For Megan, Christmas 1953 was fraught with worries about a possible pregnancy. She told herself it was unlikely, that what she and Terry had done could not result in a baby growing inside her. She made promises to herself of things she would do, of faults she would cure if only the worst didn’t happen. She prayed and made promises to God that she would be a better, more considerate person if only He would get her out of her present mess. But days passed and there was no sign to give her relief.
One of the decisions she made, which had begun as a promise to God, was, if she were reprieved from the burden of motherhood, she would find work and earn some money instead of expecting her parents to keep her.
She thought about this for some time without reaching an idea of what she could do. A long and expensive education had prepared her for being kept by a rich husband, nothing more. And there were too few of those to go round!
Messing about with paint tins was out, and so was cooking. Neither activity appealed. It was seeing Gwennie Woodlas that started her on the right track. Clothes, now that was something she could enjoy. Fashion was a subject she could be very good at, but how to exploit that skill? She didn’t reach any conclusions, but at least it took her mind away from babies for a while.
Christmas 1953 was a new beginning for several families. In the days between the Westons’ party and everything closing down for Christmas, Sian and Dora had made enquiries, declared an interest and begun preparations to become tenants of the Rose Tree Café.
“Islwyn keeps trying to get involved,” Sian told Dora. “He’s so sure I need his advice. But he feels my elbow every time he comes near and I think he’s beginning to realise that this is ours: yours and mine. And Ryan, that idle brother-in-law of mine, he keeps calling in telling me what to do and offering, oh, so generously, to give his precious time and expertise to show us how it’s done.”
“What a nerve! My Lewis offered to help too, convinced we couldn’t manage without a man holding our hand. The funny thing is, Nia also offered. She wished us luck via our Rhiannon, and said if we needed someone to talk things through or even an extra pair of hands in the early weeks, she would be pleased to help in any way she could.” She looked at Sian, her bright eyes sparkling with the anger which was always close to the surface, then her expression softened and she smiled. “Funny thing is, I think she was genuine. We’ve known each other for years, Nia and me, been friends even. Although I didn’t think what we had in common included my husband!”
“You aren’t bitter?”
“Not now. I tried to keep him, using blackmail, guilt, illness and all the rest, but I came to face the fact that he wants to be with her and not me. I could see the years slipping by, being wasted in regrets and futile dreams. Facing it now, while I’m young enough to make something of my life makes better sense. So, blue skies – or roses – all the way, right?”
“Right.”
Lewis stayed with Nia in the flat for most of Christmas. Nia had expected him to stay with his family, but Dora had made no secret of the fact that he was not welcome.
“I’ve got things to do, Lewis, so unless you’re desperate to see us I’d prefer you stay away. Viv will be going somewhere with Jack and the Griffithses, Rhiannon will probably be seeing Barry. In and out they’ll all be, so Sian and I can get our heads together and work out our plans.”
“Oh! All right,” Lewis said in surprise. Dora had always made so much of the family gathering on that special day. He wondered whether it was too late to arrange something with Nia but decided not to ask for fear of spoiling her arrangements. She had family too.
He bought a chicken and persuaded one of his friends, young Cathy at The Firs Boarding House, to cook it, and prepared himself for a solitary day eating chicken sandwiches alone in the flat. It was by sheer luck he learned that Nia would also be on her own.
“Did you know Barry and Rhiannon have been invited to the Griffithses’?” Viv asked him on Christmas Eve. “I don’t think Rhiannon’s going, but Barry is. He can’t wait to show young Joseph the toy he’s made him.”
“I’ll call over there myself some time today,” Lewis said. “I’ve bought a little something for him and for Eleri’s baby.”
“Strange though, Barry leaving his mother on her own on Christmas Day, don’t you think?”
“She won’t be alone.” Lewis tried not to show his pleasure. “Your Mam doesn’t want me around either, so we’ll be two outcasts together.”
He went to the shops and bought what extra food he could find, then drove up to Chestnut Road to tell Nia they were both free.
