Making a home for the goats was not as easy as Hywel had anticipated. A quickly tacked-up three-sided box and a few rolls of wire was a serious undertaking by him, but to the goats it was a joke. For his first effort at confining them, he hammered in a few posts to which he attached chicken wire about two-feet-six inches high. This the goats jumped immediately, turning to look at him with an expression on their faces that showed they thought it a game.
The housing was another problem. No temporary lean-to for these cheerful characters. When it rained, they ran for shelter as fast as greyhounds. Having no second coat they felt miserable when wet and were determined not to let it happen. As the first spots touched them they made for the kitchen by the shortest route and there they stayed until it stopped. The back-kitchen was given up to them and they spent the nights there, while Janet used the main kitchen for everything, crowding in the washing bath and the table on which she cleaned and washed vegetables as well as the vegetables themselves. Even the rickety chair on which they cleaned shoes was found a corner, and trying to cook a meal with all the other activities carrying on around her made Janet wish she hadn’t agreed to their keeping goats. Although, come to think of it, she didn’t think she had anyway!
One of the goats, which Hywel had named Ermintrude, took a great liking for Frank and whenever he was around the goat followed him, even trying to squeeze past “sentinel” Janet and trot after him up the stairs.
“Whoever thinks that country life is peaceful ought to try living here for a few days!” Janet sighed one morning.
The enclosure finally succeeded – at least temporarily – when Hywel put up a solid six-foot wire enclosure supported by metal posts and thick, twisted-wire supports. But, as he had spent so much time building abortive fencing there was still no shelter, so their occupation of the kitchen continued, as did Ermintrude’s adoration of Frank. She looked towards the lane each evening, listening for his footsteps, seeming to be aware of his imminent arrival long before the family.
Frank walked disconsolately along the lane towards his home, his two-miles-an-hour, long-legged movement evidence of the previous hour spent in the mourning procession of a local man. His dark suit and white shirt, the highly polished black shoes, all looked out of place on him. His hair, which he always wore extra long, was normally pushed carelessly back, but now it hung, neatly parted, down over his ears.
The reason for the gloomy expression was not sadness for the recently departed but disappointment over the disloyalty of Ernie. He might have used the family van once or twice to impress Helen Gunner, but on the two occasions he had seen him driving it, Ernie had been alone. No, Ernie was up to something. He was making money somehow without dealing him in.
April was coming to its end and celandines and violets carpeted the woods close by. Catkins still hung on the hazels and the hedgerows were splendidly decorated with blackthorn blossom, a few brave hawthorn hinting at the delight to come. But although the signs of spring were all around, the air was crisp with the threat of snow. Daffy snow, Janet called it. Frank idly wondered, during the biting chill of evening, whether he could lock Ernie out and make him sleep in the back-kitchen with those goats. At times like these he remembered that Ernie was a cousin and not a brother and he spitefully wanted to remind him.
A pheasant got up in the field beside which he walked and he raised his arms grasping an imaginary gun, and shouted the thwack of a cartridge that probably would have missed anyway. Basil was the expert with a gun, Frank’s favourite tool was a ferret plus small nets. He wondered idly whether it would be worth going out and bagging a few rabbits. They would earn him money for a pint or two. He kicked at the grass verge and growled out an explosion of anger. He needed to get his hands on big money. What with the fine still to pay and his contribution to the household overdue, life was becoming a worry. “Damn Ernie,” he shouted aloud.
“What’s up with you, then?” a voice asked.
“Nothing to do with you, Percy Flemming!” Frank replied. He had been startled at the man’s silent approach. “And don’t creep up on me like that or you’ll get a nasty shock!”
“Creep up? Damn me, boy, I called you from the corner of the wood and there’s you lost to the world, standing there pretending you could hit that poor pheasant.”
Percy Flemming was a man in his early forties. He had been married twice and lost each of his wives to other men. No one knew how he survived financially on his low wages as assistant gardener at a local hospital, although most suspected it was not honestly. He paid for the upkeep of two illegitimate daughters plus the woman with whom he now lived, Claire Wheel, and their two girls. Claire was a friend of Molly Bondo, a local prostitute, and had shared her occupation before Percy had set her up in a small house near the centre of the town and kept her “decent”. His daughters seemed to lack nothing.
