While Frank and Rhiannon had been out, the living room of the Griffithses’ cottage had filled up. Helen was there with Ernie, who was nursing a reddening bruise on the point of his chin. Rhiannon’s brother, Viv, and Joan Weston had called in. Jack was there with Victoria who was laughing at something Hywel was telling her and blushing prettily. Basil and Eleri were just preparing to leave.
Rhiannon looked at the sea of smiling faces and felt a pang of loneliness. All couples except herself, and Frank; and although she had enjoyed the walk through the fields with him, she knew there would be nothing more than perhaps extra friendliness between them.
“Rhiannon!” Caroline waved a greeting from the doorway of the kitchen and she mentally amended her list. Caroline was on her own too. Barry had failed them both.
“I’ve called to see Basil,” she called across, before making her way through the throng to where Basil was packing his work-bag with extra food supplied by his mother.
“I didn’t do it! It wasn’t me!” Basil joked and she smiled as she approached him and asked if he knew of a bicycle for sale, suitable for Gwyn Bevan.
“I’ll keep an eye,” he promised as he gathered together his family plus the paraphernalia of pushchair, spare clothes and the rest. “I think I know where there’s one that will do.”
“I thought you would. Thanks.” She smiled, then she stooped to talk to seven-month-old Ronnie and tell him he was wonderful.
“Don’t go, Rhiannon,” Caroline called as she began to follow Basil and Eleri out. “Stay and have a chat.”
A glass of home-made cordial was pushed into her hand and a place found between the bodies sitting and lolling and arguing and teasing. Caroline sat beside her and they talked of general things, but, as the evening wore on and the talk became desultory, Caroline asked whether Rhiannon had seen Barry. “He comes and goes to the flat and I think he’s gradually bringing more of his photography equipment back in,” she was told. “At least, more stuff seems to be coming in than goes out.”
This was confirmation to Caroline that Barry was glad to be rid of her but she smiled and said nothing.
Rhiannon was aware of Frank watching her and every time she looked up and caught his eye he grinned and looked away. She turned to Caroline and whispered, “I think your Frank has his eye on me.”
“Not surprising, you’re a lovely girl,” Caroline said without any falseness. “I love Frank dearly, but I don’t think he’d make an interesting boyfriend, do you?” she added with a smile.
They chuckled and Frank continued to smile. When Rhiannon finally stood to leave he stood also.
“Better walk you home, Rhiannon, it’s dark out there.”
“It’s all right, Viv and Joan will come some of the way with me.”
“They’ve gone,” Caroline said. “Best you do go with Frank. It is late, Rhiannon.”
They were shrugging themselves into their coats and walking away from the house when they saw Rhiannon’s father approaching. He was arm in arm with Nia; the owner of Temptations and her father’s mistress.
“Where are you off to, Rhiannon, love?” Lewis asked, looking suspiciously at Frank, who stood aside, hands in pockets, shoulders drooped, cap slanted over one eye, self-consciously waiting for them to pass him.
“I’m off home. Frank was going to walk me to the road.”
“No need!” Lewis glared at Frank and although the night was dark, the glare didn’t need to be seen for them all to know it was there.
“I – we – we didn’t want her walking through the fields on her own, Mr Lewis,” Frank said, still hanging his head like an accused man. “Mam said I should see her safe, like.”
“I’ll do that.” Lewis was still sharp as he told Nia to go on in and he would be about fifteen minutes. Hardly allowing his daughter time to thank Frank for his offer, Lewis hurried her away. “Stay away from Frank Griffiths. He’s trouble that one. And his brother Ernie. Never been a time when they weren’t.”
She glanced back, certain Frank would have heard. “Dad, he was only being kind, making sure I was safely home.”
“Don’t come here again unless you have Viv or Jimmy with you. Right?”
“I’m not seeing Jimmy any more.”
“More fool you. Good lad he is, better for you than wandering around at night with the likes of Frank Griffiths.”
Irritation seethed inside her. Banned from talking to Frank and forbidden to talk to Charlie, although, she thought defiantly, she couldn’t have promised to obey that demand.
