Rhiannon and Charlie Bevan looked across at 7 Sophie Street and held each other close.
“Not another row,” Charlie muttered.
“Perhaps they’re just arguing about who makes the early morning tea,” Rhiannon said hopefully. “Come on, Charlie, it’s time to wake Gwyn.” She made her way to the bathroom and washed quickly before calling her stepson and reminding him that if he stayed in bed any longer he’d miss breakfast. That usually worked.
Charlie and his son, Gwyn, worked at Windsor’s garage and had to leave the house before eight o’clock. Rhiannon worked in Temptations, the sweetshop on the corner, and didn’t need to leave the house before five minutes to nine. “I think I’ll pop over and see Mam,” she said as she began preparing breakfast ten minutes later. “I dread to think of those two separating again.” She sighed. “Why can’t they behave?”
“The thought of having your father back as our lodger is daunting,” said Charlie, adding, “I think we’d threaten to emigrate if it came to that!”
Charlie and Gwyn were leaving to cycle to the garage when they saw Lewis storming out of number seven. “All right?” Charlie called.
“No it isn’t!” Lewis Lewis snapped. “I told her. I told her to buy batteries for the torch and she forgot again. She won’t carry one and I think she should on these dark mornings and evenings. I can’t give her and Sian Weston a lift if I’m out of town, can I? And she should always have a decent torch in her pocket. D’you think she’ll listen? No!”
Darting back into the house, Charlie came out and handed a small torch to his father-in-law. “Give her this, we’ve got a couple more. And please, Father-in-law, don’t frighten us by shouting at each other like that. Rhiannon always expects the worst; that you and her mam will separate again.”
“And I’ll end up living with you?” Lewis grinned. “I think that’s one reason why Dora took me back, mind, so I wouldn’t be a nuisance to you and Rhiannon.” He was chuckling as he went back inside to give Dora the torch.
Dora Lewis ran the Rose Tree Café near the lake, with her friend, Sian Weston. They had both been keen on cooking and when the opportunity came to develop their skills and begin a small business, they had taken it. Both had been separated from their husbands at the time: Lewis had gone to live with his long time mistress Nia Martin who had subsequently died, and Sian’s husband, Islwyn, had gone to live with his mistress, Margaret Jenkins of Montague Court.
“How are things with you and Lewis?” Sian asked as they took the first batch of scones out of the oven and put in a second baking.
“All right, I suppose, but we’re still a bit touchy with each other. Like this morning he flared up because I said I didn’t need to carry a torch. Daft, eh?”
“Not really, Dora. At least it shows he cares for you, wants to keep you safe. I don’t think Islwyn would ever have been that thoughtful. He was more likely to grumble that I hadn’t reminded him to carry one!”
Someone rattled the door and Dora looked up, her eyes bright, ready to complain. “Who can that be? It’s clear we aren’t open yet. Ten o’clock it says on the notice.”
“It might be that Carl Rees,” Sian said, going to open the door, wiping her floury hands down her sides. “Him that’s going to repair the windowframe, remember?”
She was right, and a tall, dark-haired young man came in carrying a carpenter’s tool bag.
“Is it all right to start on the repair now?” he asked. “I should get the wood patched and the prime coat on by lunchtime, then I’ll be back tomorrow to finish painting it. Right?”
“Who is he?” Dora asked, when the young man was outside, with a cup of tea and a sandwich provided.
“He lives in Bella Vista Road. You know,” Sian laughed, “the road with the beautiful view - of the new factory!”
“A bedsit?”
“Yes. I don’t know much else except that he does work for Jennie Francis, her that opened a paint and wallpaper shop and hoped to take trade from Westons. No chance of that, with my niece Joan and your son Viv managing Westons, is there?”
“On to a loser before she started,” Dora agreed.
“Carl Rees is very secretive by all accounts, but good at what he does. Carpentry mostly, but other jobs as well. It was Jennie Francis who recommended him to us. He does carpet fitting for her – when she manages to sell any, poor dab. I think things are going hard for her.”
When most people living in Pendragon Island needed paint, wallpaper, carpets or small items of furniture they went to Westons. For the remaining few, Jennie Francis’s small shop on a side road not far from the church was an alternative. Jennie stocked fewer lines but was willing to collect their requirements from the wholesalers and deliver them the same day. In this she was helped, not by her husband, who worked in the shipping offices on the docks, but by a casual worker, Carl Rees.
