Megan was saddened by the absence of Edward but told her mother it was what she had expected.
“I was right to ask him to wait before discussing our future,” she said to Sally when, after ten days, she was allowed home with her baby. “I tried to warn him that once the child was a reality instead of a dream, he would change his mind about wanting me and Rosemary in his life.”
“I’m surprised,” Sally told her. “I thought he would stay. From how you described his face when he held her that first day, I gathered he was enchanted. His absence isn’t anything to do with his cousin Terrence turning up, is it?”
“I don’t see how it can be. He knows I have no feeling for Terrence. He was the big mistake of my life. Although,” she added, smiling down at her sleeping child, “I can hardly consider it a mistake now, can I? I have a lovely daughter and I couldn’t be more pleased about that. Look at her, Mummy. She’s so beautiful. I don’t regret Rosemary for a moment.”
“You don’t mind the gossip?” Sally asked.
“That’s hardly new for me is it? Remember how often Joan and I were criticised for our behaviour, and called ‘Those Weston Girls’?”
“This is different.”
“But bearable, Mummy.”
Terrence called at the house a few minutes later, as Megan was helping her mother by making pastry for the evening meal of steak and kidney pie, to which her mother added grated courgettes and an eggcupful of beer.
“Can I see Rosemary?” he asked as he walked into the kitchen.
“Be quick then, Mummy and I have work to do, and please don’t disturb her.” She knew she was being unkind, but she didn’t want him to find a hint of interest in her attitude towards him. Terrence was part of the past, and her mother’s suggestion that he might be the cause of Edward’s non-appearance added to her determination not to encourage him.
Megan suspected that Terrence, like her father, was hoping for an easy life and one during which he didn’t need to work very hard. There was no money in the Weston family’s coffers now, but he might think there was.
She spoke to her mother about her plans to go to work as soon as she was able, so she could earn the money to keep her child. If Sally thought she was talking nonsense she didn’t say so, but following Megan’s lead, listened and added a few suggestions about the careers she might try.
When Sally offered him the unwanted remains of the beer left from the pie, Terrence drank it and left, with Megan hardly uttering a word to him.
“I hope he isn’t staying in Pendragon Island for long,” she sighed as the door closed behind him.
“Unless he’s hoping for frostbite I don’t think he will,” her mother replied wryly.
Edward hadn’t seen very much of his cousin Terrence. He knew he was staying with their grandfather near the pleasure beach and guessed that it was not filial duty that had led him there. He would have called on the old man because he could stay there for free. Terrence was always short of money.
He hoped Megan wasn’t going to be hurt by him. There had to be a reason for him coming back. Perhaps Terrence thought the Weston family had recovered their lost fortune and he could settle into an easy life being supported by them?
Edward smiled then, imagining Megan’ s response to such a suggestion. She had more sense than to succumb to tales of woe from a lazy man; even her mother had finally learned that lesson.
He was re-dressing the window after the shop closed. The evenings were light and the pavement outside was filled with passers-by cheerful in the light-hearted mood and bright colours of summer. Some jokingly stopped and waved a hand to help him adjust a display by an inch or two.
He had two visitors while he worked: Mair Gregory asking whether he wanted help that week, to which he replied ‘yes’, and Frank Griffiths asking if he wanted him to come and dig over the garden ready for autumn planting, another affirmative reply. Because of their interruptions he hadn’t finished the window when hunger reminded him it was almost nine o’clock.
Abandoning the display he put down the beach-tennis sets he intended to place on a small area of sand. For the cricket bats and stumps, the tennis rackets and the clothing to go with them, he planned to set out a piece of imitation grass. But he was tired. It was time to find himself some food. He would finish the window in the morning.
When Edward woke, early the next day, the window display was complete. What was more, the work was considerably better than he would have done it.
For a moment he thought he must have finished it himself, but then he remembered clearly that he had abandoned it to make his supper. He didn’t find the prospect of someone wandering around finishing off his job in any way eerie. It was puzzling, but there was no ghostly hand at work here. Someone was getting in. He went to a locksmith and had the locks on the back door and the shop entrance changed. He wished he could discuss it with Megan.
He saw Sally walking past the shop and ran out to ask about Megan and Rosemary. When he had been assured they were well, he almost asked about Terrence, but couldn’t. The disappointment of him turning up and ruining his hopes of a life with Megan was a raw wound. He asked about Ryan instead.
“I don’t know,” Sally replied, frowning as she spoke.
Edward said, “But you are concerned?”
