When she heard someone banging rather loudly on her front door, Eirlys was ironing. It was a Monday morning and she had been given the day off by her grateful bosses because of the work she had done on the previous Saturday. She frowned as she put the iron down on the hearth and patted her hair to make sure it was tidy, wondering who it could be. So few people would know she was at home. Two policemen stood there, not local bobbies, but strangers.
‘Mrs Ward? Mrs Ken Ward?’
‘Yes?’ She frowned, waiting for an explanation, then horror made her clutch her unborn baby as the thought of an accident came to her. ‘Ken? Is he all right? Has something happened?’
‘So far as we know he’s fine, Mrs Ward. May we come in?’
She stood back and allowed them to enter, and stood staring at them, waiting for them to tell her the reason for their call. In 1942, the third year of the war, news was more likely to be bad than pleasant.
‘It’s Mr Ward we’d like to interview,’ one of them said.
Interview? This sounded alarmingly serious. Gesturing for them to sit, she asked, ‘Will you please tell me what this is about?’
‘Can you tell us where he is? We’d like to see him as soon as possible.’
‘I don’t know where he is. London, I think. I know it sounds vague but he travels around the country arranging fund-raising concerts, and entertainments for the forces, factory workers and other organisations.’
‘We know what he does, Mrs Ward. If you could give us an idea of how we can contact him and when he’s likely to be at home, we won’t disturb you any further.’
‘But what’s wrong? Why do you want to see him?’
‘An address? Or a phone number? A friend, maybe, who would know where he is?’
They weren’t answering her questions. ‘Tell me what this is about,’ she demanded, ‘then I might be able to help you.’
One policeman sat with a pencil poised; the other just looked at her.
Unnerved, she stood up and took an address book from the sideboard. ‘You could try his parents.’ She gave them the address and, to her further alarm, she was told they had already tried the house in London. Fumbling now, her brain leaping around between unanswered questions and a need to ask more, she thumbed through the book. She gave them a few phone numbers of people Ken regularly worked with and they thanked her and stood to leave.
‘It isn’t anything for you to worry about, Mrs Ward. It’s just a case we are investigating that we think his movements might have some bearing on.’
Hastily finishing the ironing, Eirlys grabbed a coat and went to find Beth. She had to talk to someone. She found her in the market café, serving a couple of shoppers with tea and scones, and waited impatiently until they were settled.
‘They used phrases like “interview”, “investigation”, “his movements might have a bearing on a case”. They want to talk to him as soon as possible. What on earth can it be? He’s hardly a criminal.’
‘There are lots of reasons for them wanting to talk to him.’ Beth soothed, handing her a cup of steaming tea. ‘He might have been somewhere near at the time of an accident and they’ll want to know if he saw something. Or perhaps someone he knows has been in trouble or hurt. Don’t worry until there’s something to worry about,’ she teased.
‘But they were so cold. They sat there and asked for his whereabouts and just ignored my questions.’
‘Well,’ Beth said, still trying to make light of it, ‘if he’s a master criminal, they don’t want you, as a gangster’s moll, to warn him, do they?’
‘All right, I’m panicking,’ Eitlys admitted. ‘But it was so frightening.’
‘Can you get in touch with him?’ Beth went on serving the straggle of customers as they arrived and in between came to sit with her friend.
‘No, not unless he phones the office, and today I’m not there. Oh! D’you think I should go in? He might be trying to get in touch.’
‘Go home and rest. You and that baby of yours need an hour lying on the bed thinking of nothing more than what to feed the boys on.’
‘Heavens, I have to get back. They’ll be home in twenty minutes!’
‘Get some chips to go with these.’ She wrapped four pasties and handed them to Eirlys. ‘Cut some bread and jam to fill them up and they won’t complain – although Percival might,’ she laughed.
Ken was in a boarding house near Brecon. The landlady had a strange expression on her face when she came to tell him he had uniformed visitors and, like Eirlys, his first thought was of an accident.
‘What’s happened? Is my wife all right? My parents?’
‘So far as we know they are fine. It’s you we want to talk about, Mr Ward.’
When they began to question him about Delyth and the cliff path beyond Castle’s Café, he bluffed for a while and insisted he knew nothing about the girl. When they calmly made it clear that they knew about the meeting with a woman in the park, and the threat to Delyth Owen, during which he had taken her drawings, he admitted it.