Carl fitted carpets, collected and delivered paint and wallpaper and would even decorate rooms, if required. He also did small carpentry jobs, like fitting shelves and making cupboards, tending to prefer this more skilled work to the mundane collection and delivery service Jennie required.
Jennie had begun her business with the assumption that her personal service and the smallness of her enterprise would wean people away from the larger and still expanding Westons. Part of her conviction had been based on the fact that Arfon Weston had been charged with theft and arson, having set fire to his own premises to recover insurance money when his business was failing. In this conviction she had been wrong.
For a while customers had trickled in, some out of curiosity, some to buy, but most had preferred the wider choice of Westons. She was having to face the fact that, unless she could find a way of increasing her sales, she would soon have to close.
Arfon Weston’s large shop was managed by Viv Lewis and his wife, Joan, who was Arfon’s granddaughter. Together Viv and Joan had rebuilt the business, raising it from just an outlet for wallpaper and paint, to a successful furniture showroom as well. Lucky Arfon Weston, Jennie sighed.
She was checking the totals on her till roll and writing them into her account book preparing to close for the day. She knew she would have to spend the evening working on her accounts, trying to decide whether to ask for a further loan or gradually close down the business. Carl came in, having washed the van and collected together the rubbish – wrappings, unwanted advertising boards, oddments of carpet and underlay – left from the day’s jobs. Two bedrooms fitted from small remnants, with not enough profit to pay for Carl’s time.
“I might have to close before the end of next month, Carl,” she said, as he picked up his coat and shrugged it on. “I’m sorry.”
“Can’t you sell it as a going concern? Better than closing it I’d have thought.” He looked down at her from his six feet four, his dark eyes softening, as pity for her disappointment filled his mind. She had worked so hard, and even tried a bit of cheating, getting information about the plans being made by Westons, and offering makes of carpet before they added them to their stock, but it had been hopeless. He’d always thought it would fail. Westons, with the go-ahead Viv Lewis in charge, was impossible to fight.
“What about your old man, won’t he chip in a bit more? You could branch out into something that will bring people in.”
“Such as?” she asked wearily. “Viv Lewis has done it all.”
“Why not specialise in carpets and curtains and forget the rest? You could employ a professional designer.”
“Too expensive.”
“Someone young and not yet greedy?”
She shook her head. “I just don’t have the capital.” Or the support, she added silently.
When Carl had gone she sat for a long time looking at the sales and measuring the stock, working out the possible reductions if she were to have a sale. An hour passed and another, and it was almost eight o’clock when she came to with a shock and hurried from the shop. Peter would have a late dinner again and he hated eating later than seven. Her thoughts changing direction, she busied herself working out a meal that could be quickly prepared. She decided on cold meats, salad and coleslaw, even though the weather on this January day was more suitable to something hot. Unable to enthuse over the mundane subject of food, she switched back to thinking about the business.
She thought about Carl’s suggestion as she drove home. Curtains and carpets would make a natural combination, and it would be a relief to forget about wallpaper and paints and the boring accessories that went with them, but where would she find the money to expand? Advertising would be costly too but, without it, nothing she did in her out of the way premises would succeed.
Expand or give up? Her mind was going round and round considering the alternatives. As she opened the front door, she heard her husband in the kitchen and called, “Peter? Sorry I’m late, darling, I was talking to Carl.”
“You’ve forgotten about this evening then?”
Puzzled, she went to the kitchen door and saw that Peter was dressed in his best suit and obviously ready to go out. But where? He was standing, eating an untidily made sandwich and leaning over the sink to avoid marking his clothes. His eyes were shooting arrows of anger in her direction. The fact she had forgotten was clear on her face.
“Don’t worry, Jennie, I’ll go on my own. Again.”
“I’m sorry, I—” How could she admit she had no idea where they were supposed to be going?
“The leaving do?” he supplied. “The leaving do for Freddy Parker?”
“Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be ready.” She turned to go upstairs but he threw down the sandwich and caught hold of her arm, thin, bony and suddenly repulsive to him. “Don’t bother.” He released his hold of her as though throwing her from him, and left the room. “Don’t wait up. I plan to be very late.”