All the devious planning meant Dora was able to go to the Griffithses too, being fairly certain Nia wouldn’t appear.
“It’ll be nice to be a part of a family for a change. Why don’t you come with me?” Dora asked Rhiannon. “I can’t go unless you do. I won’t go and leave you here alone on Christmas Day.”
Rhiannon wasn’t keen to go, convinced she would be alone anyway, even amid the crowd, on her own, with Barry involved with Caroline and her son.
“There’s a good show on television,” Dora coaxed. “Arthur Askey, Max Bygraves and Shirley Abicair.”
“You might see it, but I doubt you’ll hear it,” Rhiannon laughed. “That’s the noisiest house I’ve ever known!”
“Better than rattling round here,” Dora said and Rhiannon finally agreed.
Dora hummed along with the radio as popular songs and carols were played on ‘Family Favourites’, then, with the food prepared for the following day she sat and listened to ‘Life With The Lyons’ and ‘Take it from Here’, laughing along with the audience and looking to Rhiannon to enjoy the fun.
She sensed all was not well with her daughter but didn’t feel able to question her. Rhiannon would talk when she was ready. Perhaps she was fed up both with working in Nia’s sweet shop and with waiting for Barry’s divorce? She admitted to herself that it would be a relief to see her cut those particular threads.
On Christmas morning Joan and Megan opened their presents, then, following the regular ritual, dressed in new clothes and walked with their parents to spend the day with their grandparents and the rest of the family.
Jack went with his parents and wished he could find an excuse to stay away. He was surprised when the door was opened by Victoria.
“What are you doing here?” he asked as she held out an arm for coats.
“Your grandfather asked me to come and help for the morning. I think your grandmother is exhausted after all the fuss about that party,” she managed to whisper. “Don’t worry, I’m not cooking!” she added with a smile.
“You aren’t washing up either!” Jack said through tight lips.
“Grandmother, why have you asked Victoria to come in? She has a mother, and brothers and sisters who are entitled to have a family Christmas the same as us!” Jack asked, when he’d gone through to the sitting room to see his grandparents.
“It was your grandfather’s idea, Jack. He thought it would be too much for me.”
“You mean we can’t manage without messing up her holiday? Nine of us and we can’t cope?”
“Let her go home, Mother,” Sally said. “I didn’t realise she would be expected to help. We’ll manage.”
Jack went into the kitchen where Victoria was finishing peeling the potatoes for roasting. “It’s all right, Victoria, we’ve had a family conference and Grandmother says you can go home. Thank you for being so generous and coming in, oh, and they asked me to give you this.” He handed her two pounds. “That’s for messing up your day.”
He watched as she walked down the path, closing the gate carefully behind her before skipping off, like a child let loose early from school.
After the dinner was over, Jack left to call for Viv and Basil. The older members sat to listen to the Queen’s speech in which she promised to devote her life to the country and its commonwealth. Megan and Joan crept upstairs.
“Joan, I think I might be expecting a baby,” Megan blurted out.
“What? You little idiot. Who is it? Not that awful Terry?”
“Of course not!” Megan snapped. She had to convince everyone he had nothing to do with it. “The attack, you know—”
“You mean you really were attacked in that way? I’m sorry Megan, but I didn’t really believe you. I’m so sorry.” Joan was horrified. “I thought if you had been really – you know – attacked you would have gone to the police.”
“Would you have done?” Megan asked, her head on one side. “Could you have faced sitting and telling a disbelieving policeman you hadn’t teased, you hadn’t encouraged, you hadn’t allowed petting to go too far? Would you have risked that?”
“I’m sorry, Megan,” Joan said again and again.
“What are you going to do? If you are expecting, the baby won’t just go away.”
“As soon as Christmas is over I – I’ll have to go to the doctor. If it’s all right, Mum and Dad need never know. If I am, well, I’ll have to face it, won’t I?”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No. No, Joan. We do most things together but this is something I need to follow through on my own.” They hugged each other for a long time then went downstairs to a pretence of having fun.
