Frank met Percy Flemming one evening without telling anyone where he was going. It wasn’t difficult. Ernie was off meeting that Helen Gunner, or doing a deal of his own. Whatever Ernie was at, he wasn’t giving a thought to what he, Frank, was doing. It hurt. Close friends they’d always been. He nodded a vague cheerio to his mother and went out. Mam and Dad would presume he was going to The Railwayman’s, so they hadn’t bothered to ask. The place Percy had chosen was a bit cloak-and-dagger he thought, with slight irritation. A corner of a field in which Farmer Booker sometimes kept his young steers.
He walked up the lane almost silently in his rubber-soled ‘daps’ and after he had gone a few yards, he realised that someone was following him. If this was Percy having a bit of fun at his expense he’d be very sorry. He stopped and melted into the soft branches of a fir tree. The footsteps came on and he clenched his teeth. “Get ready for a shock, Percy Flemming,” he muttered. The footsteps continued to draw near but in the gloom of the evening, there didn’t appear to be anyone there.
His heart leapt into his mouth and he tensed himself for flight. As he was about to burst out of cover he recognised the unmistakable scent of goat.
“Ermintrude!” he whispered. “Scared me half to death, you did!”
The goat who seemed to think she was a dog, had broken out once again and followed him. It had taken the goats less than three days before they found a way out of the enclosure Hywel had made. The next attempt had been cleared in a few hours. They seemed to treat it like a game, the challenge of outwitting Hywel was great fun. Frank greeted the friendly creature and was rewarded with an exuberant welcome as the goat danced around him in delight. He found a piece of string in his pocket and tied up this newest member of the family, and sat to wait for Percy with a silly grin on his face.
“I didn’t expect you to bring a friend,” Percy chuckled a few moments later.
They walked back in the direction of the Griffithses’ house as Percy presented Frank with his plan, or as much of it as he was willing to tell.
“It’s a factory storeroom,” he said, “where they keep the orders ready for dispatch. I’ve got everything set up, the dates when the contents will be worth taking, when there’ll be money held to pay wages too. And I have a driver standing by as well as someone to take the goods off my hands.”
Frank felt his knees weaken. It sounded very high-risk stuff, a long way from pinching one of Booker’s pheasants. “What d’you want me to do, then?”
“I want you to open the gates and dispose of the watchman.”
“Don’t talk daft, man! How am I to get rid of a nightwatchman?”
“Put him to sleep or distract him. Do it any way you like, but make sure he isn’t around to blow the whistle on us when we go in.”
“I won’t hit anyone, mind! I couldn’t. Our Basil’s a night watchman.”
There was a pause. “I know.”
“When is this to happen?”
“I’ll tell you where and when on the night, you’ll have details when we’re on the way and not before. Not a word, right?” Percy began to walk away and Frank called after him.
“I’m not sure, Percy—”
Percy darted back and held the tall man by the front of his jacket and glared up at him. “You’re in, boy, and there’s no way you can change your mind, right?”
“All right. But is that all you’re saying? I still don’t know what you want me to do!”
“Unlock the gates, that padlock chain looks easy to snap, then make sure the watchman isn’t watching. That isn’t difficult, is it? And,” he added, “leave your friend home.” As the night swallowed him up, Frank heard him laughing.
This was out of his league, Frank knew that much. He had been satisfied with selling a few rabbits and pheasants, and “lifting” an item when the opportunity arose to make a few shillings. But this was serious thieving. The smell of prison seemed to surround him as he walked home through the clear night. Mam and Dad had supported him throughout his various brushes with the law, but would they help him through this if it all went wrong? But in spite of his fears the thought of having fifty pounds in his hand was intoxicating. That, and the thought of getting one over Ernie.
After returning the goat to her pen, he set off again. Walking across the fields to The Railwayman’s, he thought about his attitude towards Ernie and his girlfriend, Helen. A part of his resentment was the fear of being on his own. All his life he’d had a willing partner with Ernie, whatever he had planned. He had never been without company either, never without someone to listen when things were good, or console him when his plans weren’t going smoothly.
