Dora had lived in Sophie Street since her marriage to Lewis Lewis almost twenty-three years before, Christmas 1930. The sweet shop had been on the corner, three doors down, even longer than that, although in the old lady’s day it had been called Katie’s Confections. Nia had taken over from her grandmother and changed the name to Temptations and now with a long-time love affair between Nia and her husband, the name had an ironic ring.
The fact of her daughter, Rhiannon working for Nia was something that Dora tried not to think about. It had been arranged when in a flippant moment she had said she didn’t care, but she did. Every day she hoped that Rhiannon would come home and tell her she was leaving but if anything Rhiannon was happier now than when she had first started work there.
A further tie between the families threatened as Nia’s son had fallen in love with Rhiannon. It seemed for a while that she was going to have Nia’s son as a son-in-law but thankfully that had fizzled out and Barry was now married to Caroline, one of the Griffithses. The accident that had killed her son, Lewis-boy, had also caused the death of Nia’s older son. Joseph Martin had died only hours after Lewis-boy, another connection between two women who each wished the other a thousand miles away. And it was then that the double tragedy revealed that Lewis was in fact the father of Nia’s son, Joseph, as well. It was a shock from which Dora had never quite recovered.
What a mix-up, she sighed as she chopped mint and mixed it into vinegar to add flavour to two sad-looking chops. Viv heard her sigh and asked if she was all right. She pointed to the meat. “They call it lamb but I bet this poor sheep died of old age,” she said.
“I don’t care if it committed suicide, Mam. I’m starving,” Viv replied. He ran upstairs to change out of his work clothes and into something more comfortable. “Will it be long? I’m going to see Jack Weston, do a bit of fishing.”
“I don’t know what you two do on that river bank, Viv, but I don’t see many fish!” Dora teased.
“Mullet you’ll have tonight, we’re going to try the docks.”
“After pulling that drunken old man out? I don’t fancy any of that!” Dora heard Lewis’s car and tried to keep the conversation going. It was always easier if she were involved with Viv or Rhiannon when her husband walked in. There was always that moment of uneasiness, the unspoken question about whether he would go out or stay in, and, if he went out, whether he would explain where he was going or leave her to wonder if he was meeting Nia.
Tonight he seemed to be in a good mood. He smiled, sniffed appreciatively and said he was starving. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that the delicious smell was mainly the result of Bisto gravy and mint sauce.
“Rhiannon won’t be long,” Lewis said. “I saw the shop was closed when I came past.”
“Unless she’s talking to that Barry Martin. He seems to forget he’s married and with a small son.”
“Give over, Mam, we all know Barry and Caroline Griffiths aren’t really married. He gave her son his name because his real father died with our Lewis-boy.”
“I don’t want to talk about Lewis-boy and all that,” Dora said sharply, her eyes threatening a row.
“They’re living apart and have been ever since the wedding. You can’t expect Rhiannon not to see him until the divorce is through.”
“I do expect it!” Dora’s red hair and bright blue eyes seemed to glow as her temper began to rise. “There’s no future in our Rhiannon carrying on with a married man. He might say he and Caroline are planning to divorce but where’s the proof?”
“Leave it, Mam,” Viv pleaded, glancing at his father who seemed to be concentrating on his food.
The conversation was conducted, as usual, with Lewis and Viv in the living room and Dora eating alone in the kitchen.
“I just hope she sees sense before she gets too old and ends up on the shelf,” Dora shouted and with a forkful heading towards her mouth, added, “And Barry’s too old for her anyway! Not that that stopped his mother from carrying on with your father, mind!”
Lewis tilted back his chair and turned the radio on. There was an announcement that thirty thousand houses had been completed that month and he wished he was in one of them, far away from Sophie Street and Dora’s bitterness. He wasn’t interested in the news and didn’t take anything in but it was better than Dora with her thinly-veiled reminders about his continuing affair with Nia. He had intended to stay in and go through his order book, listing the customers he would call on the following week but he changed his mind. Like so often in the past, he came through the door with good intentions but ten minutes of Dora and he wanted to escape.