Terry continued to stay with his grandfather and on Christmas Day they both went to Montague Court to share Christmas dinner with Edward and Margaret and their mother. It would be a late lunch, after the few bookings for the celebration dinner had been served, crackers pulled and wine offered as a bonus, a temporary pretence that the people who came out to dine were not alone. The diners included Gwennie Woodlas, who planned to spend what was left of the day watching her television or listening to the radio.
Terry’s reception was cool as always. He had been away from the family for so much of his life and his behaviour had been far from pleasing to them. He was expected to eat, make stilted conversation for a while then leave, with the hope they would never have to meet again. At three o’clock, when most of the country listened to the young Queen, the Jenkinses sat to eat. An hour later he stood to collect his coat but Mr Jenkins stopped him.
“We have a proposition to put to you, Terrence,” he said. “With no parents to look after you and my neglect – apart from the occasional letter – we feel that as a family we owe you something.”
“No you don’t. I don’t want anything.” Terrence said at once. The old man wasn’t going to suggest staying with him, was he? He wasn’t sure what he wanted from life but it was not that!
“We know you’ve been in the army and spent some time as a jewellery salesman but, if you’re prepared to learn something new, Edward here will train you as a waiter and purchaser of wines.”
“Wine is becoming more and more a part of a meal and I see that trend increasing,” Edward said. “It’s a vast subject but one you will find interesting if you’re prepared to study.”
“Can I think about it?” he said. He had no intention of staying with these dull people who wanted to ‘do good’ by him and look after the prodigal. Once 1954 arrived he would be off. He wasn’t sure which direction he would take but he would end up where not even the diligent Gethyn could find him! There was no way he was going back to face his responsibilities. Not now he’d escaped from that ruffian! But before he did, he would have one more try to see Megan.
Christmas for Rhiannon was a mixture of pleasure and pain. The joys and excitements of the season with its atmosphere of warmth, goodwill and friendship filled her with the usual happiness. Yet there was a worry underlying the rejoicing. She knew she had to sort out the relationship between herself and Barry Martin, which the Christmas period had somehow brought to a head. She no longer had first place in his heart.
Was he really planning to divorce Caroline? Or had she won him over, she and baby Joseph? Had he changed his mind about marrying her? The signs showed he was beginning to want to stay married to Caroline and make the marriage a real one.
Jimmy called on Christmas afternoon and asked her to visit his parents on the following day.
“No, Jimmy. I can’t. But thank you for the invitation,” she said at once. She didn’t want further involvement with Jimmy, and meeting the parents was a giant stride in a friendship bordering on love. It was more important to get the situation with Barry sorted and, Boxing Day, when the excitement was over and people had time to relax, would be a good opportunity to talk it out with him. “I’m going to see Barry,” she explained with a feeling of guilt. She had been unkind, leading him on to expect more than she could give.
“Why don’t you come with us to the Griffithses’ tonight?” Dora asked Jimmy, ignoring the frown of warning on her daughter’s face. “They’ve got a television and Norman Wisdom is on, and Julie Andrews.”
Jimmy looked at Rhiannon questioningly but she smiled warmly and added her invitation to Dora’s. How could she not appear pleased?
The living room at the Griffithses’ small cottage was overflowing and Rhiannon laughingly pointed out to her mother that the television had. once more been relegated to the shed. Lengths of thick tree trunks stood, lined up along the walls to form extra seating and the conversation was already loud and lively.
There was soon an opportunity to talk to Barry and Rhiannon asked him to meet her the following day. “Fine,” he said in a voice that didn’t match the word and the enthusiastic nodding of his head. “Some time in the afternoon?”
From this, Rhiannon guessed he had arranged something for the morning, so she said, “No, I’ll be busy then. I’ll meet you at the shop in the morning, say ten o’clock?” She saw him hesitate as if to argue but a glance at her determined face obviously changed his mind.