There had been girlfriends in the past, but they had never been important enough to separate him from Ernie, in fact the choice of girls to take out was decided by whether or not there were two of them. Now it seemed likely to change and Frank wasn’t ready for it.
He walked into the bar and stared in amazement. There, behind the counter, pulling a pint like an expert, was Jack Weston.
“No, I haven’t been sacked and no, it isn’t a part-time job,” Jack pre-empted him. “I was curious, that’s all. I wanted to find out how to pull a pint. Right?”
Frank chuckled. It sounded as though Jack had been called to explain himself time and again. Serve him right, larking about on the wrong side of the counter. He found himself a seat beside Viv and Basil, called for a pint and snapped his fingers at Jack for service. Jack’s response was another gesture, even less polite.
“Want to earn some money?” Jack called across during a lull in serving.
“Don’t be daft, when do I not?” Frank replied. “But you aren’t getting me behind no bar, mind. Disorientated completely I’d be, behind there.”
“I’m buying a house. We need someone to do a bit of decorating.”
Frank groaned. Wallpapering he could do without. “If there’s one thing I hate, it’s wallpapering,” he began, but he hesitated. It might be a good idea to accept. If he had money it was a wise move to have some way of accounting for it. “All right, I’ll come and see you at the weekend.”
Ernie came in just before stop-tap and they walked home together across the fields.
“Jack wants me to do some decorating,” Frank said.
“I’m in if you want help,” Ernie said. “I need a bit of extra money.”
“I guessed as much, you going off and doing deals on your own. You haven’t started gambling have you?”
“No, and I haven’t been doing deals without counting you in, either!”
“That’s what you tell me! Using that Helen Gunner as a cover, even bringing her to the house to meet Mam.”
Normally a fight would have ensued, but Ernie shook his head and replied, “I haven’t, Frank. I guessed that’s what’s been eating you. I wouldn’t do anything without telling you. When you saw me in the van, Helen was with me. I made her duck down out of sight, afraid of leg-pulling.”
“Bet you’ve never been invited to her house!”
“They wouldn’t have me,” Ernie said and as Frank began to laugh, he joined in.
Frank believed him and was ashamed of his lack of trust. For a moment he was tempted to tell him about the deal he was doing with Percy Flemming, but he didn’t. Getting on the wrong side of Percy wasn’t recommended. “Serious is it, you and this Helen?” he asked.
“It could be. I feel different about her. But it won’t stop us being mates, will it? I mean, we’ve both known that one day things would change. But you and me, we’ll always be a partnership. I wouldn’t like that to change, Frank.”
“Of course it won’t. We’ll still work together on anything that crops up, won’t we?” They walked the rest of the way in silence, Ernie thinking about Helen, and Frank thinking about Percy Flemming and wishing he could get out of his involvement.
Caroline felt all hope of a true marriage slipping away. And worse, having once mentioned it to her mother and been told to try harder, she felt unable to bring up the subject again. Once being a part of a loving family, and living in a house where loneliness was impossible, moving to Sophie Street and spending hours alone at the flat was hard to take. Barry was always out on photography appointments and Joseph went to bed at seven. The flat was more like a prison than a home. Wednesdays, like today, were worse. She looked ahead and was threatened by a life of unhappiness.
She looked out of the window and saw Rhiannon closing her front door. She knew she would look up as she passed and, seeing her, would wave. If only she would stop and spend a part of her half-day with her. She didn’t feel able to ask. Once having been engaged to Barry, Rhiannon could hardly be expected to forget her role in ending it and become a close friend. She watched as the girl approached and was already smiling as Rhiannon looked up. On impulse she opened the window and called, “Time for a cup of tea, Rhiannon? I’d be glad of your company.” To her relief, Rhiannon stopped and unlocked the shop door.
Caroline was in the kitchen filling the kettle when Rhiannon’s footsteps came lightly up the stairs.
“I was going for a walk, why don’t you come?” she announced. “After the tea of course!”
