The snow continued unabated and Zena settled in an armchair, somehow unable to undress and get into bed; the empty house and the silence outside was unnerving her. Unable to cook she had tried to sleep without eating, but that too was impossible. She foolishly waited for her mother and Greg to join her, three plates set out on the kitchen table. She sat up, pushing aside her attempts to sleep. She was hungry! And thirsty. Gathering a jumper and a dressing gown, she made herself a sandwich and wondered how long it would be before she could make a cup of tea.
An hour passed slowly and she emptied the last of the coal onto the fire. If she were to stay warm she needed to get more fuel. The flickering light from the fire was a comfort as well as warmth. With a torch to light the way she went to the barn to collect the two filled coal scuttles. A fox howled in the distance and she thought the poor animal would go hungry tonight.
The swirling snow, moved by the gusts of wind, disorientated her and she missed the door to the barn by a few feet. She found her destination with the aid of the torch and grabbed the filled scuttles, her heart racing. Something was disturbed by her moving them and there was the sound of something shifting behind her as she left the barn. With visibility so restricted, and imagining someone unseen standing close by watching her, she stumbled in an attempt to run the last few yards despite her burdens and hurried inside. The short walk in the darkness had unnerved her more and she picked up the poker for a false sense of protection, then laughed at her stupidity. She would never be able to use it on an intruder.
To reassure herself she held it aloft and went into every room, checking wardrobes and cupboards even glancing up at the loft door which was undisturbed. Slowly she relaxed, comforted by the thought that at least the fire wouldn’t fail her.
She slept very little, just dozing and waking with the hope of someone arriving. She frequently tried the telephone, half believing she had been mistaken; its loss had been a bad dream. She also made up the fire: at least the house would be warm when her mother got home.
At nine o’clock in the morning she’d put bread to toast in front of the fire when the telephone rang and, with relief, she heard Greg telling her they were all right. ‘Mam is with Aunty Mabs and I stayed with a friend. Grateful I am mind, but damn me that’s the most uncomfortable night I’ve had in a long time.’
‘Thank goodness you’re safe.’
‘Spoilt rotten I’ve been. Are you all right?’
‘Cosy and warm.’
‘Look, you won’t see us for a while, Mam’s car is at the hospital and she’ll wait in the hope of being able to drive back. I’m off to work to see if any routes are clear yet. There won’t be many even though workmen have been out all night. We’ll see you as soon as we can, but with the lane certainly blocked I don’t know when.’
Almost crying with relief, Zena stood for a moment staring at the phone then became aware of the smell of burning. She ran to the fire, threw the toast that was burned to a crisp out into the garden and put more slices on the fork in front of the red coals. Then she rang Aunty Mabs and burned those too.
After eating the third attempt she looked at the time. Jake should be in the office now. She dialled the number and the receptionist answered, but when she asked about Jake there was some hesitation. ‘Don’t tell me he’s been cut off by snow too!’ she said with a laugh. ‘We’re cut off and we’ve had no power for hours. Snow drifts have blocked the lane.’
‘Jake isn’t here,’ the girl said hesitantly.
‘Don’t worry. When you see him, just tell him we’re cut off but we’re all safe, will you?’
‘Yes I will – if I see him.’
Again she sounded hesitant, doubtful, but Zena put it down to the fact that the girl was new. She might not know who is who yet. The light and power was restored a hour later and, with a sigh of relief, she put the casserole on to cook.
At twelve o’clock she heard the sound of an engine and there at the gate was the tractor with Uncle Sam driving and her mother sitting beside him. Sam was grinning widely as he helped her mother down. ‘More trouble than all my cows and sheep this one,’ he teased. He stayed for coffee, handing Zena a box containing a quart of milk and some eggs. He wrote down their shopping needs which he would collect later then went off waving away their thanks.
Frost made the roads and pavement surfaces dangerous and Zena didn’t attempt to visit her clients. It was three days before Greg could get home by crossing the fields. The main roads had been quickly cleared and he had been working, staying with his friend. ‘It’s like the end of a little war,’ he said, as he hugged them. If only Jake would ring everything would be perfect, Zena thought. It was more than a week since they had spoken and, although she had tried the office again she’d had the same vague non-committal response when she asked to be at least told where he was. She had even asked to speak to Madeleine and was told that she too was unavailable. It wasn’t that unusual for days to pass without contact, but his having been told she had been cut off by snow, she had expected a note of concern.
She wrote twice to his flat and for more than a week waited in vain for a reply. He rang eventually telling her he was in Belgium and wouldn’t be back for a couple more days. ‘It’s a chance of some serious new business,’ he explained. ‘Too boring to explain now but it will mean some new lines and a pleasing number of new customers. I’ll tell you when we meet, and that won’t be long now, lovely girl. Meet me at Neath station two o’clock a week Friday and we’ll have a wonderful weekend.’
‘Neath station? The railway station? Aren’t you coming by car?’
‘Well, one of the other reps, Rick, was stuck for transport and, as I was off to Belgium for a week or so, I lent him ours. So far, he hasn’t got back. If he gets his sorted in time I’ll definitely drive down, give you a real weekend to remember.’
‘He’s lent our car that I haven’t even seen yet, to someone else,’ she told Lottie. ‘If he has something needed by someone else he’ll give it freely.’
‘Very nice, dear,’ Lottie said vaguely.
Zena stared at her, curious about the tone of her voice. ‘I was angry at first, but really, he’s just completely unselfish, isn’t he?’ And he makes sure you are too, Lottie thought, but she said nothing.