He didn’t slam the door when he left – that was something Peter never did – but Jennie opened it and called after him, “Give my best wishes to Freddy.” Then she slammed it.
She had a bath and, in her dressing gown, sat and went through the books once more. The loan from Peter’s parents was the biggest problem. They insisted on regular weekly payments and it was draining her. Instead of adding to her stock, she was having to pay them back and, although she knew they would have to be paid, she wondered whether they could be persuaded to delay any repayments for six months, to give her a chance to get things on a stronger footing. On impulse she phoned them.
After the usual rather formal pleasantries, she began to explain about the need to plough back any profits until the business was on its feet but Peter’s father cut her short.
“Sorry, Jennie, but Mum and I have been discussing this and we think its time our loan was repaid in full.”
“What? But you promised to accept weekly instalments until the shop was comfortably paying its way!”
“We went to Westons today and had a chat with Viv Lewis and that smart wife of his, Joan. She was a Weston you know, and is a very competent business woman. It’s so smart, that store, and they offer a good service. You should see their stock too. Marvellous it is. You can’t compete with them whatever we do to help.”
“Why did you go there? They probably thought you were spying.”
“I didn’t say who we were, of course, but from what Viv Lewis said, you don’t stand a chance. The position of your shop is wrong: too far from the shopping centre, without any passing trade. And you can’t offer a wide enough choice. Besides, Westons sell so many other things, and Joan Lewis offers a design and advisory service. Mum and I think you should sell while you’ve still got something to sell. Sorry, Jennie, but that’s what we think.”
Jennie sat with her eyes staring, unseeing, at the books in front of her, feeling as though she had taken a beating. She ached so much that she didn’t think she had the strength to go up the stairs to bed. The day’s post was piled up on the hall table. Peter rarely opened it, preferring to leave it to her to sort out. Forcing herself to leave her chair she gathered it up and took it upstairs planning to glance through it in bed.
Bank statements, gas and electricity bills she put on one side for Peter to deal with, advertisements and prospective distributers wanting an order, she threw onto the floor. The last one she opened and unfolded with curiosity. The letter was from the landlord of her shop, reminding her that the lease was soon ending and asking for confirmation of another year’s tenancy. She had six weeks to decide what she was going to do, but ten seconds were enough. Without Peter’s parents continuing to lend her the money she had no choice, she would have to close.
Another new business in Pendragon Island was showing none of the problems experienced by Jennie Francis. Edward Jenkins, previously of Montague Court, had opened a sports shop and it was increasing its turnover month by month. Mair Gregory worked for Edward full time and had never been happier. She had once worked as a maid for the Westons in their large house overlooking the docks, but Gladys and Arfon’s demands had been too much for her. Life in the sports shop was more interesting and far better paid.
Mair was twenty-two and not yet married. She’d had several boyfriends but none of them suited her. She lived at home with her father, who was a police constable, and was quite content. When she married she was determined not to become a house wife and mother with nothing more in her life than the weekly routine of what she saw as drudgery. Working as a maid for Gladys Weston had made her realise that for most women, life offered nothing more than being an unpaid servant. That wasn’t for her. Rich, he’d have to be, she laughingly told Edward when the subject of her boyfriends came up. “Rich, and boring, so no one else will want him, and at least fifty years old!”
But when Carl Rees came in late one afternoon, she thought she might change her mind. He was very tall, towering over her and filling the shop with his size. The day was gloomy and outside it was raining as though it would never stop. The shop was dark, even with the lights blazing in an attempt to add cheer, but he looked huge and to her, attractive and utterly fascinating in a ‘Heathcliff’ kind of way. The winter weather no longer seemed important. Edward smiled knowingly and stood back for her to attend to him.
“Do you have fishing gear?” Carl asked and, unexpectedly shy, Mair showed him the section where the rods and reels and accessories were displayed.
“Fond of fishing are you?” she asked stupidly, as he tried out the whip of a fly-fishing rod.
“Why else d’you think I’m buying?”
“For a present? Hanging about waiting for the rain to stop?” she snapped back, embarrassment making her angry.
“Sorry. Yes, I do like fishing and I want a beach rod, but I was looking at the fly rods out of curiosity.”
“I expect you know Viv Lewis who works for the Westons then, if you like fishing? He and Jack Weston are always off hoping to catch fish for supper.”
“I wouldn’t think Viv had much time, running that busy shop.”
