The police had called on Sally and Ryan and begun their investigation of the robbery.
“There have been a series of break-ins to houses where good quality items are likely to be found and, surprisingly, this thief seems to be a rather well-dressed, well-spoken man himself,” Inspector Leonard told them. “Perhaps someone who knows these houses, has been a guest at some time. He seems to get in and out fast, suggesting he knows what he’s looking for and where to find it.”
He looked at Sally, standing beside the couch on which Megan was sitting, then at Ryan, on the opposite end of the elegant room, leaning on the windowsill and looking down at his highly polished, expensive leather shoes.
“If you think of someone in your circle, sir and madam, or you Miss Fowler-Weston, someone who might be desperate for cash, someone who might need money badly enough to commit these crimes, you would tell me?”
“Of course,” Megan said sharply, “but there’s no one we know who’d be capable of this.”
“Tell me about your brother-in-law,” the policeman glanced at his notebook and went on, “Islwyn Heath-Weston is it? He’s now living with – er – at Montague Court, I believe?”
Sally was staring at Ryan and didn’t respond to the question. Ryan continued to look down at his shoes, so it was again Megan who answered him.
“He is, Inspector, and if you require details of his movements you’d better ask him; we don’t see him and have no idea what he gets up to.”
“He’s a fool, we all know that, but he wouldn’t be involved with this.” Ryan spoke for the first time.
Sally looked at him, her eyes staring intensely. “Who knows what another person is capable of. We don’t really know anyone, do we?”
The police searched Edward’s shop and his room at Montague Court, but found nothing. Edward was anxious, Margaret angry at the impression their investigation gave to the Grants, and Megan was amused.
“Imagine them seeing you in the role of burglar, Edward. With your injured leg and the ancient car you drive, you’d hardly be ready for the quick getaway, would you?”
He smiled ruefully. “I wonder how they can think me capable of doing anything fast. I’m the slowest thinker on record. I’d be caught standing outside the house wondering whether to turn left or right.”
“Don’t put yourself down, Edward, you’re smarter than your sister believes for a start, and you’re going to be one of Pendragon Island’s most successful businessmen. I insist on it.”
Besides searching the newly cleared shop, the police went through the other empty properties on the row and found that one had been used as a shelter.
“Probably a tramp,” Constable Gregory told them. “There were some boxes and a stub of a candle and a few old clothes. I think someone must have slept there, perhaps during the winter. Nothing more recent than an April newspaper anyway.”
“Will you need me for anything else?” Edward asked.
“It’s possible, I can’t say, sir,” was the disconcerting reply. “It depends what comes up during our enquiries. Just as long as we know where to find you if we do, you needn’t worry any further.”
“They do suspect me!” Edward whispered as the last of the constables propped up the fallen gate and left.
Sally had managed to cover up the real reason for the bruise on her face and although movement was painful, no one except Ryan knew of the larger bruises on her body. After the first time he had been careful not to hit her where it was likely to show. The blow to her face on that second attack had been caused by the side of the dressing table when she had fallen over.
She wasn’t sure why he hit her sometimes and on other occasions was kind and gentle, praising her, even offering to help with the work she did in keeping the house running and the meals coming for her boarders. After the first occasion when she had asked him to make the cup of tea he wanted, she had been careful not to ask him to do anything. Yet on three separate occasions he had suddenly lost control. She tried to puzzle out what had caused it. But there didn’t seem to be a pattern. The saddest part was her inability to talk about it to anyone.
Her mother would be very distressed and even Sian, her twin, to whom she would normally have run, couldn’t be told. She wouldn’t have been able to hold back from interfering. Whatever had caused it, she was the one at fault. She must have done something to make a placid man suddenly turn into a monster. She must have changed; in some way she had caused him such irritation that he had become a different person. So, she reasoned, it was up to her to change him back.
