Greg went twice to the shoe shop where Rose had worked to ask for a forwarding address for her, but they pleaded ignorance. He went to the library pretending she had a book belonging to him and he needed to get in touch, just in case she had talked about her plans to one of the friendly staff. No one could help. The post office had received no forwarding address and the local postman said that anyway, Rose Conelly rarely had anything by post. He even asked at the doctor’s surgery and the dentist but there was disapproval at the idea that they would pass on such privileged information.
Rose was renting a small room in south London. She was still afraid to find a legitimate job by which Greg might find her through the references given by the manager of the shoe shop in Cold Brook Vale. Instead she did odd jobs whenever an opportunity occurred. She found work helping to clear a garden for the new tenants of a neglected house, and was offered more of the same. She washed milk bottles and refilled them when an assistant at the local dairy was ill. A baker gave her work for a few mornings and she was paid with bread and left over cakes. She dug an allotment for an elderly man and earned five shillings and some vegetables, which she sold for a shilling as she had nowhere to cook them.
Taking a chance on being seen, she set off one morning back to Cold Brook Vale to collect a few things she had left behind. As the train was leaving Paddington station, a few passengers were walking along the corridor looking for a seat. One of them was Jake. She turned her head away but too late. The door slid open and he came in to the compartment and sat beside her.
‘Rose Conelly? Weren’t you supposed to be marrying Greg Martin? What happened, why did you run off without an explanation? Frantic he is.’
‘I couldn’t. So the best thing was for me to move away. He’ll have forgotten me by now. We weren’t really engaged, whatever he told you. Please, Jake, don’t tell him you’ve seen me.’
‘I promise, but tell me, what are you doing? Where do you live?’
Reluctant at first she succumbed to the temptation of talking to someone. She and Jake were unlikely to see each other ever again. They compared details and discovered they were living not far from each other. ‘But not for much longer,’ Rose told him. ‘Greg will have given up trying to find me by now and I can get a better place to live once I have a job.’
‘Doing what?’
‘I’ve applied for a position selling beautiful shoes and handbags in a large department store, and I think I’ll get it. I’ve survived on casual work since I came here and I live in a room where no cooking is allowed and a bathroom shared between the other tenants. I stuck it out because I needed the security of having a few pounds saved.’
In those moments of honesty, Jake told her about his terrible accommodation. ‘I’ll stay in my grotty room until I can persuade Zena to join me. It’s so cheap and I can put money aside for our wedding, see.’
‘You should keep away from that family,’ she warned, which surprised him.
‘The Martins are a wonderful family. They’re the only people I have in the world. I’m lucky to be part of their lives.’
‘The whole family have secrets that would shock you if they were ever told, believe me. Let Zena go, Jake, find someone more deserving of you.’
He didn’t argue, presuming that she and Greg had had a dis-agreement and he was best out of it.
Jake was coming home, Zena sang the words in her mind as she did her various cleaning jobs, a smile on her face that wouldn’t go away. This time they would really talk. Perhaps this was the weekend when he’d tell her he was coming home for good, that London had been a mistake and he was returning to Cold Brook Vale where he belonged.
He arrived by train on Friday morning at eleven o’clock, and went to Llyn Hir and explained as he hugged her, that the man who had borrowed their car needed it a while longer. ‘I couldn’t wait, lovely girl. I had the weekend free of appointments so I took an extra day and here I am. What shall we do? Where shall we go? I feel like a prisoner let out of jail, being back home with you.’
‘It’s still “home”, then?’
‘Always will be, love, no matter where we go. Cold Brook Vale will still be home.’
She was laughing at his enthusiasm, hugging him, then holding his arm as he picked up his bags from the doorstep and went inside. ‘We’ll start this evening, Jake, love. This afternoon I have to work.’
‘What? I’ve got the whole weekend off and you have to work? Oh Zena, what sort of welcome is that?’
Still laughing she explained that it was only two hours between two and four and then she was free
‘I’ll go to the stationers to see your mam and then to say hello to your Aunty Mabs. That will fill a couple of hours and Aunty Mabs will fill me in on all that’s happened while I’ve been away, I’ll get more news from her than your occasional letters,’ he teased. She frowned but decided he was joking, knowing he was the one who rarely made contact.
It was a wonderful weekend and the hours fled as they walked and talked and made plans. London was the only black spot as Jake tried to persuade her to join him.
‘I keep hoping you’ll miss this place so much you’ll come home,’ she admitted. ‘I’m happy here and with Dad ill I really need to be on hand to help.’
‘Come for a weekend. I’ll find us a nice hotel and show you some of the exciting places London has to offer. I’ll book a theatre, and you’ll enjoy looking at the amazing shops. We can visit the parks. Oh, and it’ll be separate rooms tell your father.’ He grinned. ‘Unless…?’
She shook her head, and ignoring his last words, said, ‘We can’t afford it, Jake. I’m not earning much, just enough to survive. But the flat is rented and that money is going into our savings. We don’t want to spend what we’ve struggled to save.’
He pleaded and reasoned and eventually they agreed on a weekend for him to give her a taste of London sometime soon.
With Jake’s help, Rose found a better place, a more generously sized bedsit with facilities for simple cooking and he helped her to move her few belongings. It would still be strange, living so far from everything she knew but at least she was comfortable and Jake was a friend. Over the next few days she scoured secondhand shops, and furnished the room comfortably, making it her own. A pretty couch-cum-bed cover, a few ornaments, a picture. The additions made her hopeful of settling to her new life and forgetting the harshness of her parting from Greg.
She occasionally went on dates but always ended a friendship the moment there was a hint of a commitment. She knew she wasn’t beautiful and when someone told her she was, it was time to run for the hills!