Frank looked at Percy now, smartly dressed in good quality clothes, looking more the country gent than a man who, by all accounts, lived mainly on his wits. Perhaps he could pick up some tips on making money. Percy certainly never seemed short of cash. “I need money desperate, Percy,” he admitted with an exaggeration of his normal lugubrious expression. “There’s the fine, see, and I have to pay Mam and Dad for my keep, and with only our Dad’s van to earn money with, I’m out of ideas.”
“Would a hundred pounds sort you out?” Percy said quietly, after looking at Frank thoughtfully for a long moment. “For a night’s work and a still tongue afterwards, I’ll give you fifty pounds. There’s another fifty in a month’s time if you want it and you manage to keep your mouth shut.”
“What do I do?”
“I have to be convinced you can keep your mouth shut. Not a word to anyone, specially that Ernie. A few pints and he’d gab non-stop.”
“I wouldn’t tell Ernie!” He looked outraged at the suggestion and Percy nodded knowingly.
“Quarrelled have you? Now there’s a pity. When you make it up you’ll share every last thing. I know you two of old.”
“You have my word, Percy. I won’t tell a soul. Ever. Now, what d’you want me to do?” Whatever the job he would do it. Fifty pounds! He could settle his fine and wouldn’t Ernie be narked over that! And he could give Mam a tenner. He doubted whether she’d ever seen a ten pound note. Was there such a thing? Or would he hand it to her in a fan of twenty ten-shilling notes? That would be fun. He smiled as he imagined her face. The smile faded when he saw the doubt on Percy’s face.
“You can trust me,” he assured him. “I want this so bad I’ll do anything.” He had to convince Percy. He had to get one over on Ernie.
Percy stared at him again, as if assessing the risks, then he nodded. “Right then, you’re in.”
Frank went home in a more cheerful state of mind. It was much later before he wondered exactly what Percy had let him “in” for. He tried to reassure himself that the stories about Percy were exaggerated. It couldn’t be anything terrible, Percy wouldn’t get him into real trouble. Although, a hundred pounds was a lot of money and might involve a lot of risk. He shrugged the uneasy thought away. A hundred pounds! The fan of notes swam before his eyes in a dazzling array. Whatever the risk, he was in, and in he would stay.
In Trap Lane, Ernie and Helen were near the gate of Helen’s house, using the tall privet hedge as a screen to hide their goodnight kisses. After a few hurried words confirming their plan to meet later in the week, he reluctantly walked away. Helen watched him go, then turned to walk up the short path to her front door. As she put out a hand to push her key into the lock, the door was wrenched back on its hinges and her mother stood there and demanded how long she had been meeting one of the dreadful Griffithses.
“Oh Mam, they aren’t that bad, just a bit different, that’s all.”
“Different? I’ll say they’re different. Thieves they are the lot of them. You don’t see him again, d’you understand?”
“Sorry, Mam, but Ernie and I like each other a lot. I like all of the Griffithses, they’re good fun. I have no intention of ending our friendship.”
“Friendship? Is that all it is?”
“For the moment,” Helen said, glaring at her mother. There was a look in Helen’s eyes that Gloria Gunner recognised of old. It had appeared the time they had tried to make her stay at school and she had been determined to leave. And again when she had asked to go to London with two friends to visit the relation of one of them and they thought her too young. Without another word being spoken, Gloria knew that to argue now would only entrench them in a battle of wills, which she would almost certainly lose.
“Your father and I insist that you bring him here so we can judge him for ourselves,” she said finally. If she made sure to pull out all the stops and prepare a grand meal with serviettes and an array of cutlery, Ernie was sure to be ill at ease. That would show Helen how unsuitable he was. Better than trying to make her point with words. A little subtle action was called for here.
Dora and Sian met at seven Sophie Street to complete a menu that would please Gladys Weston, a daunting task but one which they were determined to achieve.
“Your Viv doesn’t like us doing the catering for his wedding any more than my mother does,” Sian admitted when they took out their lists and compared notes.
“All the more reason for getting it right,” Dora said firmly. “Thank goodness rationing will be finished by then.”
“D’you think it will? I can hardly believe it after so long.”
“Joints of ham and pork will be easily dealt with the day before, and we can do some large flans too.”
