Jennie was surprised when she opened the door one evening, to see Peter standing there. Since he had left the house they had shared she saw him rarely. It was strange to see him politely waiting to be invited inside.
“Peter, what a surprise! Have you come to say your goodbyes to the house we bought and furnished together?” She didn’t try to be polite, didn’t attempt to hide her distress at the sudden and finality of their parting. The following day, the sixth of July, was the date on which they were to vacate the property. Most of the furniture had gone, either sold or put into store. She pointed to a packing case and he sat gingerly on the edge of it.
“I wondered whether you wanted me to be here, help see the last of the furniture out and, you know, lock up and everything.”
“You think it might be painful for me?”
“Yes.”
“It will be painful. To see something die unnecessarily is always sad. But your mother has you back, so it isn’t all bad!”
“Mam’s sorry too.”
“I’m sure.”
“She isn’t well.”
“When is she ever?”
“Dad’s having to do practically everything.”
“Perhaps if he didn’t, your mother would make a dramatic recovery.” She couldn’t be sympathetic. Her mother-in-law had always leant heavily on her husband and spoilt her son. This was just one of the effects of her actions. She knew she was better out of it, but it was still distressing to be abandoned because of a selfish old woman.
“Well?” Peter asked, and she was aware that she had said nothing for several minutes, had just sat there on the edge of another tea chest and wallowed in her misery. She was also aware that Peter had ignored her last retort.
“There’s no need for you to come. I’ve taken the day off work and I’ll see the rest of the furniture out. You’ll receive your half of the money from the solicitor very soon.”
“Thank you.” He fidgeted a bit in a way she knew well. He was about to say something that was difficult. “What will you do? With your share of the money I mean?’’
“I don’t know and anyway, with the divorce under way, it’s none of your business.”
“Will you start another business?”
“Not for a while. I need to make sure it’s a viable one and I need to save a little. The money from the house won’t be much, after I’ve paid your mother back and settled the last remaining debts.”
“Where will you live?”
“What does it matter to you?” she demanded.
“You’ll want somewhere cheap if you’re hoping to save,” he said.
Something in his voice alerted her. He had something in mind and she wasn’t going to like it!
“I might be offered the flat above the shop where I’ll be working from next week. Very cheap and very convenient,” she told him.
“What shop?”
“Peter, shut up!”
“You can come and stay with us if you like. Mam won’t be difficult, in fact she suggested it, just while you save for your business, that’s all.”
“Your mother wants me to stay with you? Share the house? Why?”
“She’s trying to be helpful, that’s all. You are still her daughter-in-law.”
“And she’ll let me stay there while I save to start another business? Out of kindness?”
“Yes,” he replied, but his eyes slid away from hers.
She smiled, an ironic smile and said, “And do a little housework and perhaps some cooking? And if I could manage the laundry too? No thanks, I don’t want anything more to do with you or your family!”
“You wouldn’t have to work if you didn’t want to.”
“Stay at home all day with your Mam.” She didn’t try to hide the cynical expression.
“Why not?”
“Afraid you’ll end up like your father, are you? Dealing with everything? Doing woman’s work?” She saw at once that she had hit a tender spot. He had always complained that she wasn’t behaving as a housewife should. For a while it had been a joke, but the laughter had faded, the joke had turned sour. He had never accepted her need to run a business, be something more than a submissive partner. For many women, it was enough, and they made house management into a skill, an art, but it wasn’t for her. “Now,” she said calmly, “if you’d please leave. I have things I must do. This chapter of my life is closed.”
“If you change your mind…”
When she had closed the door behind him, she didn’t lean against it like some weak heroine in a romantic film, she kicked it viciously.
