge you a chance of happiness.’

  ‘Be getting married yourself before long. Everyone remarks on how handsome and clever you are.’ She patted his arm again, then went to rescue the dried-up fish from the oven, chatting as she went. Willie felt a lump fill his throat, aware of how much he would miss her fussing and her chatter. And losing his sisters too. How would he bear not seeing them growing up and becoming prettier and prettier? Proud of his family he was and now he’d have to find something to fill the empty hours in his days and the hollowness in his heart.

  It was nearly ten o’clock and the three girls and his mother settled to sleep on the mattress on the floor of the one bedroom. Willie pulled the couch on which he slept closer to the fire. He longed to rest but he couldn’t. He was painfully tired, every bone a dull ache, but his brain needed stimulation and refused to allow him to sleep.

  He pulled on his shabby jacket, wrapped the long white scarf around
his neck and went out, boots ringing on the cold roads in the old, almost silent, part of the town. He ran until he reached the house where Jack Simmons lived, the boy who worked for Waldo Watkins in the town’s largest grocery store. He called him out and fought him again for being the first to tell him about his mother. This time Jack won but both boys went home satisfied.

  A few weeks into 1930, Willie arrived home to see a horse and cart outside his house. In the light of a lantern held by one of his sisters and another on the cart, people were in and out of the doorway, loading up the few valuables his mother possessed. He turned away and, instead of going home, went to the pictures, walking to each picture house and studying the advertisements outside, marked T for talking, S for silent and T S for part talking. He decided on Sophie Tucker in Honky Tonk, but spent the time thinking not of the story unfolding before him but of the empty house awaiting him. He was hungry and wished he’d spent the money on fish and chips.

  It was strange stepping into the dark house. The smell of dampness seemed intensified by the absence of his family. Moving out their possessions had disturbed its dankness. The fire was almost out and he knew that was going to be a problem. He came home so late and to light a fire before he could even boil a kettle – he’d ask a neighbour to feed it for him during the day. Beside the practicalities, the house would seem more welcoming if there was warmth. The silence was absolute. He wished his mam hadn’t taken the cat’s whisker wireless he’d made.

  He lay on the horsehair mattress on the floor of the bedroom and stared up at the calico-rag ceiling. He would make himself a bed. That was what he needed most: a proper bed to put the mattress on and, after that, he’d make a table and a chair. Short-term plans established, he slept.

  He hadn’t told Cecily and Ada about his family leaving. Ashamed somehow, even though Derek Camborne had married his mother and was taking good care of his sisters. He thought about telling them but somehow the words wouldn’t come. Then a week passed, and several more, and he became accustomed to his solitary existence and let the situation slip away into acceptance without a word to anyone.