Just ahead of them, lights from the streets gave a glow. “There’s the road, you can go back to Nia now,” she said, choking on anger and humiliation. “And Dad, I like the Griffithses. Caroline is a friend, and Basil is a good husband to Eleri. Don’t tell me not to see them.”
“Of course I won’t, love,” he said, his tone softening as he realised from her voice that she was upset. “I just don’t want you mixed up with Frank or Ernie. In and out of court they are and no sign of them changing. Be careful, eh?”
She walked down the road, a little girl who had been scolded by a much-loved father. Why was life such a mess? First Barry, then Jimmy and neither of them the man she wanted to spend her life with, even if she had been close to becoming Mrs Barry Martin. Now that would have been a mistake. His indifference to her, all the times he had promised to meet her and had forgotten, were being repeated with Caroline. He was not a caring man and certainly incapable of adoring anyone. To be adored was her dream. She shuddered at how close she had come to disaster.
Now, without having a thought of taking the friendship with Frank any further, she was being warned off him. Naturally she resented that parental judgement and felt a rebellious determination to be extra nice to Frank in future. How could he be dangerous? What harm could he bring her? Frank’s father had been similar to his sons as a young man and everyone could see how happy Hywel and Janet were. Perhaps someone like Frank, so unconventional, so like Hywel, who had made Janet’s life a good one, would be a good choice for her?
As she turned the corner where Temptations stood silent and dark, Frank was waiting in the doorway. “Sorry if I got you a row,” he said, walking with her towards her door. “I raced through old Booker’s farmyard to get here before you and your father. Set the dogs off proper I did.”
“I’m sorry, Frank. Dad was rude.”
“Only looking after you. I don’t blame him. If I had a daughter as lovely as you, I wouldn’t want her mixed up with someone like me,” he grinned, his teeth shining, strong and regular in the glow of the lamp. “So long, then. See you soon.”
“Bye, Frank. And thanks.”
As she put her key into the lock a voice called “Goodnight, Rhiannon.”
“Charlie? I’ve asked Basil about a bike for your Gwyn. He might have one by the weekend.”
“Kind of you to bother, specially after the trouble my Gwyn’s been to you in the past.” He strolled across the road to join her.
“Taking sweets from the shop you mean?”
“That, and the earring.”
“Earring?” she frowned.
“Your father had told him off for something and when he found an earring on the pavement, and saw your father’s car door open, he threw it in the back seat and hoped your mam would give him a bout of what-the-hell and demand an explanation.”
Rhiannon was smiling as she went inside. Perhaps one of the times Dora had thrown Lewis out, he really had been innocent! The smile exploded into laughter.
A letter arrived for Janet from someone who had seen the enquiry in the village of Cwrt y Celyn. It was brief but said his mother had recently died and among her possessions were letters from a Marion Jolly, one being a thank-you for a wedding present sent by his mother and father. “It seemed they must have been good friends, as the correspondence covered several years,” the letter went on. “And, as the letters bear three different addresses, you might like to see them.”
Janet showed the letter to Hywel before replying, then arranged to visit the man on the following Sunday, the last in May. She and Caroline would go, leaving Joseph, who was now almost two years old, with Eleri and Basil.
Setting off in the old van on Sunday afternoon, Hywel called after them, “Behave, the pair of you, you look like kids off on a Sunday School outing instead of two respectably married women!” Turning to Frank he said, “Go with them, I don’t like them going off meeting strangers. Better if they’ve got you keeping an eye on them.”
Loping across the fields, skirting the farm of Mr Booker, Frank flagged them down on the corner and climbed in beside them. After exaggerated complaints about his mother’s road-worthiness, he changed places to drive.
“I’m not sure what a chauvinist pig is, Frank,” Janet complained, “but I think you’re one!”
The man, a Mr Walfree, invited them into the terraced cottage that had been his mother’s home. Janet saw at once that although the furniture was there, the place was gradually being emptied. He offered them tea and gave them the contents of a cardboard box to examine while he made it. The box contained an assortment of packets, and the letters they wanted were in an old fashioned chocolate box priced at sixpence. There were almost twenty of them.