She took on an extra assistant, intending to make sure she had more time to spend with Ryan. The girl, Judith Parry, was employed to help clean the house and deal with the laundry during the morning and prepare the vegetables for the evening meal. The idea was for Sally to sit in the lounge with Ryan and talk about their day, share the activities of the house that had been their family home.
For the first three mornings he went out as she entered the room. On the fourth, she had followed him upstairs to ask whether he would like to go into town and help choose some new curtains for the room that would be the nursery when their grandchild was born.
“We won’t have to spend much, dear,” she assured him, reaching for her coat. “The window isn’t large, but it will please Megan that we have bothered. Perhaps a rug as well. What d’you think?”
She hardly felt the first blow, as her coat was bunched up around her shoulders, but the second, a punch to her stomach had her bending over and trying not to be sick.
Then she was against the wall, trying not to make a sound, curling her head under her arms and staying there for long after he had gone.
“I shouldn’t have mentioned the baby,” she chided herself between sobs. “It was my fault. He told me how much it distressed him. How could I have been so stupid?”
After that incident she hardly spoke to him at all. She rose early and went to bed late and locked herself in. She presumed he slept in the loft room and also guessed he had been careful not to be seen leaving it, as Megan said nothing about the arrangement.
Constable Gregory went to Montague Court and asked to talk to Islwyn.
“Sorry to bother you, sir, but I wondered whether you’d seen anyone hanging about, you know, someone who shouldn’t have been where you saw him? It’s a long shot, but sometimes the small piece of the jigsaw is the one that leads to success.”
As the policeman was leaving, Margaret followed him and said, almost apologetically, “I don’t suppose it will help, but my brother Edward’s movements are rather erratic these days.”
“How d’you mean, Miss Jenkins?”
“Well, until a few weeks ago I always knew where to find him, but now, he’s often absent during the day. I’ve had to do his work on several occasions, you can ask Islwyn. And at night. He’s often very late.”
“What are you suggesting, miss?”
“Oh, good heavens, I wasn’t suggesting – oh dear!” She put an embarrassed hand to her mouth. “No, I didn’t mean – I just thought that he’s a more likely person to have noticed someone ‘hanging about’ as you put it. That’s all.” She was smiling as she returned to the kitchen.
The local papers were filled with reports of the spate of robberies. In Dora and Sian’s café they heard the gossip and the rumours and the exaggerations, both thankful they had no valuables for anyone to covet.
“I’ve never had any, and you disposed of yours when you sold your big posh house, didn’t you?” Dora said to Sian.
They were also among the first to hear that Gwennie Woodlas, who owned the gown shop in the town, had disturbed the thief as he was gathering together the items he’d chosen.
She came into the café after the police had examined her home, “Too distressed I am to go and open the shop today.” She answered their questions cheerfully though, proud of the fact she had prevented the burglar from getting away with her cherished ornaments and silver.
“Smartly dressed he was,” Gwennie told them. “I remember how shiny his shoes were, top quality leather too. And such fine worsted trousers and blazer. I can recognise quality when I see it. I didn’t see his face, he wore something over it; frightening it was mind.” She frowned at the memory then added, “He spoke, you know. Called me a stupid woman would you believe! Me with a business and a grand house and him having to steal what isn’t his, and he calls me stupid!” She lowered her voice. “The thing is, I’m sure I’d recognise his voice again. He wasn’t the usual kind of man to steal from houses.”
“What’s the usual type?” Dora asked, thinking she was about to hear a criticism of Charlie, and preparing to retort.
“He was more the Raffles sort of criminal. You know, a gentleman thief. His voice was very upper class.”
The police visited Charlie and, after several visits and blatant checking of his story, were apparently reassured that he had nothing to do with the thefts. Dora was upset, worried about the effect on her daughter’s marriage, of the constant threat of police suspicions. She was there one day when PC Gregory called to tell Charlie they probably wouldn’t want to see him again.
“I should think so too!” Dora commented. “Fat chance of allowing people to forget previous mistakes with your lot barging in every time something disappears. When will you leave the boy alone?”