She was lonely but filled her time learning shorthand and typing, which she didn’t enjoy, but the thought of returning to that empty room with no prospects of a knock on her door was a worse alternative, so she studied French as well, leaving just four empty evenings. She closed the curtains and locked the door as soon as she went inside. For the rest of the time she studied and dealt with cleaning. She blamed Greg, both hating him and, at the same time, grieving what she had lost. If only things had been different.
Although not expecting, or planning to, she began to go out with Jake sometimes. She felt at ease with him, no worries about a friendship changing to something more; he was going to marry Zena. Madeleine from the office where he worked, joined them one evening and the three of them went to a concert, tickets provided by Madeleine.
Jake was pleased to see the two people getting on well and they arranged other evenings together.
Zena was surprised when she reached home one day to see a smart, blue sports car standing at the gate. Surely not Greg’s? Or, heaven forbid, not Jake’s? This looked too grand and whoever it belonged to, what was it doing here? She went in calling, ‘Mam? Whose car is this? Surely not Greg’s? He always says he doesn’t need one.’
Her mother came out and behind her was Sam. ‘It’s yours, Zena,’ her mother said, ‘but Sam had better explain.’
‘Mine? But I haven’t bought a car!’
‘A man called Bill Harvey brought it, but as there was no one in, he left it with me. He’d borrowed it to take his children on holiday, and Jake asked him to deliver it back to you.’
‘I don’t understand. To go on holiday? Jake told me the man, a colleague from work, needed it for work as his had broken down.’
Sam frowned, raised his shoulders in a ‘You know what Jake is like’ kind of gesture.
‘This Bill Harvey,’ he went on, ‘said that Jake is the kindest, most generous man he’s ever known. He did extra deliveries in his own time for him when his children were ill and refused to take a penny in payment. He sent flowers to Madeleine the secretary when she was off with a twisted ankle and called to see her twice to see if she needed help.’ Sam looked at Zena with a quizzical expression. ‘A decent bloke, your Jake?’ It was more than a question than a comment.
‘Yes,’ Zena relied, forcing a smile that quickly faded to a frown. Surely Jake hadn’t bought a car just to lend it to this Bill Harvey? She wondered how much of their savings had disappeared as he concentrated on being a ‘decent bloke’.
When Sam had gone, leaving the papers and keys of the car, Lottie asked what she was going to do. ‘Keep it? Sell it?’
‘Jake is foolish at times but he’s a generous man who can’t resist helping someone in trouble. It’s something I have to understand and live with.’ Zena frowned. ‘Uncle Sam has never liked Jake, has he?’
‘Sam still blames Jake for the death of his son. Jake was with Peter when he fell into the sea. He ran to get help and Sam believes he could have saved Peter if he’d stayed. No one else blamed Jake. He was only twelve and he ran for help, which was all he could do. But nothing will persuade Sam of that. He believes Jake ran away instead of trying to save Peter.’
The car sat there while Zena waited for Jake to explain – waited for any communication from him, but none came.
Greg knew he had to give up searching for Rose. It was clear that she didn’t want to be found. The only address he had was for the house which she had pretended was her home, where he had frequently left her after an evening out. Stupidly he knocked again to see if they had any idea where she might be. The tenants had no idea why she had lied. He still half hoped that the problem which had caused her to run away would be solved and she would return to him.
While he couldn’t forget Rose, there was nothing more he could do and meanwhile there was the mystery of Aunty Mabs. He was still hesitant to walk into the night café and, although he had tried to offer opportunities for her to talk about it, he felt he was prying. If she wanted them to know she would tell them.
For some reason she wanted to keep her involvement in the place a private affair. Could it be a bridge club? A charity secretly raising funds? Political meetings? He didn’t think Mabs would play bridge and she was even less likely to belong to a political party. He eventually learned about the night café through the friendly approach of the little man called Sid, and smiled at the possibilities he’d considered.
Having made up his mind to face her, he stepped inside one night, but instead of Mabs, a man stood behind the counter smiling a welcome. Richard, Mabs’s loyal assistant, knew who Greg was and saw no reason not to explain. So he told him the story between light-heartedly settling arguments and providing teas and snacks.
It had begun with Greg’s Uncle Frank who had worked as a bus driver as Greg now did. During his late night journeys he had noticed a few people, mostly men, just wandering, apparently aimlessly passing the night hours. He had stopped to speak to several and learned that, unable to sleep for various reasons, they walked around, occasionally meeting others, to stand and talk on a corner or climb the fence to sit on a bench in the park, to get through the lonely hours of darkness. Frank discussed it with Mabs, and the night café was born.
Intrigued, Greg wanted to help but was still unsure how to approach his aunt, until early one morning he saw the first bus pass the café and, moments later, saw her rushing out, locking the café door and staring after the bus in obvious dismay. He rode towards her on his bike and stopped beside her, ‘Morning. Want a lift? You can have the saddle, and I’ll pedal.’
‘Oh Greg, I’ve been visiting a friend, I have. And I missed the early bus. Don’t worry about me, I’ll get a taxi.’
‘Hop on, I can manage a little one like you.’
With much laughter, Mabs climbed onto the saddle and, with her feet sticking out and Greg standing on the pedals, struggling good humouredly up the hills, free wheeling down again, they made their way to Mabs’s flat.
‘A cup of tea would go down well,’ Greg said, following her inside. ‘You put your feet up and I’ll make it. Right?’ He grinned and added, ‘There’s tired you must be, looking after a friend, or two, or three …’
‘You know,’ she said, rhetorically.
‘Yes, I do. I wanted to tell you and ask if I can help, but I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about me knowing.’ He winked at her. ‘I see all sorts of things from my bus!’
‘The night café was something me and your Uncle Frank started.’
‘I know.’
‘When he died I just had to keep it going. It’s such a help to these lonely people – so many you wouldn’t believe.’ She stopped and stared at him. ‘You knew it was my Frank who started it?’