“Joseph would like that, if you’re sure you want company,” Caroline hesitated.
“We could go to the beach if you like. It’s not cold.” Then she changed her mind. “I’ve got a better idea, let’s go to the lake and have a cup of tea in The Rose Tree Café with Mam.”
Dora was pleased to see them, and as usual, went first to talk to the little boy. She found them a table in the corner and served them with a set afternoon tea. The café was busy, as the sun had shown itself and encouraged people out for a walk along the lakeside and to the beach where the wind always blew and brought colour to cheeks, and an appetite that had them looking for tea and cakes.
Walking back to Sophie street, Caroline felt happier, more relaxed and when she went into the flat she began to prepare a meal with a lighter heart: one of the hated Wednesdays was almost over. She could cope well enough with evenings, there was plenty to do after a day at work, and the hours soon passed, even though she found them lonely and quiet. But the days when the wool shop closed at lunchtime, and meant five more hours to kill, were dismal.
Perhaps she ought to plan something similar on every half-day? Wednesdays were becoming more and more a dread. A little housework and some cooking then watching the clock and wondering how many hours before Barry would come in. Then excitement when he arrived which soon degenerated into dismay at his silence and lack of interest. Leaving her mother after picking up Joseph, and walking home to the emptiness of her own home on Wednesdays was more and more daunting. Using the half-day to give herself a small treat would stop the spiral of dread.
The meal was ready for six o’clock but there was no sign of Barry. She put the meal on top of a saucepan of water and put it to simmer on the cooker. The gravy would soon shrivel and dry up around the edges, but she admitted to herself that she didn’t particularly care. Barry could have left a message if he’d known he’d be late.
Barry was in The Railwayman’s. He was sitting at the bar and, as it was too soon for any of the others to arrive, he was talking to Jack.
“How’s business?” Jack asked him.
“Bad. No parties, no special need for portraits, and there seems to be a lull in weddings at the moment,” Barry said dejectedly. “It’ll pick up again later, for sure. Something about tax back if you marry before the end of the tax year gave me a rash of weddings up to the beginning of April, now there doesn’t seem to be anyone out there with plans to wed.”
“There’s Victoria and me, and Joan and Viv. Both in August.”
“Very fat that’ll keep me, won’t it?”
“Us, Barry. You don’t say ‘me’ anymore. You have Caroline, you should be saying us. I take great pleasure in thinking about Victoria and saying, ‘us’.”
“Caroline’s my wife, but it doesn’t seem like we are a ‘us’, Jack.”
“I thought you’d decided to make it work?”
“That was the plan. But I think she still loves my brother.”
“Of course she doesn’t! See it in her eyes we could that it’s you she wants. What went wrong?”
“Apart from getting drunk and passing out on the day we’d decided to call our wedding day, you mean?”
“That can’t have done irreparable harm!” Jack laughed.
“She didn’t come to bed the night we came back home to the flat. I woke up during the night and she wasn’t there. I went down and she was washing the floor. Can you believe that? She stayed up and did some washing and then she unpacked the rest of her things and stacked them in the cupboards, and scrubbed the kitchen floor. Not very flattering, Jack, coming second in importance to a kitchen floor.”
Jack looked thoughtful. “Coming from such a lively family as the Griffithses, Caroline’s surprisingly shy. I think she depended on you to do all the running. If you showed even the slightest indifference she’d convince herself you were only marrying her for the child’s sake. She has very little confidence. A bit like Victoria. She’d been my grandmother’s maid, for heaven’s sake. And my grandmother is Gladys Weston! How’s that for a handicap?
“I had to make Victoria believe I really loved her and wanted to marry her, and did she take some convincing! Still does. Like thistledown, our plans are. One puff of disapproval from my family and she wants to run away and hide. I’d never give up on her, though. And I’ll never stop reminding myself how much she needs my reassurance.”
“You think that’s what it is with Caroline?”
“It won’t do any harm to let her know you love her, will it?”