“Sorry, Mrs Lewis. I like the lad,” the policeman replied, “but we have to check on ex-criminals.”
“At least you refer to him as an ex!”
“This time we have a description and, well, the man was described as tall, which you are not,” he said turning to Charlie, adding with a grin “expensively dressed, polished shoes, carefully pressed clothes, well spoken and charming, all of which you are not!” After a final discussion of Charlie’s movements, the constable said, “All in all, this one’s a bit out of your class, boy. The items stolen aren’t your ‘quick sale, ask no questions’ type of robbery. No. Fancy stuff like this bloke takes, needs some real good contacts. Although,” he added warningly, “don’t think you’re out of the frame yet. Who knows what contacts you made in prison, eh? We’re watching you, remember that.”
Lewis was embarrassed when he heard about the latest inquisition and he went to number seven Sophie Street to talk to Dora.
“It’s humiliating living in a house where the police call whenever something like this happens. And our daughter being married to a criminal! Who’d have thought we’d end up like this, with the police around every corner ‘making enquiries’? It’s not right, Dora. We ought to do something.”
“Charlie’s not a criminal! He’s given up all that and you well know it! Our daughter’s happy, Charlie’s good to her, Gwyn loves her too. Think about it, Lewis. Do you want to do something to spoil that?”
“I know. I just wish—” He sat down in the chair that had always been regarded as his when the family lived at home. “I just wish we weren’t mixed up with the police. What if he is guilty? What if he—”
“Don’t say any more,” Dora warned, waving a threatening finger. “Just support them. They’re a lovely little family and they’re ours. Right? Besides,” she added more slowly. “There’s a bit of a look about Rhiannon that makes me think she might be telling us some exciting news very soon.”
“You mean…?”
“I mean you might be a grandfather next year. Make you feel old does it? Too old for women? Perhaps that’ll stop your shenanigans, eh?”
“Oh Dora,” he laughed. He stood up and opened his arms to her and she went to share in a hug.
Annie and Leigh Grant went to see Edward and demanded that he dealt with the latest of Margaret’s tricks.
“Only taken the chandeliers hasn’t she!” Leigh shouted as soon as he found Edward in the shop. “They were clearly marked as part of the sale. I want them back. Pronto. Right?” The man’s rage startled Edward.
“But nothing’s been moved out of the house, yet.”
“Go and look if you don’t believe me. Annie and I went to check a few measurements. You know what the women are like for getting ahead of themselves.”
Locking the shop, Edward went to find Margaret. She was nowhere to be found but the chandeliers were indeed missing. In their place, simple lamp holders had been fixed. As well as the lights, other things had gone too.
On Margaret’s desk Edward shuffled through papers and found scribbled on a margin a telephone number with the name Browns beside it. He dialled the number and found it was a curtains and loose covers agency. Determinedly he rang several other numbers he found and on his fourth attempt reached a Cardiff antiques dealer.
A threat of the police, a firm assurance that the goods were in fact stolen, and it was quickly agreed they would all be returned, and an invoice sent to Margaret with its own threat of police involvement.
When he told Margaret she had to repay the money he didn’t hear her reply. Anger blotted out everything but his determination to beat her every time she tried to cheat on the Grants.
In the old draper’s shop, progress had been fast. By the end of June, Frank and his father, with occasional help from Ernie, had cleared the rubble and emptied the basement. The builders had completed the rearrangement of the rooms by removing a wall and adding a new doorway to another. The shop fitters were already finished and the place was looking completely different from the sad place Edward had first seen.
“Heard anything about that money yet?” Frank asked.
“We’ve tried everywhere we can think of but William Jones, retired draper, seems to have vanished.”
“I asked Mam and Dad but they don’t remember where he went. Probably dead,” Frank said lugubriously. “Best you spend it.”
“I won’t give up yet,” Edward smiled. “Megan’s going to every shop in the road and asking if they remember the old man. Someone will eventually give us a clue I’m sure.”