When Rhiannon came in the mood lightened as she began talking about her day at the sweet shop. Who did his tolerant and cheerful daughter take after, Lewis wondered, looking at her smile that encompassed them all? Viv was like his mother, red-haired and quick-tempered enough to prove the old story about redheads being fiery. Poor Lewis-boy had looked like him: black hair and dark eyes, and he had tried so hard to resemble him in every other way. Rhiannon with her brown eyes and thick brown hair was like neither and she was definitely the peacekeeper among the Lewises. If seven Sophie Street was a potential time bomb, primed to blow up, it was Rhiannon who held firmly to the fuse.
“I’m going out tonight, Mam,” Rhiannon said as the table was cleared. “I’m going to see Eleri. Fancy, her baby is due in a couple of weeks, can you believe how quickly the time has gone?”
“There’s a box in the corner, that crocheted blanket I’ve made, and some embroidered pillowcases for later on. Take them, will you?”
Viv gathered his fishing gear, Rhiannon picked up the gifts for Eleri and before Dora could ask the question he dreaded answering, Lewis collected his order books and darted out of the front door to the car.
Dora thought of his smile when he had first arrived and it cut her deep inside. The smile was shallow, his real smile, full of affection and love was reserved for Nia Martin. Realising she was alone once more and unable, or unwilling, to find a way to pass the lonely hours, Dora smashed Lewis’s plates and cup and saucer and calmly washed and dried the rest.
“I don’t like you walking through the fields in the dark to visit Eleri,” Viv said as they walked down Sophie Street. “It’ll be different once the baby’s born and she and Basil are back in their own home. Trellis Street isn’t far.”
“I’ll be all right, I know the way blindfolded and I’ve never met a soul in all the times I’ve been there.”
“Carry a stick then, just in case you meet a drunk or something,” Viv pleaded.
“It’s all right, Viv,” Rhiannon said quietly. “I think us Lewises have had our ration of bad luck.” She counted on her gloved fingers. “Losing Lewis-boy in that stupid accident, me and Barry finishing before we got started, Dad found out carrying on with Nia Martin, Mam and Dad fighting like cats.”
They parted near Goldings Street and Viv hurried on to where Jack lived with his parents. Although they were not the close friends they had once been, they had recovered sufficiently to enjoy an occasional hour’s fishing. Conversation did not flow as freely, confidences were withheld, but neither had many close friends and in the brief absence they had missed each other.
Using bread as bait they caught five grey mullet and argued amiably about who should have the odd one. In fact they each went home empty-handed, as Jack suggested they left the five fish with Victoria to help her feed her brothers and sisters, and their mother, recently discharged from hospital.
The house was surprisingly cheerful. In a corner a shabby Christmas tree stood and the children had draped it with strips of coloured paper cut from comics, and drawings of what Jack presumed was Father Christmas and snowmen. “A bit early, isn’t it?” Jack laughed.
Victoria smiled and assured him it was “only a practice.”
Jack and Viv went into the scullery to clean and gut the fish. Victoria’s mother was ironing the children’s clothes ready for the morning.
Mrs Jones looked very different from when Jack had last seen her. She was still very thin, her eyes huge in the drawn face, but bright without the enlargement of tears. The bruises were still visible but considerably faded and she was neatly dressed, her late pregnancy hardly visible on the small frame.
“Sad to say, Viv,” Jack said quietly as they prepared to leave, “but that Steve Jones isn’t missed, is he? Better off without him they are.”
When they were turning the corner of Goldings Street, they saw a small boy dart across the road and disappear into the wasteland that had been Philips Street.
“That was Gwyn Bevan wasn’t it?” Viv said. “I wonder what trouble he’s up to?”
“The sneaky way he hurried out of sight, he’s up to no good for sure,” Jack muttered. “He’s practically given up on school although he’s no more than eleven. Hardly ever there and the school board man can’t get any sense out of poor old Maggie Wilpin. Threatened her with court and all, but nothing makes any difference.”
“Perhaps when his father’s out of prison things will improve.”
“And pigs might fly and we’ll have to shoot for bacon,” they said in unison.
