They parted near Goldings Street and Viv hurried on to where Jack lived with his parents. Although they were not the close friends they had once been, they had recovered sufficiently to enjoy an occasional hour’s fishing. Conversation did not flow as freely, confidences were withheld, but neither had many close friends and in the brief absence they had missed each other.
Using bread as bait they caught five grey mullet and argued amiably about who should have the odd one. In fact they each went home empty-handed, as Jack suggested they left the five fish with Victoria to help her feed her brothers and sisters, and their mother, recently discharged from hospital.
The house was surprisingly cheerful. In a corner a shabby Christmas tree stood and the children had draped it with strips of coloured paper cut from comics, and drawings of what Jack presumed was Father Christmas and snowmen. “A bit early, isn’t it?” Jack laughed.
Victoria smiled and assured him it was “only a practice.”
Jack and Viv went into the scullery to clean and gut the fish. Victoria’s mother was ironing the children’s clothes ready for the morning.
Mrs Jones looked very different from when Jack had last seen her. She was still very thin, her eyes huge in the drawn face, but bright without the enlargement of tears. The bruises were still visible but considerably faded and she was neatly dressed, her late pregnancy hardly visible on the small frame.
“Sad to say, Viv,” Jack said quietly as they prepared to leave, “but that Steve Jones isn’t missed, is he? Better off without him they are.”
When they were turning the corner of Goldings Street, they saw a small boy dart across the road and disappear into the wasteland that had been Philips Street.
“That was Gwyn Bevan wasn’t it?” Viv said. “I wonder what trouble he’s up to?”
“The sneaky way he hurried out of sight, he’s up to no good for sure,” Jack muttered. “He’s practically given up on school although he’s no more than eleven. Hardly ever there and the school board man can’t get any sense out of poor old Maggie Wilpin. Threatened her with court and all, but nothing makes any difference.”
“Perhaps when his father’s out of prison things will improve.”
“And pigs might fly and we’ll have to shoot for bacon,” they said in unison.
* * *
Gwyn Bevan watched until the two men were out of sight then he hurried back the way he had come and retrieved the basket of potatoes he had hidden when they threatened to cross his path. He generally only stole food, or money to buy some. Vegetables from garden sheds was his regular night’s work, even digging them from gardens when he was sure of not being seen. All to try and persuade his great-grandmother to eat. He smiled in the darkness, wiping his earthy hands down his jumper. She’d enjoyed the eggs he’d taken from Farmer Booker’s hens. And the sweets he’d pinched from Temptations when Rhiannon was upstairs washing her hands.
* * *
Before Viv and Jack parted, Viv dared to ask Jack about his father.
“What will your old man do, now he’s decided not to go back to your grandfather’s shop? Try to get something similar or begin again with something new?”
“I’ve been trying to persuade him to go back to Weston’s Wallpaper and Paint. It’s all he knows.”
“Wasting your time, Jack, he won’t be going back there,” Viv said, edging away, preparing for another row. “I won’t let him and Old Man Arfon needs me more than he needs your father. Sorry I am, but he’s sponged off the old man for years not doing any work.” He stopped as Jack swung around to face him.
“Don’t you think it’s time you stopped interfering in our family, Viv Lewis?” Jack demanded. “Ruined us you did, and now you fancy yourself in the role of saviour!”
“Like it or not, I’m the one to save the business!” Viv shouted. “If you really want to help your father, tell him to forget about going back to Weston’s. Persuade him to get a job, any job, just make damned sure it’s somewhere where he’ll have to work bloody hard. It’ll be the first time in his life!”
Regretting his outburst, yet at the same time knowing he couldn’t have answered any differently, Viv ran home.
* * *
Viv and Jack weren’t the only people discussing Islwyn that evening. His wife Sian and her twin sister Sally were sitting in Sian’s kitchen wondering how they could persuade their husbands to find themselves a job. Sian was decorating a cake for a friend’s birthday, with crystallised violets and a thin dusting of sugar.