Megan came in just then. She shook her head. “No luck yet,” she told them, and Frank hauled himself up off the floor where he had been touching up the skirting boards, and went to find some liquid lunch.
“I’m so grateful for your help,” Edward told Megan as they looked at the completed display area. “I don’t think I’d have made such excellent use of the space without your ideas.”
“I haven’t finished yet,” she said in her sharp manner. “So don’t dismiss me like an unwanted employee!”
“Thank goodness for that,” he smiled. “I was hoping you’d go through the orders and make sure I haven’t forgotten anything.”
“You’re brave to have decided to cover all sports including golf, and the increasingly popular ski holiday goods, Edward. They’re expensive and there’s a risk of money lying idle in the stock you’ll have to carry.”
“You think I’m wrong.”
“Not at all. Confidence is the key and will certainly pay off in this case. Edward, I’m proud of you.”
They sat together in the basement at the table Basil had brought in, enjoying the sun shining over the rooftops and warming them. Edward flicked through the pages of orders he’d completed. Sports clothing in every size from school sports wear to extra large adult garments. Tennis rackets and cricket bats, through darts and table tennis and bowls equipment and even skipping ropes and, when they could find room, fishing would have its own section too.
“Whatever there’s a demand for we’ll stock it, that’ll be our motto,” Edward said.
”Our motto?” Megan queried with a tilt of her head.
“Ours if you want it to be, Megan. In fact, I can’t imagine running the business without you on hand.”
“I’m afraid The Lump might have other ideas.” She patted her distended belly with a small sigh.
“Don’t be sad about becoming a mother.” Edward put a and over hers. “The little one won’t stop you doing anything you really want to do. He’ll be much too considerate.”
There was a glow of excitement in his eyes as he reassured her about the baby, an inner fire that seemed to grow as her body swelled with each passing week.
“You’re quite as excited about the birth as I am, aren’t you?” she said curiously.
“I suppose I am. But only because it’s yours. I’ve never been involved in the development of a baby before and I’m longing to see this little mite.”
“He’ll probably look ugly, I’m told they often do. Red and wrinkled and quite awful.”
“How can he be anything else but beautiful if he’s yours?” He seemed suddenly to realise the compliment was too impertinent and turned away, rustling the pages of the order book as if searching for something elusive and important.
“Thank you Edward. That was a lovely compliment,” Megan said with a wide smile. She placed her hands over the page he was pretending to read. “You’re a kind man and I’ll be sorry when you don’t need my help any more.”
He was trembling and he almost ignored the opportunity to tell her how he felt. He glanced at her and there was something in her expression that implied she was ready to listen. “Megan, I won’t ever be content without your help. I want you with me always.”
“Always, Edward?”
“Not only in the shop. Every moment. Do I stand a chance of keeping you with me always?”
“Ask me again when the baby’s born, will you?”
He thought she was turning him down gently, but she was afraid that imagining a child looking sweet, all white frills, and scented with soaps and powders, to admire and nurture, would be different from the actual situation. A baby that cried and demanded attention, and grew in his need of her would disrupt his life in a way he could not comprehend at this moment.
Even though she thought he was in love with her, he could end up feeling trapped and in utter despair. No, it was best to wait, even though she could imagine nothing more wonderful than to spend her life beside this shy and gentle man.
“Just until August and you see what life with a baby is really like,” she said softly. “I suspect it will be a shock to us both.”
Sian and Islwyn’s son Jack was a schoolteacher and he had startled his family by falling for his grandmother Gladys’s maid, Victoria. A further surprise had been their elopement and marriage at Gretna Green. Victoria had been overwhelmed and terrified by Gladys’s interpretation of what their wedding should be and she and Jack had taken matters into their own hands. Yet another revelation was how happy they were. Even Gladys, who thought marrying beneath you was a recipe for disaster, had to agree that Victoria had made Jack content.