‘And the photographs of her taken on the beach on the day of Eynon Castle’s wedding?’
‘Photographs? I don’t even have a camera!’ Then he remembered the baby Brownie his mother had bought him a couple of years before, which lay at the back of the wardrobe at home. ‘Well, I do have a camera but—’
‘Forgive me, but are you saying you do have a camera or you do not have a camera, Mr Ward?’ The pencil of the note taker was poised and they both looked at him. This was ridiculous. They made everything sound like a confession of guilt.
‘I do own one but it isn’t something I use. My mother bought it; it cost a pound and I thought it was a waste of money as photography wasn’t something that interested me. It still doesn’t! And I certainly didn’t take photographs of Delyth Owen on the day of Eynon Castle’s wedding. Now, when are you going to tell me what is this all about?’
The questions went on and he answered as fully as he could, in the hope that would hasten their departure. He had a concert that evening which included new acts, and he needed to be there for the rehearsal as everything had yet to be timed and the running order decided.
As the subject changed and he was asked about lorries being driven at Delyth, and illegal food and supplies, he began to panic. Then, just as he was expecting to be arrested, they stood up and left, promising him he would be contacted again a day later when he was back home.
‘You won’t have to mention the – er – woman in the park to my wife, will you?’ he asked as they stepped outside.
‘There’s enough of the world at war without us adding to it, sir.’
He went to the rehearsal and saw the concert through without being aware of whether it was good or bad, and instead of going back to the guesthouse and sleeping he caught the milk train. Unless there was an air raid to cause delays, he would be home before Eirlys, or Morgan, was awake.
Eirlys waited anxiously for Ken to come home. She knew he wouldn’t be there until the following day but still jumped up every time she thought she heard the gate, and insisted on the wireless being played low so she would hear his key in the lock. Then it occurred to her that he might have been arrested, and she listened for the door, expecting not Ken but the police. Her father was working the night shift and when the children were in bed she went too, wanting the day to be over, to lose anxious hours in sleep. But sleep wouldn’t come.
She went downstairs several times, even opened the door and looked out as though that would make him come more quickly, like impatient people looking around the corner to hurry the arrival of a bus, she thought foolishly. She made cocoa, and tried to read, then filled a hot-water bottle to hug, and settled with the light low to try again to find peace in sleep.
Before the alarm clock gave its strident demand for her to rise she heard the sound of a key in the door and for a brief moment thought it was her father. Then memory flooded back and she went down to see Ken dropping his case and throwing off his coat.
‘I’ve had the police here looking for you, Ken. What’s happened?’
He put an arm around her and murmured reassuringly, ‘It’s all right. They thought I could help with a case, that’s all.’ He switched on the electric fire while Eirlys filled the kettle. ‘I’d been in the area where some illegal foodstuffs had been hidden. I wasn’t involved and neither would I be. I think it’s disgraceful. Food isn’t something to make money from when everyone is so tightly rationed,’ he said. ‘You know me better than that. The black market is something I disapprove of, the same as you do.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I didn’t want to alarm you. I knew the police would soon find out the truth and then it would be over, so why upset you for nothing?’
He was so convincing, and told the story with such brevity, that she relaxed and believed him. He sighed with relief and hoped the rest of the inquiry, regarding Delyth’s sketchbook and his shameful, bullying behaviour on the cliffs, would never reach her ears.
They sat on the couch, close together, Ken’s arm protectively around her, and she felt more secure in his love than she had for a long time. They had talked, shared a worry, and it made her feel more hopeful about their future. When Morgan came in at seven he found them there in each other’s arms, fast asleep.
Although the night had been restless and disturbed, she felt restored when she went to the office to deal with the last of the summer events. The final game in the giant chess tournament was easy. All she had to do was arrange for a team of young people from the local school to be there in fancy dress to set out the three-foot-high pieces and move them around to the players’ instructions. The mood was a carefully balanced one: the more the helpers fooled around, the more irate the participants would be, but the more the audience would enjoy it. Most onlookers would know little about the finer points of the game and were ready for more relaxed entertainment. The commentator would try to add a little sobriety to counteract the children’s actions.
The Dancing by Moonlight was hardly difficult either and for the most part was just left to chance. She had no idea how many would turn up, and knew that if the weather didn’t co-operate there could easily be no one at all. It had been advertised, the charities which hoped to benefit had a number of people ready to run around the crowd with their collecting tins, and a small committee had been set up to count and distribute the money.