As usual, Mabs was more outspoken when she met her nephew. ‘Lent the car to someone else, I hear. Kind of him, isn’t it, Greg?’ She looked at him, her eyebrow raised questioningly. ‘It’s Zena’s car too and she doesn’t have any say, does she? And Jake gets all the praise. She goes to work on a bike at this time of year with snow still on the fields and he lends their car to someone she doesn’t even know. Very kind to anyone except Zena, if you ask me.’
‘She doesn’t seem to mind and after all wouldn’t she do the same?’
‘She never gets the chance!’
‘He’s a decent chap and I like him,’ Greg defended.
‘So would I if he was engaged to anyone other than your sister!’
More snow fell but the lane leading to the house and beyond wasn’t seriously blocked and transport in the town ran without problems. Zena managed to get to her jobs easily, stopping one bright morning for a snowball fight with Nelda’s daughters. Bobbie managed a few viciously accurate hits on Zena and Nelda, Georgie laughing too much to join in.
The worst danger was the ice. In places it was invisible to the eye and made pedestrians slide and stumble and the family all warned Mabs not to go out. Sam delivered shopping bringing what Lottie needed, warning her that carrying heavy baskets made it more likely she would fall. He also took whoever was visiting Ronald to the hospital, where the staff were no longer talking about his coming home.
Despite the inconveniences, the snow and frost were a beautiful sight. The gardens and the trees were so lovely people stopped to stare at them as they passed the parks and Greg and Zena struggled down to the lake to admire the winter wonderland of trees and bushes dressed in silver and white.
Nelda visited with the girls and they walked through the woods towards Sam’s farm. The children played hide and seek among the trees and the scene was described by little Georgie as, ‘trees painted by fairies’.
Greg laughed one morning when Zena brought in a shirt that had been on the line overnight and stood it to its full height on the kitchen table where it stayed for a while before slowly collapsing in the heat of the house. He laughed a lot but Zena guessed it was no more than defence against the misery of his love for the mysterious Rose.
The thaw came and the beauty was replaced by gloom and mud. Zena was busy getting to her regular jobs, Greg doing extra shifts as winter illnesses affected the drivers, Lottie visiting Ronald between working in the stationers.
Ronald still talked happily about when he would be home, and said there was something important he had to do in case he became ill again. He didn’t explain and Lottie didn’t pressure him; she was afraid of doing or saying anything that might upset him, his health was so fragile. She did mention a curious letter from the bank but he waved it away, promising that it would all be sorted when he got home. It referred to a debt on which payments were overdue. Ronald insisted cheerfully that it must be a mistake. A transfer of funds would put it right. Reluctantly she put it aside.
It was as the last of the snow melted away and the grass shone like new paint in the fields around that Zena began to be worried. Jake had not come for the weekend as promised. A hastily written note cancelled their meeting in Neath and since then there had been nothing.
Mabs didn’t go out during the days, Zena or Greg or Lottie did her shopping, promising not to disturb her in the evenings as she liked to listen to the wireless and doze. They were unaware of the taxi that called for her four evenings a week and took her into town.
When Zena called for their usual lunch together, Mabs said nothing about Jake’s silence, afraid a wrong comment would result in a disagreement. When Zena finally saw sense about the feckless Jake, she would need her sympathy and support and a few wrong words now could spoil that.
Greg hadn’t made further contact with Rose after she refused to explain her reason for lying about where she lived. He went out with friends and forced laughter, pretending they’d both made a terrible mistake and had parted. He put aside his curiosity and tried to forget her. Lottie, Zena and Mabs guessed there was something he wasn’t telling them, but they were wise enough not to ask. Then, one day she was waiting at the bus garage and said she was sorry and would explain one day, tell him the truth, before hurrying away.
The weather became almost spring-like for a few days and Mabs went out with baskets and purse to fill her larder. It was Wednesday, half day closing and Lottie would be home. She wondered how Ronald was. She’d go with Lottie to see him this afternoon. She always dreaded the first sight of him, afraid he would have deteriorated and would not be coming home. Thank goodness Zena was living there and looking after Lottie. Such a sensible girl, apart from the aberration that caused her to fall for that useless Jake Williams.
The family had been kind and kept her supplied with essentials and the rest she managed from her store. Thank goodness for a fridge, she thought. That was one of the few things she had bought with Frank’s money and one she didn’t regret. She’d pretended it had been a Christmas present from him that he’d bought as a surprise. She hated using the money which she was convinced had caused his death. Winning all that money had been such a shock to the system, he’d had a heart attack and died within a month.
She closed the door and set off for the bus. Llyn Hir was still cut off with remnants of the drifts and the bus would take her only as far as the lake, and the steep path up to the house. Not for the first time since Frank had died she regretted not being able to drive. She smiled to herself as she waited for the bus. She could afford a taxi and many would call her stupid for not using one, but she was determined not to use more than a few hundred pounds of the fortune that had killed her Frank.
She began to shout as she reached the door. ‘Zena? Lottie? Anybody home? I’m sinking for a cuppa. Damned stupid place to live this is, stuck up here at the end of nowhere.’
Zena came into the kitchen and hugged her. ‘Aunty Mabs! So glad to see you. Mam’s at the hospital, they phoned for her to go in, but she rang to tell us he’s much better. He’d had what Mam called “a bit of a turn”, but he’s all right again.’
‘I thought I’d go in with your Mam to see him.’ She showed Zena the contents of her basket, producing sweets and a newspaper. ‘Where’s young Greg?’
‘He’s at work. Afternoons all this week.’
‘I thought he was mornings?’
‘Sickness has made them short of drivers.’ They talked about Greg’s shifts for a while, Zena amused by her interest in knowing where he’d be working and what time.
‘Glad I am that he followed your Uncle Frank and became a bus driver,’ Mabs said. Zena waited until Mabs was in front of a steaming cup of tea and a round of toast and said, ‘I have a day off today.’
