After discussing his situation with the estate agent and his bank manager, as well as an enthusiastic Megan, Edward decided to be bold and buy the shop rather than rent it. At the end of April, with the aid of a bridging loan until Montague Court was sold, he was the owner of number sixty-eight Highbourne Road, known locally as the High Street.
“I won’t be able to tackle the refurbishments until I have more money,” he explained to Megan as they stood looking into the dreary little shop one dark evening. “I have moments of panic at the enormity of what I’ve taken on.”
“When you look at it, try not to see what’s in front of you,” Megan advised. “See in your mind’s eye what will be there once you can make a start. Pendragon Island will have the surprise of its life when you have finished here and the shop is open for business.”
“If ever,” he sighed.
“Edward—” she warned. “No more panics. You can do it. Remember I have faith in you.”
“I haven’t really looked at the surveyor’s report,” he admitted with a wry grin. “I thought it would sound too daunting.”
“I believe they usually do. Bring it to the house tomorrow and we’ll look at it together.”
“Eleven o’clock?” he suggested. Then, seeing a frown gathering on her brow he quickly offered her an excuse to refuse. “But you have other plans, I’m sure. Don’t worry, we can look at it some other time, I mustn’t keep bothering you with my troubles.”
“Would you like me to look through the report with you?”
“Well yes, of course, but—”
“Then Edward, stop sounding as though you don’t!”
“If you’re sure you have the time,” he said, still hesitantly.
“If I didn’t want to I wouldn’t!”
“Eleven o’clock?” he repeated with a smile.
“No. I have a doctor’s appointment to make sure all is well with The Lump. Then there’s the clinic visit at three. You see, he has a social life before he’s even born. What an upheaval he’ll make in my life.” She frowned before adding, “If you aren’t helping the dreaded Margaret and my delinquent Uncle Islwyn with lunch, what about eating at the Rose Tree Café at twelve-thirty?”
When the surveyor had looked at William Jones’s old draper’s shop, Edward had been given a surprise. There was a basement he hadn’t noticed on his earlier inspections. It had been bricked up, he was told. Inside the back room, one of the large floor slates had been replaced with wood and when lifted, led to worn wooden steps. The outside access had been so well hidden by the overgrown trees, bushes and grass, it obviously hadn’t been used for a long time. It was only when the deeds were studied that he’d been made aware of its existence.
“Mr Harvey the surveyor hasn’t opened it up,” Edward told Megan the following day when they sat in the Rose Tree Café eating lunch. “He suggested I do so immediately, to give the place some air and prevent the damp, which smells strongly in the back of the premises, from becoming worse. ‘Always allow air through the underfloor area and it will help prevent damp problems,’ he told me. So, that is where I’ll make a start. It won’t cost much and it’s best to get the worst over first.”
“If it’s been closed for years you might regret opening it up,” Megan warned. “But, if you insist, we ought to go at once and ask Frank and Ernie Griffiths if they want the job.”
Thanking Dora Lewis and Megan’s Aunt Sian for their meal, they drove out of town to the cottage where the Griffiths family lived. The small cottage was surrounded by small sheds and outbuildings and fenced-off areas, most of which were occupied by livestock. Chickens roamed freely, a couple of geese were hissing like over-filled kettles, the plaintive sound of goats wanting company filled the air and above it all, dogs were barking fit to pop one’s eardrums.
Janet came out, a small woman with grey hair straying from its bun and flying around her head like an unravelling halo. Drying her hands on her apron she waved for them to come inside. Tipping a cat from a chair she wiped the seat ineffectually with a flap of her skirt, and invited Megan to sit.
A little boy came into the room and stared at them until, recognising Megan he walked across and leaned on her knees, raising his arms to be lifted.
“Hello Joseph-Hywel,” Megan said, helping the 2½-year old to climb up. “This is Caroline’s son, Janet and Hywel’s grandson,” she explained to Edward. Hywel came in then and, seeing the visitors, nodded a greeting and disappeared.