Vera was furious. She had been promised a job in Mr Elliot’s clothing shop, then a letter had arrived telling her she had to report for war duties. She went to the employment offices and was told that she had to do something and they had arranged for her to go to the local factory that made engine parts. She protested, insisted she wasn’t strong enough, and even tried to tell them she was considering ENSA, the forces entertainment organisation, but when she could produce no evidence of an audition they handed her the card and told her to present it the following Monday morning at eight.
She had to get out of it somehow, but as she was now in the age group when the government had the final say, she had no idea how. She thought she would call on Ken. He might be able to arrange an audition to give some validity to her claim to being considered by ENSA.
She called to see Ken and was fortunate enough to find him at home. She explained her predicament truthfully and asked if he could help.
‘I won that beauty contest, so I know I have the looks. I just want a chance to prove myself and I know I could be successful.’
‘Successful at what?’ he asked.
‘Well, singing, dancing. I’m sure I can learn.’
Ken tried to be sympathetic, but with no proof of her talents nor evidence of experience, he could do nothing. ‘You’ll have to do this on your own,’ he told her. ‘Everyone is too busy to train people; they have to prove themselves before they’ll be offered an audition.’ She looked surprised, then disappointed, and, letting her down lightly, he suggested she took singing lessons and went from there. ‘Your teacher will advise you on the best way of getting started.’
‘Shirley Downs and Janet Copp did it without teachers,’ she protested.
‘Shirley and Janet were naturals. They had a terrific talent.’ The mention of Janet saddened him; he ended the conversation abruptly and closed the door.
Vera turned huffily and went back to talk to Mrs Denver about how difficult it was for someone like herself, who wanted to rise above waitressing. ‘And I refuse to work in a dirty factory ruining my hands,’ she added with a shudder.
The weather was not kind to the chess competitors. A misty drizzle kept many people away, but the entrants seemed not to notice. This left Bernard Gregory, puffing amiably at his pipe, which defied the rain and continued to burn, facing a headmaster who had come out of retirement when most of the teachers had been called to fight.
The children, dressed as clowns, moved the pieces, ducking in and out of the shelter of the tents where the competitors stood cogitating on their moves. Bernard lost, but it was a satisfying event and he looked forward to writing to tell his son of his success in the tournament. Peter would be proud of him.
Once the result was announced and the prize given, the children began leap-frogging the pieces, and the small audience joined in. So in spite of the uncooperative weather the day ended happily. Eirlys was once again congratulated on her success.
Although it was a Saturday, Mrs Chapel had insisted Maldwyn went to watch, and he had invited Vera, thinking it would be fun even though neither of them understood the game. Just to be in a crowd, taking part, supporting the town’s efforts, seemed to Maldwyn to be sufficient reason for going, but at the last moment Vera declined.
‘All right, we can go somewhere else if you like, as I have the afternoon off,’ he offered. They had been seeing a lot more of each other recently and he was beginning to hope for more than an occasional hug. She kissed him from time to time, but only when she chose. She still pushed him away when he wanted to kiss her with any depth of feeling, telling him not to be so daft. ‘Pictures?’ he offered, although he didn’t really want to spend the money. He was going home on Sunday to see his stepmother and wanted to take her a gift. And there was the Dancing by Moonlight on the following Saturday. He had high hopes of the dancing.
Vera screwed up her nose. ‘I don’t think so. I promised one of the girls from the shop that we’d go dancing, so I’ll want the afternoon to get ready.’
‘All right. I don’t mind dancing, it’ll be a bit of practice for next Saturday.’
‘I mean just her and me. A girls’ evening.’
‘Oh, I see. Well, all right, but don’t forget the dance next Saturday. You’re definitely coming to that one with me.’
‘I’ll be there,’ she said gaily.
He watched the chess then went home. Vera had washed her hair and wore a new outfit, a very short skirt and a blouse with a low neck. Jealousy was hidden as he smiled and hoped she would have a good time. He sat with Mrs Denver and listened to the wireless, but he couldn’t settle and at half-past eight went for a walk, his feet taking him to the school hall where the dance was being held. There were records being played and he heard the sound of Henry Hall’s signature tune. ‘It’s Just the Time For Dancing’, and wondered whether he could risk going in and claiming just one dance. He paid and went in.