“You’re getting sentimental, aren’t you?” Barry was about to tease but something in Jack’s expression stopped him. He added quietly, “She might put me down.”
“So what? She won’t make it a public announcement will she? No one else would know. But somehow I don’t think she will.”
The bar was filling up and Barry sat in the corner, his thoughts in turmoil. He imagined scenes where Caroline welcomed his advances, running towards him with her arms wide and welcoming, her brown eyes filled with love, and then those scenes were replaced by others in which she stared at him coldly and turned away. Perhaps he had left it too late?
He left before Viv and Basil appeared. Driving the van home slowly, Jack’s words kept repeating themselves in his head. He wanted to see Caroline, but was afraid of disappointment. As he drove down Trellis Street he paused at the junction where a right hand turn would take him down Brown Street to the corner where Temptations stood. Instead of taking the turn, he drove on, along Gethyn Street through the quieter area of the town and out onto the common a few miles beyond. There, he stopped the van and sat staring out into the semi-dark and tried to think out what to say to his wife who wasn’t his wife at all. Imagining his words and her responses gave him moments of alternate distress and joy and gradually he forgot the sad and the bad possibilities and imagined only the good and optimistic. He still sat there as his thoughts became vague and he slept.
Caroline put Joseph to bed and at ten-thirty, took the shrivelled dinner off the saucepan and lifted the lid of the bin. As she stood there poised, with the plate held in a tea-towel in one hand and a knife in the other, she heard Barry’s key in the lock. She tilted the plate and scraped the contents into the bin. As Barry entered the kitchen she gave him a sad look and dropped the lid.
“I hope you’ve eaten,” she said in her quiet way.
“No, but I’m not hungry.”
“You haven’t been on a job,” she said, standing in front of the sink and looking down at the plate with its border of burnt-on food.
“I was talking to Jack, then I went for a drive.”
“Joseph was disappointed. Again.” The final word, although spoken softly, seemed like a slap.
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you, Barry? I’ll tell Joseph shall I? Tell him you’re sorry? D’you think that will make him feel better?”
Barry stared at her in confusion. Caroline was never like this, quietly angry and with such an expression of hurt in her dark, luminous eyes. This wasn’t how he had imagined it at all. He was going to walk in and explain and she would melt into his arms.
“I want to tell you something,” he said. “It’s important.”
“I’m going to bed.” She dropped the sizzling plate into a bowl of water, hearing it crack, and left the room, squeezing past him without touching him.
Barry stood for a long time in the doorway of the kitchen, undecided about what to do. He knew he should do something, but what? Follow her to their bedroom and get in beside her? Or walk out and spend the night in an hotel? Either alternative seemed fraught with dangerous possibilities. Getting in beside her and being told to go away would be an impossible situation from which to extricate himself; leaving the flat even more so. He was tired and desperately saddened by the expression on Caroline’s face. She didn’t want him, she never had. Tonight she had accepted the fact she never would. He sat down on a fireside chair and stared at the ashes until sleep brought escape.
He was out of the flat before Caroline woke in the morning. She came into the kitchen to make a pot of tea and, putting two cups and saucers on the tray and adding a small beaker for Joseph, she walked into the living room. A note was propped up against a vase of flowers.
I will be out all day, but I’ll collect you and Joseph from your mother’s at six. We have to sort this out.
Barry.
Caroline went to a call box and phoned the wool shop to say she was ill and wouldn’t be in. Then, catching a bus, she went to the end of town and walked over the fields to her parents’ house. She walked in, talking to Joseph about the goats and how he would be able to see them later, and was startled to see Barry there talking to her father.
“Gone and spoilt the surprise, haven’t you,” Hywel said.
“Surprise? What surprise?”
“I’ve asked your Mam and Dad to look after Joseph for us so we can go out,” Barry said, bending down, avoiding her eyes by concentrating on removing Joseph’s coat and hat.
“I can’t go out this evening, Barry,” Caroline said. “I’ve just phoned to say I wouldn’t be in work today. They’d think it odd if I was ill only until half-past-five.”