‘Enjoy cleaning other people’s houses, do you?’
‘I wasn’t sure, and it was only intended to be for a short time but yes, I enjoy it. I only take on work where the people are pleasant, so I’m happy doing it for a while. Living in the flat with Jake away, I had so many hours with no company. I see my clients and listen to them talk about their lives and it helps. My routine used to be the office and home with nothing much besides. My days in that office were repetitious, so rigid and, well, boring.’
‘Of course it was boring. That’s what they pay you for.’
‘Without hope of running a bed and breakfast, as Jake and I had once planned, there must be better ways of earning money than cleaning up after others, but I’ll do it while I think about what I want to do.’
‘And Jake?’
‘He wants me to go to London and start a new life there. Perhaps I should, at least I’d feel a part of this relationship. At present I’m no more than appendage, a hanger on. Even the girls in the London office treat me as though I’m a nuisance, calling and interrupting them. And I don’t think the woman called Madeleine passes on my messages. Even Jake can’t forget them all!’
‘You haven’t made up your mind, about London?’
‘I can’t imagine living so far away from this place, and Mam and Dad and Greg, and you of course. Stupid, isn’t it?’
‘Seems to me following your instincts is a sound way to plan your future.’ She held up her plate. ‘And now I’d love another cup of tea and more toast slithering with that illegal farm butter!’
Lottie and Greg arrived home an hour later and found the table set and Mabs busy peeling potatoes. ‘Sausages and mash and onion gravy,’ she announced before hugging her sister-in-law. ‘Lovely chat we’ve been having. Now, tell me, how is that brother-in-law of mine? Anything I can take for him? I was hoping to go in with you but you’d gone. What’s this about your shifts changing, young Greg?’ Mabs chattered on throughout the meal and until Zena walked her to the bus stop.
‘Now Zena love. Don’t make any rash decisions. Think about the years ahead of you and how you’d like to live them. Right?’ As the bus took her away she was still shouting, ‘What about the flat? You’ve lost your tenants so when are you going to rent it again? Be careful about that, mind. And talk to that Jake!’
Zena had interviewed prospective tenants and two seemed suitable. They wanted to move in after Christmas, which was a few weeks away. She smiled as she walked back up the path, thinking of how involved Aunty Mabs was in the day-to-day happenings of the family; then she frowned. She hadn’t told her the full story about her difficulties in contacting Jake. It was stupid to blame Madeleine and the others. Contacting her or not was Jake’s choice. She hadn’t mentioned her growing fear that they would soon be parted by his indifference and wished she had; telling it out loud might have helped her to face it.
She stopped at the gate of Llyn Hir and looked around her; at the bushes where they fed the fox, at the dilapidated platform in the oak tree that hadn’t deserved to be called a tree house, but where she and Greg and their friends had played happily through long summer days.
‘Mam,’ she called, ‘I wonder if that tree house could be mended? We’ll never use it again, but I love to see it there, a memory of lovely days.’
‘I’ll ask Uncle Sam if he knows anyone with the patience to try.’
Greg had expected little from life except a happy marriage and children, with a job that gave him enough to keep them comfortable. He had no desire to move away from the village where he had been born and that was filled with people he liked. He earned a reasonable wage as a bus driver, with occasional overtime and even more occasional extra money driving coach trips in the summer months.
The cottage left to him by his grandmother was added security, giving him extra money and a chance to learn new skills as he dealt with small repairs when they were needed. The tenants he had found had given little trouble and he was happy with the present arrangement with a couple now due to retire who used it as a holiday home while they decided whether to move to Cold Brook Vale to live out their later years.
Meeting Rose Conelly had promised to be the beginning of his dream of home, wife and children. She made him feel happy and he had imagined that it was the same for her, but her refusal to meet his family or introduce him to hers was a concern. He hadn’t told her he’d discovered the fiction about where she lived. He had been hoping that she would tell him and explain her reason for lying, but although he had vaguely mentioned the house to which he had regularly taken her after their dates, no explanation was forthcoming. They could drift for a long time like this; a secretive love affair that offered no hope of anything more. It had to be sorted. But how?
He and Rose were meeting to go to the pictures that evening and he had suggested a meal afterwards. ‘That was a hurdle too,’ he told Zena. ‘She doesn’t like eating in restaurants. How can she be shy? She works in a shoe shop, dealing with customers; surely she couldn’t do that if shyness was her problem?’
‘Jake used to be uneasy when we ate in what he called a posh place,’ Zena explained. ‘It was something he wasn’t used to. He was embarrassed, knowing the other diners would recognize him as a Joe’s caff, pie and chips man. Perhaps it’s the same for Rose. Why don’t you bring her home? Or take her to a small insignificant café somewhere?’
Greg disagreed. ‘I have to make her face whatever is troubling her, and tonight I plan to put a few of her demons to rest.’ He didn’t tell Zena he was going to propose. He was not that sure of Rose’s acceptance and being turned down was not something he would enjoy admitting. He was tense during the evening, taking in nothing of the film they were watching.
He hardly said a word as they walked to where they were to eat supper, although Rose chatted away and seemed unaware of his mood. At the restaurant he had chosen she became quiet and was nervous as they went in and he coaxed her to hand her coat to the waiter who came forward. They were shown to a corner table and Greg offered her the menu. ‘Anything you want, Rose. Tonight is a special occasion.’
‘Not a birthday is it?’
‘No,’ he whispered smiling at her. ‘I’ll tell you later.’
She relaxed, tucked in their corner, and was soon laughing at his stories about some of his passengers, joining in with amusing observations about some of the diners. Greg looked at her with utter pleasure. Surely everyone they met must envy him? She was pretty and funny and tonight she seemed more relaxed, although she turned away when someone offered a polite ‘Good evening’. He felt a great love and a need to protect her, keep her safe from anything that worried her. He could imagine a lifetime without an angry word between them. She relaxed him when he became irate – usually about something unimportant – and made him see the funny side of life.