As the music faded he saw Vera dancing with a soldier. He smiled and was about to go over and say hello when there was a drum-roll and the compete announced the singer. Shirley Downs stepped on to the stage. With the aid of her stick she walked over to the piano and began to sing.
Her voice was powerful and utterly enchanting. No one moved as she sang. ‘Embrace me, my sweet embraceable you.’ Slowly, as the words wove themselves around his heart, Maldwyn turned his head to look at Vera. Surely she must be thinking of him. But she was moving her head too, and with a sinewy movement her body was wrapping itself closely around the soldier sitting next to her.
Tapping her feet, Shirley sang ‘Mountain Greenery’, and the mood changed. She softened it again with a rendering of ‘I Get Along Without You Very Well’, which filled Maldwyn with melancholy emotion. He left, to walk the streets, berating himself for being a fool. He had to accept that Vera thought nothing more of him than someone who was available when there was no one better. He passed the hall again as the crowd inside were singing the national anthem and he hurried home, unable to bear seeing Vera come out on the arm of her soldier.
But Vera didn’t walk home with her soldier. She left the hall just before the last waltz was played.
Eirlys was light-hearted. The police had not returned and Ken was more affectionate, even loving. They had talked about the baby they were expecting in a few weeks and he had assured her he was as excited as she. He came home twice that week, told her exactly where he would be between visits and even gave her telephone numbers in case she had to call him. ‘I know it’s too early, but I want to know if you’re worried, even if it’s only a slight twinge of anxiety.’ He even promised to delegate his Saturday plans and come with her to the moonlight dancing, even though she would only be a spectator.
The weather had turned chilly, and girls who had been excitedly looking forward to showing off their summer dresses for probably the last time were disappointed. Hand-knitted angora-wool boleros were popular and had been in use for several years. Many searched for them in drawers or borrowed from friends, adding them to a dress and hoping the dancing would keep them warm.
No one wore stockings. With clothing coupons being far from generous they couldn’t afford to buy them. Instead they bought packets of ‘liquid stockings’, a powder which was mixed to a paste and spread with a sponge over the legs. Some were lucky enough to have a friend who would draw a seam for them and a block on the heel to make them look more realistic.
Maldwyn looked at Vera sadly. She had dressed in the outfit she had worn to the previous Saturday dance, which revealed too many of her charms.
‘Won’t you be cold?’ he asked stupidly. ‘It’s being held out of doors, remember.’
‘If you think I’m covering this with a cardigan you’re mistaken. Honestly, Maldwyn, you sound like my grandmother sometimes.’ She straightened up to show him the blouse she had so carefully remodelled to show the titillating glimpses of her shapely figure. ‘Don’t you think I look nice?’
He didn’t reply.
Fortunately the night was clear and the moon shone across the water like a golden path. Musicians who played by ear, without the need for music, had gathered and formed a small band. Everyone who came was determined that this final occasion would be fun, and at once the mood was set.
Half the town seemed to be there, the dancers spreading along the prom and even on to the sand below. Even Mrs Chapel came for a while, before the cold persuaded her back to her flat and the warm fire. Bernard Gregory came on his horse and cart, bringing Beth and promising to come back for her later. He sat beside Mrs Chapel and they watched as the lively couples danced. ‘Pity we aren’t a few years younger, eh?’ he said, tilting his hat with its notebook tucked into the lining band, something he always carried. ‘I’ve got some nice holly in the field: want to place an order for Christmas, Mrs Chapel?’
‘A bit ahead of yourself, aren’t you?’ As he took out his notebook and a stubby pencil, she laughed. ‘Go on then, put me down for what you’ve got, although I bet young Maldwyn will be walking along the lanes getting some for free. A bit of holly and ivy will be the only things we’ll be able to rely on for tradition this Christmas, and that’s for sure.’
‘There’ll be a few chickens and a rabbit or two. We’ll celebrate with over-eating as usual, you see if we don’t, even if it means there’s nothing left in store.’
‘D’you know, even now, with the shortage of so many foodstuffs, there’s many a pantry where a few special tins are still hidden. Salmon, a bit of tinned fruit, a tin of cream, hiding there for when the boys come back. Never tempted to use it – birthdays, Christmases and even weddings, there it stays, waiting for the biggest celebration of them all, when this awful war ends and the boys come home.’