‘None of the family has guessed. So, can I help? Shift work means I often have freedom at the right time.’ Mabs promised to think about it and Greg left her to sleep and rode home content with his night.
Helping in the café would help to take his mind off Rose too, although he still had the unextinguishable hope of her appearing. He even practised what he would say to her, sometimes promising not to ask a single question, sometimes showing anger and hurt, shaming her into telling her story.
Zena was at the hospital when her father turned his head and asked, ‘What about you and Jake? Will he be coming home, d’you think? Or will we have to say goodbye to you as you move away from us?’
‘I keep hoping Jake will come home,’ she admitted.
‘Can’t you try living in London for a while before making a decision?’
‘That would be expensive, Daddy. I have to make a firm decision to go, or,’ she added softly ‘or to stay.’
‘Expensive maybe, but cheaper than messing up your life and having to start again.’ He closed his eyes and took a few wavering breaths before adding, ‘Think carefully my darling girl. Happiness is something we can be too careless with sometimes.’
Zena hugged him gently, afraid of hurting him, he was so frail. ‘Thank you, Daddy. I will think about what I really want, I promise you.’
Good,’ he whispered, his voice almost failing.
She left the ward to allow her parents to say their affectionate goodnight and glanced back to see he was asleep, his hand still holding her mother’s.
Zena did think about what she really wanted and was certain that Jake was an important part of it, but moving away from her family and the place she loved, that was not an easy decision. Sleep wouldn’t come and she read until the words wouldn’t leave the page. The half formed plan for a London weekend had been forgotten.
She pictured the affectionate way her parents held hands, whispered to each other. She knew their feelings for each other were genuine and all encompassing. Whatever happened to them in their lives, nothing would change that. She was affected by the surety of the love they shared and a glimmer of doubt filled her mind. Did she and Jake have a love to compare with that? She couldn’t honestly say yes.
At three o’clock she crept down stairs and made a pot of tea and took the tray to her room. At six o’clock she stood outside the back door listening to the starlings in the trees a couple of fields away beginning to chatter as they roused each other to start their day.
A decision hadn’t come and she didn’t think it would without Jake here to discuss it. She hadn’t heard from him for more than a week and, when she had telephoned the office, the secretary called Madeleine Jones had answered. She told Zena officiously that he was out of the office and why should she know where to find him?
When Zena called at Mr Roberts’s one morning he wasn’t at home. She wondered whether he’d had a hospital appointment and had forgotten to tell her. But to reassure herself that he wasn’t in any trouble, she knocked at his neighbour’s house and was told by Doris that he was indeed in hospital but because he’d had a fall.
There was a bus due that would take her to the hospital so she left her bicycle and ran to the bus stop. A few enquiries, a brief stop to buy some sweets and a newspaper and she was directed to the ward. Insisting she was someone who would help to look after him when he went home, she was allowed a brief visit. He was sitting up in bed looking older and more frail than she’d expected.
‘Mr Roberts! What happened to you?’
‘I was reaching up to change a light bulb, fool that I am.’
‘By reach up, I hope you don’t mean you were on a stool?’
‘I’ve done it before,’ he muttered, then looked up and smiled. ‘A long time ago, mind.’
After the usual warnings during which he promised to be sensible but smiling and without sounding sincere, they discussed what Zena and Doris should do to help him. The doctor didn’t expect him to stay in hospital very long and explained that he would be discharged in a day or so with plaster and a sling supporting a bruised shoulder and a broken arm. She decided to take advantage of his absence in hospital and clean corners and cupboards that she hadn’t been able to do without disturbing him.
Risking the outraged protests of the nurse, she begged just a few moments to see her father. To her surprise this was granted. Ronald was asleep and muttering in a distressed way and although she stayed until the nurse returned, he didn’t fully wake. She was upset as she left the ward.
As she was leaving she was surprised to see her next client, Janey Day, who was on duty at the hospital information deck. She quickly explained what had happened. ‘I’ll be late but I’ll work the usual two hours as soon as I can get there,’ Zena promised. She caught the bus back to do her two hours’ work for Mr Roberts then set off for the house of Mrs Day. She was more than three hours late and unfortunately, when she reached Janey’s house, instead of finding the house empty, Trish Francis, Janey’s mother was there. She stood silently watching as Zena propped her bicycle against the garage wall. Her arm was raised and she looked from her watch to Zena and back again. ‘I hope you intend to make up your time, Miss Martin.’
‘Of course, Mrs Francis. One of my clients has had an accident and I went to the hospital to see how I can help,’ Zena replied politely.
‘On my daughter’s time!’
‘Not at all.’
‘I shall have to tell my daughter of your unreliability.’
‘No need, she already knows.’ Pushing past her, Zena set to work and ignored the disapproving woman who followed her, hoping for a chance to complain. Determined not to be brow-beaten by her she completed her tasks and left precisely two hours later, smiling sweetly.
Although it was late in the day she rang her mother then went back to Mr Roberts’s house to make sure everything would be comfortable for his homecoming. Polishing a cupboard door, the clasp slid down and the door opened, allowing a pile of letters to fall out. She picked them up, stacked them neatly and closed the cupboard. As the door swung back she saw a letter she had missed. There was no envelope and she was embarrassed to see that it addressed Ray Roberts in affectionate terms. The handwriting was large and the words ‘Dearest’ and ‘Darling’ were in extra large letters. Tempted to read on, she was shocked to realize it was a letter not of love but filled with anger. Ashamed of prying, she was unable to resist reading the signature. It was from someone called, Donna.