“Ten o’clock,” he agreed. “We can have a few hours to ourselves then, can’t we?”
“Half-past,” she said, just for the hell of it.
They sat together for awhile but there was the feeling he would rather be somewhere else. Rhiannon watched him sitting beside her, stiff-backed, his shoulders tense, his ill-at-ease mood emanating from him in waves of misery. She knew that what they had to say to each other would only take a few minutes.
The evening in the overheated room made everyone rosy-faced and thirsty even though the beer and cider flowed continuously. Conversations became quieter and the food was abandoned. The women congregated in the back kitchen and drank tea and the men brought out the crib board. It was time for her to leave.
Barry offered to drive her home but she refused, preferring to walk across the fields and lanes with her mother and Jimmy. It had not been one of the best Christmas Days she had known but there was the sensation of achievement. Nothing had been resolved but culmination of the problem was in sight.
On Boxing Day Dora went to the small terraced house on Trellis Street to spend a few hours with Sian. Sally and Ryan were there having been invited to tea. Dora and Sian took out paper and with Sally sharing their ideas and Islwyn firmly discouraged from taking even a mild interest, they scribbled in notebooks and began drawing up a financial plan.
After being firmly snubbed when he offered to help, Ryan walked out with a great show of irritation. The day was dry but with a sharp breeze and he tightened the scarf around his neck and walked across the docks to the beach. There were a few people about, mostly those walking their dogs. He passed one or two families out with their children, little girls pushing new dolls’ prams, boys and girls riding new tricycles with fathers anxiously running alongside.
He felt useless and old. Once he had enjoyed being a father to his two lovely girls. He had been someone of importance in the town, married to one of the Westons, managing the family business in harness with his brother-in-law, a valued member of a couple of the town’s better clubs. Until Islwyn had ruined it all.
He walked along the promenade past the empty shops and cafés, scuffing his shoes in the sand spread on the ground by a slight breeze. His wife was busy earning a little money fussing over her damned lodgers. Joan was spending hours every day helping Viv in the shop where he had once reigned. Now his sister-in-law Sian was going into business, he was feeling more and more useless. Not that Sian would earn much. Not in a tinpot café and with one of the Lewises for a partner. What was she thinking about, getting involved with Dora Lewis? Viv Lewis’s mother for heaven’s sake! If she had deliberately tried to insult her husband and himself, she couldn’t have better succeeded!
As he walked past the row of closed cafés, the heavy smell of stale fish was on the air, a memory of past summers and a reminder of those to come. He sneered as he thought of his brother-in-law cooking chips in the Fortune Café. And of his wife demeaning herself clearing up after lodgers. What a mess. What fools they were to advertise their reduced circumstances. Better to be unemployed and put on a show, pretend all was well.
Near the first-aid hut he faltered and changed his route. Instead of walking back to the docks and home, he went back and up on to the cliff top. The wind was stronger there and he felt the chill of it reaching inside his coat, and sliding down his neck. Tightening his scarf again he walked on. He didn’t walk fast and soon became chilled. When he came back down to the promenade he wished he had not walked so far. Turning away from the docks he walked along the road, hoping to thumb a lift, although the roads were practically empty.
As he passed the old harbour he heard a motorbike and realised it had stopped on the corner where there were a few seats. As he drew nearer he sighed with relief. A man stood near it whom he recognised: his nephew, Jack. He hated motorbikes but at least it would get him home in the warm a bit sooner.
He waved and called and Jack walked towards him.
“How about a lift home, Jack, I’m frozen, boy.”
“Sorry Uncle Ryan, but I have a passenger already.”
“Who, that Viv Lewis? He can walk. Do him good!”
“No, not Viv, Uncle.”
Ryan looked at the seat and saw a young girl and he blustered an apology. But then he saw who it was.