‘What a party that’ll be, eh? We might even join in the dancing ourselves that day, Mrs Chapel.’
Eirlys was too weary to enjoy dancing, but she found a place to sit, with a blanket around her knees and Ken’s jacket around her shoulders for warmth, and watched the participants having a happy time. The musicians responded to requests; once or twice one started in a different key from the rest, but no one cared, or even noticed.
Madge was encouraged on to the floor by Constable Charlie Groves, who, after shuffling around the crowded area for three dances and sitting one out, shyly asked if he might walk her back to her hotel.
‘Hotel?’ she laughed, ‘Nothing so grand. We’re staying with a neighbour of Mr and Mrs Castle in Sidney Street.’
‘Then I’ll see you safely back there.’
She was about to refuse, but thought that with Delyth and Maldwyn, and probably Vera, it would do no harm. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I’d like that.’
When Ken left Eirlys and asked Delyth to dance she almost ran away. But he took her arm gently and waltzed her around the very edge of the dancers, smiling as he passed his wife before saying. ‘Delyth, I want to apologise. I’m ashamed of the stupid way I behaved. I love my wife and the brief friendship with another woman was a terrible mistake. I’m not a violent person and it was only fear of Eirlys being upset, her expecting our child, that caused me to panic. I really am ashamed and very sorry.’
Doubtful at first and still nervous of him, Delyth allowed herself to be reassured. She smiled as they passed Eirlys for the second time and when the music stopped she found herself standing next to her.
‘Everyone’s talking about you, Eirlys,’ she said, leaning to make herself heard over the conversations and the laughter as the band began another number. ‘Everyone’s saying how marvellous you are to have arranged all these events. You must work very hard.’
‘Not any more.’ Eirlys said. ‘I’ve retired, at least for the time being.’
‘You must be very proud of her,’ she said to Ken, and Ken took his wife’s hand, kissed it and said he was.
Maldwyn watched Vera, in the hope of managing at least one dance. She seemed determined to avoid him, taking a partner from the willing group surrounding her before he could reach her. He heard complaints about her uttered, the tarty way she was dressed, the way she pushed herself forward when she chose a partner. There was the usual shortage of men and she seemed to be taking more than her fair share.
As Delyth moved away from Ken and Eirlys, she touched his arm. ‘Will I do instead, Maldwyn?’
‘Oh, what do I say to that? You make it sound as though I’d consider you second-best.’
‘Just dance,’ she laughed, sliding with ease into his arms.
‘Eirlys, you look happy.’ Hannah said as she sat beside her. ‘Is it because you’ve finished work at last?’
‘Partly. I was getting very tired. But Ken has told me everything. It’s all out in the open, and we’re closer than we’ve been for a long time.’
‘Really? I’m glad, and I think it’s very brave and sensible of you to forget and start again. Life’s too short to hold on to anger.’
‘Hardly anger,’ Eirys laughed.
‘You aren’t angry? Then you’re a saint. If I heard that Johnny had been with someone like Janet Copp I’d break my heart.’
‘Someone like—? What d’you mean?’
Hannah stared at her, begging for the words to come that would take away those she had just spoken. Obviously Ken hadn’t told her everything. ‘Sorry, Eirlys, I wasn’t listening properly. Weren’t you talking about the man from the shoe mender’s who’s been keeping his affair a secret for three years?’
‘No,’ Eirlys said slowly, ‘I was talking about me and Ken, as you well know. You might as well tell me everything. I’ll find out anyway, and it’s better that you tell me. Come on,’ she said as Hannah hesitated, the shock of her thoughtless remark clear on her gentle face. ‘I need to know.’
‘I know nothing about it. I just heard that he was suspected of being involved with some black-market food then was found to be innocent. He tried to keep it from you in case you worried. What else is there to know?’ She pointed out the three boys, Stanley, Harold and little Percival, running through the dancers and being chased by Eirlys’s father, in the hope of distracting her. Eirlys said no more but Hannah knew the damage had been done.
When the last waltz was being played, Maldwyn looked in vain for Vera. It was implicit in his invitation and her acceptance that they would walk home together. She seemed to have disappeared. Instead, he invited Delyth to dance at the same moment as Charlie Groves came for Madge.