Edward was uneasy in the untidy and shabby room. It was a scene such as he had never before witnessed: chickens wandering and being casually shooed out, dogs and cats coming to satisfy their curiosity. The worn furniture was covered with clothes spread to dry near the roaring fire. Janet snatched the newly washed garments into an untidy pile and threw them onto the table, embarrassed by the presence of Edward Jenkins from Montague Court.
Edward was embarrassed too, but sensing her stronger unease he smiled, picked up a shirt that had fallen, added it to the pile and said politely, “Washing day is such chaos, isn’t it, Mrs Griffiths? I don’t know how you ladies cope.”
He noticed that Megan was, surprisingly, quite at home. She was so outspoken about things of which she disapproved that he expected her to complain, but she was obviously a regular visitor to this unlikely place. Megan was certainly full of surprises. He watched as Joseph-Hywel slid down to go and play with a toy. Megan picked up a cat and began to nurse it. He did the same with another which came to investigate the newcomers in the inquisitive way of felines, and began to relax.
After being plied with tea and cakes which they were too full to enjoy, and hearing all about Janet and Hywel’s grandchildren, and answering questions about The Lump, they were finally able to explain the reason for the visit. Janet assured them the boys would be there on Saturday afternoon.
Before they left they were invited to admire the menagerie outside and, stepping over Frank, who was sleeping, propped up against a sack of logs in the porch, they walked around the various sheds and were introduced to the goats, including Ermintrude, the most affectionate one who followed Frank around whenever she had the chance.
Edward was surprised to realise he had enjoyed the visit and hoped to be invited to go there again. When he told Megan how he felt on the drive back to town, all she said was, “Of course you enjoyed it. Everyone does. Even stuffy old bores like you, Edward.”
He laughed but couldn’t resist asking, “Am I? A stuffy old bore?”
“Not any more you aren’t. You’re shedding your inhibitions at an impressive rate, and finding it fun, I think.”
“Being with you is making it easy to turn away from the old life and look towards the new, Megan. Thank you.”
“Silly old thing,” she said patting his arm, leaving it there for a moment.
He felt the warmth of her touch for a long time.
If Sally was aware of the time her daughter was spending with Edward Jenkins, she didn’t remark on it. She was so anxious about Ryan’s abuse of her, she hardly noticed Megan’s comings and goings. At bedtime she went through the usual routine, putting a hot-water bottle in her daughter’s bed and making cocoa which she took up to her, but instead of staying beside the bed and talking to her for a while, she put the cup and saucer down and returned downstairs, anxious to get into bed and lock herself in before Ryan returned home.
She was wary whenever Ryan was around, still half expecting a repeat of the blow to her face, which was still tender to the touch. As much as possible, she kept out of his way and when they did meet, she avoided saying anything apart from the mildest of comments. Sometimes he replied, mostly he did not.
The post brought a demand for an unpaid repair bill on Saturday morning and she knew she would have to speak to Ryan about it. She was certain it had been paid but was unable to find the receipt. Forcing herself to stay calm, she waited until he was settled in his armchair with the morning paper, and, carrying a cup of coffee that a shaking hand threatened to drop, she said, “Ryan, this came this morning but I’m sure it’s been paid. I don’t know what to do.”
He took the statement of account from her without looking at her and she waited while he read it. To her surprise he then looked up and smiled at her.
“They’ve made a mistake, I’ll telephone them for you, shall I?”
“Please Ryan.”
He made the call, sorted out the error, and followed her into the kitchen. “It’s all right, you can throw this away, it was a simple mistake. The monthly statements were made up before the account was settled.”
“Thank you,” she said softly.
“Sally, I’m sorry,” he surprised her by saying. “I don’t know what caused my fury on that day. I was almost insane with rage. A build-up of several things I think.” He moved towards her and she shrank from him.
“Keep away. I can’t trust you not to do it again,” she said, panic raising the tone of her voice.
“Don’t say that, Sally.”