Dora’s house was busy the following weekend. They were making preparations for Rhiannon, Charlie and Gwyn to move in. A wardrobe was emptied and a chest of drawers brought from the house across the road to provide storage for their clothes. Their dog, Polly, had a bed in the corner of the kitchen and on that first day, they all fell over it at least once. Instead of being irritated, Dora laughed and said it was fun, wasn’t it? Lewis and Rhiannon exchanged knowing looks, convinced that before the end of the first week, she’d be shouting like a cross between fishwife and newspaper vendor.
Gwyn was to sleep in the box room. Already small, it was filled with so much clutter he had barely enough room to walk to and from the window. Watching Lewis and Dora working together, he smiled contentedly. It was wonderful to have a mam and a dad, and a gran and a grandad. He remembered old Great-grandmother Maggie Wilpin who had looked after him when his father was in prison, with affection – affection and with a stab of guilt at the way he had sometimes caused her worry.
At five o’clock on Sunday, they all flopped into chairs and demanded tea. It was Gwyn who weakened first and went to make it. He carried the tray out into the garden. Polly jumped round him, not knowing what was happening but convinced it was going to be fun.
“What’s that box of old newspapers doing in the kitchen cupboard, Gran?” Gwyn asked when they were sitting, enjoying a rest in the last of the day’s sunshine. “Load of old rubbish it looks to me, mind.”
“Oh, it’s something I found in the loft. I saw that the papers had been specially saved, each one folded to show the latest developments in some court case or other. I thought it might be interesting. Ever so old they are. So flimsy you’d never believe.”
“Shall we have a look then?”
Dora shook her head. “I don’t think I’ve got the energy. Let’s leave it for now.”
“Tomorrow evening?” Gwyn coaxed.
“All right. Tomorrow we’ll unearth the secrets of the loft of seven Sophie Street, and disturb the ghosts!” she promised.
When she came home from the café the following evening she had forgotten her promise, but Gwyn had not. They ate their meal, the five of them filling the table with chatter and laughter in a way that warmed Dora’s heart. Lewis watched her as she waited on them all, her face glowing with the atmosphere of a busy house, which she had missed so much when the children left home. He wondered how she would cope when they went back to their own house and left the two of them alone again. Dora was one of those women for whom the family filled her life. Even working as she did, she needed people to look after. Dora was not a modern woman, and all the talk of equality simply made her laugh. “Men and women are different beings and always will be,” she would remark when the subject was raised.
While Dora and Rhiannon attended to the dishes, Gwyn put a cloth over the table and carefully removed the newspapers from their box. He spread them out in chronological order and waited until the others joined him. There were a few pages of letters tucked among the papers written in scrawling handwriting that was difficult to read, and even a faded photograph or two. Gwyn glanced at them and put them aside.
At first it seemed to be the record of arrests and court appearances of a young woman called Molly Bondo, who would now be in her middle forties.
“She’s quite well known,” Lewis said, hesitating as Gwyn was rather young to understand such things.
“Went with American soldiers, did she?” Gwyn asked casually.
“Why blame the Americans?” Dora said. “The only reason people talk about them is that they paid better!”
“Dora!” Lewis gasped. “Be’ave yourself!”
They were putting the newspapers back in their box, Gwyn having lost interest, when Dora noticed that one of them was folded to show, not court reports, but births and deaths. Curious, she picked it up and read that Molly Bondo had given birth to a child.
“That’s odd, I don’t remember hearing about her having a child.” Lewis frowned.
“Knew her well, did you? This tart?” Dora asked, suspicion deepening her voice.
“Everyone followed the story of Molly, love. The latest episode was read with enthusiasm in the Railwayman’s, with additions from those who pretended to know from personal experience. She was mentioned practically every week at one time. Either soliciting or drunk and disorderly.”
“I wonder what happened to the child? Adopted I suppose.” She put the papers aside, intending to study them in greater detail later. Somewhere there was a child who might not know his true background. The thought saddened her. She put the box back in the cupboard and re-entered the room.