“I don’t think he goes as often as he used to. Both he and Jack Weston are married now so things have changed for them.”
“Where do they go?” Carl asked. If Jennie was closing down then it might be a good idea to get to know the manager of Westons. They were sure to use more than one carpet fitter at times.
“The docks after mullet, the river after sewen. And salmon when they get a chance.”
“I’ll have a word, see if they can recommend a good spot.”
He didn’t buy the rod. Thinking it might be worth a second visit to talk to Mair again, he made an excuse and said he’d be calling in the following day, about lunchtime. “You can share my sandwiches if you like,” he said, with a grin that weakened her knees.
“I go home most days,” she said, then added, “Except Saturdays. We’re too busy for more than a quick snack then. I usually go to the café.”
“Saturday it is,” Carl said, then wondered why he had bothered. Mair didn’t look the sort who was ready for some fun. She was attractive enough, plump, just as he liked them. But as he was unable to consider more than a brief fling and no commitment, she was worth a second visit.
On Saturday, they ate in a small corner café some distance from where she worked. Best if they weren’t seen together. She was amusing, describing the customers and their wants, explaining about how she had started working for Edward Jenkins. “You still live at home?” Carl asked.
“There’s just me and Dad,” she told him. “He’s a policeman and he works shifts, so I have to stay and look after him. I don’t know what will happen when I get married,” she added coyly, and Carl swiftly changed the subject. Even on a first meeting that was dangerous ground.
Viv Lewis knew Carl Rees by sight although they had never spoken. He had watched the progress of Jennie Francis’s business with interest although he no longer had fears of her overtaking Westons. He had started managing the company after a series of disasters had brought it to the brink of closure. With Joan Weston helping, and eventually marrying him, he had worked to bring Westons into its present successful position as the first place people came when they were redecorating and refurnishing.
Seeing Carl walk in that Saturday afternoon carrying a new fishing rod and reel, he went to speak to him. Small, like his mother Dora and with her red hair, Viv no longer felt his lack of height to be a disadvantage. He was king of this particular castle and he made sure everyone knew it.
“Come to see how it’s done?” he asked as he approached Carl. “Or some lessons in fishing?”
“Both I suppose.” Carl grinned. “I fancy a bit of fishing and thought to go off to one of the beaches. What d’you think?”
“I think you’re fishing for ideas to take back to Miss Francis.”
“It’s Mrs. And, no, I wanted to see your set-up, I admit that, I might be looking for extra work, fitting carpets and some carpentry, you know, shelves and the like. But I was hoping for a bit of information on the best spots for a bit of sport. I hear that you and Jack Weston are the local experts.”
“Us and the Griffiths brothers, yes, I suppose we are. Jack and I are the legal side and the Griffiths brothers more the ‘what the hell’ brigade.”
“I’ve heard about the wild Griffiths boys. Often in court for fighting I understand. I’d like to meet them,” Carl said, matching Viv’s smile. “They’ll be the ones to show me the best spots for some catches but, fishing aside, will you bear me in mind when you’re short of a carpet fitter?”
“I’d have to see your work first.”
Carl took out a notebook and offered it to Viv. “These are some of my customers. I’m sure any of them will let you have a look-see, and you can judge for yourself.”
“Meet me in The Railwayman’s tonight and we’ll talk about it,” Viv said, turning to attend to a nearby customer. Carl nodded and went out. A date with Mair for Sunday afternoon and an arrangement to discuss work with Viv Weston. Not a bad day’s work. Learning that Mair’s father worked shifts and was sometimes out all night was an added bonus to the promise in Mair’s eyes. Mair for amusement and Viv opening the way to earn more money. Yes, things were looking up. He only had to persuade Jennie to sell her stock at a low price and he’d consider himself very fortunate. Hope after months of misery.
Jennie and Peter had hardly exchanged a word since the evening when he had gone out without her. She had said nothing about his father’s ultimatum regarding the loan and she didn’t attempt to discuss her decision to close down the business. What was the point? All he’d say was, told you so, and remind her how foolish he thought his parents had been to lend her the money in the first place. She’d heard it so often before and knowing he had been proved right only added to the misery of her failure. She would ring the bank first thing on Monday morning and make an appointment to discuss the best way of sorting out the closing down of her shop. The stock was not large, most of her orders were taken from pattern books, but there were tins and tins of paint and dozens of rolls of wallpaper, besides several rolls of carpets and a dozen or so rugs. A sale was a possibility, but it would be rubbing salt into her wound to advertise a closing-down sale.