“I have no idea why my mother kept them,” the man explained. “There were no others. The rest of the box is filled with postcards sent from holidays and a few birthday cards she had obviously liked.” The letters gave a surprisingly full picture of her sister Marion’s life. They described how she had found work as a kitchen hand and graduated until she was appointed cook in a canteen, then in a café. There were three letters announcing the arrival of a child, sons called Fred and Harold and a daughter called Elenor.
“The boys would be forty and forty-two now,” Janet whispered, her mind filled with images of these children, her nephews and niece, whom she had never known. “And the girl, Elenor, would be—” she counted on her fingers, “twenty-four. She had her late, didn’t she?” She frowned, and counted again. “That’s never right. She’d have been in her fifties!”
Another letter referred to Elenor as “our precious gift”, and delving further into the box, another reference disclosed that Elenor had been adopted.
“Just like us and our Ernie,” Janet gasped.
Once the man had been convinced that the letters were indeed from Janet’s sister, he gave them to her.
“I hope they help you find her,” he smiled. “There were so many and obviously treasured, that I couldn’t dispose of them without trying to restore them to the right family.”
While they were talking to Mr Walfree, Frank was wandering around the lanes promising to return in an hour. When they went out almost two hours later he was sitting in the van, a flat cap tilted over his eyes, fast asleep.
“You have three cousins, Frank,” his mother announced as they climbed back into the cab.
“If you find them, make sure you check whether they’ve got money before introducing yourself,” was his sober reply.
When they reached home, Hywel’s response was just as cool.
“What d’you want to look for more family for, Janet? Damn it all, haven’t we got enough trouble with the one we’ve got?”
Ernie knew Frank was up to something and surmised that he wasn’t being told because of Frank’s unresolved resentment towards Helen Gunner. He’d discussed his concern with Mam and Dad and they had promised to talk to Frank, tell him he was being unreasonable, and explain that Ernie having a steady girl wouldn’t change anything. Although in his heart Ernie knew it already had. He didn’t want to spend time with Frank when he could be with Helen, and because of that, he was excluded from confidences about Frank’s activities in a way he never had been before.
All efforts failed to produce any change in Frank’s attitude towards him, and the separation widened and disappointment changed to anger. So, when he was offered some produce to sell, he accepted the deal without attempting to include Frank. He needed money if he and Helen were to consider marriage. Why should he share the profits with a surly brother who was in fact only a cousin? A fact regularly pointed out by Frank during these past weeks.
The promise was for a van load of bars of soap and boxes of washing powder. The price was such that he could sell it around the poorer areas of town for less than half the shop prices. He would make a quick few pounds and perhaps earn enough to buy Helen an engagement ring. With a light heart he set off to meet his contact.
Viv and Jack enjoyed fishing. They usually went to the river Teifi in West Wales and spent the day in search of supper. It was rarely that they caught enough to share with friends, but on a day in early June, they stayed near home. They were sitting on the grassy wasteland alongside the old dock no longer used, opposite where Victoria’s father had drowned several months before. Their keep-net was full and they were drooling over the prospect of a good supper.
It was early in the morning, still not seven o’clock, and they were both having to face going back home to get changed ready for work; Jack to his class of school children and Viv to Jack’s grandfather’s wallpaper and paint shop. The sun was showing itself mistily and a haze rose from the moist earth as it warmed. As they sat there watching the still water and their presently unmoving floats, the mist began to lift to reveal the freshness of the day. The water showed a surface covered by an oily skin, sluggish movement occasionally allowing the light to catch a ripple and reveal brief glimpses of rainbow colours.
The sounds from the busy docks some distance away were muted, voices calling softly, as if the men about their early morning tasks were whispering, and the touch of metal against metal as ships were loaded or unloaded had been softened by cotton wool in deference to the splendour of the dawning new day.
“I could go to sleep, Jack,” Viv said lazily.
“So could I.” Jack looked at his watch and groaned. “Only half an hour more and we’ll have to leave.” They lay back on the grass, screened by blackberry and blackthorn bushes and stunted trees which were still struggling to clothe themselves in fresh new leaves, and closed their eyes. The sun, strengthened by the dissipating mist, shone on their faces and they relaxed into sleep.