“Sorry Ryan, you can continue to stay here with Megan and me, but I don’t want you near me.”
“What d’you mean I can stay here? It’s my home!”
“My father bought it for us, and I’ll only have you here under certain conditions.”
She was trembling. This was a part of her character never before revealed. She steeled herself to continue even though the look on his face had changed from apologetic to rising anger and was frightening her. She should have waited until someone else was in the house. Megan was out and none of the guests would be home until dinner time. She took a step towards the door but he touched her arm and she froze.
“What conditions?” He spoke softly but there was an edge to his voice.
“Megan, for one,” she said. “You have to accept this child she’s carrying and stop treating her like a convict.”
“You expect me to beg to be allowed to live in my own house and condone the disgusting behaviour of your daughter?” Sally noticed he referred to ‘her’ daughter and not theirs.
She noticed also that his voice was more gritty and the grip on her arm was tightening. She tried to pull away and reached for the door handle to make her escape before he stopped her and turned her to face him. She tensed against the blow, but it didn’t come.
“Sally, please don’t look at me like that,” he said and slowly, like a stranger, he pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry, sorry, sorry. The truth is, I can’t cope with Megan’s condition. I try but I can’t. You’ll have to help her, I know that, and I want you to. But I can’t talk to her knowing what she’s done. That’s why I snapped the other day. It’ll never happen again, I promise.”
Slowly, in a confused state of mind, Sally relaxed against him. She wanted to believe him so much.
So far, Frank had made very little difference to the garden behind the old draper’s shop. He had started to drag some of the fallen branches from where the tangle of grasses held them like a vice, but most of the time he had sat and thought about the best way to deal with the problem.
Megan went to see Janet and told her to remind Frank that it was payment by results. With Edward and Megan in attendance, Frank and Ernie Griffiths arrived on Saturday afternoon to break through and see what secrets lay behind the concealed entrance to the basement.
But the first task was to cut back the rest of the foliage. A start had been made, but by pulling up things long hidden in the neglected garden, and throwing them down somewhere else, Frank had created a worse mess than before he’d begun.
“This will need more than shears,” Ernie said as he hacked his way through the smaller branches of buddleia and ash and sycamore that had grown sturdy over the years of neglect. Megan pointed at the saws and axes and tilting her head on one side, waited for them to begin. Edward couldn’t stay, he had to be at Montague Court to deal with the lunchtime rush.
He and Margaret still worked together although Islwyn was slowly learning how to be useful. Edward watched Islwyn sometimes and guessed that his show of enthusiasm was false; he could see he found the work tedious and boring and would soon tire of it once it was a full-time occupation.
For a moment he felt sorry for Margaret. She was leaning on a man who lacked the strength to support her.
Although they shared the various chores as they had always done, Edward and his sister rarely spoke to each other. So used to each other’s ways they had little need, but besides the familiarity of the tasks, there was a tension between them. Margaret was so resentful of what she pompously called the abdication of his responsibilities, she wanted to shout at him, argue that he should stay and do his duty to support the family’s endeavours; even though the family was reduced to just the two of them plus a grandfather who showed no interest and cousin Terrence whom they both disliked.
Edward sometimes still felt a surge of guilt and was on the point of relenting, accepting her arguments, prepared to give up on his dream; but since Megan had begun to take an interest, these moments of weakness were becoming less frequent.
Since being invalided out of the RAF with his hopes of becoming a tennis player dashed by a leg injury, he had done what the family wanted. Now it was time to live for himself.
He had never aspired to great sporting heights, had known he hadn’t the talent to become a top-class player, but believed he had been capable of succeeding in the local and regional tournaments. He had quickly realised that even without the leg injury he couldn’t have indulged himself. His time and energy had been needed to prop up the ailing family fortunes. The money had by that time all but gone, the family were reduced to earning a living by opening their home to strangers.
Once persuaded back into the family business he gradually gave up a hope of any other life. But a chance had come to do something for himself and if he didn’t break out now, he knew he would be trapped for the rest of his life.