“It isn’t easy to forget someone you’ve lived with, shared your life with for so many years, Edward.”
“Would you like me to enquire and report back?”
“Would you?” She looked at him, her head tilted slightly in a way that reminded him of Megan. “You’re such an understanding man, Edward.”
“Nonsense,” he smiled.
“Why don’t you call and see the baby?” she asked.
“I can’t. Not now.”
He was thinking he’d be unwelcome now Terrence was back. Sally thought he was unable to cope, now Megan’s child was a reality.
When Edward telephoned the hospital to ask about Ryan he was told he had been discharged.
Released from hospital, and having assured the doctors that he was going home, Ryan had set off for Pendragon Island clutching a bottle of pills and wondering where he would spend that night. He went to his in-laws, Gladys and Arfon Weston, and after a discussion between a hissing, disapproving Gladys and the low ponderous voice of Arfon, it was agreed that he could stay until he found somewhere else.
On the following day, he called on Edward and asked for a job.
“Sorry Mr Fowler-Weston, but I don’t have anything. I call Mair Gregory when I need extra help but even that isn’t regular.”
Edward thought about Ryan throughout the day and decided that, as he was Megan’s father and ill, and obviously in need of help, he could at least try and find him a job. Ringing around to some of the people he dealt with, Ryan was promised a sympathetic hearing by a man needing an invoice clerk. Edward went at once to tell Ryan, who promised to see the man later that day.
“The wages won’t be high, but you might manage to pay for a room with board,” Edward said.
“Beggars can’t be choosers. I’ve never really thought that would apply to me, but I have to face facts,” Ryan said sadly.
Edward was alarmed at the change in the man - once so haughty, and now chastened and defeated. He rang the house in Glebe Lane and told Sally what had happened.
“I understand you don’t want anything more to do with him,” he explained, “but I suspect you’ll want to know how he’s coping.”
“Thank you Edward. I am concerned and I’d appreciate you keeping in touch. Do you want to talk to Megan?” she asked. “Well, yes, if she isn’t busy. I want to know how Rosemary is getting on.”
“Why don’t you call?” Sally asked, lowering her voice. “If you coped with walking into that postnatal ward you can cope with us, surely?”
“I’d love to, but I don’t want to intrude. I gather—” he was about to say, ‘that my cousin is there’, but changed his mind. “I gather Rosemary is doing well,” he said instead.
When Megan came to the phone she sounded breathless and he had the feeling he had either interrupted something or that she was embarrasssed by his call, so he made it brief. He asked about the baby, she asked about the shop, then they both replaced their receivers in disappointment.
Barry Martin’s house in Chestnut Road was sold within twenty-four hours of going on the market. Barry had momentary fears that he’d made another wrong decision, but when he counted up how much money the sale would produce, he calmed down. He owned the sweet shop in Sophie Street and the flat above; it was sensible to use it and give himself a second chance to make a name for himself as a photographer.
He went to tell Rhiannon and explain that he would be living above the shop.
“I won’t disturb you,” he promised. “I’ll use the back entrance and you won’t know I’m there.”
“Have you told Caroline what you’re doing?” she asked.
“She knows I’m selling the house. I haven’t told her I’m trying again to start a photographic business.”
“Why? She’d be interested to know.”
“Would she?” He sounded doubtful.
“She feels guilty that you gave it up because of her,” Rhiannon told him.
“Then perhaps I shouldn’t mention it; won’t it make her feel worse?”
“Probably, but better you tell her than someone else.”
Ernie and Frank Griffiths had always been the closest of friends. But with Ernie engaged to marry Helen Gunner, Frank was feeling out of it all. Their other brother, Basil, was married and had two small boys; now it wouldn’t be long before Ernie had no conversation apart from wallpapering and babies. If only he could persuade Mair Gregory to go out with him he wouldn’t mind so much, but without a girlfriend and no hope of finding one, Frank was miserable.
That evening was particularly bad as Helen’s parents, Gloria and Wilfred Gunner, had been invited to the house to discuss wedding plans. He was amused for a while listening to the diverse ideas of the Gunners’ extravaganza and the Griffiths’ down-to-earth knees-up style celebration.
“Come for a pint?” he asked Ernie hopefully when the women disappeared upstairs to talk about wedding dresses.
“Come off it, Frank. Can’t you see I’m needed here?”
“What’s up, son?” Hywel asked. “Got a face like a double bass you have.”
“If you must know, I asked Mair to come out with me and she told me to get lost.”