Gwyn finished delivering his morning papers and went to where his father had left his breakfast ready for him. It was eight-thirty when he realised that Polly wasn’t with him waiting for her share of the cereal and cold toast. In a panic he ran out of the house and round to the garage where his father worked.
“Dad! I can’t find Polly! She was with me when I delivered the last paper, but when I got home she wasn’t there.”
Arranging to work late to make up the time, Charlie left the car he was working on and went to join the search for the puppy.
Rhiannon was coerced into helping, and Gertie Jones came out in slippers and a dressing gown to call and whistle, but when it was time to open the shop and for Gwyn to be at school they still hadn’t found her. Rhiannon promised to look out and keep her safe if she found her and with that Gwyn had to be content.
At the dockside, Viv and Jack dreamed on until the puppy saw them lying down and in what she presumed was a position in which to play games. She leapt on Viv’s stomach and bounced off onto Jack. In a tangle of lines and fishing bags and wriggling puppy they awoke and let go of their rods, wondering for a second or two where they were, and why.
The pup gambolled around them, getting herself more and more tightly entangled in the lines as the reels spun lazily out.
Viv stood up, tried to walk, tripped over the line and fell backwards. He struggled to sit up, then sat trying to free his feet from the line while Jack hastily reached over to take in the keep-net in which the fish still survived. In despair, they wrapped the sabotaged lines around the rods in the hope that they might be able to sort out the bird’s-nest later.
“Young Gwyn’s puppy isn’t it?” Viv said irritably.
“What’s she doing here?” He looked around, hoping to see either Gwyn or his father on whom he could vent his anger, but the puppy appeared to be on her own.
“God ’elp! Look at the time!” Jack gasped. “Lucky she woke us, we might have been there till dinnertime!” He bent over the keep-net to decide which of their catches they would keep and which would be thrown back. He decided to take two good-sized ones each, and it was as he was bending forward to release the others that the puppy sensed her favourite game. She jumped on Jack’s back and they both went into the water with a loud splash.
The puppy reached the edge first and Viv lay full length and hauled her out then he looked at Jack, treading water a few yards out, outrage on his face as he spluttered and swore. The sudden transformation of the once peaceful scene was so ludicrous he felt a bubble of laughter rising.
“Don’t stand there you fool. Help me out!” Jack shouted and this made Viv laugh louder. The more angry Jack became, the more his laughter increased until he was bent double, giving in to it completely.
He couldn’t talk for laughing, and his arms were too weak to help. He just watched as Jack trod water, coughing and spluttering, and finally made his way towards the edge until his feet touched, then crawled out up the stone-built slope, water pouring out of his clothes in a torrent. Viv couldn’t see properly for the tears that filled his eyes. His loud laughter continued unabated, even when Jack stood, dripping wet, offended and angry, but without hope of sympathy, before him.
“D’you think they’ll believe me when I tell them you dived in after the fish?” Viv asked eventually, as the bedraggled pair stood with the pup, restrained on a length of line, cheerfully waiting for the next stage of her adventure. “Damn me, what I wouldn’t have given for a camera!”
“What fish?” Jack asked sulkily. “They all went back into the dock!” Which remark brought a renewal of laughter from Viv and more scowls from Jack.
Gladys and Arfon Weston considered themselves one of the important families of Pendragon Island. The fact that not everyone agreed did not make any difference. Gladys felt her position as example-to-the-rest very strongly. Which was why she had to make sure the weddings of her grandson, Jack and of her granddaughter, Joan showed others how it should be done.
As usual, when something was likely to cause great local interest, and particularly now when so many waited to see the Weston family fall on their faces, Gladys gave a “royal command” for all the family to attend a meeting. The first one she asked was always Jack, these days. He was the least likely to attend and if she arranged a time he was sure of being free, the rest of the family had to fit around it. On an early June morning, with birdsong rousing her gently from sleep, she woke, prepared herself for the day and realised, as she waited impatiently for her servant, Mair to arrive, that it was not yet seven o’clock.
Making herself a cup of tea and a piece of toast on which she spread the last of the butter ration, she decided to go out and try to catch Jack before he went to school. Arfon was already out. Going up early to visit the shop which was now run by Viv Lewis and his granddaughter, Joan, was a regular part of his day.