Frank and Ernie worked for several hours in the jungle that was once the garden of the draper’s shop. They cut and sawed and chopped until the area was covered so deeply with the hacked-off branches and the debris of years of grass growth and wild flowers they were almost hidden. As they opened up the gate which led into the back lane, it fell off, and Frank toppled out into the rutted lane, followed by a sack filled with chopped wood intended to be sold as firewood. Long dangling legs waving in the air like a demented spider, he landed at the feet of his father who had come to help.
“God ’elp us, Frank,” Hywel laughed. “Can’t you find anything better to fight than a sack of wood?”
Hywel’s sons were well known for arguments that ended in a fight and a court appearance, but today their energy had been spent. They hadn’t even the breath to reply.
Hywel Griffiths was not a tall man, but he was heavily built and with his grizzly beard, his missing teeth and a leather belt slung aggressively across his large belly, he looked like trouble. He took off his jacket and began helping his sons.
They began removing the enormous pile of wood, pulling out grasses and dead flower stalks and unearthing long-lost items such as chimney pots, buckets, an old zinc bath and an enormous collection of rotten wood, unidentifiable pieces of rusty metal and empty boxes. By six o’clock, they had succeeded in taking away most of the thicker branches and burning the smaller ones. The metal had been piled inside the gate which led into the lane.
Without going home to change or wash, Frank and Ernie headed for the Railwayman for a reviving pint. Although he had only worked for a couple of hours, Hywel went with them.
Hywel’s other son was there. Basil worked in a small factory making the new plastic kitchen and toilet items, like buckets and washing-up bowls as well as combs, assorted brushes and soap dishes. Although he had always been a man for the outdoors, Basil had accepted the factory job without hesitation.
All their lives the Griffiths men had lived on their wits: a deal here, a bit of poaching there, and all the time balancing on the very edge of honesty.
Now Basil was married to Eleri and they had two sons. That was sufficient reason for him to forgo the freedom of the fields and the pleasures of casual work, and settle down to regular hours in, what was to him, an alien environment. His brothers Ernie and Frank had yet to do the same. His father Hywel never would.
The mention of the mysterious basement room was enlarged upon by Frank. He succeeded in his intention to intrigue his brother Basil into offering to help. The next day being Sunday, Frank, Ernie, Basil and their father Hywel all agreed to report for work early in the morning.
A figure had been watching as the men removed the results of their clearing. Badly dressed and obviously wearing more than one layer of outer clothing, he was short and the extra padding gave him a distorted shape. On his feet were boots that seemed too large. His dark eyes shone with interest as the garden was gradually emptied. He stepped forward once or twice and listened to the lively chatter and the laughter, but stepped back when there was a possibility of being seen.
He saw the broken gate propped up when they finished and after the men had gone he went over and pulled it aside and entered the sad-looking garden. He stood for a long time, staring around with curiosity, then he gathered some pieces of wood and revived the fire.
It was getting dark. He took from his roomy pocket a knife, half a loaf and some cheese, and sitting down on an upturned bucket, the sharp edges protected by a piece of matting, he began to eat. He stretched his hands out towards the blaze, and continued to add pieces of wood, enjoying the warmth.
Once Sunday breakfast at Montague Court was over, Edward went to join the Griffithses. To his surprise the garden was cleared. Hywel’s van had carted away two loads of wood and the debris of the bonfire and disturbed earth was all that remained of the flowers and shrubs that had made the place into a mini jungle. The van was loaded with the last of the metal and the rusted items, ready for disposal.
Edward saw that the bricked-up doorway was clearly visible, no longer hidden by the living screen of foliage. It was made more obvious by the fact that the bricks that had sealed the basement were of a different kind from the rest of the building. Frank and Hywel were waiting for him, poised, each holding a four-pound hammer.
“Say the word, Mr Jenkins,” Frank said, “and we’ll start bashing.”