“It isn’t easy for Islwyn,” Sally said, “with the suspicions about his taking more from the firm than he was entitled to, but why doesn’t my Ryan find something? It’s been months, and our savings are going down at an alarming rate.”
“Ours too,” Sian sighed. “And now we have this party of Mother’s to deal with. New dresses and shoes and heaven alone knows what else we’ll have to pay for.”
“I’ve tried talking to Ryan but he seems determined to reduce us to poverty to spite Daddy for not continuing to support us. Stopping his wages was a terrible blow to his pride.”
“Hasn’t he thought of looking for something?”
Sian laughed. “Oh yes. He offered to go to see if this rival firm would take him on. Can you imagine what Daddy would have said to that? His son-in-law working for the competition?”
Sally secretly thought Arfon would consider it an advantage for Weston’s Wallpaper and Paint, if the lazy Ryan began to work for the enemy, but she said nothing.
“I’m going to have a strong word with Islwyn, make him see that he can’t hide for the rest of his life,” Sian said. “I really don’t care what he does, as long as he does something. He can do anything at all, I won’t be embarrassed.”
“Anything?” Sally stressed.
“Absolutely anything!”
* * *
Rhiannon had walked uneventfully across the fields to where the Griffithses’ house stood far from the rest. Lights shone from every window and as usual, doors and windows were open to the chilly night. The Griffithses were frowned upon by many, having no regular work yet seeming to lack very little. They even had a television which blared away in the background. And a three pound licence proudly displayed! They all had so much to say, so many stories to share, Rhiannon thought the only difference television had made to the household was to make them shout louder as they exchanged views and discussed their day.
Janet Griffiths was small, wiry and ruled them with quiet determination. Her husband, Hywel was stockily built, bearded and with a laugh that frightened the birds from the trees. Their three sons, Basil, Frank, and Ernie – who was in fact an orphaned nephew – were constantly in trouble with the local police. Basil for poaching and trespass, Frank, Ernie and on occasions their father, Hywel, for fighting.
Basil was like a brittle sapling, so tall and thin he seemed unsafe in anything stronger than a light breeze. The only one with a job, he was packing the sandwiches Eleri had made, into an ex-army rucksack ready for work. He was a nightwatchman in a factory and since marrying Eleri had managed to keep his job and even been complimented on his reliability.
He missed the privacy of their flat in Trellis Street, but with the baby due so soon, and having to be out at night, Basil had persuaded Eleri to live with his parents until the birth.
“Mam knows about babies, you’ll be safe with her,” he told her now as he anxiously and reluctantly surrendered to the clock and walked to the door. “Take care of her, Mam,” he called back – twice.
His sister Caroline laughed as she turned the clothes on the clothes horse in front of the fire. “Who’d have thought our Basil would have become such a caring husband, Mam?”
Janet smiled at Caroline then turned to Eleri and added affectionately, “So good for him you’ve been, Eleri. Loves you, our Basil does, and love can change a person quicker than the sun brings the day.”
“One of your mother-in-law’s sayings, Mam?” Caroline smiled.
Caroline held her
hand up then and listened intently before slipping out of the overcrowded room and running up to attend to her son. Joseph Martin had woken and needed prompt attention.
* * *
Walking back through the dark fields held no terror for Rhiannon. She had lived in the area all her life and from a small child had gradually explored until she knew every path and every tree. She was humming to herself, occasionally singing the words to Frankie Laine’s ‘I Believe’, when she heard the rustling. She wasn’t worried, it would only be an animal foraging. She wished she could see what it was; it would be exciting to see a fox, or better still a badger as she once had on this very stretch of lane. But suddenly and alarmingly the sound increased, a shadow loomed up in front of her and seemed to engulf her before she was grabbed and shaken.
Taken unawares, she didn’t struggle but flopped about like a rag doll as he shook her and slapped her. He punched her shoulder and the side of her face before taking her bag and dropping her to the ground.
