“Being looked after by Mam, she’s fine. Rhiannon’s with her now. Doing each other’s hair or something I mustn’t witness. I’ll tell her you were asking.”
Eleri had once been married to Viv’s brother who had been killed in a car accident and she was now the wife of Basil Griffiths. Although no longer related, Viv and his sister Rhiannon remained close friends of Eleri. Rhiannon and Eleri particularly, spent a lot of time together.
Basil and Eleri lived in a flat in Trellis Street but with Eleri’s baby due in November, she and Basil had closed up their flat and gone to live temporarily, with Basil’s parents.
The Griffiths family lived on the edge of the town in a house that was shabby but always filled with people. Janet and Hywel’s son Frank and their nephew Ernie lived at home, and their daughter Caroline also shared the limited accommodation, with her son Joseph.
Hywel Griffiths had extended the place by building a corridor to join up the house with a brick building that had once been a garage, and this had become a bedroom for Frank and Ernie. Even with that addition, there wasn’t much room, but somehow eight disparate people lived in close proximity without disagreements or even irritation.
Basil was the only one who had a job. He had worked as a nightwatchman ever since he had asked Eleri to marry him. The rest lived very comfortably on the occasional ‘deal’ and on what they could scrounge, barter or ‘borrow’ – their euphemism for steal.
Viv glanced at his watch, almost nine o’clock. He walked slowly to the corner of Goldings Street and St Margaret’s Crescent – which, since a bomb had obliterated the curve, was no longer a crescent but two short terraces. Eight years since the end of the war the scars remained. He stood in the shadow of an overgrown hedge until he heard footsteps.
“Joan,” he said in greeting and Arfon and Gladys Weston’s granddaughter took his arm in a cuddly embrace and lightly kissed him.
“Family conference over then?” he asked.
“Will it ever be? Poor Grandfather, he’s so ashamed of my father and Uncle Islwyn, isn’t he? Uncle Islwyn did the stealing, but my father wasn’t much better, doing so little to justify his wages. That was stealing too; taking Grandfather’s money and doing nothing.”
“Except torment me!” Viv added.
They walked along the damp roads, to where a bus stop made a cosy seat out of the draughts and where few people passed. Behind them was a park and rustlings were heard as small animals foraged for earthworms and insects amid the fallen leaves of autumn.
“I asked your grandfather if you’ll come and help in the shop on Saturdays,” Viv said and he smiled in the dark, guessing at the outraged expression on her pretty face as she exclaimed,
“On Saturdays?”
“That’s what he said!” Viv chuckled. “But if you are really ashamed of your father and uncle, you must be willing to help the family recover.”
“All right, so long as I don’t have to deal with boring customers choosing pink for bedrooms and beige – so practical – for the hall.”
“I’ll leave you to enter in the goods we receive. I’m trying to work out a better stock control system so we don’t have too much money lying idle. I’ll put all that aside for you to do each Saturday. Right?”
“Oh, all right,” she said, touching her lips against his. “But you’ll have to keep me sweet or I’ll forget to come.”
“I’ll come and fetch you, drag you to my lair, still wearing your nightie.”
“Oh, Viv. Sometimes you’re impossibly common!”
In the park behind them, Joan’s Uncle Islwyn disturbed the branches and looked to see who was using the bus stop seat. As he guessed, it was his niece Joan and that Viv Lewis. He’d bide his time, and tell Joan’s father when it would have the most effect, like when Ryan was at his most righteous and unforgiving.
“What was that?” Joan whispered in alarm. “I thought I heard someone in the bushes.”
“Probably a rat,” Viv said and was rewarded by Joan clinging even tighter.
Islwyn accepted the remark as an insult and glared angrily through the damp branches before slipping silently away.
Viv walked Joan back to her parents’ house in Glebe Lane and headed for home. It was after ten o’clock and Mam wouldn’t go to bed before someone came in. In the doorway opposite number seven, a form was visible in the poor light from the street lamps.