Gwyn Bevan watched until the two men were out of sight then he hurried back the way he had come and retrieved the basket of potatoes he had hidden when they threatened to cross his path. He generally only stole food, or money to buy some. Vegetables from garden sheds was his regular night’s work, even digging them from gardens when he was sure of not being seen. All to try and persuade his great-grandmother to eat. He smiled in the darkness, wiping his earthy hands down his jumper. She’d enjoyed the eggs he’d taken from Farmer Booker’s hens. And the sweets he’d pinched from Temptations when Rhiannon was upstairs washing her hands.
Before Viv and Jack parted, Viv dared to ask Jack about his father.
“What will your old man do, now he’s decided not to go back to your grandfather’s shop? Try to get something similar or begin again with something new?”
“I’ve been trying to persuade him to go back to Weston’s Wallpaper and Paint. It’s all he knows.”
“Wasting your time, Jack, he won’t be going back there,” Viv said, edging away, preparing for another row. “I won’t let him and Old Man Arfon needs me more than he needs your father. Sorry I am, but he’s sponged off the old man for years not doing any work.” He stopped as Jack swung around to face him.
“Don’t you think it’s time you stopped interfering in our family, Viv Lewis?” Jack demanded. “Ruined us you did, and now you fancy yourself in the role of saviour!”
“Like it or not, I’m the one to save the business!” Viv shouted. “If you really want to help your father, tell him to forget about going back to Weston’s. Persuade him to get a job, any job, just make damned sure it’s somewhere where he’ll have to work bloody hard. It’ll be the first time in his life!”
Regretting his outburst, yet at the same time knowing he couldn’t have answered any differently, Viv ran home.
Viv and Jack weren’t the only people discussing Islwyn that evening. His wife Sian and her twin sister Sally were sitting in Sian’s kitchen wondering how they could persuade their husbands to find themselves a job. Sian was decorating a cake for a friend’s birthday, with crystallised violets and a thin dusting of sugar.
“It isn’t easy for Islwyn,” Sally said, “with the suspicions about his taking more from the firm than he was entitled to, but why doesn’t my Ryan find something? It’s been months, and our savings are going down at an alarming rate.”
“Ours too,” Sian sighed. “And now we have this party of Mother’s to deal with. New dresses and shoes and heaven alone knows what else we’ll have to pay for.”
“I’ve tried talking to Ryan but he seems determined to reduce us to poverty to spite Daddy for not continuing to support us. Stopping his wages was a terrible blow to his pride.”
“Hasn’t he thought of looking for something?”
Sian laughed. “Oh yes. He offered to go to see if this rival firm would take him on. Can you imagine what Daddy would have said to that? His son-in-law working for the competition?”
Sally secretly thought Arfon would consider it an advantage for Weston’s Wallpaper and Paint, if the lazy Ryan began to work for the enemy, but she said nothing.
“I’m going to have a strong word with Islwyn, make him see that he can’t hide for the rest of his life,” Sian said. “I really don’t care what he does, as long as he does something. He can do anything at all, I won’t be embarrassed.”
“Anything?” Sally stressed.
“Absolutely anything!”
Rhiannon had walked uneventfully across the fields to where the Griffithses’ house stood far from the rest. Lights shone from every window and as usual, doors and windows were open to the chilly night. The Griffithses were frowned upon by many, having no regular work yet seeming to lack very little. They even had a television which blared away in the background. And a three pound licence proudly displayed! They all had so much to say, so many stories to share, Rhiannon thought the only difference television had made to the household was to make them shout louder as they exchanged views and discussed their day.
Janet Griffiths was small, wiry and ruled them with quiet determination. Her husband, Hywel was stockily built, bearded and with a laugh that frightened the birds from the trees. Their three sons, Basil, Frank, and Ernie – who was in fact an orphaned nephew – were constantly in trouble with the local police. Basil for poaching and trespass, Frank, Ernie and on occasions their father, Hywel, for fighting.
Basil was like a brittle sapling, so tall and thin he seemed unsafe in anything stronger than a light breeze. The only one with a job, he was packing the sandwiches Eleri had made, into an ex-army rucksack ready for work. He was a nightwatchman in a factory and since marrying Eleri had managed to keep his job and even been complimented on his reliability.