The musicians packed away their instruments and a few people began to disperse, but suddenly someone began to sing and dance the ‘Lambeth Walk’, and at once the exodus stopped. Afterwards someone began to sing ‘I’ll See You in My Dreams’, and almost immediately couples and groups of friends found places to sit, leaning on the sea wall or the shops or against each other, and the crowd settled for a sing-song that went on for another hour.
Charlie Groves told Madge where he lived and asked whether he could write to her. She shook her head. ‘Perhaps in a while, when I’ve sorted things out in my head,’ she said apologetically.
Eirlys didn’t wait to find Ken. As soon as the strains of the last waltz faded away she joined her father and the three boys and hurried home. When her father asked about Ken, she told him he had other things to do, and refused to explain.
Hand in hand, Madge, Delyth, Charlie and Maldwyn walked along the road, laughing as they remembered some of the events of the evening. Maldwyn forced gaiety into his voice and they sang their favourites, silenced to spluttering laughter when a bedroom window opened and a voice called for them to respect the Sabbath and shut their row. ‘Half an hour to go yet,’ Charlie shouted and they ran like foolish children, making their way through the dark and empty streets.
Maldwyn tried to put Vera from his mind and was relieved when Mrs Denver, who had waited up to make him a hot drink, told him she was already in bed. ‘I tried to find her and bring her home but she was nowhere to be seen,’ he protested when Mrs Denver accused him of not looking after her.
‘Well, she’s safe enough and fast asleep by now. No harm done.’
He knocked softly on her door as he went to bed but there was no reply. In her room the bed was neatly made up, and empty. The window was partly open and outside it a tree gave precarious access to the ground.
The soldier with whom she had danced so many times that evening had walked her home. He hoped for a few minutes of kisses but was disappointed. As soon as they had arrived at Mrs Denver’s house she had thanked him, said good-night and gone inside. A few minutes of Mrs Denver’s fussing and being persuaded to drink some hot cocoa and she made her excuses and went to bed. Turning the key in her bedroom door, she had made her escape and hurried to where another young man was waiting. His kisses were passionate and she responded with joy, the secrecy of their intimate association an added piquancy to the time they spent together.
Whether it was the excitement of the dance, or anticipation of the meeting, or the tension of climbing out of her bedroom window so late at night, which was something she hadn’t done before, or whether her feelings for the man had changed from a bit of fun to the moment when another stage of their relationship had been reached, she later couldn’t be sure. But she found herself wanting him desperately, her body crying out for him. Their kisses became urgent and impatient. He pressed her against him, the sensation bringing an abandonment of common sense, blotting out the oft-repeated warnings. Thinking only of the moment, desire growing to an almost painful degree, she allowed herself to be led to a place where they could lie down and succumb to their need of each other.
It was a couple of hours later, as she was climbing back up the convenient tree and slipping in through the window, absolutely exhausted, that fear returned. What had she done? This was one of her father’s worst fears, that one of his daughters would ‘give in’ to a man; yet the sensations left her in a haze of contentment. Worries were for another day. Now she could relax and relive the blissful joy of love. Fear of her father’s anger drifted quickly away. In that magical moment, her body crying out for relief, the need for loving had been stronger than her fear of his heavy hands and the thrashing he had constantly threatened.
She lay, not sleeping, her body still trembling with the aftermath of love, floating in a soft, gentle world where there was no harshness, no decisions needing to be made, and wondered how much longer he wanted them to keep their love a secret.
Soon, he promised they would tell the world. He was exempt from conscription, although he didn’t explain why and she was thankful he wouldn’t be leaving her. But he was going to London, where a job awaited him. It was her dream come true, leaving Bryn Teg and St David’s Well and going to live in London. It was the place to be if she wanted to start a career as a singer. Until then they would write, and she could join the band of women waiting for their man.
After searching unsuccessfully for Eirlys, Ken walked home. She was in bed, her face turned away from him, her body rigid and unwelcoming to his touch.
‘Eirlys, tell me what’s wrong and we can put it right. I don’t know what to say to you. How can I, until you tell me what’s wrong?’
‘I want you to leave. Move out. Now. I want you out of here before Dadda and the boys are awake.’
‘No!’ he said simply. ‘My home is here, with you, and here I’ll stay. If you won’t talk to me now, then we’ll talk this through in the morning. I won’t leave the house until we do.’ He slid in beside her but they didn’t touch, both almost leaning over opposite edges of the lonely bed.