“Night Maggie,” Viv called, and an arm waved in response. Maggie Wilpin hated night-time which, for her, was filled with an irrational fear that she wouldn’t see the next morning. She would sit outside prolonging the day as much as she could, and shortening the time of danger. Behind her a wireless played softly, and above, her great-grandson Gwyn, who delivered papers for the local shop, lay restless, waiting for her to settle to sleep. When she was in bed, he would climb out of the window and creep along the dark roads trying car doors to see what he could steal. His father had shown him how, and Dad would be out of prison soon. Gwyn smiled in the darkness thinking of the pleasure of showing his father his hoard of successful snatches.
The Lewises’ house was still when Viv stepped inside, the clock ticking abnormally loudly on the wall. His father was dozing on a chair in front of the fire but woke when he spoke to him.
“Your mam isn’t well again,” Lewis Lewis told his son. He nodded towards the grate where a teapot stood covered with its hand-knitted cosy. “Cup of tea fresh made. I’m waiting for Rhiannon to come in then I’m off to bed.”
“I’ll wait if you like, Dad,” Viv offered but was relieved when Lewis shook his head.
“Promised your mother,” Lewis explained with a pained look in the direction of the bedroom. These days they all avoided upsetting Dora, as she lost her temper faster than usual.
Since discovering that Lewis and Nia Martin, who owned Temptations, the sweet shop on the corner, had been having an affair, Dora had been very difficult and on occasions had needed a sedative to calm her, so they all took extra care not to upset her. The situation had been exacerbated by Rhiannon working for Nia Martin, successfully running the sweet shop for her.
Rhiannon arrived before Lewis and Viv had drunk their tea and she looked upset.
“Everything all right, love?” her father asked.
“Oh, I’m a bit fed up that’s all. Eleri is all right, the doctor thinks she might not go as long as they first thought though. She’s getting impatient to have this baby.”
Lewis poured her a cup of tea and said no more. Rhiannon must be thinking her own chances of marrying and having a child were slowly fading, even though she was only twenty. She loved Barry Martin, Nia’s son, but Barry was married and although he was promising to seek a divorce, it was probably upsetting for Rhiannon to see Eleri and Basil happy, and awaiting the arrival of their first child, while she and Barry were having to wait years for him to be free.
Footsteps were heard from upstairs and the trio waited with some trepidation to see what mood Dora was in. She smiled and their shoulders relaxed.
“Hello Rhiannon, love, is Eleri all right?” Reassured on that she turned to her son. “Where’ve you been, Viv, out with someone nice? When are we going to meet her?”
“Who? There’s no ‘Her’ in my life, no time for courting. Good heavens, with all the hours I work? Who’d put up with that?”
“Oh some girls might,” Rhiannon said with a sly wink.
“I went to the pub and had a drink with the Griffiths boys, before that I went to talk to Old Man Arfon, to discuss giving a few peasants the push,” he joked, “that’s about all.” He explained properly then, about having to lose two assistants.
“It does make sense to cut down on your wages bill, son,” Lewis agreed.
“It seems I’m the only one able to drag the Westons out of the mire, Dad,” he said with some pride. “Old Man Arfon trusts me and listens to what I suggest. I must admit it feels good.”
“What about Islwyn and Ryan, when are they going back to work?”
&
nbsp; “They aren’t. At least, not with me they aren’t. I told Old Man Arfon flat, I don’t want two snooty, idle passengers while I’m trying to rescue the business they demolished.”
“And he takes that sort of talk from you?” Dora asked.
“It’s only banter, he knows I don’t mean any disrespect, he enjoys a bit of cheek coming from the working classes,” Viv grinned. He touched his mother’s arm and looked at her seriously. “Mam, you ought to find a job you know. There’s a real shortage of reliable people. Someone good at book-keeping like you are would be a real asset to a struggling firm.”
“Your father can keep me, Viv. Less for him to spend on that Nia Martin then, isn’t there?”
“Nice try, Viv,” Lewis said softly as Rhiannon and her mother went upstairs.