“Go ahead,” Edward smiled. The faces of the men showed expressions like children opening a surprise parcel which, in a way, it was. “Be prepared for disappointment, though,” he felt forced to add. “I don’t suppose there’ll be anything inside.”
They didn’t answer. Frank and Hywel were already enthusiastically wielding the heavy hammers, and the others stood expectantly by.
Once the bricks had been loosened, eager hands helped to clear the opening. The bricks and cement were thrown aside and Hywel was the first to poke his head inside. He popped back out swiftly, coughing and complaining.
“Bloody ’ell, boys! The place stinks of dead mice and mildew!”
They knocked out a few more bricks and Hywel looked inside once more. “Look at this!” he said to Edward. “The place is full of junk.” With an effort Hywel tore himself away from his examination of the dark room and stood back for Edward to inspect the place.
Edward stepped forward, shining the torch he’d had the forethought to bring, and he swung the beam around piles of cardboard boxes of various sizes and condition. Some appeared intact. Others had been weakened by dampness or nibbled by nest-making mice and had collapsed, spilling the contents onto the tiled floor.
“Hang on,” Hywel said and calling Basil to help, he collected a large board from the van and set it on the earth. “Bring a few out so you can see what’s in them,” he suggested eagerly.
Four heads were leaning over as Edward opened the first of the boxes. There was a chorus of groans as the contents were revealed. Collar studs. Hundreds of them.
Examination of the other boxes showed nothing of greater interest and sadly the Griffithses went off to dispose of the last of the vegetation and rusty metal in the heavily laden van.
Edward spent all the time he could spare that day looking into the odd assortment of abandoned stock in the basement. At four o’clock, using the board Hywel had left, he covered the entrance and set off back to Montague Court to begin preparations for dinner.
He was late and he knew Margaret would be annoyed, but even so, he made a detour and went to see Megan.
“I can’t stop,” he said when she opened the door. “I thought you’d like to know we opened up the basement.”
“How exciting, Edward. What did you find? Spiders, beetles, mice and kindred things?”
“Those in plenty,” he told her with a smile. “But there are dozens of boxes filled with an assortment of odd things, like packets of pins and needles, rusted into their paper. And buttons, and collar stiffeners and cufflinks and the like. Pounds and pounds worth, or they would have been. Now they are useless junk.”
”Can I have a look? It must be like an Aladdin’s cave,” Megan said.
“I have to work tomorrow morning to make up for the time I took today, but if you’re free tomorrow evening?”
“Seven-thirty.” she said in her abrupt way.
The lonely diner revived the fire in the garden of the draper’s shop and set out his meal on a plank of wood propped up as a makeshift table. Then he removed the wood blocking the entrance to the basement and edged his way inside. The hour was late and it was impossible to see anything, so he began taking one or two boxes at a time, carrying them to his seat and examining the contents by the flickering light from the fire.
After a while he sat dreamily nursing a box filled with once white collars. He cried silently when the weakened box collapsed, spilling the contents into the flames. When the fire died down, he ate the food he had brought and shuffled off to the sad room in a cheap boarding house that he called home.
Sally and Ryan began the slow return to a normal routine. Ryan still slept in the attic, Sally had insisted on that. And she still locked her door. She lay there that Sunday night afraid to sleep, watching the door handle, half expecting it to turn as her husband made his way to his bed, but it didn’t.
The rage seemed to have dissipated once he had confessed it had been the situation with Megan that had caused it. She watched him anxiously but he showed no sign of wanting to hit her again, although the calm expression in his eyes, the occasional smile, didn’t prevent her heart from racing with fear every time he came near her.
Sally’s most urgent desire was to prevent her twin girls becoming aware of the estrangement. For this reason, she rose early and left her bedroom door open. Ryan, with tacit agreement to keep the situation secret, would go into the bedroom for his clothes and leave his laundry in the basket near the bedroom window as he always did. If Megan was aware of an atmosphere in the house she did not mention it.