“Jack, what are you doing with her?” he whispered behind his hand. “Your Grandmother’s maid out on the back of your bike?” He began to laugh. “I bet she doesn’t know. Give me a lift or I’ll tell her,” he chuckled, jokingly.
“Victoria wanted to visit an aunt and I offered to take her. Sorry I can’t give you a lift. See you soon,” Jack nodded to him and Victoria gave him a weak smile and they drove off leaving him with the increasingly daunting trek through the town. Too late, he thought of borrowing money from Jack for a taxi.
He did manage to get a lift and when he returned to Trellis Street he told Sally what he had seen. “Jack and that Victoria Jones, bold as brass, riding through the town on that machine of his for anyone to see them.” He was stiff after his long walk or he would have gone straight to Gladys. Tomorrow, he promised himself, I’ll go and tell her tomorrow.
Jack guessed that the secret of his visits to Victoria would soon be revealed so he went to see his grandmother as soon as he had seen Victoria safely home.
“It was seeing her in that empty house with hardly a mouthful of food at the time her father died,” he told Gladys. “I was so impressed with her braveness, and the way she and her mother coped with such dire trouble.”
“I know, dear. You persuaded me to take her back, remember, and increase her wages!”
“I’ve seen a lot of them since. I even sneaked over there on the night of your party, Grandmother. I took balloons for the young ones and food for them to have a party of their own.”
“Kind of you Jack, dear. I wish you’d told me, I’d have probably been able to find something more.”
“You would, I know you would,” he smiled at her affectionately. “Kindness itself you are, Grandmother and don’t think I don’t know it. I’ve heard of the clothes and toys you’ve given them.”
“Oh, nothing really,” she said deprecatingly. “Nothing I couldn’t spare.”
“Two of her brothers have found jobs now. One left school last summer and the other leaves this coming July. Mrs Jones is working as a cleaner in the offices of the Town Hall and takes the baby with her so they are at least solvent.”
“Why are you telling me this, Jack?”
“Because I want you to know that I intend asking Victoria to marry me.”
When Ryan called an hour later and told her he had seen Jack and Victoria out together, he was deflated by Gladys’s reply.
“Yes, Ryan, I know. What a lovely girl she is, don’t you agree?”
When he had gone and Gladys and Arfon discussed the startling news, Gladys sighed and added wistfully, “Pity is I’ll be losing a very good servant. She can’t work here once Jack has proposed, it wouldn’t be right, would it, dear?”
Barry and Rhiannon met as arranged and he drove them to the beach, where they sat on the edge of the cliff path and looked down at the empty beach below. The sea was restless, the tide changing from flow to ebb in a criss-cross of disturbed currents. The choppy movement looked as if something was fighting below the surface which erupted into the wild dash of spray as the larger waves hit the rocks on the distant headland.
Rhiannon asked what his plans were. “Do we still have a future together?
“You know I want us to be together, Rhiannon, but—”
“Don’t prevaricate, Barry. You and I both know that the love we had for each other is under strain. If you have changed your mind about us marrying, I expect you to be honest.”
“I know it’s a lot to ask, for you to wait years for me to be free. I made a mistake and you are suffering because of it. Everything is in a state of limbo. I’ve been a fool.”
“Answer my question,” she insisted. “Or answer this one. Are you hoping to make your marriage to Caroline a real one?”
“Rhiannon! I’ve never even kissed her, not like I kiss you that is.”
“But you want to? You want to be a real husband? A real father to little Joseph?”
“That’s ridiculous. Caroline loved my brother, not me.”
“He’s been dead for a year and you’ve filled his place in most ways, why not completely?”
Rhiannon had the weirdest feeling that he hadn’t really considered it, yet to her, his feelings for Caroline and the baby were as apparent as white clouds on a blue sky. “I just want you to know that you can consider yourself free from any promise made to me,” she said walking away.
He didn’t follow but sat there staring into the sea as if the answer to his loneliness in the present and the hollowness in his future were written there for him to read.