Victoria’s mother, Mrs Collins, was a widow with six children still at home. She taught piano on an instrument bought for her by Jack and also did some domestic work as her daughter had done. She had agreed to deal with the last minute cleaning of the old draper’s shop for Edward.
Most of the clearing and initial cleaning had been done by Frank, but she gave the shop area a final spit and polish, and straightened the displays with enjoyment. The place still held some dust and she found satisfaction in making everything sparkle. She knew that the basement remained filled with clutter and guessed that the dust which coated everything was probably coming from there, with the back door open to freshen the place and dispel the smell of new paint. She finished long before the time Edward had given her so she decided to go and see whether wetting the basement floor would help settle the dust and assist in keeping the place dust free for longer.
There was a sack of sawdust in one corner, left by the carpenter and forgotten by Frank when he had cleared up. Wetting some by putting a few shovelfuls into a bucket of water, she mixed it up and threw the wet sawdust all over the floor then began slowly to sweep it up, taking with it the worst of the dust and the few remaining pieces of rubble.
The steps to the shop from the basement were new and freshly polished. To avoid marking them with wet feet she placed pieces of cardboard on each tread as she went up and down the stairs.
She looked around her, satisfied with her morning’s work and went up to wash out her dusters in the kitchen that was part of Edward’s new home. The flat above the sports shop was sparsely furnished but she knew that once the sale of Montague Court was completed, Edward would bring what he needed from there, sharing the contents with Margaret and selling what they neither of them wanted.
She stood for a while imagining how she would furnish the place if it were hers, then, as the town clock struck twelve, suddenly remembered the children coming in from school for lunch. Grasping the dusters and some pegs, she ran down to hang them on the clothes line, slipped on the cardboard on the steps and fell to the bottom.
It was her son-in-law Jack who found her. When she didn’t arrive to take the youngest children from Victoria who was looking after them, he went to the shop to look for her.
There was no reply to his knocking and he couldn’t get in, so he went around to the back garden, where he found the broken gate propped up. He pushed it aside and went in. She was sitting on the basement steps, pale and obviously distressed.
“I’m all right,” Mrs Collins assured him hurriedly. “It’s only my wrist. I felt a bit shaky that’s all.”
“No piano lessons for a while then?” he said, trying not to show his alarm. She was bruised all up one arm and the side of her face had been scraped on the rough slate floor. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
Margaret heard of the accident and immediately used it to her advantage. “It’s an unlucky place and I don’t think the business will succeed,” she told anyone who would listen. She was in the Bluebird Café in town one morning when she knew it would be crowded. Her sole reason for being there was to spread gossip. “It’s an unlucky place that shop of Edward’s,” she remarked to the woman behind the counter. “That business will never succeed you know. I tried to warn my brother but he’s so stubborn.”
The woman nodded understandingly. “Men so often are, is my experience.”
Several women for whom superstition was never far below the surface of their minds, listened intently. Gladys Weston and Megan were drinking tea at a table near the window and Margaret hadn’t noticed them.
“Mrs Collins slipped on cardboard placed on polished steps. Careless that is, not unlucky!” Megan said sharply. “She said herself that she should have had more sense!”
“Fancy coming in here brazen as you like, after stealing your Uncle Islwyn from his wife and family!” Gladys whispered softly. “How she has the nerve to show her face I don’t know.”
Trying to appear unconcerned by the unfortunate encounter, Margaret ignored them and, speaking to the assistant, went on in a loud voice, “No one knows what happened to the previous owner, you know. Disappeared, leaving all his money. Poor Edward. No one will support him. Anyone with sense will go into Cardiff for their needs, where there’s a better choice and no fear of reprisals from a restive spirit either. Yes, it’s haunted. How d’you think that poor Mrs Collins fell down those stairs? An unhappy spirit pushed her. Keep away, that’s my advice.”
Megan stood up and glared at her. “What rot you talk Miss Jenkins. But what can I expect of someone who stole someone else’s husband? Too unpleasant to find one of your own, aren’t you, Miss Jenkins?” Followed by an embarrassed and tearful Gladys, Megan left the café.