In fact, she and her twin hardly noticed their mother and father. Joan was involved in running the family’s wallpaper and paint shop with her husband Viv, and Megan was wrapped up in thoughts of the sports shop and Edward.
Besides, parents were a part of the scenery, not like friends whose every nuance of mood they registered. They were there, as they always were, whenever they were needed. As with most young people, their parents just existed on the periphery of their days. They had no reason to expect anything to change, and nothing happened to attract their attention to a serious rift.
Sally fussed over Megan as usual, and Megan ignored her concerns. Sally was anxious about the baby, anxious about future plans, of which Megan had none. She worried about her daughter’s health, and about what people were saying. And the effect of the pregnancy on her mother, Gladys, who had been so distressed by the announcement and was trying to be brave.
Megan did notice how little was said in the presence of her father and how careful her mother was to avoid discussing anything to do with the baby, but she presumed he was yet to forgive her.
“Daddy will come round, I know he will, fathers always do,” Megan said to her sister one day when they were sipping coffee in the office of Weston’s Wallpaper and Paint.
“He’ll have to!” Joan said sharply. “He can’t sulk and pretend it isn’t happening, for the rest of his life.”
The sisters were in the shop on a Sunday, while Viv and one of his assistants were sorting through some old stock with the intention of having a sale.
“I know the baby will change my life,” Megan told her, “but I also know that, in spite of the undisguised fact that I – one of the Weston Girls – should have succumbed to such terrible weakness, my family will be there with as much help as I need. And that includes Daddy, and you.”
“I was shocked at your stupidity, I’ll admit,” Joan said. “Especially with the awful Terrence Jenkins of all people. But, although I don’t want a child of my own, in a way I envy you.”
“Terrence isn’t so bad. I just can’t imagine being married to him. He’s weak and I could have persuaded him, but we were both glad to end it.”
“He will be registered as the father, won’t he?”
Megan grinned wickedly and whispered, “What if I put down ‘father unknown’?”
“You wouldn’t! People would presume you’re a tart! Unable to decide who was responsible!”
“No, I wouldn’t do that, but it’s a useful threat when Mummy starts fussing,” she smiled. “Has Daddy spoken to you about the baby yet?”
“No. I don’t think he will. Unless he changes his attitude when The Lump becomes a little person.”
“He will, won’t he?”
“Unlikely,” Joan said sadly. “He hasn’t forgiven me yet, for marrying Viv!”
Viv Lewis visited his father later that evening. In Rhiannon and Charlie’s house, opposite where his mother lived, Viv found Lewis sitting in the sparsely furnished front room listening to the radio. Lewis was so pleased to see his son, that Viv felt mean for not calling before.
“Sorry, Dad. I should have popped in before this, to see if you’re settled in all right. But with the shop all day and the books to do in the evening there isn’t much time.”
“Don’t worry, son. I’m all right and I know where to find you if I need you.”
“Fancy coming to the Griffiths’s? The Railwayman is closed, being a Sunday, but Hywel is usually stocked up in readiness. Basil and Frank and Ernie Griffiths were booked to break open the basement of the old draper’s shop this weekend. They’ll be full of what was found.”
“Yes, I’ll enjoy a chinwag.” Lewis took his jacket from the back of the chair and combed his hair. “That’s me ready.”
Viv was aware that his handsome and charming father was subdued, despite his earlier reassurance. “Is everything okay, Dad?”
“Well, not really. Nothing serious,” he added as Viv looked startled. “We’ll talk about it on the way.”
Viv called ‘cheerio’ to Rhiannon, Charlie and Gwyn, but his father shook his head.
“They’re out on their bikes. Never in more than long enough to eat. I’m stuck here on my own for hours on end, and there’s your mother only a few yards away across the road on her own. It’s daft. That’s what it is. Daft. I can’t stay there,” Lewis said as they hurried through a clear, May evening to join their friends.
“Isn’t Rhiannon looking after you?”
“Rhiannon does all she can to make me comfortable, but it’s no use kidding myself, Viv, I’m in the way.”