He missed the privacy of their flat in Trellis Street, but with the baby due so soon, and having to be out at night, Basil had persuaded Eleri to live with his parents until the birth.
“Mam knows about babies, you’ll be safe with her,” he told her now as he anxiously and reluctantly surrendered to the clock and walked to the door. “Take care of her, Mam,” he called back – twice.
His sister Caroline laughed as she turned the clothes on the clothes horse in front of the fire. “Who’d have thought our Basil would have become such a caring husband, Mam?”
Janet smiled at Caroline then turned to Eleri and added affectionately, “So good for him you’ve been, Eleri. Loves you, our Basil does, and love can change a person quicker than the sun brings the day.”
“One of your mother-in-law’s sayings, Mam?” Caroline smiled.
Caroline held her hand up then and listened intently before slipping out of the overcrowded room and running up to attend to her son. Joseph Martin had woken and needed prompt attention.
Walking back through the dark fields held no terror for Rhiannon. She had lived in the area all her life and from a small child had gradually explored until she knew every path and every tree. She was humming to herself, occasionally singing the words to Frankie Laine’s ‘I Believe’, when she heard the rustling. She wasn’t worried, it would only be an animal foraging. She wished she could see what it was; it would be exciting to see a fox, or better still a badger as she once had on this very stretch of lane. But suddenly and alarmingly the sound increased, a shadow loomed up in front of her and seemed to engulf her before she was grabbed and shaken.
Taken unawares, she didn’t struggle but flopped about like a rag doll as he shook her and slapped her. He punched her shoulder and the side of her face before taking her bag and dropping her to the ground.
She lay there stunned, listening as he ran off, crashing through the undergrowth, until the sound faded. If it wasn’t for the pain in the tops of her arms where he had held her and the stinging sensation on the side of her face, she might have thought she’d dreamed the whole thing.
She stood up slowly, as if from a deep sleep and, staggering at first, walked down the lane, hurrying as her strength and wits returned. She was afraid to look back but could imagine him following her, creeping behind her, preparing to pounce. The chill in her back was like an exposed target.
When she reached the street she almost knocked on the first door she came to but the need to put distance between herself and her attacker, plus the primitive need to be safe inside her own home, gave speed to her feet and she was almost running by the time she reached Sophie Street.
Barry was locking the door of the sweet shop and she called out to him and ran into his arms. Explanations were brief before he led her to her front door.
His impulse had been to take her to his flat above the shop but she needed to be home and he didn’t argue. Either way, they needed to inform the police immediately.
“Not that it will do much good,” Barry explained to Rhiannon and her mother. “Whoever it was will be long gone.”
“Where was it?” Viv demanded. On being given directions he wanted to leave straight away to look for the man but Rhiannon asked him to stay.
“Was there much money in your bag?” Dora asked.
“Yes. About fifteen shillings. But he didn’t have to hit me, I’d have given it without him shaking me and hitting me.” She shuddered then began to cry. “I was so helpless, being held by him and shaken like that. It seemed to go on for ever. He didn’t make a sound, and all I can remember is the smell of woodsmoke and earth.”
“A tramp, for sure,” Dora said. “Filthy creature, attacking someone for money instead of finding a job!”
The police interviewed her and spoke soothingly, reassuring her that she needn’t be afraid of going out, the chances of it happening again were unlikely.
“That young fellow-me-lad will be miles away by now,” the constable told her.
“You know him?” Barry asked with a frown. “‘Young fellow-me-lad’, sounds as if you’ve met him before.”
“No, not met him, but there are a few young men out of the forces and unsettled. They’re opening more reception shelters to accommodate them, you know. Places where they can get a meal and a bath and a bed for a night or two. They have people they can talk to and the aim is to get them on their way again, get them a job and some hope for a better life.”
“Help them? Help them? In the meantime, girls like my Rhiannon have to put up with being shaken like a terrier with a rat, and robbed of the money they’ve worked hard for? That’s a fine thing!” Dora shouted.
“Most of us need help at some time or another,” the constable said. “We’re the lucky ones that have family and friends who love us. It’s easy to forget there are hundreds who don’t have a soul to support them through bad times. It’s easy to blame them but harder to see their need and offer help,” the policeman said gently.