There had been other girls, but Rose was the only one for him. The corner table had been a perfect choice as she could look around without a feeling of being on show.
They were walking home in the crisp December dark and Greg wondered anxiously if she would finally tell him where she lived. Taking a deep breath, he said, ‘Rose, I want us to be married. Please, tell me you feel the same?’
She stood still and turned to stare at him. ‘Why can’t we leave things as they are? Why d’you have to spoil things? I’m happy with things as they are.’
‘So am I, very happy and that’s why I want us to marry, spend our lives together and make a home and have children and be a happy, loving family.’
In the strange light of a street lamp Greg was startled to see that she looked frightened. He held her close and felt her trembling. ‘Rose, love, you must have expected this, we’ve been seeing each other for a while and I’ve never hidden the way I feel about you.’
‘I don’t feel ready to include others in our plans yet. I suppose I’m afraid of it falling apart once all the fuss and planning takes over. It won’t be ‘us’ any more.’
‘Our wedding can be as large or as small as you want it to be. A register office is fine by me if that’s what you want. I have the cottage and all I need to do is give the tenants notice and it will be ours. It’s that simple.’
She repeated her feelings and he listened and tried to understand. He didn’t ask her where she lived, he felt he’d done enough damage for one evening. He left her at the same house as before although he knew that was not where she lived. He was tempted to follow but knew that was a risk he dare not take and went home to another sleepless night, glad of an early morning start.
A couple of days later he was waiting outside the shop when she finished work. He led her to a café, ordered tea and Welsh cakes determined to try again. He spoke to customers coming in and going out, waved to others, many he knew from being passengers on his bus, but was convinced he was boring her.
‘How could I be bored with you, Greg? You’re so observant, you like people and always find something nice to say about them.’
‘And you’ll marry me?’
‘One day.’
‘Then will you come and meet my parents and sister, and Aunty Mabs?’
Immediately she looked uneasy and her hands trembled. With reluctance, she agreed.
They caught the bus to the hospital to meet his father the following evening. Greg hoped his mother would be there too to get the biggest hurdle over. At the door to the ward, Greg looked in and pointed to where his father lay, his mother beside the bed holding Ronald’s hand.
Ronald saw Greg and waved. ‘Look, Kay,’ he whispered ‘our Greg is here and he has a young lady with him.’
‘Come on, love, they’re looking forward to meeting you,’ Greg said, waving at his parents. He turned to usher her in but Rose had gone.
Rose ran home although it was a long way. She had to get as far from the Martin family as possible. She couldn’t do this: a marriage, the intimacy of revealing all her life’s secrets, she just couldn’t. She squeezed in through the railings of the park and sat, shivering with the cold and despair and misery for almost an hour before setting off again to the gloomy place she called home. She walked slowly now, there was never any incentive to hurry. She doubted if she would ever have a place that felt like home; that was something she’d never had and never would.
Mr Roberts was one of Zena’s favourite clients. He had seriously injured his back having fallen trying to rescue a kitten from a tree and was only able to walk by using two sticks. He employed her to help with housework, but after her first few visits, she had added shopping and the preparation his meals. The initial arrangements had been made by telephone and, when she had knocked his door, she was surprised to see a small, slim man with surprisingly powerful arms who stood with no apparent aid and who welcomed her inside. He had led her slowly and with some difficulty to a comfortable sitting room and then reached for a stick. He smiled and offered his hand, which was large, matching his muscular arm. ‘I pretend not to need this, but my vanity doesn’t last very long.’
‘Being injured doesn’t make you less of a man, Mr Roberts,’ she said, smiling back. ‘Now, shall we sit while you explain the best way I can help you?’
An hour later she was moving furniture and vacuuming the carpets, tidying clothes and newspapers. ‘But,’ she reassured him, ‘I won’t put away books or papers until you tell me I can. My father gets very frustrated when my mother tidies up and he can’t find the book or magazine he’s currently reading.’
During a few snatches of conversation between dealing with the clutter and deciding what he needed her to do, they discovered they had mutual friends and also, to Zena’s delight, Mr Roberts knew Jake and had known him since childhood.
As she was putting on her coat to leave one day, the back door opened and a voice called, ‘You there, Popeye?’
‘In here, young Kevin.’
‘Hi, Pops, I’m going into town, is there anything you need?’ Zena was introduced to a smiling, attractive young man, slim, taller by a head than Mr Roberts. He was dressed in denim clothes and heavy boots and wore a donkey jacket over a thick home knitted jumper. With a brief discussion and a wave, Kevin left. They heard the sound of a motor bike starting and heading down the road.
‘Always willing to help is Kevin. And his mother, Doris. Lucky with friends I am.’
‘Do you get help with anything? Getting up and going to bed must be difficult?’
‘A couple of ladies came every morning for a while, but I tried to be up and dressed before they arrived, so they gave up on me. I’m not in my dotage and I hate having young girls doing things I can do for myself. Young Kevin is a good neighbour. He was in the Navy, but he’s home now and working in an engineering factory. He or his mam, Doris, calls every evening to make sure I’m in bed and there’s nothing else I need. I’ve been blessed with good neighbours. Doris often pops in during the day, too. I’m so lucky.’
‘I thought you must be a relation; didn’t Kevin call you Pop or Popeye?’
Mr Roberts laughed. ‘He teases me about my strong arms and skinny body and says I look like Popeye, so that’s what he calls me.’
Zena had left the house that first time content with her oldest client, certain they would become friends. Sometimes on future visits, she made him a pan of stew or a cake, which she brought for him from home.