“Oh yes. They add to the table displays, don’t they?” Sian ticked away at her list. “Then there’ll only be the vegetables and salads to do on the day, that shouldn’t be difficult, so long as we start early.”
“We need to be at the hall by seven, if we can get the key.”
“Mother’s talking about vol-au-vents for a starter,” Sian said, referring again to her list.
“Unless she wants to roll up her sleeves and make them, she’ll have soup and like it,” Dora said.
They made a diary of things to do and then went to look at Gomer Hall to make sure they had a clear picture of the kitchen facilities and how they would set out the tables.
The hall was rather shabby having been untouched throughout the war and the years following. Being empty, it was easy to see the worn decorations, the peeling and chipped paint. It was a dirty cream and a gingery brown on which an attempt had been made to brighten it with borders of stencilled green leaves and flowers.
“My mother will have a fit!” Sian exclaimed. “A Weston wedding in a place like this!”
“Once the tables are set and flowers add their colour she won’t notice the walls. When we’ve finished, every eye will be drawn to the tables, I promise you,” Dora assured her friend.
“I’ve never been here before, have you?” Sian said when they stepped through the double doors.
“Yes, years ago, when Lewis and I enjoyed dancing. It seems strange to remember those times now our Rhiannon and Viv come here and do the same.”
“Not quite the same,” Sian chuckled as they went through the foyer and into the main hall. “Rock ’n roll, jitterbugging and jive doesn’t have the same ring as the slow foxtrot and the Viennese waltz.”
“They don’t allow much of that carry-on,” Dora said with a grin and she pointed to a notice hanging in the corner of the hall: “Jitterbuggers keep to the corners”.
Despite their rather prim image, the dance classes at Gomer Hall were very popular. Basil and Eleri went whenever they could arrange for Janet and Hywel or Dora to look after Ronnie. Rhiannon was usually there with Jimmy Herbert, Viv and Joan, Frank and Ernie, plus several other friends. Basil’s work as night-watchman meant he had to leave before nine, but if Eleri stayed on, she would be seen safely home by Frank or Viv when the class ended at ten o’clock. Basil didn’t mind her staying. With their second child due around Christmas, he wanted Eleri to have fun while she could.
He knew she missed Rhiannon, having lived with the Lewises throughout her first marriage, and after Lewis-boy’s death, right up to her marriage to him fourteen months ago. They were as much like sisters as Ernie was like his and Frank’s brother.
When they walked into the over-full hall one evening, he saw Rhiannon and at once guessed she was upset.
“Better go and see what’s up, love,” he said to Eleri, nodding in the direction of Rhiannon. “Had a fall-out with young Jimmy I expect.”
“I’ve just told Jimmy I don’t want to go out with him any more,” Rhiannon confided when she and Eleri were alone in the cloakroom.
“I thought you liked him?”
“I do, but not enough. I don’t want us to drift into an engagement and a marriage in a casual way. I like him very much, but I don’t want to spend my life with him.”
“Are you going to stay, or go home? I’ll come with you, shall I?”
“I want to run away and hide, but I won’t. If I mean what I told him, that I want to build a life on my own, then I have to stay don’t I? I have to feel able to come to the dance class without him. I have to accept that I’m no longer one of a couple.”
“Come on, I’ll get Basil to whizz you around the floor a few times, that should shake the blues away. Worse than riding a bad-tempered donkey it is, dancing with my Basil.”
Rhiannon smiled. Basil’s dancing was enthusiastic rather than stylish. She wiped her eyes, added more make-up and followed Eleri back into the throng.
Eleri whispered a word or two to her husband and he came over to Rhiannon. Bending his long, lanky frame into a suitable pose, he began to dance and make her laugh, assuring her without needing to put it into words that whatever happened, she was among friends.
Basil left just before nine and Rhiannon sat with Eleri for the last hour, between dances. She danced once with Jimmy, who put no pressure on her to reconsider, twice with Frank. When the last waltz was announced, she ran quickly into the cloakroom. She didn’t want to sit and watch other couples dancing, looking into each other’s eyes, thinking about the slow walk home with their arms around each other, unaware of the cold night air. Slowly, she dressed ready for the solitary walk home.