She glanced around the room as though afraid someone would see her and know of her disgraceful nosiness. She had read enough to learn that the writer had been let down by Roy Roberts. There were demands for money, with threats. The franking on the envelope was dated twenty-two years ago. It must have meant something to him if he’d kept it for all this time. She wondered what had happened to cause such anger and felt a sadness for the man who spent so much of his time alone.
She carefully put the letter among the rest and continued cleaning the room. As though to pay for her inquisitiveness, she spent longer than she planned, and set off home contented.
Cycling down the lane heading for the main road, she heard a car coming behind her. The sound increased as the driver accelerated then it skidded past her causing her to wobble and almost lose her balance. It was gone in a flash but she recognized the driver and the car: Janey’s oh-so-charming mother, Trish Francis.
She was feeling angry as she cycled on towards Llynn Hir and was glad when a van stopped beside her and Uncle Sam called out offering her a lift. The bicycle was put into the van with the sheep dog, Digby, and she slipped into the front seat and sighed with relief. Then she told him about the unhappy visit to her father, and difficult Trish Francis, making that part of the story amusing, the anger swiftly gone.
‘I remember her,’ Sam said with a frown. ‘We were at school together. She hasn’t anything to be uppity about. She’s feeling important since her daughter married a wealthy businessman, but that sort of success doesn’t rub off on the rest of the family, does it? It can’t change who they are, much as she’d like to think so.’
Zena was glad she had refused to work for the woman. ‘Her daughter Janey is very pleasant.’
‘She takes after her dad, luckily for her!’
Back at Llyn Hir, Sam retrieved her bike from the van, and she thanked him and waved as he drove away. Since her father had been in hospital, Sam called more often to see how he could help. When Lottie’s car was out of action for a few days, he arranged his days to be able to take her to the hospital and often gave Greg and Zena lifts to save them waiting for buses, or struggling with a bicycle when the weather was unkind.
Zena was worried that Lottie was becoming dependent on the kindly farmer, and once her father was home, guessed that Sam would also miss his involvement with the Martin family. Then the reminder came with a jolt that her father’s recovery was less and less certain. So perhaps they would be glad of Uncle Sam’s help for a long time.
Worried about her father, when she reached home she tried to telephone Jake but Madeleine Jones again told her she had no idea where he could be. Madeleine then lowered the phone very slightly, making sure Zena could hear, and said sarcastically that she wasn’t a lonely hearts club for pathetic women clinging to a man who obviously no longer cared. When the phone disconnected, Madeleine looked at her notebook, and marked the call as a wrong number. That was another contact which she had no intention of passing on to Jake.
Zena heard every word, as Madeleine had intended, and was shocked. Did she sound so pathetic having to admit time and again that she had no idea how to get in touch with Jake? She ignored the spiteful comment about Jake no longer caring. She reached for pad and paper and wrote to him, marked the envelope private and confidential and addressed to the office. At least that would get through. The person dealing with the post would put that aside until he saw Jake.
Angry with Jake, and herself, she wrote a short, impatient note asking him to get in touch and give her some way of contacting him apart from the office in case of an emergency. It seemed that only something serious would persuade him to talk to her. Trembling with annoyance at Madeleine’s attitude, she went out and posted it.
The company for whom Jake worked had their offices in a large building that was home to three other companies. All the mail went to a front office where it was sorted into the various piles by an elderly ‘post boy’. It was then delivered to the relevant office. Madeleine had always given the tedious task of sorting it between the members of staff to a junior typist, but since she began taking an interest in Jake and his stupid girlfriend, she did it herself. Zena’s latest letter was opened, read and discarded.
Mabs couldn’t decide what she should do about Greg. Now he knew, the secret of her night café would soon be out. Like a game of Chinese whispers, the story would be passed from ear to ear, distorting and changing as it was repeated. Soon it would be general, and probably inaccurate, knowledge. If she accepted Greg’s help he might try to keep the secret as he had promised, but one day he would be unable to resist sharing it and that would be the end of the valuable oasis of warmth and friendliness for those who needed it. The secret was shared sooner than expected.
When Zena called for lunch on the following Friday, she hesitatingly said, ‘Aunty Mabs, Greg told me about your night café and I think it’s a wonderful thing you are doing. I promise neither Greg nor I will say nothing.’
With a sigh, Mabs said, ‘Tell no one, except, just one?’
‘You mean Jake? No, I won’t tell Jake. He isn’t the most reliable one to hold a secret. Much as I love him, I know him well enough to understand that. He’s so friendly, wants to be everyone’s friend and he’d be boasting about your wonderful generosity within hours! Keeping a secret like that would be impossible for him. So, no, I won’t even tell Mam or Dad. That’s a firm promise. If Greg helps you, and he really wants to, you can trust us.’
It was time to take a chance so when she next saw Greg, she told him she would be glad of his help on the occasions when he was free. Greg had no shifts for two days and he started that night.
He arrived at the same time as Mabs and stood watching as she went to the back room where the food was prepared, to fill plates, fill the heater and turn it on for hot water. The tables were washed then she distributed boxes of games and playing cards. Better not to try and help too soon, he decided, he’d only be in the way or get things wrong.
The regulars came as soon as the lights showed in the café and the door opened to reveal Sid and George followed by Henry and Arthur and two hesitant strangers. They greeted Mabs and nodded politely towards Greg. ‘You used to be a bus driver, didn’t you?’ George asked.
‘No, you must have seen my twin,’ Greg replied. George nodded. Better not to say more. Frankie’s night café wasn’t the place to ask questions.
More men arrived and Greg was soon pouring tea and coffee and handing out cakes, taking the coins and joining in the casual chatter in a joking manner that entertained the regulars.
Henry was very quiet and he stared at Greg, his eyes darting away when Greg saw him staring. Towards the end of the night Greg took a cup of tea and sat beside him. ‘Fancy a game of draughts, mate?’
‘No. Chess is my game.’