The second call was very different.
Janey Day, a pleasant if slightly eccentric lady, spent a lot of her time on charity work. She had two children, a couple of cats and an elderly dog, and was obviously very wealthy. The house was beautifully furnished but in serious need of attention. Furniture and silver needed polishing and once Mrs Day told her she would leave it to her to decide what had to be done, Zena set about bringing some shine to the place. She spent most of the first two hours tackling the sitting room and dining room, making a mental note of what she would do on future visits. Mrs Day was out so she stayed a while longer, and tidied bedrooms before starting on the kitchen. Another hour passed and, as she was leaving, Mrs Day returned, with her mother, whom she introduced as Trish. This was immediately corrected by the superior and suspicious Trish. ‘The name is Mrs Francis. And before you leave here, Miss – er—?’
‘My name is Zena Martin.’ She offered her hand which was ignored.
‘I would like to see what you’ve achieved, Miss Martin. I don’t see much improvement here for your two hours. Look at the dust on the banisters. My daughter won’t pay for this standard of work.’
Just then there came a shriek from the kitchen and Mrs Day came in shouting in excitement. ‘Mammy! You should see the kitchen! And the sitting room looks as though everything is brand new!’
Zena left them to their opposing views and cycled home. Mrs Day would be all right, but she hoped there wouldn’t be much contact with her mother. Mrs Francis would be a difficult person to please. When Trish Francis asked her to do a few hours for her, she politely declined.
Nelda Grey, the third of her clients, worked in a gift shop which was a part of Ilex House, a large property, the house and gardens of which were open to the public. Nelda had two children and was divorced. When they had met in a café to discuss her needs, Nelda insisted on delaying her starting for a day or so, as she insisted that she had to tidy up a bit before she allowed Zena in!
She was a charming young woman and was grateful for everything Zena achieved in the hours she spent sorting out the cheerful but chaotic household. The new way of earning a wage was, so far, very enjoyable and, apart from the disapproving and suspicious Trish Francis, she could see no reason to try anything else for a while – unless she made up her mind to move to London to join Jake.
Greg made another attempt to persuade Rose to meet his family. ‘It’s likely you know them, at least by sight,’ he coaxed. ‘Living in Cold Brook Vale no one is a complete stranger. Come to the hospital and meet them en masse, get it over in one visit.’
He talked persuasively but she didn’t appear to be listening, playing with the clasp of her handbag, opening and snapping it shut, time and again. Then to his surprise and delight, she agreed.
The usual rule applied regarding visitors to a bed and they went in as Lottie was about to leave. Then, with the nurse out of sight, Lottie darted back and at once held Ronald’s hand and they grinned like conspirators.
After some hesitant small talk, the nurse came and Lottie reluctantly went out. Ronald was laughing, a small sound in his weakened body, and said. ‘Always one to bend the rules, is Kay.’
Rose reacted sharply. ‘Kay? Who’s Kay?’
‘My nickname for my wife,’ Ronald explained breathlessly.
To their alarm, Rose ran from the ward, pushed her way through the few people waiting for a turn to visit a patient and, with tears flowing, hurried across the carpark and on to the street. She made no decision about where she was going, she just had to put as much distance as possible between herself and Greg. At midnight she was again sitting in the park. Anger glistened in her eyes and showed in the tightly clenched jaw. She opened her handbag and took out a photograph of Greg which she tore into many pieces and threw into a waste bin, then set off to a place she need no longer call home. She had made a decision, made easier by the visit to Greg’s family.
In London, Jake left the office and threaded his way through the drab area of London where abandoned buildings stood gaunt and dark, with broken windows like eyes watching his progress with disapproval. Cars stood in corners and the street lights showed their battered and rusty cannibalized frames. Sad reminders of someone’s once proud possessions. When he reached the street where he lived, he walked to the shabby house at the far end in which he rented a room. Very cheap and, with only a short bus ride to get to the office, very convenient. That was all that it had in its favour and Jake would have been horrified if Zena saw the place he temporarily called home.
It suited him until Zena joined him, then they could find somewhere decent to live. Until she came, economy was the priority. He didn’t want to waste money on comfort. His room was clean despite the state of the property. Cleanliness was always possible, wherever you lived. Eating was easy with plenty of cafés and snack bars to satisfy his hunger. He pushed at the door which scraped along the uneven tiled floor and, pushing aside piles of neglected post, stopped to look at the filthy, rubbish-strewn hall and wished Zena would make up her mind and join him. It wasn’t pleasant living like this. Money was the only persuasion.
He went into his room on the second floor, knocking on the door next to his own to check that Vera, his elderly neighbour, was all right, then, in his own room, he unwrapped the pies he had bought and began to eat. He had just finished when there was a knock at the door. He was startled. No one knew where he lived and he hadn’t had a visitor since he’d moved in. Post went to the office and any other contacts were via Zena in Cold Brook Vale.
To his alarm he recognized his visitor and, for a brief moment, wanted to slam the door. ‘Greg? What are you doing here? How did you find me?’
‘Can I come in?’ Greg asked, stepping into the room.
Jake closed the door and was about to apologize but instead said, ‘Does Zena know where I’m living?’
‘She believes you share a flat with a friend. I came to London with some friends. I went to the office to see you and as I reached the door and saw the office was closed, I saw you and followed to surprise you. I’m no great detective, I was just lucky.’ He looked around the sparsely furnished but surprisingly clean room and asked, ‘What are you doing here? What happened to the decent flat you were sharing?’
‘That was only for as long as it took to find this place. My friend takes messages for me and keeps up the pretence that I still live there when Zena phones, but I couldn’t afford anything decent. I’m saving for when Zena comes to join me.’
‘And you expect her to live here?’