With Viv and Joan, she went first to Eleri’s flat in Trellis Street where Janet and Hywel were sitting beside a low fire and listening to the radio. Refusing their offer to walk her the short distance back to Sophie Street, she left them and hurried down Brown Street.
It was dark and in the light from the street lamps there was a suspicion of sleet falling. She hardly noticed the cold, she was on the very edge of tears, wanting to turn around and run to where Jimmy parked his car in the hope of seeing him, and begging him to forget what she had said earlier. She stopped on the dark, cold street and wondered if it represented her future, cold and empty. Had she been a fool?
She might still catch him, the hall wouldn’t yet have emptied and he might have stopped outside to talk. With a stifled sob she turned as she reached Temptations on the corner. “Jimmy,” she whispered. “Please be there.” She began to walk back to the hall.
From the corner, where Temptations stood, someone called to her. She gulped down the sadness that choked in her throat and brushed away tears that filled her eyes. Who could it be? She didn’t want to see a soul. A second call, and she turned to recognise a man and a boy with a dog on a lead. Charlie and Gwyn Bevan.
“Rhiannon, have you seen our pup?” Gwyn called. “Our Dad got her for me. Great, isn’t she?”
“Oh, Gwyn she’s beautiful.” He stopped for them to approach her and smiled at Charlie Bevan. “Good idea for him to have a pet. Our Mam was talking about getting one, but she never did. Now we’re all out all day it wouldn’t be fair.”
“I’ll take him to show her, shall I?” the excited boy suggested.
“Thanks, she’ll like that.” Rhiannon picked up the little dog and buried her face in the silky fur. “I wish we had a pet, they’re company when you’re lonely aren’t they?” Tears slipped then as the word lonely reminded her of her parting from Jimmy.
“Go home and give Polly a drink of milk then put her in her bed,” Charlie said to his son. “I’ll be there now in a minute.”
“Is anything wrong, Miss Lewis?” Charlie asked after his son had scampered across the road. “Can I help?”
“Thanks, but I’m all right. I’ve just—” she hesitated, how could she tell a virtual stranger? Then, because he was almost a stranger and knew none of the facts, it all came out. She told him that she had parted from her boyfriend and that she now wished she could run back and ask him to forget her words. “But I know that giving things another chance would be wrong. Ending it and facing the world on my own is hard but I know it’s the right thing to do, for Jimmy and for me,” she finished.
“Sometimes the hardest things to do turn out to be the most important decisions of your life,” was all he said. He took her arm and guided her to the door of number seven. He didn’t ask for explanations, but walked her to her door and saw her safely inside. “Come and see the pup tomorrow if you have time,” he said when they parted. “That son of mine loves showing her off.”
Rhiannon leaned against the inside of the door. The house was silent. Dora was probably in bed and Viv wasn’t yet back from walking Joan home to Glebe Lane. Without putting on a light, she crept upstairs, scrubbed off her make-up and got into bed. It was done and, thanks to Charlie Bevan, she hadn’t run after Jimmy and started it up again.
On Saturdays, Weston’s Wallpaper and Paint Store was always busy. Viv left the upstairs office where he dealt with the paperwork and phone calls, to help with sales. Since they now stocked carpets and a few small items of furniture, business was increasing faster than ever. He had always made it a policy to deal with the customers whenever he could, not wanting to be the sort of manager who sits in isolation, cut off from the comments of the people who buy.
Taking over the running of the business after both old man Arfon’s sons-in-law had been sacked, Viv had worked many extra hours to rebuild the business. Now, with Joan, Arfon’s grand-daughter, beside him, Viv thought he could never be happier. Joan, who with her twin, Megan, had once been notorious for rudeness and outrageous behaviour, now listened patiently to the needs of those who called for advice, helped them choose wallpaper and carpets, and, to her own surprise, took a pride in what she did.
One of their earliest customers that Saturday morning was Jack, Joan’s cousin and one of Viv’s closest friends.
“Oh, here he is, one of the big spenders,” Viv teased. “Why do I think you’re on the scrounge? Battered old tins of paint, slightly damaged wallpaper rolls? Is that it, Jack?”
“Yes and this time it’s for us. Victoria and me! We’re buying a house in Gethyn Street. What d’you think of that then? So besides being cheap, it has to please Victoria, right?”