‘I’m no good at chess, I can’t think ahead and you have to work out several moves, don’t you? You must be a lot cleverer than me.’
‘What d’you mean by that? Because I come to a place like this, I must be stupid?’
‘Not at all, I was saying that I’m not clever enough to play chess.’
Henry tilted the table and the chess board and pieces fell to the floor. Mabs shouted a warning and Henry went out slamming the door behind him.
‘Oh, heck! Will I be allowed to come again, d’you think?’ Greg said with a sigh.
The customers dispersed soon after and he helped clean up before he and Mabs went to get on the first bus back to Mab’s flat where he had left his bike.
‘Sorry, I didn’t realize how touchy he is.’
‘Forget it. I don’t think it’s the right thing to walk around him on tiptoe; he has to learn to tolerate other people or he’ll never be able to mix with people socially.’
‘Do you know much about him?’
‘Nothing that I want to discuss.’ She smiled to take the sting out of her words but added, ‘We never pry, dear. We listen, but offer no suggestions regarding family problems. We can help sometimes, mind. We can pass them on to the various organizations willing to come and talk to any of them seeking help, but only when they ask.’
‘I’ll be very careful, Aunty Mabs,’ he promised.
He didn’t stay long. Mabs needed to sleep and he too was ready for his bed.
On his next visit to the night café, he had a grudging apology from Henry. Greg smiled and challenged him to a game of draughts, which Henry stared at disparagingly then nodded, and trounced him winning three out of four games.
Greg worked with Mabs over the next few weeks and gradually the regulars and newcomers more or less ignored him, a sign that he had been accepted, according to Mabs. It helped to take his mind off finding Rose, although every day he hoped it would be the day on which she came back to him. He knew he had to let her go, but it was not knowing why. What was it that had caused her to run away? That was stopping him from moving on.
Zena was at the hospital with Lottie one evening when her mother whispered to her father, ‘I think our Greg has forgotten Rose Conelly at last, dear. He’s out so often in the evenings and comes in very late. That must mean a girl, don’t you think?’
A chuckle emanated from the wizened man lying on the bed. ‘Good on him, I say.’
‘So do I, dear. Rose had too many secrets. Better she left when she did rather than go through a marriage without Greg being absolutely certain.
‘Not like us.’ Ronald reached for Lottie’s hand. ‘We never had any doubts, did we?’
‘No. Not for a single moment.’
In London, late one night Jake was walking back to his room, having been to the pictures. He was carrying fish and chips and his briefcase which he used to deliver messages and occasionally collect payments. Poking a finger through the soggy newspaper he managed to pull out a few chips and chewed, tossing the hot food from side to side to ease the discomfort as his mouth burned. As he approached his doorway, a couple of figures suddenly ran towards him and for a moment he smiled a greeting but they grabbed his arm pulled the briefcase from him, threw the package of food on the ground and ran off. Angrily he ran after them, demanding his briefcase back. One of the men turned and ran back but before Jake knew what was happening, he had been punched and pushed to the ground. He fell heavily and felt a severe pain in the elbow. Then he was rolled around roughly as the man searched his pockets and gave him a couple of vicious kicks and punches before running off with loose change and his wallet.
There were several payments in there and his first confused thoughts were how he would explain to his boss how he had lost them. Several of the smaller payments had been paid in cash, none large, but together they amounted to more than fifty pounds.
Struggling up, standing still until he was sure of his balance, he wasn’t sure what to do. He had no money and, after a fruitless search no keys either. He was too far away from the flat where his friend Stanley lived but remembered that Madeleine Jones, the secretary, lived much closer. Supporting his painful arm with the other, he walked through the streets, shocked and aching where he had been punched and kicked. He felt blood trickling down his face and wiped it off with a sleeve. Heading for Madeleine, he wondered whether he should go first to the hospital but decided that all he needed was a bit of sympathy then the police.
A few bruises and a cut on his face was all he’d suffered and they would soon mend. He arm ached badly though and he stopped and removed his jacket, and fixed a sling with the sleeves. He leant on a wall for a few minutes then walked on.
Madeleine greeted him at first with delight and then concern. After a cup of hot, sweet tea she went with him to the hospital and from there he reported the assault to the police.
‘I’d better let Zena know what happened,’ he said, as Madeleine led him back to her flat in the early morning. ‘Would you mind if I give her your address?’
‘Best not to worry her,’ she said conveniently ignoring his question. ‘Let’s wait until you’re better. She can’t do anything and would only worry unnecessarily. You can stay with me until you’ve recovered.’
She settled him to sleep on her couch with extra cushions to support his arm and a blanket over him. As he relaxed into sleep she watched him. What a stupid man he was, lying to his fiancée, a young woman who was even more pathetic than he. She smiled. At least she could have a bit of fun, interfering and clouding the waters even more than he was doing already. She loved getting involved and messing up so called happy couples. Her childhood had taught her little, except that men were unreliable and women were fools. Playing with these firmly held beliefs, was a game which she enjoyed.
Mabs was at the hospital one afternoon and she was alarmed when Ronald seemed to be unaware of her being there and was talking in a very confused manner. He was obviously distressed about something but his voice was low, the words unclear. He was convinced he was talking to someone called Billy Dove. Mabs called the nurse who administered to him behind curtains, then said that he was calmer but sleeping, and perhaps it would be better to come back later.
‘My brother is very ill, isn’t he,’ she said to the nurse.
‘Yes, Mrs Bishop, but we never give up hope.’
‘What shall I tell his wife?’
‘That’s for you to decide,’ the nurse said kindly.
Mabs went to the house near the lake and tried to tell Lottie something of what Ronald had been saying. ‘He was very upset, muttering something about how he needed to get everything put right before he ran out of time. He was asking someone called Billy Dove to “get on with it”, and “get everything sorted”. Never heard of Billy Dove, have you?’