She knew he only glanced through the books and examined the stock, looking for faults and rarely finding any. He missed the involvement and was full of regret at the way his sons-in-law had let him down and almost cost him the business.
Gladys had to admit that, although she had hated the idea of Viv Lewis taking over, he, with her dear Joan’s help, of course, had saved the business from liquidation. She had secretly hoped that one day the family would run it once more and Viv would be sent on his way. Now, with her lovely granddaughter determined to marry the man, she had to accept that he was there for good.
She set off to walk to Trellis Street in the quiet of the morning, the sounds clear on the summer air, with few background noises to mask them. Someone dragging boxes out of a shop to start a display. An errand boy whistling the Eddie Calvert hit, Oh Mein Papa. A woman scrubbing her front step. A rattling sound as ashes were dropped into a bin followed by the echoing clang as the lid was slammed back in place. Gladys felt an excitement at being up and about as the town was waking and identifying the various sounds, and her smile widened.
Then the smile was wiped off like chalk from a blackboard as, around the corner strolled two men, dressed in peculiar fashion, one holding a string against which a lively young dog pulled. They were obviously drunks returning from a night of debauchery. They were laughing and staggering slightly and she looked around for some escape from them as they approached. At that moment, Henry Thomas, the postman, stepped out of a short cut, a gap where a house had once stood, and he greeted the two disreputables cheerily. Perhaps she would walk with him until she passed them.
“Hi, Grandmother,” one of the “drunks” called and she stared with horror as she recognised Jack and Viv.
She listened to the story as she and Jack went to number forty-four and she smiled grimly at her daughter, Sian. “At least after this embarrassment he won’t refuse to attend the family conference!”
“What is the conference about, Mother?” Sian asked. “I don’t have much time to spare during the day. I’m a working woman these days and Rose Tree keeps Dora and me very busy you know.”
“It’s a serious family matter, Sian, dear. The weddings. Your Jack’s mainly. Jack is being extremely difficult.”
“As ever,” Sian said with a sigh.
The large house in which Arfon and Gladys lived was not in a fashionable area of Pendragon Island. It was the house in which they had begun their married life and neither saw reason to change. Now, with family fortunes greatly reduced, they had only one person to help run it. Mair Gregory had once been sacked, when Victoria had returned, but now Victoria was engaged to marry Jack, Mair had been called back. Not as a maid to deal with Gladys’s whims and fancies this time, but to do as much of the cleaning as Gladys could persuade her to do for the money she paid her.
For the family conference, Mair was ordered to work during the evening to serve the food and add to Gladys’s self-illusory belief that the Weston family was still superior to most.
When the whole family was gathered Gladys took out a notepad and began to run her fingers down a list.
“Jack first, as he and Victoria are the slowest at getting things organised. Now, have you chosen your dress, dear?” she asked the shy girl whom she had so recently ordered about, for three pounds ten shillings a week.
“No, I haven’t seen anything suitable,” Victoria replied, looking at Jack for support.
“Come into Gwennie Woodlas’s shop and I’ll choose something,” Megan said in a bored voice.
“Don’t you mean help Victoria choose?” Jack said sharply.
“Of course she does,” Joan retorted. “Stop nitpicking, Jack or we’ll be here all night.”
There was an obstruction at every suggestion to every item on Gladys’s list. No, they hadn’t thought about flowers, they weren’t sure whether they wanted a choir, and no they would prefer not to have a peal of bells. In despair, Gladys snapped the notepad shut and turned with a forced smile to her granddaughter.
“Joan, dear, shall we start with you? Now, you’ve chosen your dress haven’t you? And we are going into town on Saturday to select headdresses and a veil.”
“Here’s what we’ve managed so far, Grandmother.” Joan handed her a piece of paper. “These are the hymns Viv and I would like and we’ve already discussed them with the organist. The choir is singing Ave Maria while we sign the register, and colours have been discussed and the flowers are ordered.” She smiled sweetly at Gladys and glanced, with a hint of triumph, at Victoria.
Jack stood up and offered Victoria his hand.
“Well, that’s quite a lot achieved then, isn’t it Grandmother? Now, if you’ll excuse us, Victoria and I have some plans of our own to prepare. You coming, Viv?”