She looked around her, at Lewis and Charlie arguing about the assets and disadvantages of the latest cars, at Rhiannon and Gwyn laughing at something on the radio, at the fire burning low with a kettle simmering ready for their bedtime drinks. She was so lucky. And her temper and her stubbornness could have lost it for her for ever.
Barry sat looking out of the door of his flat, disconsolately wondering how to spend the rest of the day. He was lonely, and thought longingly of the Griffithses’ house where there was always someone to talk to, always something going on. He watched a cat sneak over the wall in that wonderfully supple way cats have, pouring itself over the top and sliding down effortlessly onto the fence, where it sat stretching contentedly in the sun. Another cat appeared and the two of them hissed softly, each issuing a warning that the area was private property. With nothing better to do, Barry watched as they sized each other up. Without thinking, he reached for his camera and went outside, his movements were slow, his interest quickening.
The newcomer leapt at the one on the fence and knocked him off. The air was suddenly filled with growling and snarling and hissing as the cats fought for supremacy. Barry’s camera clicked and the two furious animals were unaware as he sank to the ground and crawled closer. So intense was their entanglement, he had taken several shots before they became aware of his presence and ran off.
Taking his camera he went out to the van and drove to a friend’s house where he had the use of a darkroom. The photographs weren’t brilliant, but sufficiently interesting for him to decide to take more back-garden shots.
Making a bird table wasn’t difficult as he was a talented carpenter. Buying an extra long cable and setting up a shutter release wasn’t difficult either. He filled the bird table with food and spent several hours each day watching for an interesting study, prepared to click the camera when the bird table attracted the usual garden birds, but hoping for a more exciting visitor. He had been unaware of how beautiful the common species of birds were. He read books on their habits, and even a walk to the Griffithses had an added enjoyment. He made a second bird table and gave it to Joseph-Hywel together with a simple book on bird recognition, which delighted the boy.
“We’ll set it up where you can see it from your bedroom,” Barry told him. “That way you can see the shy ones without their being frightened.”
“Binoculars for his birthday.” Hywel and Janet promised, intrigued with the gift.
That evening, in the Griffiths’s cottage, the fire was burning low. Janet tried to reach the grate to add fuel but Frank was stretched out, half asleep in an armchair, opposite his similarly disposed father, their legs sprawled across the hearth, jockeying for position between the cats and the dog. Janet saw that the kettle was simmering close to boiling and waited until Caroline came down, having settled Joseph-Hywel to sleep. Then tilting the heavy kettle, she made a pot of tea.
Janet was watching her daughter with concern. Caroline was frowning slightly, her round, usually happy face lost in thought. Thoughts that were not pleasant, Janet surmised, and therefore, to do with Barry Martin. She handed round the cups of tea and a cwlff – the thick slice of bread her men usually enjoyed at this time, hoping that Frank and his father would go out for a drink to the Railwayman’s and allow her and Caroline to talk.
At nine, she suggested it and Frank unfolded himself and reached for his jacket.
“Come on, our Dad, I think they want to talk women’s talk and we aren’t allowed to listen.”
“Barry and I have been talking, Mam,” Caroline began, when her father and brother had gone.
Janet took a deep breath. This was what she had been expecting and dreading. She had to speak her mind, be hard on the girl and it was not going to be easy.
“Now listen to me, Caroline. You and Barry have tried being married, got fed up, and you’ve come back home. Then it was on again and then it was off. It can’t continue, love. It’s more like a yo-yo match than a love match. If you go off and try again to live with Barry, then me and your father won’t have you back. You have to make a go of it this time and not think we’re waiting here to cushion you the moment it gets difficult. Go now and face the fact that you’re on your own.”
She told Hywel later that it was the hardest thing she had ever done and she was sure it came out wrong. “Instead of telling Caroline that she had to forget she had the family to support her, so she’d go to Barry with a real determination to succeed, and not think of the comfort in failure, I made out we didn’t want her.”
“What did she have to say?” Hywel asked.