“Bring her in when we close for lunch and we’ll see what we’ve got.”
“Oh, I can’t. Not lunchtime. Got something on,” Jack said evasively. “Will half-five do?”
“Five-thirty it is.”
“Just as well, really,” Viv said to Joan when Jack had gone. “I want to get those orders written out when the shop’s shut.”
“What about lunch?”
“I’ll nip out and buy a pie at The Railwayman’s.” It was late when Viv entered the pub and he was relieved when the barman nodded to his thumbs-up gesture, and served him with a pie and a pint. He didn’t sit in his usual spot where he met with Basil, Ernie, Jack and the others, but found a quiet corner behind the door. Taking out a newspaper he began to read the latest on the Mau-Mau problem in Kenya, and the Vietnam War where the siege of Dien Bien Phu was being fought, and was glad he didn’t wear a uniform. He had been failed on medical grounds. A damaged knee that didn’t bother him but was enough to prevent his being called up to do National Service.
As it was almost time for lunchtime stop-tap, the bar slowly emptied. Looking up from his paper he was surprised to see he was one of only three people left. One of them was Barry Martin. What was he doing there on a Saturday lunchtime, he wondered? With a wife working just down the road he should be having lunch with her, or looking after their little boy.
“What you doing drinking alone, Barry?” he called. “Caroline fed up with you already, is she?”
“I’ve got an appointment in a few minutes,” Barry replied, leaving his beer and hurrying out. Viv frowned. The way Barry scuttled out it seemed all was not well in the Martins’ love-nest.
The lights were switched off, towels thrown across the pumps, and the only other man there drained his glass and left.
Stretching, Viv prepared to leave. Then he heard Jack’s voice and it was coming from behind the bar. Whatever was he up to? Pressing himself into the shadows, he grinned and waited.
The landlord threw off one of the towels and began explaining to Jack the trick of pulling a good foaming pint.
“What’s this then? Left school at last have you?”
“Viv. Silly sod! You gave me a fright. No, I haven’t been sacked, I haven’t resigned, just curious to know how a pint is pulled. That’s all.”
“All right, I don’t want to know if you don’t want to tell. Part-time job is it?”
“I’m going to work in the bar but not for pay. Right? I told you, I’m curious that’s all.”
“Working for nothing? There’s got to be more to it than that,” Viv retorted as he went out.
“Well there isn’t!” Jack shouted after him. “So mind your business! Right?”
That same lunchtime, Helen Gunner was pushing away the lunch her mother had prepared and glaring at the tablecloth.
“I’m sorry, Helen,” her mother was saying, “but your father and I have discussed it and we have no intention of going to meet the Griffithses. We know enough about them to be sure they aren’t our sort.”
“And to know that we don’t want you mixed up with them either!” Helen’s father, Wilfred, added. Wilfred told Gloria not to invite Ernie but to ignore the situation, convinced that their daughter would soon tire of such a boorish companion. Gloria wasn’t so sure, in fact she had rather looked forward to embarrassing Ernie with her superior knowledge of etiquette. Now, watching her daughter’s face with its combination of anger, determination and pride, she wondered again if they were being wise.
Making a big fuss of putting her untouched meal in the kitchen and putting on her coat, Helen left to return to work in the large grocery shop on the main road. She knew that eating no breakfast and leaving her midday meal, giving the impression that she had eaten nothing since the previous day would worry her parents. She smiled as she bought two sticky buns and went into the park to eat them. She wasn’t worried about their refusal to meet Ernie and visit his family. Mam was a bit above herself but she’d come round. It was the Griffithses she was more concerned for – how would they cope with Mam?
One Sunday morning early in May, Rhiannon was putting the small joint of meat consisting of three small chops, into the oven for lunch when there was a knock at the door. She opened it to see Charlie and Gwyn, who had the struggling puppy in his arms. She invited them in and called Dora.
“Mam, come and see your visitors.”
“Three pounds seven and fourpence halfpenny,” her mother muttered before putting down the pen and coming out of the kitchen.
“Hello Charlie, Gwyn. And who is this then?”
“Polly,” she was told.
She took the puppy and admired her while the boy stood proudly by. Charlie glanced at Rhiannon and asked quietly, “Feeling better?”