‘No! Of course not! We’ll get married, a quiet affair mind, as most of the money will be for a place to live, somewhere much better than this. This is all I can afford at the moment, I want to go on saving, see, and I don’t mind. It’s only until she comes. It isn’t too bad, I manage quite well, really. I wish I could get home more often though, for a bath as well as seeing your darling sister,’ he said with a rueful smile, ‘but that too is down to expense. When extra work is offered at weekends I grab it as it means more money in the pot and less time spent in this miserable place.’
‘I phoned the house and told Mam I was going to see you, so what shall I tell them?’
‘Tell them lies. I don’t want Zena to know about this.’ He gestured with his arms and shuddered theatrically. ‘She’d be horrified.’
‘She’d be shocked, but she would want—’
‘She would want me to move and live somewhere more comfortable. Can’t you see that with the high cost of living in London, I need to have some money to begin our life together? Living here, feeding on take-away food is all I can do to give me any chance of putting aside some money each month.’
‘Can I take you out for a meal? At least let me do that.’
‘Half an hour ago I’d have been pleased, Greg, but I’ve just filled up on hot pies from the chip shop. But thanks, and I am pleased to see you. With the unpleasant smells emanating from other rooms and the occasional unexplained noises and the general air of gloominess, I spend a lot of time here wishing I was somewhere else. Call again, will you?’
‘Come on, Jake, at least I can buy you a drink.’
They walked to a public house some distance from the house and Jake at once asked about Greg’s life. ‘There’s a girlfriend somewhere, isn’t there? But you haven’t brought her to meet the family.’
‘You ask me to lie for you? All right, I want to listen, but don’t repeat anything I tell you.’
‘Agreed.’
They sipped their drinks and Greg began to tell Jake about Rose and her reticence to meet the family. ‘It sounds ridiculous to say we’re secretly engaged but she’s agreed to marry me – sort of agreed – but she’s still unhappy about being introduced to Zena and our parents. I got her as far as the hospital to meet them but she panicked and ran away. And this is also very odd; when I went to where she lived, a house to which I’ve taken her many times but have never been invited in, they hadn’t heard of her. I’ve given her plenty of chances to explain and, well, she won’t.’ Jake waited silently for him to continue.
‘This should have been a happy time, Jake, telling people and accepting their congratulations and the inevitable teasing, but Rose’s attitude is making me feel guilty, but of what don’t know. Instead of joy and excitement it’s become a dark corner affair. I don’t even feel able to tell the people I work with and there’s certainly no air of excitement within the family. While Rose remains a stranger to them how can they be otherwise?’
Jake was careful not to offer advice, he simply said that if it were him and loving Zena as he did, he would wait and hope she would soon feel confident enough to tell him what was troubling her.
Two days after his visit to Jake, Greg was preparing to leave at five a.m. for the early works bus, when he saw a note had been pushed through the letterbox. He read and re-read it. It said simply: ‘I can’t see you again. I’m sorry.’ It was signed Rose. No love, no kisses. He frowned. What on earth had happened for her to react like this? Jake was right, he would have to wait until she explained. Was she ashamed of him? Or perhaps her own parents weren’t very sociable? Or criminals? Or dangerous? Or drunkards? Frowning at his foolish thoughts he decided to be there at 5.30 when the shop closed and insist on an explanation. Then he concentrated on finishing his breakfast and preparing for his journey.
Toward the end of his shift the route took him past the shoe shop where Rose worked and he glanced in as he passed and saw a notice in the window stating that there was a vacancy for an assistant. He wondered which of the other two assistants had left and when he called there later, was shocked to be told that it was Rose who had left.
When Zena called on Nelda to do an extra two hours, Nelda was at home. All of the rooms were untidy but surprisingly, even on this winter morning, the garden was immaculate. The greenhouse was clean with seed boxes piled up ready for the spring. Nelda was clearly a woman who loved her garden and to whom housework came a poor second.
‘Can you come twice a week for a few more weeks, Zena? It will give us a chance to get things under control.’ She said ‘us’ but Zena guessed it would be down to her. That was fine. If these people could cope they wouldn’t need me, she reasoned. As with Janey Day, she worked extra time at first, intending to stay with her paid hours once the work became easier. Nelda making it official meant she would be paid for the extra time she had been giving. More money in the savings for her and Jake’s wedding, just as soon as he tired of London.
There were two living rooms in Nelda’s house, but the ‘living’ took place in the breakfast room adjoining the kitchen. The other rooms were filled with the necessities for the craft work with which Nelda earned her living. Cupboards and shelves overflowed with material: wool, card, ribbons and hundreds of beads. A shelf in the kitchen had been taken over with small pieces of wood, buckets of fir cones and dried flowers. She knew it was risky tidying up a work room such as this one as, although everything was such an apparent muddle, she guessed Nelda would find everything she needed with ease. But her first plan was to rescue the kitchen from the over-flow which threatened to cover the table, soon to force the family to eat in the yard!
Gathering the different materials into one place was easier than she expected. Soon a cupboard contained all the hanks and balls of wool, including a place specifically for odd scraps. A chest of drawers held felt pieces and ribbons. Various materials were neatly packed away in boxes on shelves and everything was labelled. Zena wasn’t naive enough to imagine it would look the same on her next visit but hoped that Nelda would agree that it was worth at least allowing the kitchen to be kept free.
Nelda was delighted and offered her extra money, which she refused. A plan was vaguely worked out for future visits and Zena was smiling happily as she cycled back to her parents’ home, via a visit to Aunty Mabs to report on her new and interesting job.