“Nothing,” Janet said sadly. “I didn’t give her a chance. Perhaps she wasn’t even going to tell me she and Barry were going to try again. Perhaps she was only going to talk about a birthday present or something. What a cruel mother I must seem. But all I want is for her to be happy, and I think she would be happier with Barry than without him, if he’d only be a little bit more considerate.”
“We’ll wait and see what she says when she comes home from work tomorrow. She won’t think you’re cruel, how could she ever think that? Let her think about what you said and see how she feels then.” He stirred cocoa and sugar and milk in a cup and added hot water. “Here, love, drink this and come to bed.”
In the Railwayman’s, Viv told Jack, Basil and Frank about the papers found in his parents’ attic.
“They all had reports on Molly Bondo’s appearances in court,” he whispered, aware that as they were sitting behind the partition and couldn’t see the door, Molly might enter without them knowing.
They joked about the woman’s career and her regular court attendances, then Viv told them the interesting news. “Seems she had a baby,” he told his audience. “Mam found a newspaper item stating that Molly Bondo had given birth to a child. Never heard nothing about a child, did you?”
They all shook their heads, then Basil said, “Why would it have been in the paper if she didn’t keep it? You’d have thought she’d have avoided publicity, wouldn’t you?”
“Perhaps some well-meaning friend put it in.”
“Enemy more like,” Frank said.
Still in subdued tones they discussed this for a while, with Basil peering around the partition occasionally to make sure Molly and her friends weren’t in their usual seats in the corner. They were still talking about what they knew of Molly and the oldest profession, men of the world living vicariously through the antics of others, when Frank left. Mair had invited him for supper but he had made vague excuses. Tonight he intended to follow her father again.
He walked through the fields, instinctively listening for a sound to reveal the presence of another human being, skirting Farmer Booker’s farmhouse so as not to disturb the dogs. He was not intending to steal any of the farmer’s rabbits but he moved as silently as possible from long practice.
Mair’s father came out of the cottage pushing his bike, and closed the gate behind him. Frank followed the man to Bella Vista and watched as he entered number four through the french window of the house where both Carl and his mother had rooms. The heavy curtains opened and closed again, hiding whatever went on. Silent as a shadow, Frank moved to the window and listened. Voices, one feminine and the other the gruff tones of PC Gregory. He went around to the front door and knocked.
When Carl recognised his visitor he darted back and tried to close the door.
“It’s all right, I’m not going to thump you again,” Frank said as he put his size tens in the door. “I just want to know what Constable Gregory’s doing visiting your mother at nights.”
“What are you talking about? Mam’s in bed, she always goes to bed early!” an outraged Carl hissed back. “Hush now or you’ll wake her.”
“In bed she may be but I doubt she’s asleep, boy. Not with PC Bernard Gregory to keep her awake.”
Carl made as though to strike Frank who lazily moved out of the way of the flying fist. “Take that back!”
“Knock on her door if you don’t believe me,” Frank challenged.
“No need. You’re talking rot.”
With a strength that surprised Carl, Frank pushed him out of the way and stepped into the hall. Guessing which door lead to Mrs Dreese’s rooms he banged on it. There was a moment’s silence as Frank glared at Carl, who looked alarmed. Then a small voice called, “Who is it? Is that you, Carl? I begged you not to wake me, I need my rest.”
“Mam, this is important. Can I come in?”
“Open this door,” Frank said in a loud authoritative voice. As the lock was eased back and the knob began to turn, he left the house and ran around to the back, just in time to catch Gregory coming out.
“Evenin’ Constable Gregory.”
“What are you doing here?’’
“Seein’ what you’re up to for starters.”
Carl came to join them, stepping out through the velvet curtains with Mrs Dreese wrapped in a dressing gown. Carl had an arm protectively around her shoulders.
“I had a report of a prowler,” Gregory snapped. “I came to see what was up. I might have known it was one of the Griffithses!”
“You’d better go,” Carl said threateningly.