“Thank God for that! Her father’s a copper in case you’ve forgotten! He’s never forgiven me for selling him that joint of pork from our illegal pig! Ungrateful old misery-guts.”
Frank went to talk to the goats.
The wedding discussion turned into a party when Viv and Joan came with Charlie and Rhiannon and Gwyn, who was carrying some of the Rose Tree Café’s left-over sandwiches and cakes.
When Barry walked in, hoping to talk privately to Caroline his spirits fell. He groaned as he saw that all the windows were open and the door was standing welcomingly wide, and the place was full. Fat chance of having a quiet word with Caroline in the Griffiths’s house!
But it was easier than he hoped when he realised that Ernie Griffiths’s fiancée and her parents were there to discuss final arrangements for the young couple’s wedding. It was easy for Caroline and him to go into the garden, tell Frank to clear off, and lean over the fence while Joseph-Hywel admired the goats.
“Don’t be upset, Caroline,” Barry began, “but I have given notice at the factory.”
“I’m glad, Barry. You never wanted to take it. What will you do?”
Again he begged her not to be upset, before he told her, “I intend to restart my business.”
“Upset? I’m delighted. I felt so dreadful that you gave it all up for us, then we separated so soon after. Such a lot of trouble I’ve caused you, Barry. I’m sorry. And, I wish you luck.”
“I don’t suppose you’d help, would you? I mean do the books, arrange appointments sometimes, that sort of thing.”
“Of course I will. I’d be glad to make amends for the—”
“Not make amends, just helping a friend,” he interrupted. He went home, ignored the chaos of his partly packed up home and slept contentedly for eight hours.
Lewis watched Dora as she set off to visit Megan and the baby and he was filled with resentment. He had offered her a lift but had been told firmly that she would rather walk. In fact she had gone on her bicycle with Rhiannon. Was there ever going to be an end to her bitterness? Out of pique he rang up a lady customer and invited her out for a meal. He’d show Dora he wasn’t waiting around for her for the rest of his life. He was still young enough to start all over again. Why should he put up with her temper any longer?
It was a warm evening and August was the month when all the world seemed to be holidaymaking. In a mood of pleasurable excitement he drove into Cardiff to meet Diana Keep. She was waiting for him on the corner of St Mary’s Street and wearing a heavy coat in a drab brown, sensible shoes and a hat that could only be described as unfortunate. His optimistic mood faded and when he had parked the car, he went to meet her with a heavy heart.
She was pleasant company, admiring him with her eyes and obviously flattered to be out with him, and when she removed the coat had on an attractive two-piece in a shade of blue he found appealing. But in spite of the promise in her eyes and in her body movements, Lewis’s mind was at Sally Fowler-Weston’s house, imagining how Dora would look at him if she found out about his date. Paying her back for her unpleasantness by going out with another woman as she so often accused, would rebound on him as usual.
After the meal he made his excuses, thanked her for her delightful company and drove her home. Declining the invitation to stay for a coffee, he went back to Pendragon Island.
It had begun to rain and as he drove towards Sophie Street it increased to a vigorous downpour, suiting his mood. On impulse he drove past Sophie Street and went on to Glebe Lane. There, he knocked on Sally’s door.
“I’ve called to give Dora and Rhiannon a lift home,” he said. “They can call for their bikes tomorrow can’t they?”
“Come in,” Sally smiled and he stood in the kitchen shedding his coat and trilby, before walking into the lounge and greeting them all. Sally put the kettle on for more tea. She had lost count of how many visitors they’d had or how many cups of tea she had made, since the birth of Rosemary.
“I’ve been to Cardiff, taking a woman customer out for dinner,” Lewis told Dora at once. “I’m hoping for a big order when she opens a new sweet shop,” he added.
“Young, is she?” Dora asked pertly.
“Mum!” Rhiannon whispered.
Ignoring both comments, Lewis went over to the cot where the baby lay, and pressed a sixpenny piece into the small, perfect hand, before realising she might swallow it. As he retrieved the coin the baby took hold of his finger and he smiled delightedly.
“Strong grip, and a lovely child. Congratulations, Megan.”
Dora stood beside him, looking down at the baby. “Remember when ours were this young, Lewis? Lovely they were.”
“They still are,” Lewis replied, smiling at his daughter. “Our Viv married to Joan and running Old Man Arfon’s business for him. And Rhiannon, married to a man who loves her and soon to be a mother herself. They have grown into wonderful people. And our Lewis who died so tragically, well, he’ll always be young and beautiful, won’t he?” He put an arm around her and led her back to her chair.