Margaret left soon after, having restored her confidence by repeating her warnings. When she got back to Montague Court she telephoned Edward’s firm of shop fitters and advised the manager to get his money as quickly as he could as there was some doubt about all the workmen being paid. The same with the builder, and with Frank Griffiths. It was Frank’s mother who guessed what Margaret was trying to do and she told Edward, advising him to scotch the rumours of financial problems immediately.
He wasn’t sure what to do, and he had as yet done nothing when Margaret saw one of the suppliers’ reps going into the still unopened shop. She called to him and invited him to share a cup of coffee at Montague Court. There, she warned him of the risk involved in letting her brother have goods on the six weeks’ credit arrangement.
“He hasn’t sufficient funds, you see,” she explained in mock sorrow. “He was depending on my helping him out, but with this lovely house so slow to sell and our difficulty in finding a place for the restaurant we plan to open, the money simply isn’t there.”
Playing the worried and supportive sister was easy; laughing about it later with Issy was hilarious.
With the bank behind him, Edward paid all demands immediately, but the stock was a problem. He had depended on that six weeks’ credit in the hope that the sale of Montague Court would be completed and the money would be there.
Putting aside his anxieties he went to see Mrs Collins to make sure she wasn’t too badly hurt. At first she made light of it, but seeing her hand bandaged and some bruises on her forearm, Edward insisted on knowing the full story.
“Unfortunately it’s my hand and, as I teach piano to a few pupils it’s made things difficult,” Mrs Collins admitted. “But it’s only for a week or so. I’ll manage,” she said.
“I’ll pay for the lessons you miss,” he assured her and put a crisp white five pound note into her hand. “Please tell me if there’s more practical help I can give.”
She stared at the note long after Edward had gone. She’d never owned one before. “I don’t think I can bring myself to spend it,” she laughingly told her daughter Victoria, when she and Jack called later that evening.
“What am I going to do about Margaret’s stories?” Edward wailed to Megan. “I’ve had several firms asking for payment in advance of orders being sent. It’s never heard of!”
“Have a big extravagant party,” Megan suggested.
“What d’you mean, a party? I don’t even have a home in which to hold one. I can hardly hold it down in the basement!”
“Why not? Advertise a great opening do, invite reps and managing directors of the firms you hope to deal with, and tell anyone who’s interested to come.”
“I couldn’t do all that.”
“Mrs Collins and Janet Griffiths could. And if they don’t want to, there’s always my Aunt Sian and Dora Lewis. They run the Rose Tree Café and do anything else in the catering line they’re asked to do. They did Joan and Viv’s wedding didn’t they? Go on, it will show everyone you’re up and running and will quash rumours of a shortage of money.”
“Here?”
“Here!”
Rhiannon had a suspicion she was expecting a baby. She said nothing to Charlie, afraid of disappointment. In a few more weeks she would go to the doctor and only then would she tell him and Gwyn, and her parents, and her brother Viv, and Joan and – She stopped, the list was too long. What fun it would be sharing such wonderful news with all her family and friends. It made her realise how fortunate she was to have so many people who cared for her.
She wondered how her father would take the news. He was not really happy about her marriage to Charlie. She crossed her fingers and thought how wonderful it would be if the baby’s arrival brought her parents together again. Dora living across the road in what had been the family home, running the café and pretending she was happy. Her father living with them, also trying to pretend he was happy. How much simpler life would be if they were together. How wonderful it would be for Lewis to go back home and for her and Charlie and Gwyn to have the house to themselves, be a proper family before the baby arrived. She sighed. Every time her parents met, they seemed to spark each other off within minutes and part in anger.