“That one won’t work. Can’t you come up with a better excuse than that after all this time?’’ Frank said, ignoring Carl’s words. “I followed you from the cottage, again,” he said pointedly. “Suspicious I was, of all the nightshirts, see. Watched you go in and then I ran round to make sure Carl saw you as well. Besides,” he added, “her son lives in the same house, for heaven’s sake! She’d have knocked on his door, not gone out at this time of night to the phone box!”
“It’s no use, Bernard,” Carl’s mother said. “I think we have to tell them.”
“Tell me what?” Carl demanded. “What’s going on?”
“Carrying on, more like. Him and your Mam.”
“We haven’t told anyone because – well, it’s no one else’s business.” The words changed from reasonable to angry in the single sentence.
“Not even Mair’s?” Frank asked.
“Or mine?” Carl said, and the two young men moved closer together, allies against the deceptiveness of parents.
Carl’s mother led them into the room she occupied and, as always in a crisis, made tea.
“How long has this been going on?” Carl asked her as she gave them the steaming cups.
“Oh, quite a long time, but not before your father died, mind,” she emphasized. “Soon after though.”
“Why keep it a secret?” Frank wanted to know. “You’re both free and you can hardly be worried about Mair and Carl? They aren’t babies.”
“I didn’t want Mair worried. She might not like the idea of sharing a house with a stepmother.”
“So it’s gone that far, has it?”
“It’s got to the stage where we’re discussing marriage, yes.” PC Gregory looked at Carl’s mother with such affection, that Frank felt giggles rising uncontrollably and he went to the teapot and poured himself another cup. Quite why it was funny, he didn’t know, but the thought of the pompous policeman, who rode his sit-up-and-beg bicycle through the lanes, and arrested him on a regular basis quoting the charges off by heart, didn’t seem to be the type to be affectionate with a woman.
“I’ll leave you three to talk about this,” he said, painfully holding on to his overflowing laughter. Imagine old Gregory whispering endearments and kissing her and… He got through the curtains just in time and his laughter came out like a snort from a horse, as he ran through the streets and headed for the woods.
Tonight would be a good night to go poaching, he thought as he walked towards Mair’s cottage. He stepped out onto the lane opposite her gate, still enjoying episodic laughter. To his surprise, he saw that there was a light on in her room. Throwing some grit up against the pane, he called, “Mair? Mair, come down, I’ve got something to tell you,” then he collapsed into laughter again.
Mair opened the door, to his surprise she was still fully dressed. His laughter faded. “What’s the matter? Are you ill?”
“No, just unhappy.”
“Don’t be. I’ve got something to tell you that will make you laugh!” She stood to let him go past her and he saw that her eyes were red with crying, her round face swollen and flushed. The story of PC Gregory forgotten, he asked, “What’s the matter? What’s making you unhappy?”
“Because of us, you and me,” she said. “You’ve changed your mind about marrying me, haven’t you?”
“Of course I haven’t. There’s something I had to sort out, a mystery and now it’s sorted.” He put his arms around her and held her close. “Marry me soon, Mair, we’ll still give the gossips something to talk about but we won’t let that worry us, will we?”
“Register office it’ll have to be, a quiet affair.”
“A quiet affair? With our Mam involved? What a hope.” He laughed again, but this time with happiness.
It wasn’t until he reached home, as dawn was creating a rich artist’s palette in the eastern sky, that he realised he hadn’t told Mair about her father’s secret affair with Mrs Dreese. He wondered whether PC Gregory would say anything, or just hope she wouldn’t find out. He would go out with his ferret and nets later, a few rabbits always sold well and he doubted whether he’d be charged if the constable saw him. He might even give him one, just to let him know they were friends.
It gradually dawned on Frank that with Constable Gregory taking a wife he and Mair would not have a place to live when they married.