* * *
When Viv had left the Westons’ house, Arfon sat in his study for a long time, contemplating his future plans. That Viv Lewis would feature in them was in no doubt. He had done well to offer that young man a partnership. He was working many more hours than he was paid for, planning and scheming to make a success of the business far more energetically than if he had been on a normal employee status. And the promise of a share of the profits was nothing more than a joke at present, no more than a carrot to urge the boy on to better efforts. Besides the expediency of making him a partner and getting more work out of him, Arfon liked the fiery young man.
He often wondered why he had so much less liking for his own family. He didn’t have to explain things to Viv, or listen to hours of griping about how difficult the job was. Viv met difficulties like a hole in the road, he either bumped across and suffered the slight inconvenience, or went around them. His useless sons-in-law Islwyn and Ryan complained and abandoned the journey. Pity sons-in-law couldn’t be sacked like useless employees!
Gladys popped her head around the door before she went up to bed, to see if he needed anything. Mair had gone home, the maid didn’t sleep in but arrived at eight in the morning and left after preparing supper.
“Is everything all right, dear?” she asked.
Arfon decided that this was a good time to explain to his wife the seriousness of their situation. “That court case is behind us, Gladys, and that’s a relief I can tell you, but no, everything is far from all right.” He reached out and took her hand. “It’s serious, my dear. We’ve absolutely no spare cash. In fact we might have to sell up.”
“Isn’t Viv Lewis doing what you hoped?”
“Oh it isn’t Viv, he’s doing marvellously. Got a flair for business that boy has. If only ours were half as keen and clever we wouldn’t be in this mess. No, the shop will survive, unless we have some real bad luck. It’s just this house and all we do for the family. We’ll have to stop the allowances to the girls straight away, and as for this place,” he looked around him at the warm cosy room in the house where he had brought Gladys as his bride. “It will have to go, dear. We have to sell up and look for something smaller.”
“Nonsense, Arfon. I’m not extravagant, we live comfortably, that’s all. You must admit I’ve never pestered you for a grander house up at the park or near the sea. I’ve been content to live here, where we began.”
“But we keep this large place so there’s room to feed the family several times each week, and accommodate the family at Christmas and so on. And we do support them generously, don’t we?”
“A little perhaps.”
“Gladys, love, we have to point out to Ryan and Islwyn, firmly, that we can do so no longer. It might make them look to their own skills to support their families at last.”
“I suppose it is about time,” Gladys admitted. “But I don’t know whether they are up to it, do you? They’ve always had the business to lean on. A safe and steady income to support them.”
“They don’t realise it yet, but that support has gone and they’ve just fallen over!”
Chapter Two
Old Man Weston hated facing his daughters and telling them he was without funds. Ever since his twin daughters were born he had given them an allowance and it hadn’t ceased upon their marriage and now after forty-one years it must.
Gladys had given one of her demands for the family to gather, and in the large sitting room, where so many family affairs had been discussed, he told them there was no money.
“We can no longer manage your monthly allowance,” he told Sian and Sally sadly. “And,” he added with a glare of disapproval for his sons-in-law, “of course the firm can no longer pay wages to Islwyn and Ryan. It’s a long time since they earned it anyway!” he growled.
“Arfon, dear,” Gladys whispered, “you promised not to upset the girls.”
“I’ve paid most of my debts and I am clear of any further punishments, thankfully,” Arfon went on in his portentous manner, his voice booming out as if he were talking in a large hall instead of his sitting room. “There is precious little left in the kitty, and I have to make sure we have reserves in case of problems.” He turned to his wife and said jokingly, “If you break a window, Gladys my dear, we’ll have to use some of the net we used during the war to hold it together, we can’t afford a new one!”
“Tell Mair, not me,” Gladys hissed, glancing towards the door. “I only have to say ‘good morning’ to Mair for her to drop whatever she’s holding!”
“She’ll have to go,” Jack said, but his grandmother shook her head.
“I can’t manage this house without help.”