“Have you talked to Mam?” Viv asked. “She might be reasonable now Nia Martin is no longer here to—” The pain on his father’s face at the mention of Nia stopped him.
“I’ve tried. But reasonable isn’t a word I’d use to describe your mother, much as I love her.”
“You love her? It isn’t because Nia died, and – Sorry,” he added quickly. “Forget I said it.”
“I don’t expect you to understand, I don’t know that I do! Although Nia was the one who made me happiest, I’ve never stopped loving your mother. But Dora’s such a prickly and hot-tempered woman that she’s hard to live with. Nia was quiet, calm and always loving and gentle. Two such different women and I’ve loved them both.”
“Try telling that to Mam,” Viv suggested softly.
“I’d have to tie her up and gag her first!”
“Now, now, our Dad. We’ll have none of that!” Viv teased. He smiled but he was thoughtful as they made their way across the fields. There had to be a way to get his parents back together, and reminding Dora that Rhiannon and Charlie didn’t want Lewis as a lodger, might be the best way.
“It won’t work,” Lewis said when Viv suggested it. “I’ve already tried; saw through me in a split second she did. Accused me straight off of moving in with them just so she’d take pity on them and have me back.”
“As if you’d be that devious,” Viv smiled.
“As if my Dora would be that easy to fool!” Lewis sighed. “She did give me a chance though, and typically I blew it.” He sighed again and added, “I wonder how long – if ever – before I get another?”
Edward and Megan met that evening after the restaurant’s dinner session was over and they went to the dark, dingy room behind the shop. A ladder had been brought and fixed in the opening the surveyor had disclosed in the floor, as the old wooden steps were unsafe. With a Tilley lamp and the aid of a powerful torch Edward carried some of the boxes up into the shop, and they began sorting through the contents.
It was a dismal collection of abandoned stock. Button hooks once used to fasten the line of buttons on gaiters and leggings. Hat pins no longer fashionable. Snap fasteners and hooks and eyes, sewn onto paper gone brittle with age. And box after box of buttons in every colour and size. Stiff, wing collars curled in their boxes, heavily starched, severely folded and looking lethal. Garters, and arm bands once used to hold sleeves back from the wrists. Dozens of socks, rotted and nibbled by vermin. They opened box after box and felt sad.
In larger boxes they discovered shirts no longer wearable, in styles that had gone out of fashion years before. They also found women’s skirts and blouses and wrapover aprons that fell apart when lifted out of the box, waistcoats, trousers and even a few once smart jackets. There were lisle stockings chewed and discoloured. In a corner they found piles and piles of paper carrier bags, as dry and brittle as dead leaves.
“This isn’t just the stock of a draper,” Edward frowned. “I wonder where it came from?”
“It might have been a clothes shop before Mr Jones took over. Or he might have decided to change the business.”
“Whatever, there’s a lot of money gone to waste.”
When Edward moved the last of the boxes, a metal container was exposed. He carried it up the ladder to throw with the others and when Megan opened it she gave a cry of surprise. It was filled with money.
“Thank goodness it was in a metal box or there’d have been some very expensive mice nests under your floor!”
“We’ll have to find Mr Jones and return it,” Edward said.
Megan looked at him and burst out laughing. “Frank and Ernie will be furious!”
Edward smiled. “I think it best we don’t tell them. They’d never forget how close they were to a fortune. It would ruin their lives. There must be at least five hundred pounds there.”
When they counted it, there was five hundred and sixty-two pounds and ten shillings.
“Sorry Edward, but we must tell Frank and Ernie. I just have to see their faces when they realise what they missed! Besides, they might know where the retired draper is living.”
“Ah, and now comes the problem,” Edward sighed. “Where on earth do we start looking for a Mr William Jones?”
“Post office?” Megan suggested. “He’s probably drawing a pension.”
“And how many William Joneses do we have to interview before finding the right one?”
Megan tilted her head in that fascinating way and asked, “How many buttons are there in these boxes?”