“What’s the matter, love?” Janet asked.
“Just tired and a bit headachy, nothing much, Mam.” Aware of Barry standing there watching her and not showing concern, she added, “Don’t worry, Barry, I’ll be all right.”
“Oh, good, I was, er, just going to ask.”
Barry left straightaway and Caroline went back to the flat a few hours later, leaving her parents very troubled.
She walked through the shop to get to the flat, thankful it was closed for lunch, and on the kitchen table was a huge bunch of flowers. The note was simple, it said, “From Barry”.
Not “With love”. No message at all, really. Then it hit her like a cold shower. Barry was going to tell her it was over, that the marriage hadn’t a hope and never would have. He had tried and failed. If it had been a reconciliatory move he would have written more than, “From Barry”. He had something important to say and it was surely going to be, “Goodbye”.
In a frenzy, she gathered a few clothes for herself and for Joseph and before Rhiannon returned to open for the afternoon she was gone, in a taxi, back to her mother’s house, and this time she intended to stay.
Rhiannon saw Barry come in and rush out again but didn’t think about it as he was often late for appointments, having spent too long at a previous one. It was when he came back several times and left looking more and more distraught that she ventured to ask if there was anything wrong.
“It’s Caroline, you haven’t seen her have you?”
“Not today. She leaves before I get here at nine. Why? Isn’t she at work?”
“No. She wasn’t well this morning and was taking the day off, but I tried the shop anyway. Where can she be?”
“Visiting a friend? Have you tried Eleri? They meet when they have a spare hour.”
“I’ve tried everywhere and everyone, except her parents. Janet is in Cardiff for the day so she won’t be there.” He went up the stairs and Rhiannon followed him into the flat and made them both a cup of tea.
Barry was distraught. He was remembering the time when Caroline had walked into the sea. Leaving the tea untouched he hurried out, intending to try some of the more lonely beaches in the area with dread in his heart. He was afraid for the child too, and pictured the sadness on Caroline’s face the previous evening. It couldn’t happen again, could it? If it did it would definitely be down to him.
As these thought filled his mind, he ran unseeing through the shop door and bumped into Gertie Thomas and it was she who told them about the taxi.
“Suitcases she had, mind. Three of them. And some carrier bags with some of Joseph’s toys sticking out of the top. Going on holiday is she? There’s lucky for some.”
“Yes,” Rhiannon said. “She’s having a little holiday and Barry’s joining her later.”
“Oh, I see. I did wonder, like—”
Barry went to the cottage a little later on Rhiannon’s advice, and found Caroline there, with Frank and Ernie busily sorting out the smallest bedroom to accommodate her and the little boy. When he walked in, Frank said ‘watcha,’ and sidled out, giving Ernie the nod to do the same.
“What are you doing here, Caroline?” Barry asked, picking up Joseph and cuddling him.
“This is where I’m staying, Barry. I can’t pretend any longer.”
He presumed that she meant pretend to love him and he flinched. “I see. Will you come back while we discuss it? I don’t mean now, this moment. Stay with your Mam for a few days, Gertie Thomas thinks you’re having a holiday anyway, then come back and we’ll try to sort everything out for the best.”
“We can talk here. I never want to set foot inside that flat again.”
“I see,” he said again.
“I doubt it,” she said exuding sadness in a sigh.
“Now I’d like you to go. I want to settle Joseph down before he goes to bed.”
“I’ll stay and put him to bed if you like?”
“Best we stay with the usual routine,” she replied. “It’s always me who reads his story and puts him to bed.”
“You mean I’m never there.”
Caroline didn’t reply and as he walked out of the house she didn’t once turn to look at him. She didn’t want him to see the tears welling up in her eyes.
Rhiannon saw Barry come back just as she was locking the shop door.
“Have you found her?” she asked. He nodded his head and she could see from the expression on his face that something was far from right. “Barry? Can I do anything?”
“No, it’s all right. She’s visiting her mother for a few days.”