Viv went out as soon as the policeman had gone and went to talk to Jack, their differences forgotten in the need to search for the man who attacked Rhiannon.
They found no one sleeping in the places they had previously seen used as temporary homes, and towards one o’clock they gave up.
Viv had been feeling guilty ever since the policeman gave the pointed remark about helping rather than criticising and as they parted he said, “Jack, I’m sorry for what I said about your father. I don’t go back on my words so far as having him back at the shop, mind. But I really do think I should stop griping.”
“How kind you are!” Jack said, sarcasm twisting his face.
“Listen to me, I really want to help. He should get a job. He’s slipping into the habit of avoiding people and that could ruin his life.”
“What’s it to you? He’s a thief and not worth a moment’s thought, isn’t he?”
“I can’t change what’s happened or what I did, and I don’t think I would if I could. I’m not one for pretending, but it’s time he was coaxed out of it.”
“You’re so noble aren’t you, Lord Pendragon Island!” Jack began, then he calmed down and agreed. “Oh, damn it all, you’re right. He’s got to be made to face up to himself and stop blaming you for his own failings.”
“We’ll have a chinwag with the others and see if we can come up with any ideas.”
Their precarious friendship patched up once again, they went their separate ways.
Rhiannon went to bed and for a while, Barry sat with her, with Dora in and out, bristling like a guard dog.
“If you want to go and see Eleri, tell me and I’ll go with you,” Barry said. “It frightens me how easily you might have been harmed.”
“I’ll be all right. After a few days I’ll be able to forget the fright. It won’t happen again, the police were right, he’s probably miles from Pendragon Island by now.”
“You know I care for you, and I want to protect you from anything unpleasant. Please, Rhiannon, tell me when you’re going and I’ll go with you.”
“Barry, how can I promise that? You might be working. Out of town. Anything. Photography isn’t a nine to five job. Parties, office do’s, weddings, they all take you out in the evenings. That’s why we see so little of each other these days. Isn’t it?”
Barry recognised the hint of censure and hugged her, releasing her quickly as Dora’s footsteps approached once more.
“I don’t like being away from you, love,” he whispered. “I want to marry you, share my life with you, it’s you who make excuses not to see me, afraid of gossip, mistrusting me, not taking my word that Caroline and I are going ahead with a divorce. We are, you know. The solicitor has it in hand and we both want to be separated as quickly as possible. Although even that’s misleading, separation suggests we were once together and you know we never were, not for one night. The only kisses we have shared have been those of a family: affectionate and loving, not the kisses of lovers.”
“All right, Rhiannon?” Dora asked, walking in and glaring at Barry until he released Rhiannon’s hand. “Time you tried to sleep, isn’t it?”
“Five more minutes, Mam,” Rhiannon pleaded and reluctantly Dora left them.
“Down the bottom of the stairs I’ll be, Barry, listening for if she calls, or if she needs me for anything,” she warned.
“You see a lot of Caroline, though, don’t you?” Rhiannon said. “You go over to the Griffithses’ often. Eleri tells me.”
“My work keeps me busy but I do get lonely sometimes. If you aren’t around, I sometimes call and see Caroline and the baby. I surprise myself by enjoying little Joseph. It’s so sad that his father isn’t here to enjoy him. Joseph would have made such a good father, he had a sense of fun and he’d have been so patient as the little chap explored his world, don’t you think?”
“You can’t be a substitute, Barry, not if you’re going to leave them. It wouldn’t be fair for Joseph to have you around then for you to vanish.”
“Hardly vanish, love. We’ll still see them, won’t we? Marrying you won’t cancel the fact that Joseph is my nephew.”
Aching from the attack, Rhiannon thought the ache in her heart was the greater. It was an ache caused by unreasonable jealousy. The look on Barry’s face as he talked about Joseph and Caroline gave his words a distorting echo. It was easy for him to talk about divorcing Caroline but signing on the dotted line might be more difficult.
As his footsteps hurried down the stairs and out of the house she felt it was representative of their love for each other; slipping away, fading and dying.