“Plans?” Gladys looked alarmed at the prospect of things being taken out of her hands.
“Colour schemes and all that, for the house we’ll live in.” He looked lovingly at Victoria as he added, “Victoria is dealing with it, so our future home is in very good hands.”
“Joan is the one to help with colour schemes, dear.” Gladys said.
“Not this time. Victoria is having the first and the last word. I’m just the slave who does the work, aren’t I love?”
When Jack and Victoria had gone, Gladys tapped her notepad again. “Now, Joan dear, I’ve consulted several caterers and—”
“No, Grandmother,” Joan said. “You and Mummy have already been told. Viv and I haven’t changed our minds. We want a buffet. And,” she added with a warning gleam in her eyes, “Viv and I have decided that his mother and my aunt will prepare it.”
“But they can’t, dear. Seriously, how can the mother-of-the-bride be responsible for something so vital when she’s there as a most important guest?”
“Don’t worry, Mother,” Sian said. “Dora and I have it all worked out. Most of the cooking will be done on the day before. After all,” she added with a hint of rancour, “you’ve taken over all the wedding arrangements, so I’ll have plenty of time.”
It was a quiet Gladys who put aside her lists and poured tea a while later. Quiet, but simmering with frustration. She blamed Victoria for Jack’s stubbornness, although, she admitted, he had never been easy to persuade. But this time it was Victoria who, as the daughter of a drunk and a poverty-stricken washer-woman, was dragging her grandson down to an unacceptable level. She would have to have strong words with Victoria’s mother.
Megan and Joan discussed Victoria’s certain lack of taste.
“Can you imagine what she’ll choose?” Joan said.
“Can you imagine what she’ll look like if she tries to carry off one of Gwennie’s model dresses?” Megan added.
“You will let me know what happens?” Joan smiled.
“Girls,” Sally said. “I don’t want to hear another unkind word. You should be helping Victoria, not standing by, waiting for her to ruin her special day.”
Neither girls showed regret at their unkind remarks. “Sorry, but you must admit, it’s rather odd, her marrying our cousin, Mummy. We still think of her as Grandmother’s maid sometimes, forgetting she’s marrying Jack.”
“Then don’t forget!” Sian snapped. “We must all help her through a day which is sure to be an ordeal. But especially you two!”
For the Griffithses, the goat milk idea was not a success. Janet had not remembered the basic rules and, having neglected to “strip out” the goats to ensure the last milk had been taken, the goats dried up in a very short time. Until they were mated and produced a kid, they would simply be unproductive eating machines.
“Not one of your father’s best ideas,” Janet told the boys.
Ermintrude still treated Frank like her best friend and he spent some time with the affectionate creature, talking to it and telling it how hurt he was by Ernie’s deliberate rejection of him the moment a pretty girl winked her eye.
He was sitting in the pen, out of sight of the house one morning, when he heard Ernie come in. The van trundled along the rough path and stopped outside one of the outbuildings that Hywel intended to repair one day, but on which the corrugated iron roof still lurched drunkenly on weakened walls.
He watched as Ernie unloaded boxes and stacked them in the shed. When the unloading was done and the van driven away, he went to see what was there. Soap and soap powder. So much for Ernie’s avowal that he wasn’t dealing without him. For the first time in days he felt easier about his involvement with Percy Flemming. He’d make a lot of money and was glad Ernie wouldn’t share it.
The first hint of trouble was in The Railwayman’s later that evening. Someone at the bar was complaining that a warehouse had been broken into. When he began to describe what had been stolen, Frank left his pint and hurried home. There was no time to find Ernie. He’d be out of sight somewhere kissing and canoodling with that Helen Gunner.
Working at a speed he rarely found, he took the boxes and dropped them all over the edge of the quarry beyond Pigog Wood. Then he swept up and burned the litter, and went to bed.
When the policemen came and insisted on searching the place, he woke up and stood beside Janet, Hywel, Caroline and Ernie, his hair across his face hiding the wink he gave them, and waited until the police had given up and gone away.
Then he poked Ernie in the chest with a bony finger.
“You owe me one, mate!”