A knock, and a face at the window distracted her from more questions and she opened the door to see Gwyn Bevan standing there.
“Our Dad says, have you got a shilling for two sixpences in case the gas goes when he’s cooking our porridge in the morning?”
She had the shop money sealed up in the bank bag, so she opened her purse and handed him the coins he needed. “How’s the puppy?” she asked.
“Come and see. You can feed him, if you like.” She walked through the doorway where old Maggie Wilpin had spent so many lonely hours waiting for Charlie to come out of prison, and into the living room. She was surprised by how clean and neat it was. There was very little furniture, just a couple of old armchairs and, on the floor, a rather worn mat, but a card table near the window was set for two, with a piece of cake and an apple on two side plates, and plates of chips and a small portion of fatty bacon ready to eat.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your tea,” she said as Charlie came into the room. “Gwyn invited me in to see the puppy.”
“Some puppy,” Charlie laughed. “Cop hold of something solid, and I’ll open the door and let her loose.”
She felt a draught of cold air as he opened the back door and whistled. Polly burst in like a tornado, her body twisting and turning as she wriggled with delight. She had grown since Gwyn had last brought her to see them. The excited creature greeted them all in a contortion of back-flops and somersaults. Then, suddenly smelling the food, she made a dive at the fragile table and was caught by Rhiannon as she was about to reach the nearest plate.
“She’s had Dad’s supper twice,” Gwyn said with a hint of pride. “She’s that quick you’d never believe.”
Charlie grinned wryly at Rhiannon and whispered, “Biggest mistake of my life having that great lolloping thing, but it’s good for the boy.”
Apologising for the interruption, Rhiannon left them to enjoy their chips and walked across the road to number seven. She glanced up at the flat above Temptations and saw that the light was on. Barry was on his own, and Caroline was back with her mother, or so it seemed.
When Janet returned from Cardiff she was disappointed to learn that her daughter was back home. “I didn’t think you’d give up so easily, Caroline, love,” she said sadly. “After the unusual start to your marriage there’re bound to be a few bumpy moments.”
“He was going to tell me it’s over, Mam. I just got in first, that’s all.”
“What made you think the flowers were to tell you he wanted to end it?” Janet asked when Caroline had explained.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Not to me, love. Wasn’t he here, arranging to take you out?”
“He was going to say goodbye.” Refusing to be convinced she had made a mistake, Caroline told them she would settle into her mother’s house and try to pretend the wedding had never taken place. She was still Miss Griffiths whose fiancé had been killed before they could marry, she told her parents.
“You can’t be Miss Griffiths,” Hywel teased. “Your Joseph can’t have a different name from his mam, now can he?”
For the first time since she was a child, Caroline burst into tears.
When Charlie Bevan told Rhiannon he was looking for a bicycle for his son, Rhiannon had thought at once of Basil. Even though he had a regular job, Basil still had his eyes open for who had what for sale and who would be glad of a bargain. She had done nothing about it because of her father’s attitude to her friendship with Charlie, but she would now. If her father was annoyed, well, she’d deal with that problem when she met it. She would go and ask Basil as soon as she had a moment. Not to where Basil and Eleri lived on Trellis Street. She would go to the Griffithses’ house on the edge of town.
She admitted to herself that asking Basil by finding him at the Griffithses’ instead of at home was pure nosiness. She wanted to know what was happening between Barry and Caroline. She felt a bit guilty at her inquisitiveness, but she was only human and if Barry had messed things up between himself and Caroline, she was curious to know how.
Frank was angry with Ernie, this time because he’d convinced himself it was Ernie’s fault he had got mixed up with Percy Flemming. If his stupid cousin hadn’t started meeting Helen on the sly and used the van for his courting, it wouldn’t have happened, he reasoned. His anxiety was growing hour by hour as he waited for Percy’s appearance. To ease his stress and justify his restless mood, he picked a fight with his cousin a week after Caroline had returned home.