Barry and Rhiannon had been in love and were talking about an engagement when the accident that killed her brother Lewis-boy and Barry’s brother, Joseph, had changed everything. Revelations about her father had caused a rift and, as Caroline was expecting Joseph’s child, Barry had married her so the baby could be born a Martin instead of a Griffiths. Too late, Rhiannon regretted saying goodbye to Barry and now they waited uneasily for a divorce.
Knowing Barry and Caroline were not truly married didn’t prevent Rhiannon from feeling guilty at being seen with him. Going out with him while he was Caroline’s husband might seem to condone her father’s infidelity and that she couldn’t accept. She knew that at this moment, while her mother sat alone, her father was with Barry’s mother, finding happiness with Nia that he could no longer find with his wife.
Lewis sat for an hour in the flat working on his papers. It was a flat he had hoped to share with Nia but their plans had been aborted by Dora’s illness and they only met there occasionally. Tonight he had tried to phone Nia but she was out. He made himself some tea, cursing the fact that the occasionally-used flat never contained milk, and was sitting day-dreaming about the day when everything would be right, he and Nia together, Dora quiescent, the family accepting the situation. One day, he thought, one day I’ll be living the life I want. He sat up when he heard the sound of a key in the lock. “Nia?” he called as he ran to greet her. “I was walking back from the pictures when I saw the car, my dear,” she said. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
Two hours later, after driving Nia back to her house in Chestnut Road, Lewis put his key in the door, calling goodnight to Maggie Wilpin sitting in the darkness. He walked into his house to see Dora sitting waiting for him. Irritably he asked, “What is it, Dora. Why are you still up?”
“Our Rhiannon was attacked,” she said with some satisfaction, knowing how shocked and guilty he would be. “You weren’t here, but that’s nothing new, is it? Never with your family when you’re needed, are you Lewis Lewis?”
Gladys checked and re-checked the names on the list of invitations for her planned party. There weren’t enough young men. She stared into space racking her brain for fresh ideas. She wanted to discuss it with Arfon, he would know people of importance from his business meetings and his club, but she daren’t. She knew she ought not to be arranging such an expensive event, but the money had been saved by her for the girls’ twenty-first birthday party and, since that hadn’t happened, the money had lain there, waiting for her to think of a way of using it. A way that didn’t include simply pouring it away, consigning it to the money they had already lost.
A party to which she would invite all the most eligible bachelors in the town, was an excellent way to use the money. Giving it to Arfon to pay off some of their debtors would be as useless as throwing it down the nearest drain. It would disappear and there would be nothing to show for it. Why couldn’t Arfon understand that? Really, men were so stupid sometimes!
Today she intended to call on Mr Jenkins. Apologising for not buying his house after viewing it was a weak excuse but it was sufficient. She would call and tell him how sorry she was for wasting his time and stay to ask about his grandsons. Smiling at her own deviousness and skill, she rang for a taxi.
As before the maid opened the door and after a brief enquiry, Gladys was invited in. To her delight, Mr Jenkins was not alone. A young and extremely handsome man sprawled in an armchair but stood up as she entered and waited politely to be introduced.
The young man who looked about the same age as Jack, was dressed in what Gladys called casual elegance. Well fitting, obviously personally tailored trousers and shirt that spoke loudly of money. His jacket was of some age but obviously good quality. On his feet he wore hand-sewn shoes. He was handsome in a rather boyish, old-fashioned way, fair skinned and with light brown, straight hair. His hands were beautifully manicured and looked as if they had never done anything more exhausting than lift a pen. Classically handsome, was how she described him to herself.
“This is my grandson, Terrence Jenkins,” Gladys was told and she began mentioning names in the hope of a mutual friend that would create a link. It was when she mentioned her grandson Jack Weston that she struck the spot.
“I know Jack,” Terrence said. “Didn’t he go to training college to become a teacher or something?”
“That’s right. He was ‘called’ to work with children,” Gladys explained. “He could have gone into his grandfather’s business but he was ‘called’, you see.”
As if the idea had only just occurred, she said brightly. “I’m organising a party for the young people, would you like to come? Bring your cousins too. You and Jack would enjoy catching up with each other’s news, I’m sure, and you could meet my lovely granddaughters, ‘the Weston Girls’ they’re called.”