The air of tension was something of which even the boys were aware. As it was Sunday there was no rush to get to school and they asked Morgan if he would take them through the fields to Mr Gregory’s smallholding. They loved visiting the animals, especially walking on up to Sally Gough’s field, where the donkeys were settling into their winter quarters.
Morgan took one look at his daughter’s face and read the anger there. ‘Hurry up then, lads. We’ll go as soon as we’ve helped Eirlys with the dishes,’ he said. ‘We might be in time to see the chickens fed.’ As well as his laying hens, Bernard Gregory had several dozen young cockerels, four months old and being fattened for the Christmas market. The boys had watched them from day-old chicks settled around broody hens and heated substitutes, and were fascinated by the way they were changing. ‘Whether they’ll still eat their Christmas dinner after treating them almost like pets is something I don’t like to think about,’ Morgan had whispered to Eirlys once or twice.
When the house was quiet, Ken asked. ‘What is it, Eirlys? What’s bothering you now?’ His tone suggested she was being unreasonable, and even that it was part of a tedious pattern.
‘Wrong? Don’t you know?’
‘Tell me, then we can sort it out.’
‘Does the name Janet mean anything to you? You and Janet, having an affair like some sordid film story?’
‘Who told you that?’ he protested, glaring at her, about to deny it, but then his shoulders drooped and he nodded his head.
‘Don’t tell me it isn’t true. It explains so much.’
‘It isn’t true. It was true but now it’s over. It was a brief mistake and it’s finished.’
‘That it happened at all is enough. I want you to leave, Ken, and the sooner the better.’
‘Why? I admit it. I made a stupid mistake, but I love you and only you, and I want us to stay together. I want to be here when our child is born and stay, watching him grow.’ She waited, watching him and wondering if she could ever trust him again. ‘It was because we were thrown together so much with the work we do – did. Janet isn’t involved with my concerts any more. She’s working for Naafi and has applied for an overseas posting.’
‘So that’s why you want to come back to me? Because she’s no longer available?’
‘No. Eirlys. I – we – finished it a while ago. Someone saw us as we were ending it, quarrelling and trying to sort out the mess we’d got ourselves into. Someone saw us, and that was when I realised how stupid I’d been; I knew in that moment where I belonged and who I really loved.’
‘Fear of being caught out in your sordid affair made you run out on Janet and come back to me? That’s supposed to make me feel better?’
‘No. You’re twisting everything I say. It was that day tripper who’s become friendly with you and Beth and Hannah. Remember the drawing she showed you of two people quarrelling?’
‘That was you and Janet? Then she knows!’ She turned away from him, stood up and began banging saucepans about on the cooker, throwing vegetables into the bowl for peeling and generally acting the outraged woman. ‘Who else has been talking about me, calling me a poor stupid woman who doesn’t know what her husband is up to? Hannah knows. It was she who inadvertently told me. So how many others have guessed?’
‘I’m so sorry, but no one else can actually know, and if we behave as though there’s nothing wrong they’ll all believe the story was nothing more than rumour. Let’s face it, rumours usually are wrong.’
‘I think I hate you.’
‘I love you. I always have, in spite of all this. I love you and I want our marriage to be a success.’
She cried then and he held her in his arms until the outburst had subsided.
‘One chance, darling Eirlys. We owe it to the baby to try again. I promise you’ll never regret it.’
It was so easy to give in; there was so much at stake, not the least their child. How would she manage? Did she have the right to deprive a child of his father?
She went to talk to Hannah, who was distressed at her dreadful mistake and, somewhat hesitantly at first, Hannah talked about her first marriage.
‘It wasn’t just other women,’ she said in her quiet voice. ‘I ended up in hospital on several occasions and I feared for my life once or twice. And all the time my mother was insisting I stay with him, that a marriage was for ever and I had to obey the vows I had made in church. I had to defy my parents to leave him, and they still haven’t forgiven me for the embarrassment I caused them. It’s different with you and Ken. Love can get a bit battered around the edges in a stressful time like this, but I believe he loves you. I also believe that, however you feel at the moment, you still love him.’
Eirlys was sobbing as she walked home, but she wouldn’t have been able to explain whether it was for the sad marriage of Hannah or for the difficulties she and Ken had built around themselves.
Mrs Chapel was not feeling well. ‘Nothing serious,’ she assured Maldwyn, ‘but I think I’d like a few days away from the shop, so I can sleep late and be utterly lazy for a while. I get so tired these days.’