“Thanks, I’m all right.”
Dora went into the kitchen and found some treats for both Gwyn and Polly. Charlie shuffled his feet as if undecided whether or not to speak. “Things can change so suddenly you’d never believe,” he said. “I was beginning to think I’d never escape the mess I’d made of my life, but then I was offered a job.”
“At the Windsor garage, Gwyn told me. That’s wonderful.”
“Dogsbody in a garage – it isn’t much, but it’s a beginning. I’m quite a good mechanic and I hope that once they’ve learnt to trust me, ‘train me up’ as Mr Windsor puts it, I’ll be able to progress to better things.”
“I’m sure you will,” Rhiannon said, smiling.
“It’s the boy, see. He’s the reason I have to succeed.”
They listened to the laughter coming from the kitchen and Rhiannon said, “What better reason could you have than a son, specially one like your Gwyn? He tried so hard to care for old Maggie, didn’t he? Now he needs someone to spoil him a bit.”
“Maggie left some money you know. Only a few pounds plus the rent. She’d saved enough to pay the rent on the house for six months and although I’ve been tempted to borrow from it, I haven’t. She knew how important it would be to have the security of a roof over our heads, if I’m to succeed and stay on the straight. It’s still there and I take strictly the right amount every week. Now I have a job I’ll try to keep it in reserve. Perhaps buy a headstone one day, eh?”
“Maggie was a wise old woman and I think she’d prefer you to spend it on things for the living.”
Gwyn came several times after that to show them the pup and occasionally, when Rhiannon opened the door as he was leaving, she saw Charlie standing at his front door, waiting for his son to return. They would smile and wave to each other and Rhiannon found her smile remained for a long time afterwards.
Charlie had been working at the Windsor Garage for a few weeks when Rhiannon passed on a Wednesday afternoon and saw him there. He was working on a big blue van. “Overhauling the engine and making sure it’s giving its best,” he explained. “I told you I’d be given proper work to do once they knew how good I was,” he grinned, his teeth white in his grease-stained face.
“I’m off for a walk,” she explained. “Perhaps I can take Polly when she’s old enough?”
A car squealed to a stop and the driver pressed the horn irritably. Charlie frowned and Rhiannon looked curiously around. “It’s my father,” she said. “What’s upset him I wonder?”
“Get in, Rhiannon,” Lewis Lewis demanded, as she walked over to see what he wanted.
“I’m going through the fields to Tremanor for a walk, hoping to pick some bluebells, I don’t want a lift home,” she said with a laugh.
“I said get in, or I’ll drag you in!”
“Dad? What’s the matter?” she slid into the passenger seat and was jerked back as he accelerated away.
“He’s the matter. That criminal you were talking to and smiling at. That’s what!”
“Charlie Bevan? I was only asking how the job’s going, Dad. What’s wrong with that?”
“Keep away from him. I’m warning you, Rhiannon. Keep away from him or I’ll speak to him and make sure he stays away from you! Right?”
She sat back in the seat and stared into her lap, counting the flowers in the pattern on her dress. She felt like a child caught in some misdemeanour by an unpleasant schoolteacher. He pulled up outside the house and turned to her.
“You and Jimmy, you aren’t seeing each other any more?”
“That’s right, Dad.”
“Is that Charlie Bevan the reason?”
“Of course not! I’ve hardly spoken to him.”
“Not what I’ve heard. Calls often doesn’t he?”
“His son does, Gwyn brings the puppy for Mam to see.”
“Oh, well keep clear of him. He’s trouble. Been in and out of prison more times that I can remember.”
“I know. But he’s trying hard to leave that behind him. He deserves a bit of encouragement, doesn’t he?”
“Not if it’s coming from you he doesn’t!”
She stood at the door, her hand on the key, not wanting to go inside, but neither wanting to return to the walk she had planned. Turning round, she went to see Eleri and Basil and baby Ronnie.
It was a while before she realised that all the time she had been with Eleri she had been talking or thinking about Charlie Bevan. Her father’s reaction had made her realise that he was only a few years older than herself, and also that he was far from unattractive.