She knew the present difficulties were mainly due to her mother – Dora, with her red hair, and the touchiness of temper that reputedly went with that wonderful colouring. Dad would go back, she was certain of that, if only her mother would forgive him and try to forget his past weaknesses. He might even manage to stay constant now his Nia was no longer alive. That he would not was her mother’s greatest fear, she knew that. Rhiannon sighed and began peeling potatoes for their main meal. Charlie and Gwyn finished at one-thirty on Saturdays.
Three rooms were now newly decorated and she was pleased with the appearance of her home. Having time off had unsettled her a little. She liked her job, but after being home for a week she had enjoyed not having to go out at a quarter to nine every morning, and not having to spend evenings and weekends rushing to do the routine chores of the house. Her hands were still, the potatoes neglected, as she stared out of the kitchen window and imagined being home all day, with a small baby to care for, and having time to sit and talk to Charlie and Gwyn. Be a proper housewife.
Her thoughts turned again to the problem of Lewis living with them. She loved her father and couldn’t bear the thought of him going back to live at The Firs, a rather drab boarding house, but she did wish he didn’t live with her and Charlie.
She saw the back gate begin to open and expecting to see her father, she turned away from the window to put a light under the kettle. He liked a cup of tea when he came in. She didn’t see an old, whiskered face peering in through the kitchen window, or see the oddly dressed figure scuttle away. She only caught the briefest glimpse of a black coat and a heavy black boot disappearing through the gate. She ran out but saw no one. It was probably a tramp, perhaps hoping to steal something he could sell. She shivered nervously and went back inside.
Lewis came in through the front door and they met in the passageway.
“Someone came into the garden just then,” Rhiannon said anxiously. “I thought it was you and put the kettle on and when I looked again he was disappearing through the gate.”
“Don’t worry, love. He probably mistook our gate for his own.” He went to where the kettle was singing and poured water on the tea leaves. He seemed unaware of her alarm.
“But Dad, with these robberies I was frightened.”
“Nonsense. There isn’t much to steal around here, love. Charlie home yet?”
“Not yet.” She was a bit upset at the casual way he had dealt with her fear. Charlie would have talked to her, reassured her. “I’ll lock that gate once they’re home. Keep it locked during the day. It’s best don’t you think?” Lewis didn’t reply. “I’d better get on with these potatoes,” she said. “Charlie and Gwyn won’t be long.”
“I want him to look at my car. It’s not pulling as it should.”
“Is it a big job? We’re going out on the bikes tomorrow.”
“Won’t take him long. He’ll have to do it tomorrow, I need it for Monday morning.”
Rhiannon felt unaccustomed anger towards her father. Once she wouldn’t have minded him demanding that Charlie did some repair on his car, but now it was a growing irritation: ‘I want him to look at my car’, not ‘I wonder if he would be kind enough…’ as it had once been.
She recognised with a shadow of dismay that the period when she accepted her father’s presence with equanimity was gone and resentment was starting to mark even ordinary things like asking Charlie to look at his car. How long before her resentment grew into open hostilities? And what then?
She knew that a part of the change in her attitude was the possibility of a baby. Although, even without that complication, offering him a home had only been a temporary plan. She and Charlie had hoped that her mother would have seen the difficulties approaching, and taken him back.
The earlier brief easing of the situation hadn’t lasted long. Within forty-eight hours Lewis had been back, having been thrown out by Dora yet again.
Barry Martin had made a few decisions while he was covering for Rhiannon in Temptations, the shop that had once been his mother’s and before that his grandmother’s and was now his. Apart from certain periods, the shop was fairly quiet. Rhiannon used the quiet spells to clean, but he did nothing but think. He looked back over the last couple of years and what he saw was a series of mistakes. He wondered how many of them he could put right.
He had put into motion the sale of the house on Chestnut Road. It was too large for just himself and there was no possibility of his wife, Caroline Griffiths, ever coming back to share it. He wouldn’t want to live there if she did. That was one move.
The second was to give up the factory job he had taken in the hope of saving his marriage. He hated it and would stay there only as long as it took him to start up again as a photographer. Selling the house would give him the capital to support himself while he built a business again. That and the profit from the sweet shop. That was two moves. Giving up a house in which he no longer felt comfortable and a job he hated - they were easy ones.