Back at the hospital watching over a restless Ronald, they mulled over the words for a long time but came up with nothing to explain them. He called several times for Billy to come and get things finished, but none of it made any sense. They stayed in the hospital until four o’clock in the hope of being told of an improvement but then, advised to go home, they left, still hearing Ronald talking to Billy in a croaking voice unlike his own.
Rose returned to Cold Brook Vale and dealt with the business she had come back for, in a short time. She was tempted to walk around the area before leaving, just one more look at the places which had begun to feel like home. She had made sure no one would recognize her, by wearing a hat, some glasses that made the world a bit hazy and a long, unattractive coat. On an impulse she spent the vouchers she had called to collect then, as shops began to close and the small town emptied of people, she wandered through streets and lanes she had walked with Greg and dreamed that stupid dream of. ‘What if …’ surely the most stupid words in the English language. Nothing would change. Greg’s evil family had destroyed her life completely, her last chance of finding happiness.
It was dark and getting cold and, on the way back to the station with an hour to kill, she saw the café and decided to have a hot drink and something to eat. As she approached the door she peeped inside and was alarmed to see Greg and Mabs behind the counter pouring tea from a large teapot and laughing at something that was being said. What on earth were they doing there? She hurried away, and didn’t feel safe until she had turned several corners.
How easily she could have walked in to face them! She wished she had forgotten the money she was owed and stayed away. She looked around her, fixing scenes and memories firmly into her mind, knowing she must never again come back.
The reason for her return to the town was the Twenty Club that staff at the shop had arranged. Twenty people paid a pound each week and, each week, one of the participants would have a twenty pound, one shilling voucher to spend at one of the local department stores. A draw was made to decide the order of distribution. Rose, having continued to send the weekly payments, had the voucher that week and she had to come back to spend it. She had dreamed of using it to buy things for her wedding. So foolish to have dreamed of the impossible, and having to face heartbreak.
If only she had been brave enough to tell Greg her story, but she knew now that would have led to even more painful heartbreak once the final dreadful truth had been disclosed. He would never understand. In her saddest moments she imagined the horrified expression on his face as she said the awful words.
Spending the money had not been enjoyable. She had imagined buying something beautiful for the cottage Greg owned. Instead, with little real interest, she picked up a random selection of clothes. Then she changed her mind and put them all back on the rails. Instead she bought towels, sheets, pillow cases, adding to the value of the voucher to buy good quality items. Even if she couldn’t live with Greg, she would have a home of her own one day, so why not concentrate on that? Defiantly she added a teapot and some pretty cups and saucers to her packages, struggling as she walked to the station with parcels in her arms and carrier bags dangling from her hands. The porter had looked after them while she wandered until it was time for her train.
After collecting them and giving the porter a tip, she stood on the platform looking down the track. She would find an empty carriage and spend the journey day-dreaming of Greg and what might have been. She felt utterly miserable. This was the final goodbye to what should have been a wonderful future.
Greg saw her when he was on his way to the bus garage to find a hot meal in the canteen and begin his shift. He followed her to the station, where she was standing surrounded by her shopping. He bought a platform ticket and walked to where she stood, all alone, facing away from him. He didn’t speak until he was behind her.
‘Rose? Where have you been? When are you coming back to me?’
She turned, white-faced. It was as though she had conjured him up from her desperate misery.
‘Greg! Please don’t ask me. I have to get back to London. I can’t come back to you.’
‘Why?’
‘I just can’t.’
‘At least tell me why. What did I do to make you leave so suddenly? Did I make demands about our families meeting before you were ready? Tell me and we can put it right.’ Then he picked up one of the parcels and stared at her. ‘Bedding? China? You’ve found someone else? Why couldn’t you tell me?’
‘Greg. I’m sorry.’
The train came, he helped load her shopping and she got on without another word. ‘Tell me, why?’ he shouted, as the train began to puff importantly, belching steam and smoke, sounding its whistle and making juddering movements as it made its slow escape. ‘You owe me that at least!’ He stood as the train moved away faster and faster, staring after it until the last puff of smoke had faded from the sky.
Christmas passed in a confusion of half planned and carelessly executed arrangements. The presents were unwrapped and handed out with little ceremony, the crackers lay unused in their boxes and the food a confusion of hurried meals as and when they could be managed. The whole time was punctuated with visits to the hospital and long anxious discussions about Ronald’s worsening illness. Jake wasn’t there. He had phoned to say he had fallen and hurt his leg and would come once he felt able to manage the journey.
As spring magically turned the trees into a miracle of bird song, fresh new, slowly unfurling green leaves, and the glories of the first flowers, changing every day and becoming more and more beautiful, Ronald Martin died. Mabs was with him as he slowly relaxed into the unmistakable peace of the last farewell. He had been talking softly but Mabs understood little of what he had said. She called the doctor, then went to the phone to let Lottie know.
‘He was rambling on about property and investments, but I couldn’t follow what he was trying to say,’ she told her sister-in-law. ‘It was as though he was talking not to me, but someone else, someone he could see but I couldn’t. There were names he mentioned before, Billy Dove, among others. He’s made a will, I understood that.’
Lottie was surprised. ‘A will? I don’t think so, Mabs, dear. Everything was in joint ownership – not that there is very much. Just the house and some savings for our old age. I’d have known if Ronald had made one and I’d have been involved in the decisions.’
‘It’s with Davies, Davies and Philips. Or so he said.’
‘How odd. It’s all so simple. There wasn’t any need for a formal will.’
Family and friends gathered once the procedures were underway. They talked about the times when life had been carefree, of the childhood years, and of how everything had suddenly changed when Ronald had become ill. They ate snacks, drank tea and Lottie made a list of the people they needed to tell.