Sally brought a tray of tea and when they left an hour later, Dora and Lewis were talking like friends. Rhiannon’s hands were aching from crossing her fingers so tightly.
Besides the Rose Tree Café, Sian and Dora sometimes catered for parties and other celebrations. One Friday afternoon they were asked to arrange food for a picnic for local children. “Most of them are from poor homes or have suffered neglect,” the woman explained. “I’m so sorry it’s short notice, but we suddenly had to change the day from next week to this Saturday. Can you possibly supply individual plates of food for forty children?”
A few phonecalls to order supplies and they agreed. This was something worthwhile and neither woman complained about the extra hours involved.
They had to collect the food they needed that evening from a supplier about seventeen miles from Pendragon Island and unfortunately, Sian’s car failed to start. Dora ran to find Lewis. He wouldn’t refuse to help, not for deprived children. He wasn’t there. The car stood at the kerb but there was no sign of Lewis.
“Charlie, can you drive Lewis’s car and take us?” Dora pleaded.
“As long as you explain to Lewis, of course I will.”
They were gone a lot longer than they expected as they had difficulty finding the address. Lost in country lanes with few people about they used up precious time retracing their way again and again. There were few signposts to help them.
“They took down the road signs to confuse the Germans during the war,” Dora grumbled, “and ten years on they’re keeping them hidden to confuse us!” They were both feeling frustrated before finally reaching their destination.
Dora wrote a note for Lewis explaining what had happened, left it on the hall table and she and Sian went back to the café where they had space to work and an efficient kitchen, to prepare the picnic in time for the following day. It was eleven-thirty before they got to bed, and Dora’s last thought was that she would make a special meal and invite Lewis to share it, to thank him for the use of the car.
Unfortunately he called at the café during the following Monday afternoon and complained that Charlie had borrowed his car over the weekend without asking and hadn’t replaced the petrol he’d used.
“I asked him to take me to a place on the way to Newport to collect some supplies we needed. Didn’t you see my note? I didn’t think you’d mind.” She felt her anger rising and turned to her partner, “You tell him, Sian.”
She busied herself in the kitchen while Sian explained to Lewis about the picnic for the deprived children. What had happened to the note, no one knew. Lewis suggested that Polly might have eaten it.
When Dora invited him to come for a meal that evening, some quixotic pique made him refuse; Rhiannon and Charlie and Gwyn went instead and he sat in the car and ate chips, wondering why he’d declined the offer.
August was a month for children and the town was filled with families making their way to and from the beautiful sandy bays or the rocky and pebbly beaches; such variety and all just a short distance from the centre of the town.
Buses and trains brought more and more people in and boarding houses and hotels displayed their ‘No Vacancies’ signs, and still people came. They slept on the beach and washed in the public baths, ate alfresco and enjoyed the freedom.
Edward was busy with smaller, less expensive items for the beach, a part of the business he enjoyed. Twice during the month the window display was changed during the night and he found the goods displayed found favour with the customers.
Annie and Leigh Grant filled their rooms at Montague Court and their restaurant kept their staff busy from seven in the morning until eleven-thirty at night.
For Margaret and Islwyn, things were also beginning to improve. The new restaurant opened and with a small staff and a minimal menu they began to take money. The bank was pressing them; their creditors had been patient but were beginning to warn about an end to supplies unless overdue accounts were settled.
“We only need a good couple of months and we’ll start paying everyone back,” Margaret said to Islwyn as they closed their doors one night.
“I can’t do any more,” Islwyn said tiredly. “I’m up at six and working until almost midnight.”
“You could get a job,” she said.
“How can I? You need me here,” he replied.
Margaret said nothing. It was useless to point out that a seven-year-old boy using half his brain would achieve more in a day than he did. She had always known Islwyn was lazy, but had been convinced that when motivated by sharing a growing business that might one day make them rich, he would work as hard and as long as she did. How wrong she had been. If only it had been her brother Edward beside her they would have achieved so much more.
Anger against her brother for being the cause of her problems rose and increased. She hated him for what he had done, losing them their home and causing her such worry, while he plodded along in his pathetic little retail shop.
But Edward’ s new shop was growing in recognition every week. Instead of going into Cardiff as Margaret had predicted, the local people tried Edward first and his stock soon filled the two rooms behind the shop.
“I foresee the day when I’ll have to use the fiat for storage and live in the basement,” he told Mair Gregory, as a supply of football and rugby equipment and clothes arrived ready for the new season.