“That brings me to another thing. This house,” Arfon began, but Gladys shook her head more urgently and he finished, “— but perhaps another time.”
It was clear that their daughters were concerned.
Having an income from their parents had been so casually accepted that they had never thought about it. Now, the idea of losing both the allowance and their husbands’ wages was frightening. How would they manage? they demanded, Sally petulantly and Sian with some aggression.
“You have husbands, the responsibility is theirs,” Arfon reminded them gently. “It has never been ours, mine and your mother’s, not since you married. We’ve been glad to help, but the responsibility is Ryan’s and Islwyn’s, surely?”
“What if we want to marry, Grandfather, will there be money for that?” Megan surprised them by asking.
“You don’t even have a serious boyfriend so why ask that?” her mother demanded.
“About time they did,” Gladys said. “And don’t worry, dear, we wouldn’t allow you to suffer a Register Office wedding. No, whatever the circumstances, your grandfather and I will see that you and Joan have weddings the town will remember.”
“How?” Arfon said in exasperation. “Damn it all, there’s me telling them there’s no money and you put your oar in and suggest we’ve got a secret hoard!”
“It doesn’t matter, there isn’t anyone in their lives,” their mother said confidently. “I’d know if there were, they’re just tormenting you and making sure they won’t miss a share of whatever’s going. Wicked you are, Mother, the way you indulge them.”
“Only until they make a successful marriage, Sally dear.”
Islwyn gave an unexplained laugh then called Mair to fetch his overcoat. He was always the first to leave. He grabbed his coat as if accusing Mair of trying to steal it, and hurried out into a night that was dark and thick with a fog that almost swallowed up the glow from the street lamps. Melancholy in the darkness, the fog horn gave its wooo-ump, wooo-ump. But even that seemed quieter; deadened by the damp air. Islwyn’s footsteps faded as quickly as his figure dissolved in the gloom.
Making her excuses, Sian went out in search of her husband, but with little hope of seeing him until the small hours.
Jack watched his mother go after his father and sighed. “D’you really imagine my father will find work and keep her, Grandfather?” he asked. “You spoilt them for too long.”
Arfon shrugged and said, “Facts have to be faced and I am in no position to support them any longer. Damn it all, Jack
, they should be helping us at our age, not the other way about!”
“I agree,” Jack said, “but expecting them to take your bounty and at the same time become independent was some hope, Grandfather. Coming for a drink? I’m going to The Railwayman’s for an hour.”
“I think I’ll go to the club. I don’t fancy much company tonight. I’ll find a corner and hide behind a newspaper. You’ve all made me feel more guilty than that judge did!”
* * *
Some hours later, the fog precipitated into rain that chilled the night air and made the street lamps almost useless, so walking became almost as hazardous as the wartime blackout. Arfon stood outside his club fastening his coat against the steady drizzle. Not far to walk, but far enough for him to wish he had brought the car. The shiny wet pavements were deserted. Only a couple arm in arm, strolling along as if the night were warm and bathed in moonlight. Fools, he chuckled, remembering how he and Gladys had done the same thing more than forty years ago.
As he watched, the couple parted after a brief embrace and the girl ran, on ridiculously high heels, to a bus stop. A single decker loomed out of the night spitting water away from its tyres like wings, and Arfon decide to catch a bus for the two stops between the club and his home.
Glancing briefly to check on traffic, he crossed the road in front of the bus which slowed as it approached the stop. A man alighted, calling to his friends and Arfon stepped onto the platform. It was as he was settling into his seat that he realised the girl had disappeared. He looked out of the steamy window and saw her limping in the direction he was travelling. Damn it all, the young woman might not have had the fare on her. He could easily have given her tuppence or thruppence if she needed it.
Around the next corner the girl leaned against a wall and took off her shoes, she hesitated only briefly before pulling off her precious nylons too. She’d have sore feet anyway, no point in ruining her stockings as well! What a hoot, almost bumping into Grandfather Weston like that. He’d have had something to say about her kissing a boy on the street, even if it had been dark!
The Weston Girls Page 2