Zena phoned Jake’s office and the place where he was supposedly living, but couldn’t contact him. I’ll write to the office. They’re sure to know where he is. If he’s on his travels the office has to be the quickest way of getting the news to him, she decided. Aware of his real address, Greg wrote too, but not being certain of the house number and aware of the multi-occupancy of the houses in that drab area, his letter was returned to him a few days later.
In the office, Madeleine Jones read Zena’s letter regarding the death of her father and threw it away. She bought some of Jake’s favourite food and went home to where Madeleine had persuaded him to stay. She prepared their meal and said casually, ‘Zena hasn’t written for a while. Losing interest now you’re so far away, I expect. Absence makes the heart grow fonder? That’s a lot of nonsense.’
‘It’s true of me! Zena is busy, that’s all. When I persuade her to join me we’ll be fine.’
‘Do you think so?’
Jake didn’t sleep well that night. What was he doing there? He should have gone home to recuperate after the attack, with Zena and her family – his family. With no relatives, Zena, Ronald, Lottie, Greg and Aunty Mabs were the only family he had – or needed. Going find Madeleine after the attack had been a mistake, and being persuaded to stay had been a worse one. But how could he have faced going back to that dreadful place when he had the offer of a few more days in the comfort of Madeleine’s flat and her caring attention? He lay on Madeleine’s couch, wide awake, planning how he would explain his stupidity to Zena.
Greg was upset after seeing Rose again and the evidence that she had found someone else repeated and repeated in his head. With little hope, he decided to try one more time to find her. He needed to know why, then he’d be able to let it rest. The fact that she was in London was no help but if he could find out which area he might have a chance. He went first to the railway station and spoke to the ticket inspector, whom he knew slightly. He had been on duty when Rose left and remembered Greg shouting after her. ‘I don’t know her but remember her working in the shoe shop.’
It had been a quiet time when Rose had caught the train back to London and Greg learned that her ticket was for Paddington. ‘No use whatsoever!’ he muttered in dismay. She could be going anywhere. He thought he might ask Jake to help in the search. After all, he probably didn’t have much to do in his spare time and he might enjoy the company. Yes. Next time he had a few days off he would go to see Jake. He’d be letting Mabs down but she would understand.
He knew from his sister that Jake was not very good at letter writing so he decided to just go straight to Jake’s office. He wondered whether to invite Zena to go with him. It would be a nice surprise for Jake, and Zena would be so glad to spend some time with him.
Jake had fully recovered from his injuries. There was just the inconvenience of a plaster on his arm. He hadn’t gone back to work and was still staying at Madeleine’s flat, being spoilt and, he had to admit, enjoying it. She was very attentive, aware of what he needed before he knew himself. He wrote to Zena, telling her what had happened and promised to come home now his injuries had faded and no longer looked frightening. He gave it to Madeleine to post and she tore it up and put it in the first waste bin she passed. It wasn’t until Zena telephoned the office at a time when Madeleine was out that she learned about the attack.
‘Zena,’ Greg called as he walked through the door. ‘I’m going to London for a couple of days, would you like to come? It’s unlikely, but Jake might be able to help me find Rose.’
‘You’ve spoken to him? You know about his injuries? Why didn’t you tell me? It’s no wonder I haven’t heard from him, he was afraid of worrying me. Although he should have written when I told him Dad had died.’
‘What injuries?’
‘He was attacked. Money and his briefcase were stolen. He was beaten up and has a broken arm.’
‘Will you come then? Aunty Mabs will stay with Mam.’
‘Let’s get the funeral over first. Jake’s sure to be back for that. Then we’ll arrange a few days with him. It’s what we had once planned.’
They discussed this for a while and decided to go during the week following their father’s funeral, when Greg had three days off and Zena would have time to rearrange her days.
Every day Zena delayed setting off to her cleaning jobs to wait for the post hoping for a letter from Jake. ‘Perhaps he can’t get to a phone,’ she said to her mother.
‘Or maybe he doesn’t like funerals.’ Lottie suggested. ‘We had a neighbour once who refused to attend a funeral, ever.’
‘That doesn’t explain the lack of a letter or a phone call. If he can’t get to a phone box, surely there’s someone who’d ring for him?’
‘He’ll be there, dear. Jake may be absentminded but he wouldn’t miss supporting us on that terrible day.’
The funeral was a surprisingly quiet affair. Ronald had been ill for some time, in and out of hospital, and had lost contact with men he had worked with, and most of the local people with whom he had previously enjoyed socializing. Only twenty people went back to the house where Zena and Aunty Mabs had prepared food. There was no sign of Jake. Greg found Zena standing outside the back door alone, and, seeing she was upset, he put an arm around her. ‘Don’t be sad, Dad wasn’t having much of a life, was he?’
She turned a tearful face towards him. ‘If another person asks why Jake isn’t here I’ll scream.’
‘Don’t worry, next week we’ll find out.’
‘I know I’m always making excuses for him but maybe he didn’t get the letters I wrote?’
‘You finding excuses for Jake, me going to London in the foolish hope of finding Rose – who clearly doesn’t want to be found – a right pair, aren’t we?’
With Sam helping, Greg moved the bed they had prepared for their father’s convalescence back upstairs and put the house back to normal. Ronald’s clothes and personal belongings were away in his wardrobe; that was something their mother had to deal with. ‘I hate this,’ Zena said tearfully. ‘It’s as though we’re brushing Dad out of our lives.’
A week later, leaving Lottie in the care of Mabs, they set off.
They went straight to Jake’s office. ‘Then, if he isn’t there we can try the address of the flat he shares with his friend,’ Zena decided.
Greg shook his head. ‘Sorry, Sis but that’s a secret I really have kept from you,’ he admitted. He told her about his previous visit and the sad place where Jake lived.