Dates were checked and as Terrence marked the date and time in his diary, Gladys knew she was making progress with her plan to see her girls settled before the end of the year.
“He uses a diary, my dear,” she told Arfon that evening. “I do think that’s a good sign, don’t you?”
Jack was surprised when Terrence called on him the following day. “Terry! Where did you spring from? I thought you’d gone to Australia!”
“Changed my mind, I thought I’d give it a bit longer before giving up on the old country.”
“What are you doing round here?’’
“As little as possible, of course! Are you still moulding little minds?”
They talked for an hour then Jack took him to The Railwayman’s to meet his friends.
Viv was there with Frank and Ernie Griffiths. They were playing darts and arguing as usual. They all looked with some suspicion at the newcomer, his accent and superior manner off-putting, but Terry soon relaxed them with stories of himself and Jack during their army days and when they parted two hours later, Frank and Ernie felt they had made a friend. Viv had disliked the man on sight and his dislike hardened as the evening wore on.
“What are you doing in Pendragon Island?” Jack asked. “I thought you lived and worked in London?”
“I do – did. But I needed a change of scene. Selling jewellery to old ladies with podgy hands or young men shackling themselves to eager young women, I couldn’t take it any longer. Grandfather is going to help me find something else. My London sophistication and experience will help me find a job.”
“What d’you mean, your London experience and sophistication?” Viv demanded rudely. “How can working in London be an asset for finding work here? D’you think we’re stupid, and in desperate need of your expertise then?”
“If you’re anything to go by, manners are at a premium for a start!” Terry retorted.
Jack sighed audibly. Viv and Terry had been in each other’s company for a couple of hours and were clearly set to be enemies.
Islwyn Heath watched his son coming out of The Railwayman’s and wished he could have gone in and joined the young people, had a drink, shared their fun for a while. Apart from Viv Lewis of course. He could never be civil to that young man.
He got into step with his son when he had left the others and said, “Come for a cup of tea, Jack. I feel the need for company and your mother is off round at your Auntie Sally’s again. Never apart them two these days!”
“I can’t say I blame them, Dad. You aren’t exactly sparkling company, are you?”
“Don’t be so impertinent, boy!”
“For that you can pay for the tea,” Jack laughed. “Come on, Dad, face the facts. You skulk about in the dark, or sit in a corner sunk in a chair like a sick parrot, hardly saying a word. You can’t blame Mam for seeking livelier company, can you?”
They turned off the sticky wet pavement into the artificial brightness of a café, where sad cakes and curled sandwiches lay under the protection of glass domes, but too near the oven to survive.
Islwyn pointed to a currant bun and asked for it to be spread with butter.
“Not allowed,” the assistant said with obvious relish. “Only bread rolls can have butter. We’re still rationed, you know.”
Islwyn nodded to accept the dry, butterless bun and looked at his son. “Pass!” Jack said firmly.
“Did you have supper tonight?” Jack asked, knowing his father had not touched a mouthful of the meal. “Lovely soup Mam made today. It’s amazing what she can make out of the small ration of meat.”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“Hungry? You must be desperate if you’re going to eat that rock!” He watched as Islwyn cut the bun and chewed a small piece. “Dad, why don’t you get a job?” he said. “You won’t earn as much as Grandfather paid you, but you can’t go drifting on like this. You’ll be an old man by Christmas!”
“What could I do, boy? I only know about book-keeping and no one will employ me to do that, now, will they? Thanks to your friend, Viv Lewis,” he added sharply.
“Go to the Labour Exchange and see what they have to offer.”
“Waste of time, boy. Waste of time.”
Jack argued and coaxed but a huge bite from the currant bun seemed to have silenced his father for at least the next ten minutes. He knew Viv was right though. The time for sympathy was gone, now was the time for some action. He took a deep breath and tried again. “Go down and take a job, any job, so long as it gets you out of the house and facing people before you’ve completely lost the knack, Dad.”
“That’s what your mother said this morning. Anything is better than nothing, she told me.”
“And she’s right,” Jack said firmly.