At the beginning of September, when children went back to school, his window was well filled as more footballs and jerseys and socks were added to his displays overnight by his ghostly prowler.
He predicted an extremely busy few weeks. He still employed Mair Gregory two or three afternoons each week and began to think about adding to her hours. When he suggested it to her she was delighted to agree. Until he had asked for her help on the day Rosemary was born, she had only done domestic cleaning. The shop was something she had thought might be boring, but she had been wrong.
Mair’s mother was dead and she and her father had continued to live in the cottage they rented, with Mair acting as housekeeper, working a few hours here and there to earn some extra spending money. It was a casual life which she enjoyed. Now, having experienced the interesting sports shop, she wanted to do something more. When Edward asked her to work every afternoon and all day Saturday, for a trial period, she was very pleased to accept.
There was an interesting by-product to his employing Mair for more hours. Frank began calling and offering to do any odd job without payment. From the way he looked at Mair, it was not difficult for Edward to guess why he came.
The garden was cleared, dug and raked ready for the September sowing of grass seed, and the new shrubs and flowers were planted and regularly weeded. In front of Mair, Frank hotly refused payment, but out of her sight, he accepted Edward’s ‘bonus’.
Edward hadn’t seen much of Megan. She had walked past the shop a few times and waved when he saw her and on two occasions she had been with Terrence. If only she were here, helping him when the baby allowed, staying with Rosemary in the flat when she couldn’t leave her. But that was impossible now. Then he met his grandfather who told him Terrence had gone back to London. Gloomily, Edward wondered how soon he would return.
He saw very little of his grandfather. The old man preferred to keep to himself and was glad that Edward and Margaret had never considered it their duty to make regular calls. He was tolerant of Terrence’s occasional visits, when the usual reason was to scrounge money, but did nothing to encourage him to stay. He had a woman to keep house for him and a maid who, between a dozen other jobs answered the door wearing a black dress and white apron, cuffs and lacy hat. He lived, and looked, like something out of a novel by Dickens, wearing his heavy tweed suit, even in this hottest of summer weather, his only concession to the season being a rather ancient panama hat. He smoked a pipe and there was usually a stream of tobacco or ash down the front of his waistcoat.
To Edward’s surprise, his grandfather called one day and asked to see the premises. Edward showed him around with pride, the old man commenting on the various things Edward pointed out, nodding and puffing on his pipe. Finally he said, “You’ve done well, Edward. Now, will you call a taxi for me to get home?”
Edward asked about Terrence then. When was he coming back? What his plans were. Had he found a job? He was told that Terrence had gone back to London several days ago.
“He only comes to ask for money,” old Mr Jenkins said harshly. “I told him there definitely wouldn’t be any more so this time he’s gone for good.”
“Gone? But what about Megan and the baby? He hasn’t left them, has he?”
“What d’you mean, left them? He and Megan aren’t playing at mothers and fathers so far as I know. He’s been staying with me and seeing friends but he hasn’t seen Megan except when they bump into each other. Really, Edward, can you imagine Terrence being interested in a child? He walked out on his bride on their wedding day didn’t he? There’s a baby there he hasn’t even seen. Unprincipled waster. He hasn’t changed.”
“But he came back to see the child.”
“Nothing but coincidence. He called on me because he was broke, not because of the baby. He pestered and I was determined not to give in this time, but in the end I gave him some money and now he’s gone. Good riddance. Worth the money to see the back of him.”
“Megan will be upset.”
“Why should she be? Sensible young woman that she is, she told him a long time ago that he wasn’t included in her plans for the future. In fact, I thought that you and Megan - but there, I’m probably wrong about that.”
Edward was amused initially about how much the old man learned about what went on in the family while hardly ever leaving the house. He was wrong about Megan though. Or, was he?
As soon as the shop closed he went to Glebe Lane in the hope that his grandfather had been right, but was told that Megan and Rosemary were away, staying with her other grandparents, Mr and Mrs Fowler, in Penarth.
That evening, Edward removed some of the window display, but left it untidy and half finished. There were two boxes left with price tickets, ready to set out, and the space for the golf tees and balls was covered with screwed up brown paper. He hoped this lack of order would entice the intruder to return.
This time, when he was woken by the barely discernable sounds from below, of rustling paper, Edward slipped on dressing gown and slippers and went down the stairs. He had been fast and he hadn’t made a sound.
He was immediately aware of the unpleasant smell. Dampness and stale food overlaid with sweat and something he thought he recognised as unwashed feet. Some people he’d encountered during his RAF career smelled like this when they first arrived and for days after. Any amount of scrubbing failed to ease away the smell of what he’d always thought of as poverty and despair.