He felt quite light-headed at the methodical way in which he was dealing with all that was wrong in his unhappy life. His third move was a literal one. He would move back into the flat here, above Temptations.
His fourth move was not such an easy one. The decision was a shared one and he didn’t know whether the other party concerned would think it worth the effort.
Having married Caroline Griffiths when she was in despair, expecting the child of his brother who had been killed in a road accident, he now knew it had been doomed from the start. He hadn’t approached the marriage with any confidence, any hope of succeeding. He had felt the shadow of his handsome, light-hearted brother always at his side.
He believed Caroline had compared them and found him wanting.
Caroline had made him feel over-large and unattractive, dull and unimaginative, selfish and uncooperative. Thinking about it now, with time to go over it all in his mind, he realised that most of the negative thinking had been of his own making. He had entered the marriage expecting it to fail.
When the shop closed that Saturday at six o’clock he began sorting out the rooms above with the exciting feeling that he was rebuilding his life. Encouraged by his decisions, he decided to go over to the Griffiths’s the following day and start some rebuilding there too, in the house to which Caroline had returned and which she shared with her parents and brothers, plus cats, dogs, chickens and goats. He’d made a workbench for young Joseph, complete with a set of small tools. He’d take that over and… the success of his fourth move would be in the hands of the fates.
Edward had a room at Montague Court but Margaret was making it increasingly difficult for him to use it. Sharing out the furniture, most of which had been in the family for several generations, had been difficult. Knowing what he needed, Margaret made sure she claimed it before he could decide. Then making up his mind for him, she had filled his room with more and more of the items she didn’t need until he could hardly get inside.
Megan told him to telephone her and have a moan. “Better than bottling it up and trying to sleep with anger on your mind, Edward.” He thought it unlikely that he would, but they made an arrangement that he would allow the phone to ring three times and wait for her to ring back if she felt able to talk.
Amusing and childish, but that was how Megan made him feel. A happy child.
He went home one night after taking Megan to the pictures and for a meal, and he couldn’t even get to his bed for the ‘clutter’. He rang Megan and she answered his ring almost immediately.
“Make a noise, move everything and bang it about,” she suggested.
He tried sleeping on the couch, but at five past one in the morning, he gave up trying, and began moving stuff out of his room. That it was late, and he was disturbing his sister and Islwyn didn’t bother him at all. In fact he enjoyed it and made as much noise as he could.
Margaret stormed out of her bedroom, hair in curlers, dressing gown half draped around her, eyes blazing with anger. “What a time to come in! You have no consideration for others, Edward. It’s after one o’clock!”
He had been home for more than two hours but he didn’t bother to explain. “What d’you expect me to do, sleep on the landing? What on earth have you done to my room?” he demanded.
“You should have been here to help. There’s a lot of sorting out to do. In case you’ve forgotten, brother dear, we’re having to move out!”
A few minutes later Islwyn joined them, dressed in slacks and a jumper, his hair neatly combed. He was still embarrassed at showing they slept together. Everyone knew it but displaying it so blatantly was something he couldn’t manage.
“What sort of woman has Megan become,” Margaret went on. “Staying out half the night and her carrying a bastard.”
“Don’t you dare talk about Megan like that!”
“Oh,” Margaret said softly, “getting fond, are we? Well don’t get too optimistic, she’ll soon discover what a wimp you really are.”
“That was a bit much, Margaret,” Islwyn muttered.
After a brief, one-sided row, Edward being silenced at the abuse of Megan, Margaret went back to the bedroom followed by Islwyn. After a few moments Edward heard an argument taking place.
Margaret was always in a worse than usual mood when she was tired. He silently wished Islwyn luck for the following day.
A week later he did it again. Noisily dragging chairs and tables around. Then after making sure he had woken them and caused as much annoyance as he could, he went and slept on the couch.