She and Nelda met socially on occasions and on several days the children came with her to Llyn Hir for lunch and a walk through the lanes. Once, although it was cold, a weak sun shone in a hazy sky and Zena took them to the farm. Sam had invited them to meet his sheep and chickens and Digby the working sheep dog, of which Sam was so proud. Sam’s father Neville came with them on the tour of the farm and took them to the large old farmhouse for glasses of milk. When the men went back to work Zena walked them through the wood toward the large old house. ‘The haunted house we used to call it,’ she told Nelda. Bobbie asked what ‘haunted’ meant. ‘It means old, and neglected, with no one to love it,’ Zena explained.
‘Poor house’, said Georgie. ‘Can we go and see it one day?’
‘When summer comes,’ her mother promised.
On his late shifts, Greg had several times seen the bulkily dressed woman in the large hat whom he still thought might be Aunty Mabs, and twice in the early hours of the morning she was seen getting onto the early workers’ bus. She had never used the bus which he was driving and he wondered curiously whether her regular questions about his hours and routes had something to do with it. A pattern began to reveal itself and one night when he guessed when and where she would appear, he waited near the bus stop and followed her when she dismounted. She led him to a café that was closed with curtains across its windows, but she unlocked the door and went inside.
He didn’t know what to do; if he went in and it wasn’t Aunty Mabs he would look foolish and if it was her then she was sure to be angry as she obviously didn’t want these visits known.
As he watched, two men went in, both wearing suits, but there was an air of neglect about them, the overcoats were shabby and either too large or with sleeves so short they were layered with jacket and then the shirt. A third man had the smell of mothballs emanating from his clothes. A fourth man, small, slim and with lively friendly eyes stepped out from the café door and asked, ‘Unable to sleep, boy?’ Greg muttered something and the man gestured to the café. ‘You can come in, and have a cup of tea and a game of draughts or something. She doesn’t mind just as long as you behave. No arguing, mind, or out you go. Come on, I’ll introduce you to Frankie.’
‘Frankie?’
‘She’s the lady who runs the place at night. There’s Frankie and Mr Thomas. Between them they keep the place open for those of us who can’t sleep and have nowhere where else to go.’
‘You mean the homeless?’
‘Oh no, not them. Just those who can’t sleep, and have nowhere to go.’
Greg didn’t know what to do. He needed time to think. Making his apologies to the friendly man he walked for a long time around the dark streets. Frankie? He must have been mistaken. Mabs’s dead husband was Uncle Frank, but she was Mabel. So who was this Frankie who opened a night café to insomniacs and the lonely?
He passed the café twice more and on the second time he heard a shriek of laughter and loud chatter and knew that, whatever she called herself, it was his Aunty Mabs in there. He made his way home on his bicycle, curious but marvelling at the secret life of that remarkable old lady.
An hour later he made a decision. He’d talk to his aunt and offer to help. After all, his hours were far from regular and sleeping day or night, depending on the shift, was a way of life. As long as he slept and was completely rested before his shifts, he would certainly be able to help once or twice a week, coming off late shift or when he had a couple of days off. Yes, it might be something he would be willing to share.
Zena was far from happy; she hadn’t heard from Jake for a week. He planned to come, and even made suggestions about what they would do during his visit, but every time something happened to cancel, usually something to do with his work which entailed a lot of travel. They spoke on the phone, she wrote letters to which she occasionally received scribbled, apologetic replies explaining that his boss was demanding and he rarely had a minute to call his own and reminding her that at least the savings were increasing. She didn’t feel a part of his life any more and wondered whether things would ever return to how they were.
She went into the house called Llyn Hir, and wondered whether her decision to move back there with her parents had been part of the reason Jake was so reluctant to come home. It couldn’t conceivably make much difference; he had always lived in lodgings and she had lived alone at the flat, but at least they had that private place where they could sit and make their plans, share their dreams. She would write and ask him, and move back to the flat as soon as she could, if it would help.
The sight of the made up bed in the back room of her parents’ home overlooking the garden which had been prepared for when her father returned home from hospital was a constant and grim reminder that there was no sign of him becoming strong enough for this to be considered. His weight loss was alarming and he seemed less and less willing to eat. He slept through most of the visiting hour.
The whole family seemed to be waiting anxiously for something, but without hope of a happy outcome. She was waiting for Jake, Greg was searching for Rose who had ‘disappeared’ and her mother waited with less and less hope for her father’s recovery.
Aunty Mabs had found a tenant for Zena’s flat and putting on a brave face, Zena had packed away most of her personal things and put them into her parents’ loft, and settled back with her mother and Greg. Now, she wondered how she would really feel about going back to the loneliness of her own place. Greg had been the sensible one, renting his inherited cottage and saving for his future. Her show of independence had been a mistake. She thought of her shattered wedding plans and now Greg’s too. Concentrating on Greg’s wedding would have helped to take her mind off her own abandoned dream but that had fizzled out in a very odd way.
At nine o’clock when Mabs let herself into the night café which she and Frank, had run for a few years, she set to work in an automatic routine. Drawing the curtains over the café windows she turned on the cooker and began preparing scones and a few cakes. She gathered the carrier bag she had left on the counter and unpacked a few pieces of fruit, a couple of loaves, some meat and fish paste and half a dozen eggs. By half past nine, piles of sandwiches were made and displayed on plates, covered with tea towels. The scones looked tempting cooling on the table ready to be filled and put into the glass fronted display unit. Kettles were humming and two minutes later, her first customers arrived.
Sid and George were always the first, although they always waited out of sight until the door curtain was opened. Mabs poured two teas and put them on one of the tables, where dominoes were waiting for them. After the usual greetings they settled down for their first game.