“I’ll buy the stock,” Carl offered when she told him her decision on Monday morning. “I’ll give you what you paid plus a little extra, how’s that?”
Jennie regretted being so open with Carl regarding her situation, he would know the mark-up to the last penny and she wouldn’t be able to argue. She had made so many mistakes.
“Perhaps I’ll have a sale, at least that will bring the customers in, if only to search for a bargain.”
“Take you a couple of weeks, mind. And then you’d be left with your least popular colours,” he warned.
“Wait until I’ve seen the bank manager, then I’ll decide, Perhaps he’ll have a better idea. But thanks,” she added, wondering with some bitterness why she was thanking him for taking advantage of her predicament.
Two hours later she walked back into the shop, knowing that even if she accepted Carl’s offer and sold him all her stock, she still wouldn’t have enough to pay her creditors and settle the loan from Peter’s parents. She had to find a way of retrieving more of her money.
Leaving Carl to look after the shop she went to see Viv Lewis in Weston Wallpaper and Paint Store. The woman who came forward obviously knew her because, although there were other people in the store needing assistance, Joan Lewis, Viv’s wife, came to her at once.
“Mrs Francis? How can we help?”
“I’d like to talk to your husband if he has a moment. Later today will do if he’s busy.”
“My husband is busy, but I am not!” Joan’s voice was sharp. She had no patience with people who thought she was the lesser partner simply because she was a woman. Really, Mrs Francis should know better having taken on a business herself.
“Sorry,” Jennie said quickly. “What I meant was that I would like to talk to you both, if that’s possible.”
“Viv will be back in half an hour, will that suit?” Joan’s voice was still sharp, and Jennie knew she hadn’t been forgiven.
“That will be fine, and thank you.”
Rather than go back to her shop for ten minutes or so, Jennie went to the Blue Bird Café and joined the morning shoppers gathered there. Monday wasn’t a busy time but three tables were occupied. While she waited for her tea and toast, Jennie looked around at the other customers and recognised Gladys Weston, her loud voice penetrating the rest of the chatter to announce that her darling granddaughter, Megan, was getting married at Easter, to one of the Jenkinses of Montague Court. Jennie knew that was no longer true. Edward Jenkins had once owned the rather grand old house but it had been sold and he now ran a very successful sports shop on the High Street. Jennie smiled and admired the old woman for putting up a front, when everyone knew that her granddaughter, Megan Fowler-Weston had a child, a little girl of about five months old called Rosemary, and the man she was marrying was not the father.
Poor Glady Weston. She’d had such hopes of her twin granddaughters, only to face Joan marrying Viv Lewis, one of their employees and helping him to manage the shop she and her husband, Arfon, owned. Now the other one, Megan, had an illegitimate child and was marrying the owner of a sports shop. Not an emporium or a store, but a shop. So common, she thought, even if Edward was a Jenkins of Montague Court.
Knowing Gladys Weston was aware of her and knew who she was, Jennie smiled and said, “Good morning,” as she left. Gladys responded rather cautiously. Then, as Jennie left the café, she turned to her companion, her shoulders curled protectively against being overheard, her face wearing a look that showed she was ready to impart some gossip.
“You know who that is, don’t you? The woman who thought she could do better than the Westons, that’s who! She took on more than she could manage there, I can tell you!”
Jennie heard this and smiled grimly. There was nothing better than the failure of an impertinent upstart to create gossip. It was something she’d have to accept over the next few weeks.
Viv and Joan Lewis were waiting in their office, which over looked the sales floor when Jennie returned and was shown up by an assistant.
“Mrs Francis. Do sit down. How can we help?” Joan asked.
“I’ve decided to sell up,” Jennie began, her voice bold but her heart thumping. If only they would agree to buy her stock, she might come out of this with only a small debt. “I wondered whether you would like to look at my stock and consider buying it?”
Viv and Joan both shook their heads sorrowfully and Jennie had the the firm conviction that they had been expecting this and had prepared their response.
“I’m sorry, but we have all the stock we need and we deal straight from the wholesalers wherever possible to avoid over stocking,” Viv replied.