Approaching Sophie Street once more, she glanced up at the window of the flat above Temptations. The curtains moved and Caroline waved. Barry’s van wasn’t parked nearby, Caroline was on her own again. It seemed impossible that Barry had an appointment every Wednesday afternoon. He had to be avoiding Caroline on her half-day, instead of welcoming the extra hours in her and Joseph’s company.
She waved a beckoning arm and, when the window was opened, called, “Come and have a cup of tea with me. Dad’s just messed up my walk, Mam’s out and I’d be glad of your company.”
“Are you sure?” Caroline hesitated. She was still embarrassed, meeting Rhiannon, aware of how she had taken Barry from her.
They talked mostly about young Joseph, and Eleri and Basil’s baby Ronnie. Laughing at the funny things children do and avoiding mentioning Barry. But although Caroline gave a good imitation of a happy wife and mother, Rhiannon was more and more convinced that Caroline was lonely. Barry was neglecting her.
Caroline’s face was always ready to smile but today there was a strained look around her jaw and a haunting sadness in the lovely brown eyes that made Rhiannon want to hug her and offer words of comfort. Unable to comment, she bent once again to play with Joseph.
“Did you know Mam is trying to find her long-lost sister?” Caroline said as Rhiannon poured more tea. “Lost for over sixty years, mind, but she’s realised she could still be alive, and is having one last try.”
“How exciting. I don’t know where you’d start on something like that.”
“There’s a village called Cwrt y Celyn, and Auntie Marion worked there for a while when she was very young. She married the local policeman, so we know her married name. We even found the house where they lived, but it’s derelict and the trail’s gone cold from there on.”
“I know Cwrt y Celyn. Gertie Thomas in the corner shop lived there. She might know something.” They discussed the possibilities for a while and decided to call and see Gertie later, when they had drunk their fill of tea.
“You miss them, don’t you?” Rhiannon dared to say. “Your Mam and Dad, your brothers and the lively house where half the village congregates?”
Caroline didn’t trust her voice, she only nodded. Rhiannon decided that next time she saw Eleri she would suggest she called on her sister-in-law each Wednesday, to ease the long hours of Barry’s absence.
On Wednesdays when the shop closed at one o’clock, Gertie often went into Cardiff. This afternoon she hadn’t and was already regretting it. The hours alone behind the shop dragged on her half-day too, and again on Sundays, now she didn’t have old Maggie Wilpin to gossip to. So hearing the knock on the door and seeing Caroline, Joseph and Rhiannon there, gave her great pleasure. Over-full of tea as they were, she insisted on making more while they explained the reason for their visit.
“I remember the farm and the frightening old man who lived there. Was he your grandfather, Caroline? Well I never did! Thank the good Lord you didn’t take after him, then!”
“D’you remember my mother living there? And her brother, Adrian?”
“Pig of a man. Worse than your grandfather he was.”
“And the sister?”
Gertie wrinkled up her face in heavy concentration, but finally shook her head. “Never remember no sister.”
“Marion, her name was,” Caroline coaxed. “Older than Mam. She ran away when she was eleven.”
“Best for her, poor dab.”
Gertie’s face had a faraway look as she remembered the atmosphere of secrecy and rumours of violence surrounding the family but no amount of hinting could rouse the girl called Marion from Gertie’s memories.
“I can see the farm, and I can picture too the old man and his son, but until this very minute I didn’t realise that the little girl who lived there and who was never allowed out to play, was your mam. Funny old world, isn’t it?” she smiled as if the remark were newly minted.
When Caroline went to her parents’ house the following morning to deliver Joseph into their care, she mentioned the conversation with Gertie to her mother. It was a surprise to Janet that Gertie Thomas, whom she had known ever since she and Hywel had married and come to live at the cottage, had been born in the same village as herself.
“Say something more original than, ‘it’s a funny old world’, Mam,” Caroline pleaded.
“My old mother-in-law used to say that coincidences are more common than brown eggs, and the unlikely happens more often then we think,” Janet said.
“Almost as bad,” Caroline teased.
“As soon as I find a minute I’ll go down and have a good chin-wag,” Janet promised. But any hope of Gertie helping her in the search for Marion was already quashed. If Gertie remembered her father and brother and herself, yet had no recollection of Marion, it was unlikely such a memory would return. She sighed. It was all so long ago.