On other tables were board games like ludo and snakes and ladders. There were packs of playing cards on others and on two, chess men were lined up ready for a contest. Newspapers and magazines were piled on a shelf. Over the next hour several tables were filled, tea and coffee and food provided and paid for and the murmur of conversations and laughter added to the sounds of simmering kettles and the clacking of the pieces on the boards. She noted there were two strangers there. People would have heard of the warmth and friendliness offered by the café and the lady called Frankie. On occasions men walking home had opened the door out of curiosity. The newcomers left after drinking a cup of tea and the others settled down to enjoy the pleasant hours.
Then the peaceful scene was disturbed by raised voices and the scraping of a chair being dragged back from a table. Mabs stepped over and took Henry’s arm.
‘What is it, Henry? Someone upset you?’
‘I lost three games of draughts! I never lose that many. He!’ – he pointed an imperious finger towards his partner, Arthur – ‘he must be cheating!’
Arthur stood up and a fight seemed imminent, but Mabs intervened and said sharply, ‘Henry, come out here with me. Now, this minute, mind!’ Others stood and, after a blustering protest, Henry followed Mabs into the kitchen behind the café. The others stood protectively near, little Sid closest to the kitchen door, making a fist.
‘Now, you know the rules, Henry,’ they heard Mabs say. ‘No arguments and definitely no fighting or you won’t be able to come here again.’
Every time he tried to speak, to argue his case, she stopped him. Her heart was racing, knowing he could easily turn on her. He was twice her size and half her age. ‘Listen to me. You’ve been banned from almost every pub in the area and if you carry on like this you’ll be banned from here out of consideration for the others. Now, get back out there and I’ll make you a fresh cup of tea. No more arguing. Right? No more games tonight, just read the papers and talk to the others.’
He stood for a while in the doorway between the back room and the café and Mabs waited, her body shaking with anxiety. Afraid her voice would tremble she said nothing more, just waited, fingers crossed, until he slowly went back to his seat. When he had calmed down she said, ‘When Mr Thomas comes and I can have a break, you can try again to teach me how to play. Although I’ll never be as good as you lot.’
The clientele of the night café – called by a few who knew of its existence as the sad café – had a variety of problems. Henry was one of the most serious worries, with his violent temper. Among the rest were those with alcohol problems, insomniacs, the lonely, several living isolated from others through lack of social skills, or with no family or anyone to care about them, and occasionally a very few who were homeless.
The homeless sometimes came to investigate what was on offer but rarely returned. They usually concentrated on finding a place where they could sleep at night, and visiting the café would have meant losing their favoured spot: they found it difficult to find a safe and peaceful place to sleep during the day. There were a few ex-soldiers who had been unable to return to their previous lives; a few were ex-prisoners unable to settle and with nowhere to go during sleepless nights.
Some found the refuge and became regulars for a while until a change of luck, or a growing confidence, led them away to better things; but a small core had been coming for years, including little Sid, George, Arthur and Henry, who Mabs knew was a dangerous man.
Ever since Mabs had retired from work and had been given permission for the night café, she and her husband Frank had spent four nights a week there, sometimes more. When Frank had died and left all the money he had so recently won, she had bought the place and, while it continued to serve as a normal café during the day, the place was hers for the night hours. Social Services were on hand when there was a chance of progress with one of the customers and Richard, a retired teacher, opened on her days of rest. Richard Thomas was himself an insomniac and had come first as a customer, but was now a valued assistant.
People who had learned of the sad café, or who had once been glad of all it offered, sometimes left parcels of food or even clothing there, but the clothes were taken to other organizations to distribute. Her job was giving the lonely and sleepless a few hours of warmth, companionship and food.
It was seven o’clock when she left to catch the first bus home, tired, but as always content with the way her hours had been spent. Now her team of cleaners would come and the place would be thoroughly cleansed for a clientele not that dissimilar to the night café. Lonely people who were grateful for a place where they were able to stretch a cup of tea to last an hour or more.
As she made her way home for a few hours’ sleep, she thought again about the money she had been left. It was a responsibility she could happily have done without; blaming the windfall for Frank’s death would never change. Deciding what to do with it was a constant concern. She looked on the years she had left as a chance to observe loved ones and friends to decide who would benefit from a gift of money. So far she had been unable to decide on the most needful recipient.
The family had been her first thought, but both Zena and Greg owned a property left to them by their mother’s parents and too much too soon was not necessarily a good thing. Zena’s Jake needed to take the responsibility of making his way in the world. Too easy and Jake would relax and enjoy not having to worry. Decent enough lad, she mused, but too concerned with pleasing others.
She had heard only last year that he’d given away his valuable watch to a lady widowed during the war who was saving to buy her seriously ill son a wheelchair. She had sold it but the boy had received his chair from a hospital charity. When Mabs told him, Jake had shrugged and said, ‘Well, I can’t expect to win them all. Better to try though, don’t you think?’
Greg and Rose – if they ever made the wedding day – would have a good start. There was the cottage on which Greg had been earning rent since he’d inherited it and he had a good bank balance with which to begin married life. He loved his job, the same job her darling husband Frank had done and having extra money might persuade him to do something different and less enjoyable. He had plans for the future and a large sum of money would maybe change things in a way that was not for the better.
She was curious about the reason for Rose’s reluctance to talk about her family. She had moved here from a town the other side of Cardiff and Mabs’s spy system didn’t reach that far. Her unwillingness to talk to Greg was not a good start to a lifetime commitment but she said nothing. Rose would have a change of heart once she was more confident and Greg was being loving and loyal by not pressing her. She was sure to come home soon and explain what had frightened her.
She didn’t know how far Rose had run.
Stepping away from the immediate family there were many good causes and although many were tempting, she was human enough not to want to give to a large invisible organization; which would mean placing a fortune in the hands of someone she would never see, and over which she would have no control. She wanted to give the money to a person whose face she knew, someone she could imagine accepting and benefitting from an unexpected windfall.