She was waiting at the van when he walked up a few minutes later and they drove home in silence, each considering the dramatic transformation in their expectations for all their tomorrows.
Gladys was feeling let down. So much money had been spent on the party and it had all been for nothing. No reunion between Megan and Terry and after that mysterious fight which had so humiliated her, that was undoubtedly a good thing. Among the guests none had shown an interest in Joan, who had shamed herself by refusing many invitations to dance and had spent most of the evening with Viv, even allowing him to walk her home.
Now Jack, her lovely Jack, had announced his intention to propose to Victoria Jones, a family servant. Surely he’d change his mind? Surely the girl would refuse? With her sons-in-law such failures, surely her grandchildren could do better than this?
Megan called to see the doctor on the Wednesday after Christmas and on a sudden whim, announced herself as Miss Joan Fowler-Weston. She glared at the man as if he were in some way responsible for her having to be there.
“I think I am going to have a baby,” she said, trying to speak in Joan’s sharp tongue.
He questioned her and gave a brief examination and shook his head.
“It seems unlikely, Miss-er-Fowler-Weston but if you will leave your – er – sample with me I will make absolutely certain. I will telephone within the week and give you the result.”
“No,” she said, in Joan’s voice. “I will come here. If I’m mistaken, there’s no need for anyone else to know.”
The nurse had a hand on the door, already partly opening it, to hand in the cards for the next patient. With his hand on the bell to summon her, the doctor hesitated. He didn’t know the twins very well, their being extremely healthy and trouble free, but he could have sworn it was Megan and not Joan he had been talking to. That scar, the result of the accident when Joseph Martin and Lewis-boy Lewis had died, surely that was Megan?
The nurse lived near Glebe Lane and on the way home she met the twins’ mother. “Hello, Mrs Fowler-Weston.” She stood in front of Sally to bar her way.
“Good morning,” Sally frowned. “Was there something? I am in rather a hurry.”
“I just think you ought to know,” the nurse said with obvious embarrassment. “Your Joan’s been to the doctor. I’m not supposed to say, but I think a mother should know.”
“Know what?” Sally was impatient.
“Your Joan. Had a test for – er – pregnancy. I’m sorry, but I thought you should know. Being a mother myself and all—” she excused. “Don’t tell the doctor I said, mind, or I’d be sacked for sure.”
Forgetting the shopping she needed, Sally turned round and ran into the house, her face pale with shock. “Ryan, Joan thinks she might be expecting!” she gasped and realised too late that Jack was standing in the corner.
Jack ran to Sophie Street, remembered Viv would be at work, ran to the shop and up the stairs to his office. He banged on the door and when Viv answered it aimed a punch to his chin. Viv dodged it with ease and demanded to know what was the matter. Jack was weakened by his running but his anger was in good health and in between ragged breaths he called Viv a list of names that broke records for unrepeated length.
“Joan’s been to the doctor to ask for a pregnancy test and you’re the only one she’s been seeing,”
Jack gasped out, still trying to hit the smaller and quicker Viv.
Without trying to convince him otherwise, Viv gathered his overcoat and led Jack down to the shop. Calling for his assistant to watch the shop for a while, he led Jack to the yard, where Joan, huddled in thick jumpers and a coat belonging to her grandfather, was marking the paint tins they were to sell cheaply in the forthcoming January sale.
The truth was soon revealed and Sally and Ryan and the others discussed the best way of helping Megan, who refused to say a word. Sobered by the thought of Megan’s predicament, Jack offered profuse apologies both to Joan and Viv. They arranged to meet Megan that evening and assure her of their support.
Then Jack asked for some of the old paint Joan was marking down, to do up Mrs Jones’s house.
“Bloody cheek,” Viv growled. “You come in here, sling unconfirmed rumours at me, try to knock me into the middle of next week, then scrounge some bargains. Damn it all, Jack, you’ll be asking me to paint the walls for you next.”
“Well, if you’re free this weekend…” Jack said before moving out of reach.