When he saw the figure bending over the display, adjusting the golf tees into a neat circle, and knowing he was responsible for the foul air, he wanted to shout for the man to get out. Instead, he watched.
The golf balls were set out with the price tickets clearly shown; one or two sections of the window arrangement were adjusted to improve their symmetry.
“Mr William Jones?” Edward said as the man finished his task and stretched, groaning softly. “It is Mr Jones, isn’t it?” The figure shuffled around and said gruffly. “Can’t abide a slovenly window.” He didn’t seem startled; Edward had the feeling his presence, as he had watched him work, had been known to the old man.
“That’s what made me think it was you,” he said.
“I won’t come again, if it bothers you. The nights are long, see, and it passes the time to come and look at what you’ve done with my old shop.”
“D’you like what I’ve done?”
“Y-e-e-s.” He sounded doubtful. “I don’t like the fancy shelves, mind. I had glass-fronted drawers. Much better than cardboard boxes stacked like this.” He waved an arm around the shop and the smell of stale, unwashed flesh took Edward’s breath away.
“How d’you get in?” Edward wanted to know. “Through the basement?”
“The door isn’t strong enough to keep a mouse out. And you don’t bother to bolt the flap in the kitchen.” He looked at Edward in a short-sighted way and asked, “Chance of a cup of tea, is there?”
Edward followed him into the kitchen and from the way the old man filled the kettle, found cups, tea caddy and the rest, he guessed it wasn’t the first time he’d helped himself.
When they were drinking the tea and William Jones was tucking into the biscuits he’d taken from the cupboard, Edward told him about the money. At first William didn’t believe him. Then his eyes lit up and he began to talk about having a proper room, with someone to cook his meals. Edward promised to help him find a place.
“But first,” he said. “I’ll get you some decent clothes and I want you to take a bath and clean yourself up.” The old man looked doubtful but agreed.
He left at four in the morning and Edward returned to his bed. He didn’t sleep, but pondered on the way luck played such a part in people’s lives. What had that poor old man done for fate to treat him so shabbily? He wished he could discuss it all with Megan, and wondered whether she would approve of what he was doing or laugh gently and call him a fool.
Barry emptied the house on Chestnut Road by the simple expedient of telephoning a second-hand shop and selling the whole contents. The few pieces he did want he took to the flat in a series of vanloads, and the flat was untidy and overfull.
Once before, Rhiannon had developed the habit of going up the stairs to the flat and tidying up, and now, curiosity took her up there again. What she saw was chaos. Knowing Barry, she knew it would be weeks before he got around to sorting it out. Slowly, she began to do it for him. Between customers and for part of her lunch hour she moved boxes and stacked them, labelling them as she went and soon there was a space in which he could walk, between bedroom, armchair and kitchen.
She decided not to do any more. She was feeling unwell, and besides, the rest was up to Barry. If he was content to live in a tip it wasn’t her worry. Her concern had never been for Barry. She simply hoped that if Caroline should call, she wouldn’t be discouraged from staying.
“Mrs Cupid,” Charlie teased, when she told him what she was doing. He offered to help but she declined, intending not to go up there again.
“No, I won’t do any more,” she told him. “I’ve enough to do with the shop and the house and I have a bit of a pain. Only now and again,” she assured him as he looked alarmed. “I’m sure there’s nothing wrong.”
She was in the shop a few days later when there was a loud crash and the rumbling of something falling. This was followed by a different sound as if a pile of dishes and plates had been smashed. She listened, half expecting to hear Barry shouting for help. He had been there a few moments before.
Turning the key in the shop door she ran up to the flat, dreading what she would find. The door wouldn’t open, there was something behind it. Pushing and heaving she managed to get her head around to see what was stopping it. Barry was lying against it, head angled alarmingly, his eyes closed.
In a panic now, she heaved against the door and managed to slide through. Kneeling down she called to him.
“Barry. Barry. Speak to me!” Her mind was working frantically. She would have to phone for an ambulance from the box on the corner. She’d have to tell Caroline.
His eyes opened and a grin widened on his face.
“Fool that I am. I tried to put a box of china on the top shelf and I slipped.” He stood up easily and offered her a hand.
“You’re all right? You let me struggle with that door with your weight against it and you’re all right?”
“Sorry, Rhiannon. I didn’t mean to frighten you, but I felt such a fool.”
The ambulance came that evening, but not for Barry. It was for Rhiannon, who lost her baby.