“It isn’t all that much, and I don’t expect to make anything, just clear the shop and give up the lease.” She looked at them, unable to hide her distress. “Will you at least look at it?” She fumbled in her handbag and handed Joan a list. “That’s all the good stuff. I know you wouldn’t want to bother with small offcuts, small room sizes, or some of the older tins of paint. I thought I’d have a sale to dispose of those.”
Joan and Viv glanced at each other and Jennie felt a surge of hope.
“All right,” Viv said, “on the understanding that we aren’t promising anything, we’ll come at lunchtime and have a look.”
“Thank you.” She stood up and Viv stepped past her and opened the door. She walked out on the edge of tears. If she had done what she had originally planned and not been talked into stocking paint and paper, if Peter had been more supportive, if she had borrowed from someone other than his father, if, if, if.
At lunchtime, Carl was out on a job. He was making cupboards in the kitchen of a house where he had fitted carpets a week before. Most of his work came from people he met while fitting carpets. He would miss the business gleaned from Jennie’s customers. Today, Jennie told him there was no hurry to come back. He guessed she didn’t want him overhearing her discussion with Joan and Viv Lewis. He was very good at eavesdropping.
He didn’t mind. He’d arranged to call for Mair in the cottage near the woods, and have a cup of tea before driving her back to the sports shop. He wouldn’t go straight to the shop though, but drop her a few streets away. Best not take risks of their being seen together. He had hinted to her that they needed to keep their friendship a secret for a while. “No wife,” he had assured her firmly. “It’s just a bit of business I have to sort out before we can be open about the way we feel about each other. Nothing for you to worry about, just trust me for a little while and I’ll explain everything.” He was pleased with the way his planned seduction was going. Her father working nights was a godsend, he thought irreligiously.
Viv and Joan looked around the small premises and Joan made notes on his muttered comments. Jennie didn’t follow them about. She sat at her desk near the phone with her fingers tightly crossed. At the small kitchen unit behind the shop she had offered them tea but they had refused, explaining their need to get back to Westons to open at two o’clock. So she sat and wondered what their decision would be.
The phone rang, startling her. A voice asked if she would send someone to measure up for a new hall and stair carpet. She took the details and wondered whether she would see the job through or hand it over to Westons with the rest of her business. She looked for Carl’s notebook to write the address and time, but couldn’t find it. She went into the store room where Viv was lifting a rug to see others underneath.
“I’m looking for a red notebook,” she explained. “Carl usually leaves it on my desk once he’s taken the details from it.” To her surprise, Viv took it out of his pocket and handed it to her.
“He left it when he called in on Saturday.”
“Oh?”
“He came to ask if we needed a fitter. Didn’t he tell you?” Joan asked.
“No, I haven’t really spoken to him today.” She hesitated, then asked, “Did he tell you I was thinking of closing down?”
“Yes. I thought you must have known. He didn’t seem to be secretive about it.”
“He offered to buy my stock and I thought—”
“You thought he’d beat you down if he was the only one offering?”
“Yes,” Jennie said. “I really hope you will buy it.”
“Bit of a sharp one is he, this Carl?”
“Perhaps I’m being unkind, but he’s built up a nice little carpentry business by touting for custom when he works for me.” She shook her head and waved a hand as though trying to wipe the words from the air. “I’m being spiteful, I know I am.”
Viv took the notebook from Joan, did a few calculations and named a price. It was lower than she had hoped, but more than she would have got from Carl, she was sure of that, so she accepted. With a signature and a formal handshake she said goodbye to her hopes of independence.
That evening Jennie was home before Peter. She had steak grilling with mushrooms, tomatoes, and fresh vegetables ready to serve. He walked in, looked at the delicious meal – one of his favourites – and said, “I’m eating out.”
“Peter!” She ran up the stairs behind him and watched in dismay as he hurriedly stripped off his suit and changed into more casual clothes. “At least tell me where you’re going and why you didn’t mention it!”
“I’m eating with Mam and Dad.”
“And I’m not invited?”
“Correct.” With hardly another word, he left and she went down to stare at the plates of food as they slowly cooled and congealed.
Viv and Joan Lewis went to see Arfon and Gladys Weston when they closed the store that evening.
“Why did you agree to buy the woman out?” Arfon asked. “She was doing her damnedest to close us down not long ago!”