Voices were raised in anger when Rhiannon approached the house where, as usual, the windows and door were wide open. She recognised the voices; Frank and Ernie. “Who else?” she muttered. Frank stormed out before she could call out a greeting and forced her to stagger against the stone pillar that had once supported a gate.
“Sorry, Rhiannon, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” he said, catching her by the shoulders and steadying her. “That Ernie is winding me up something wicked.”
“You can put me down now,” she laughed, as his hands were still on her shoulders.
“Sorry, I—” He glanced through the doorway and asked, “Fancy coming for a walk do you? If I don’t get some of this anger out of my system I might do something stupid like kill our Ernie.”
“Not planning to beat me up, are you?” she asked in mock alarm.
“No, nothing like a good walk and good company to let the steam out.”
It was such a surprise being invited to walk with Frank, who was someone who normally seemed unaware of her existence, that she agreed. “So long as I’m back in time to see Basil and Eleri,” she said, explaining about the bike.
Frank’s long legs made her hurry to keep up until she stopped and told him to slow down. “I’d have to be in a real bad temper to keep up with you,” she laughed.
“Sorry.” He grinned and offered his hand, which she took as they walked on more slowly and Rhiannon waited for him to tell her what had made him so angry.
“Ernie and I were going out tonight. And we’d planned a fishing trip on Sunday morning. He’s just told me he won’t be coming. Left me high and dry he has and all because that Helen Gunner wants him to take her somewhere.”
“Seems reasonable to me, that he wants to go out with a girl,” she said. “But unreasonable to break a previous arrangement to do it.”
“Ernie and I have always been pals,” he told her. “I suppose you’ll think me childish if I tell you I’m angry with him for finding himself a girl who he thinks more about than me?”
“I can understand the anger, but it has to be short term, or you’ll lose his friendship altogether,” she said as she began to understand his distress. “Meeting someone and realising they’re going to be special is like that. You want to forget everything else in your life, old friends included, just to spend time with your new-found love.”
“It was like that with you and Barry, wasn’t it? Before he married our Caroline.”
“It was, but I’m over that now. I’m sorry it isn’t going too well for them.”
“You’ve heard?”
“I’ve heard.”
“What went wrong, d’you think?”
“Living in the flat where she had intended to live with Barry’s brother can’t have helped.”
“Why?”
“Oh Frank! Can’t you see that living where she had dreamed of making a home with Joseph would be painful?”
Frank didn’t see at all but he nodded and grinned at her. “Mam always says you have to spell everything out for me because I’m thick,” he said sheepishly.
“I think she’s right!”
“You think I’m thick?”
“No,” she sighed, “just a man!”
Frank didn’t understand that either but thought it best to say nothing. “Barry believes that Caroline sees him as big and clumsy, comparing him to Joseph unfavourably all the time,” he said. “I heard him once, telling our Dad. That sounds daft to me but that’s what he said. Yes, it seems as though our Caroline’s home for good. Best if our Ernie does marry and move out. More room for the rest of us!”
“They’re living in that flat with a ghost,” Rhiannon said sadly, “both feeling guilty about cheating on Joseph, who they both loved.”
“Why don’t they tell each other?” Frank said, frowning. “Mam and Dad talk to each other all the time. It’s hopeless if they can’t talk to each other.”
Rhiannon agreed. “Hopeless and sad. What about you, Frank? Aren’t you hoping to marry one day?”
“Who’d have a thicko like me?” he said glumly. Then he smiled, turning her to face him. “You wouldn’t fancy going on a date would you, Rhiannon?”
“I’m off men at the moment,” she said with a laugh. “But I’ll keep you in mind!”
“You and that Jimmy Herbert, is it?”
“No, not any more.”
“No one you fancy then?”
“No one.” She spoke firmly but thoughts of Charlie made her feel guilty of an untruth.
As they returned to the cottage to discuss the bicycle, still hand in hand, she was still thinking not of Barry, who was weak, or Jimmy who was amiable and kind, but of Charlie Bevan and his powerful determination to make a success of life and give his son a chance. There was something very attractive about a determined man.