She lay there stunned, listening as he ran off, crashing through the undergrowth, until the sound faded. If it wasn’t for the pain in the tops of her arms where he had held her and the stinging sensation on the side of her face, she might have thought she’d dreamed the whole thing.
She stood up slowly, as if from a deep sleep and, staggering at first, walked down the lane, hurrying as her strength and wits returned. She was afraid to look back but could imagine him following her, creeping behind her, preparing to pounce. The chill in her back was like an exposed target.
When she reached the street she almost knocked on the first door she came to but the need to put distance between herself and her attacker, plus the primitive need to be safe inside her own home, gave speed to her feet and she was almost running by the time she reached Sophie Street.
Barry was locking the door of the sweet shop and she called out to him and ran into his arms. Explanations were brief before he led her to her front door.
His impulse had been to take her to his flat above the shop but she needed to be home and he didn’t argue. Either way, they needed to inform the police immediately.
“Not that it will do much good,” Barry explained to Rhiannon and her mother. “Whoever it was will be long gone.”
“Where was it?” Viv demanded. On being given directions he wanted to leave straight away to look for the man but Rhiannon asked him to stay.
“Was there much money in your bag?” Dora asked.
“Yes. About fifteen shillings. But he didn’t have to hit me, I’d have given it without him shaking me and hitting me.” She shuddered then began to cry. “I was so helpless, being held by him and shaken like that. It seemed to go on for ever. He didn’t make a sound, and all I can remember is the smell of woodsmoke and earth.”
“A tramp, for sure,” Dora said. “Filthy creature, attacking someone for money instead of finding a job!”
The police interviewed her and spoke soothingly, reassuring her that she needn’t be afraid of going out, the chances of it happening again were unlikely.
“That young fellow-me-lad will be miles away by now,” the constable told her.
“You know him?” Barry asked with a frown. “‘Young fellow-me-lad’, sounds as if you’ve met him before.”
“No, not met him, but there are a few young men out of the forces and unsettled. They’re opening more reception shelters to accommodate them, you know. Places where they can get a meal and a bath and a bed for a night or two. They have people they can talk to and the aim is to get them on their way again, get them a job and some hope for a better life.”
“Help them? Help them? In the meantime, girls like my Rhiannon have to put up with being shaken like a terrier with a rat, and robbed of the money they’ve worked hard for? That’s a fine thing!” Dora shouted.
“Most of us need help at some time or another,” the constable said. “We’re the lucky ones that have family and friends who love us. It’s easy to forget there are hundreds who don’t have a soul to support them through bad times. It’s easy to blame them but harder to see their need and offer help,” the policeman said gently.
Viv went out as soon as the policeman had gone and went to talk to Jack, their differences forgotten in the need to search for the man who attacked Rhiannon.
They found no one sleeping in the places they had previously seen used as temporary homes, and towards one o’clock they gave up.
Viv had been feeling guilty ever since the policeman gave the pointed remark about helping rather than criticising and as they parted he said, “Jack, I’m sorry for what I said about your father. I don’t go back on my words so far as having him back at the shop, mind. But I really do think I should stop griping.”
“How kind you are!” Jack said, sarcasm twisting his face.
“Listen to me, I really want to help. He should get a job. He’s slipping into the habit of avoiding people and that could ruin his life.”
“What’s it to you? He’s a thief and not worth a moment’s thought, isn’t he?”
“I can’t change what’s happened or what I did, and I don’t think I would if I could. I’m not one for pretending, but it’s time he was coaxed out of it.”
“You’re so noble aren’t you, Lord Pendragon Island!” Jack began, then he calmed down and agreed. “Oh, damn it all, you’re right. He’s got to be made to face up to himself and stop blaming you for his own failings.”
“We’ll have a chinwag with the others and see if we can come up with any ideas.”
Their precarious friendship patched up once again, they went their separate ways.
* * *
Rhiannon went to bed and for a while, Barry sat with her, with Dora in and out, bristling like a guard dog.
“If you want to go and see Eleri, tell me and I’ll go with you,” Barry said. “It frightens me how easily you might have been harmed.”