“I don’t think there was ever any chance of that, Grandfather.” Joan laughed. “She did expand the wallpaper and paint business to sell carpets just before we did, but with a small back street position she was bound to fail, wasn’t she?”
“No way she could win against us,” Viv said, reaching over and kissing his wife’s cheek affectionately.
Gladys turned away and tutted in disapproval. The Westons were above showing affection in public, but Viv was a Lewis and didn’t know any better.
“You still haven’t explained why you bought her stock to help her out,” Arfon grumbled in his pompous manner. “It seems to me a foolish idea.”
“The price was good, very good and, although most of the carpet pieces are room sizes only, I think we can make a reasonable profit. The carpets are excellent, better than some of ours. She obviously went for quality. Besides, I think it’s time Westons had a sale. The paints and decorating stuff will go well as people are thinking about spring cleaning, don’t you think?”
Gladys groaned. “Spring cleaning, and I don’t have anyone to help me. What will I do, Arfon, dear?”
“Ask Victoria’s mother,” Joan replied.
“I can’t. Not now Victoria is married to a Weston!”
“Jack won’t mind, his mother-in-law has to live and her piano lessons don’t keep them all fed. Mrs Collins still has six children at home, remember.”
“As if I could forget! Jack might not worry about what people will think, dear, but I do.” Beside the disappointments of her two granddaughters marrying men who, in her opinion, were far beneath them, her only grandson, Jack, had failed her too. He had married a girl who had once been her servant! Where had she gone wrong? “How can I ask Jack’s mother-in-law to clean for me?” she wailed.
“I hope you didn’t make a mistake, buying Jennie Francis’s leftovers,” Arfon grumbled, ignoring his wife’s worries about housework.
As the young couple were leaving, Joan took Gladys aside and asked, “Shall I ask Victoria whether her mother would like to help you with the cleaning, Grandmother?”
“No, dear. I’d be too embarrassed every time I saw dear Jack and Victoria. I can’t forget that Victoria worked for me before she married Jack. Who would have imagined it, my dear grandson marrying my servant and running away to Gretna Green, too. It’s such a difficult situation. Having her mother here would make everything worse.”
“I’ll keep my eyes open for a suitable person. Don’t worry, it’s only January, we don’t have to worry for a couple of months, do we?”
Gladys didn’t like to admit that the house, with its four bedrooms and three reception rooms and a large garden, was becoming too much for her to cope with, so she smiled and thanked Joan and told her she was a dear.
As they walked home. Viv and Joan discussed their forthcoming sale.
“Best if we plan it for the week after next. No time like now. And, if we sort it quickly, we might also get that order Jennie Francis was taking while we were examining the stock!”
“I’ll get onto the printer tomorrow morning,” Joan said. “We’ll need posters for the window and I think we should put an advertisement in the paper.” Chatting excitedly about their plans, they strolled home, arm in arm, calling in for fish and chips on the way. “Too late for cooking,” Joan explained, “but don’t dare tell Grandmother!”
Jennie told Peter what she had done but he refused to discuss it.
“I should be able to repay the loan to your parents, but there will still be a few debts to clear.”
She was hoping he would tell her his parents would wait, that they would agree to her paying off as much as she could afford and then settle the remainder when she could. But he just nodded and said, “As quickly as possible if you please.”
He went out again that evening, this time not telling her where he was going, but later there was a telephone call from his parents and she could hear his voice in the background, so she knew he had eaten with them.
It was her father-in-law, goaded no doubt by her mother-in-law, reminding her that they expected the loan to be repaid as soon as the shop closed. “Such a mistake on your part, Jennie, trying to compete with Westons. No room for two in a small town like Pendragon Island, you should have known that.”
“Perhaps if I’d opened a gift shop as I originally intended, it would still be open,” she argued.
“No. People don’t have the money for luxuries.”
Jennie knew this wasn’t true: that after so many years of shortages, 1956 was exactly the right time to offer luxuries to people bored with surviving on minimal essentials and very little more. No point in arguing though. She put the phone down and poked out her tongue, enjoying the childish response.
It was only eight o’clock. She was too miserable to find herself something to eat. The evening would drag. She had no heart to work on her closing accounts. What was the point? She had a leisurely bath and, choosing a book, went to bed. When Peter came home at ten thirty he ignored her and slept on the very edge of the bed as though touching her would contaminate him. She thought she would never know greater misery.