‘You know I’ll look after things here, so stay with your sister as long as you like. I’ll write to tell you how things are; and I’ll keep a journal for you to look at when you get back; and of course I’ll bank the money every single evening, even if it’s only a few shillings.’
‘Thanks, Maldwyn. I’ll go on Saturday, after we close the shop. Then when I get back we can start planning for the winter and you can take a few days off yourself. You haven’t had a holiday since you started.’
‘I don’t need holidays. I love my job. It’s great working with you, learning from you. You’ve been really kind to me and I appreciate it.’ He smiled as Mrs Chapel waved a hand energetically to push away his compliments. ‘Now,’ he said in a businesslike tone, ‘is there anything you want me to do while you’re away?’
On Saturday he walked with her to the station and carried her small case. ‘I’m glad we had new locks on the doors.’ he said. ‘Otherwise I wouldn’t be too happy about leaving the premises empty. I’d have asked if I could sleep there myself.’
‘You and that Vera?’ she asked wickedly.
‘Mrs Chapel!’ he laughed. ‘Be’ave, will you? No, not Vera, she has other fish to fry. Fish in uniform, I believe,’ he added sadly. Not being in uniform still made him feel ashamed.
‘Don’t forget there’s a spare key with Mr Elliot,’ she reminded him. ‘And my sister has another if I lose mine.’
While Mrs Chapel was away he took the opportunity to do some tidying. He tried to strike a happy balance between his fastidiousness and Mrs Chapel’s messiness, not wanting to irritate her by being over-zealous. The walls were given a fresh coat of whitewash and a few broken items discarded. The pots and containers he had collected ready for flower arrangements were stacked neatly on shelves and he knew that when she returned she would be pleased with his efforts.
Her intention had been to stay with her sister for three days, but a letter came on Tuesday to tell him she was still very tired and had seen a doctor.
Dear Maldwyn,
The doctor thinks I might have a bit of a heart problem – nothing to worry about, but a little rest wouldn’t do any harm. Gabriel is being very kind, spoiling me a bit, and my sister is enjoying my company. So, if you are sure you are managing all right, I’ll stay another week.
He wrote straight back and told her to stay until she felt well, assuring her that the shop was doing fine and he was happy to manage alone. He enclosed the week’s accounts and copied out the bank statements so she knew exactly what was happening, and also described the flowers he had bought and the new ideas he had for the winter displays, when flowers were so scarce and expensive.
She returned a week later, looking relaxed after her ten days away, and was glad to be home. She praised his efforts and coaxed him to take a few days off.
‘Later perhaps, but there’s no use you coming back rested then taking on the shop on your own and getting tired again. I don’t think you ought to be up early to go to the market just yet. My stepmother has a few jobs she wants me to do, so I might go late on Saturday and come back Sunday. But no longer, not until you’re back to normal.’
He called on Delyth while he was at his stepmother’s house. She was pleased to see him and invited him in to listen to a couple of new records she had bought. She wanted to know all the news from St David’s Well.
‘It’s very quiet now the season’s finished,’ he said. ‘There’s only the pictures or the dances, and I’m not much of a dancer.’
‘You are, you dance well! At least I think so,’ she added shyly.
‘If you could stay at the house in Sidney Street again, you and Madge, we could go one Saturday night. If you’d like to that is.’
‘Love to! And I think Madge would enjoy it. She’s written to that policeman and I think he’s rather smitten.’ She grinned. The thought led her to ask, ‘How’s Vera?’
‘She’s hating working in a factory, where she has to cover up her hair and wear overalls, but she’s making friends and seems happy enough. I suspect she’s got a boyfriend but for some reason she won’t let on who he is.’
Delyth smiled, and hoped her relief didn’t show.
Maldwyn left her, happily thinking of taking her in his arms and dancing a slow waltz. It was a far from unpleasant prospect. When Winifred asked him why he was smiling later that evening, his smile only grew wider.
He caught the evening train back to St David’s Well on Sunday, and arrived in the town at eight o’clock. Although it was rather late for social calls, he went to see Mrs Chapel. He had been unhappy about leaving her alone.
As he walked along the street, he could see shards of glass on the pavement ahead. Quickening his pace, he found that the shop had been broken into and most of the stock destroyed.