“I’ll be all right. After a few days I’ll be able to forget the fright. It won’t happen again, the police were right, he’s probably miles from Pendragon Island by now.”
“You know I care for you, and I want to protect you from anything unpleasant. Please, Rhiannon, tell me when you’re going and I’ll go with you.”
“Barry, how can I promise that? You might be working. Out of town. Anything. Photography isn’t a nine to five job. Parties, office do’s, weddings, they all take you out in the evenings. That’s why we see so little of each other these days. Isn’t it?”
Barry recognised the hint of censure and hugged her, releasing her quickly as Dora’s footsteps approached once more.
“I don’t like being away from you, love,” he whispered. “I want to marry you, share my life with you, it’s you who make excuses not to see me, afraid of gossip, mistrusting me, not taking my word that Caroline and I are going ahead with a divorce. We are, you know. The solicitor has it in hand and we both want to be separated as quickly as possible. Although even that’s misleading, separation suggests we were once together and you know we never were, not for one night. The only kisses we have shared have been those of a family: affectionate and loving, not the kisses of lovers.”
“All right, Rhiannon?” Dora asked, walking in and glaring at Barry until he released Rhiannon’s hand. “Time you tried to sleep, isn’t it?”
“Five more minutes, Mam,” Rhiannon pleaded and reluctantly Dora left them.
“Down the bottom of the stairs I’ll be, Barry, listening for if she calls, or if she needs me for anything,” she warned.
“You see a lot of Caroline, though, don’t you?” Rhiannon said. “You go over to the Griffithses’ often. Eleri tells me.”
“My work keeps me busy but I do get lonely sometimes. If you aren’t around, I sometimes call and see Caroline and the baby. I surprise myself by enjoying little Joseph. It’s so sad that his father isn’t here to enjoy him. Joseph would have made such a good father, he had a sense of fun and he’d have been so patient as the little chap explored his world, don’t you think
?”
“You can’t be a substitute, Barry, not if you’re going to leave them. It wouldn’t be fair for Joseph to have you around then for you to vanish.”
“Hardly vanish, love. We’ll still see them, won’t we? Marrying you won’t cancel the fact that Joseph is my nephew.”
Aching from the attack, Rhiannon thought the ache in her heart was the greater. It was an ache caused by unreasonable jealousy. The look on Barry’s face as he talked about Joseph and Caroline gave his words a distorting echo. It was easy for him to talk about divorcing Caroline but signing on the dotted line might be more difficult.
As his footsteps hurried down the stairs and out of the house she felt it was representative of their love for each other; slipping away, fading and dying.
Barry and Rhiannon had been in love and were talking about an engagement when the accident that killed her brother Lewis-boy and Barry’s brother, Joseph, had changed everything. Revelations about her father had caused a rift and, as Caroline was expecting Joseph’s child, Barry had married her so the baby could be born a Martin instead of a Griffiths. Too late, Rhiannon regretted saying goodbye to Barry and now they waited uneasily for a divorce.
Knowing Barry and Caroline were not truly married didn’t prevent Rhiannon from feeling guilty at being seen with him. Going out with him while he was Caroline’s husband might seem to condone her father’s infidelity and that she couldn’t accept. She knew that at this moment, while her mother sat alone, her father was with Barry’s mother, finding happiness with Nia that he could no longer find with his wife.
* * *
Lewis sat for an hour in the flat working on his papers. It was a flat he had hoped to share with Nia but their plans had been aborted by Dora’s illness and they only met there occasionally. Tonight he had tried to phone Nia but she was out. He made himself some tea, cursing the fact that the occasionally-used flat never contained milk, and was sitting day-dreaming about the day when everything would be right, he and Nia together, Dora quiescent, the family accepting the situation. One day, he thought, one day I’ll be living the life I want. He sat up when he heard the sound of a key in the lock. “Nia?” he called as he ran to greet her. “I was walking back from the pictures when I saw the car, my dear,” she said. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
The Weston Girls Page 7