On Saturday afternoon she decided to go to the pictures. Peter worked on Saturday mornings so she decided to leave before he was due home. If he expected her to prepare lunch he’d be disappointed. Normally she would have stayed in the shop but having agreed to the disposal of her stock she put a notice in the window telling her customers she was closed, sent out a few accounts that were still outstanding and closed the door.
Walking along Sophie Street, she remembered the sweetshop, Temptations, on the corner and stopped to buy some sweets to take to the cinema. The little shop was full. She knew the young woman serving was Rhiannon, Viv Lewis’s sister, and stepped back to allow the other customers to be served, and looked at her. Pretty in a shy way, she had long brown hair pinned up high on her head and hanging down her shoulders. Her brown eyes were gentle and friendly, and she chatted to the people she served, obviously knowing them all. When the shop had emptied, Rhiannon turned to her.
“Can I help you?” she asked politely, then she smiled and said, “Oh, you’re Miss Francis from the paint shop, aren’t you?”
“Mrs Francis, yes. And you’re Viv Lewis’s sister, I believe.”
“That’s right.” As Rhiannon served Jennie with her selection she wondered whether she had come to ask questions about Viv and Joan. They were sort of rivals, although she had heard that the small shop owned by Jennie was not doing very well. “Shop keeping you busy, is it?” she asked politely.
“Your brother has bought my remaining stock, I no longer have a business.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. Starting something new, are you?”
Jennie smiled sadly. “I haven’t decided yet.” As she turned to leave with her purchases in her hand the door opened and Carl came in closely followed by a plump, dark-haired, rosy-faced girl who said ‘whoops’ as they all met in the doorway.
“Carl!” Jennie said. “What are you doing here?”
“Same as you I expect, buying sweets.”
“I’m sneaking off for five minutes while I’m out buying envelopes for Edward,” Mair Gregory explained and it seemed a natural thing to her to introduce herself… “I work in the sports shop on High Street. Carl and I know each other,” she said. “We met in the shop while he came to buy fishing tackle.”
Carl looked very uncomfortable. “Hardly know each other,” he said, stepping back as though embarrassed.
Mair’s normally rosy face became even redder and she laughed and said, “Know each other from the shop, we do. That’s all.”
Rhiannon was puzzled, both remarks seemed odd. She wondered whether there was more than a brief acquaintance there and, if so, why there was something secretive about it.
When Carl left, Mair hastily followed him. Unable to hide her curiosity, Rhiannon stretched up and watched as they met on the corner and stood for a time apparently arguing, before Mair ran up the street towards the main road. Carl turned in the same direction but made no effort to catch her up.
“I don’t think she’ll have much luck if she thinks he’ll show an interest,” Jennie confided. “A loner is Carl Rees and I don’t know why.”
“Married, I bet,” Rhiannon said confidently.
Jennie shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. He lives in one mean little room in Bella Vista Road and his mother lives near. And that’s all I know about the man. Odd, isn’t it?”
When she came out of the cinema, Jennie wasn’t in a hurry to get home. Why should she rush to cook a meal for a husband who wouldn’t eat it? Then she thought that this might be the night when he had calmed down from whatever had caused his anger and would be waiting for her, so she increased her pace as she passed the sweetshop which was now closed, and hurried home. She was breathless when she opened the front door and called, “Peter? Are you there? Dinner won’t be long.” There was no reply and her shoulders drooped and she wondered how long he was going to sulk this time. It had happened before, this non-communication, but it usually ended after a few days with the explanation that he had been worried about events at work, although she suspected that the discontent, regret, or whatever it was, emanated from his mother, who had protested about her marrying Peter, right up to the day of the wedding.
Slowly she took off her coat and threw it carelessly across the newel post – something Peter hated – and went upstairs to change into slippers. There was a note on the bed.
“I have decided to leave you,” it read. No “Dear Jennie”, just the bald statement. It went on:
Neither of us is happy and there seems no point in living together when we are so clearly unsuited.
You will be hearing from my solicitor, but in the mean time you can stay in the house and I have returned to live temporarily with my parents.
Peter
She stared at the page for a long time, as though wanting it to be untrue would make it so. What had she done? Why had everything fallen apart? What would she do now?