‘I’m beginning to realize that I don’t know Jake at all,’ she said in angry disbelief, ‘and I was planning to commit myself to him for the rest of my life.’
‘I thought I knew Rose.’
They went by underground to central London. Rose took a deep breath as they walked towards the office. It was closed. ‘Take me to the place where he lives,’ she said. ‘I want this sorted. Is this really where he works? Or is everything a pack of lies?’
‘On the day I met him, he was coming out of this place and he carried a brief case and waved as he left, calling “good bye” and “see you tomorrow”, I’m sure he was working here then. But what’s happened since I don’t know.’
‘Perhaps we should go home and forget about Rose and Jake.’
Greg took her to the mean street where he had previously met Jake and they knocked at the door of the room and waited. There was no response until a nearby door opened and a man told them that the occupant of the room hadn’t been seen for several days. ‘It’s like that here,’ he explained lugubriously. ‘People come and they go and we never see them again.’ Greg thanked the man and led Zena away.
‘Now what?’ Zena said with a sigh.
‘We’ll go to the hotel and try again tomorrow.’
When they went again to Jake’s office, they gave their names to a receptionist who knocked on a door and called Miss Jones. There was no response. She opened the door saw the office was empty and shrugged. ‘She isn’t here. I’m sorry but I don’t know where she is or how long she’ll be.’
Crouched behind a filing cabinet Madeleine waited, then called the receptionist and told her never to admit those people, whispering that they were looking for her over a romance she’d had to end. Hiding a smile of amused disbelief, the receptionist promised.
Having nowhere else to continue their searches, they went to the theatre on their last evening. ‘Better than sitting in the hotel moping,’ Greg said. ‘This has all been a waste of time.’
‘Not completely. It’s helped me realize there’s no point in searching for someone who doesn’t want to be found.’ She turned to her brother. ‘We should both give up.’
When they got back to Llyn Hir, to Zena’s disbelief the door opened before Greg could find his key and Jake burst out and hugged her. ‘Darling! My lovely girl! I had no idea you’d lost your father. Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Where have you been? We’ve tried everywhere to find you. I’ve phoned the office and spoken to that Madeleine woman and written to the flat you’re supposed to be sharing and to the office, marking the letter private. We’ve been to London and no one seems to know where you’ve been.’
All the time she was scolding him he was staring at her and smiling. ‘Oh, Zena. My lovely girl. How I’ve missed you.’ With his arms around her making her aware for the first time of the plaster on his forearm, they walked into the house.
‘Have you really been to London? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? We’d have had a wonderful time.’
‘I think Miss Madeleine Jones has been careless with messages and post, don’t you?’
‘No, it must be some mix up in the post room.’
‘They handle phone calls as well, do they?’ she said sarcastically.
He knew he ought to tell her exactly what had happened and where he had been staying – she had obviously not received his letters, but he said nothing. Madeleine must have held back the letter, not wanting to worry Zena, kindly believing it better to wait until he was recovered. He explained that the shabby room was so he could put more money aside for their wedding, and about failing to mention the attack, presuming that was where she had addressed her letter. He said nothing about how Madeleine had looked after him. That wouldn’t have impressed her at all. There were times, he decided, when lying was simple common sense,
On Lottie’s behalf, Mabs called to talk to the solicitor who had drawn up Ronald’s will. ‘Can you come to the house when all the family are there?’ she asked.
‘If you wish, but there don’t appear to be any difficulties. It’s quite straightforward, Mrs Bishop.’
The solicitor called at Llyn Hir on the day following Zena’s and Greg’s return from London. Jake was present for the reading. The solicitor had described it as straightforward, but he told Lottie in private that things had come to light which changed everything. ‘There has obviously been a change in Mr Ronald Martin’s circumstances and a new will should have been fully discussed. This is the only one we have, unless you have something about which I haven’t been informed.’
‘Just read it, please.’
‘Very well.’ He coughed nervously. ‘To begin, I have to tell you this house had been re-mortgaged. I have no information regarding why this was necessary, the money is nowhere to be found. The debt on it was more than the money in your joint bank accounts will clear.’
‘That cannot be right! We have shares and investments that would easily clear the full cost of this house twice over.’
‘The stocks and investments are there no longer, I’m afraid.’
‘But—we were saving for the children’s future and our retirement. What’s happened?’
‘If I can continue, please, Mrs Martin?’ Zena noticed the man’s hands were shaking as he went on. ‘The money in the joint bank account to be distributed as my wife sees fit between herself and our children. For Lottie there is the jewellery I have bought her. A hundred pounds is left to Mabs in appreciation of her sisterly love and affection.’
Aware that Lottie had known nothing of the contents, although Ronald had assured him she was in complete agreement, the solicitor muttered about arranging probate and keeping in touch and left, leaving the family silent in shock and disbelief.
When they had recovered sufficiently to speak, both Greg and Zena offered the money they had been left, to their mother to help pay off the mortgage.
Although she actually had enough money to clear the debt completely, and with more to spare, Mabs offered her only the one hundred pounds she had been left and asked, ‘Why did he do this to you, Lottie?’ When Lottie shook her head, Mabs insisted, ‘Come on, this is a terrible indication of the state of your marriage, you must know why!’
Lottie went to her room and Mabs glared out through the window, and said finally. ‘Give me a lift home, will you, Jake? I want to be on my own to try and make sense of this.’ Then she turned and glared at the brother and sister. ‘You must know what was wrong, living in the same house as them, you must know! Tell me. Please.’ Zena and Greg shook their heads, completely confused by the last words of their father.
Long after Mabs had gone and Zena and Greg were asleep. Lottie picked up the phone. ‘He knew,’ she sobbed. ‘Ronald knew and he said nothing. He just planned this awful way of telling me he knew.’