“What will I do, Mam?” he asked Janet when she was cooking breakfast. “Mair and I want to marry very soon, because of – you know.” He gave an embarrassed shrug. “Now we mightn’t have a place to live.”
They discussed the possibilities of finding rooms for a while then Frank went out to catch a few rabbits.
Frank had just left when Basil arrived, on his way to the factory.
“Worried I am,” he began. “With the rent going up like that, Eleri has to work just to pay it, and she’s out every evening, going off as soon as I get in from work. It’s awful, Mam. She has a busy day with the boys and she should be resting, not going off to work.”
“Something will turn up, you won’t find yourselves out on the street.”
When he had gone on his way, his ears filled with Janet’s assurances, she went to find her husband. “We have to do something, Hywel,” she said. “Basil, and now our Frank, and our Ernie isn’t happy either, living with Gloria Gunner with her rules and rantings.”
“There’s that money your brother left you,” Hywel said gruffly. “I don’t want to tell you how to spend it, but getting the boys settled in a place of their own wouldn’t be a bad idea, would it?”
“Hywel, you’re wonderful,” Janet said, hugging him.
“What, because I’m spending your money for you?”
“Because you knew what I was thinking.”
“If we suggest they use the money as a deposit on a small place, we can probably help them all. Except Caroline, but she will be all right financially, with Barry to look after her.”
“Money isn’t the problem there. You’re right, it’s the boys who need our help, love.”
“I don’t know about Helen, mind, she might want something more than we could afford, but Eleri and Basil, and Frank and Mair wouldn’t mind a small place.”
“Don’t let’s tell them yet. Nice surprise it’ll be. When Frank and Mair name the day will be the time to tell them all.”
Frank came in whistling cheerfully, having delivered the gift of one of Farmer Booker’s rabbits to the policeman. He hadn’t left it on the doorstep but had knocked at the door. He was still laughing at the memory of how he had handed the constable a bag containing a rabbit and watched the man’s face distorting with confusion about what he should say and do.
“There’s nothing like a bit of guilt to confuse the righteous,” he said to a puzzled Janet and Hywel.
“You don’t think he’s got religion, do you, Janet?” Hywel frowned.
Carl was not as cheerful as Frank as the night opened out into day. He knew his mother had been keeping her secret for a very good reason. Ever since his father had died, Carl and his mother had been putting money aside to clear the debts he had left behind. His mother had insisted that he was morally, if not legally, bound to pay off his creditors. He had been forced to leave college, and all hope of a career in furniture design had been left behind with his studies. Since then he had worked at odd jobs, giving a large portion of everything he earned to his mother to put aside for the wonderful day when they could announce to the world that the debts had been cleared.
He didn’t quarrel with his mother over her deceit, he just quietly asked for the return of the money he had been saving. If she expected him to live a life of poverty and emptiness while she enjoyed the comfort of Constable Gregory, she was mistaken, he told her. Once he had the money in his bank account, he began working out a few changes in his plans for the future. After several phone calls, he decided his next move would be to see Frank.
Jennie called to see Barry a couple of times and, after discussing wages and hours, she agreed to take the job managing Temptations, starting a week before Rhiannon left. When she asked about the flat, Barry was evasive.
“I’m not quite sure what’s happening here yet,” he said. “Perhaps you’d be better to find somewhere temporarily, then we can make a decision about it later.”
To hide her disappointment she remarked on the camera equipment spread on the table. He showed her the view of the garden and explained his new interest.
“Wildlife photography, eh? This week sparrows, next week condors and heaven knows what else.”
“I don’t think I’ll find condors on my bird table.”
“Nothing stopping you travelling, is there?” she asked.
“I’m disappointed about the flat,” Jennie told Rhiannon one morning when she called in on her way to work. “I haven’t looked for anything permanent. At present I’m in a rather shabby place called the Firs that looks about ready to fall down. There’s still the room at Sally Fowler-Westons, but it’s rather expensive.”
Rhiannon smiled. “The Firs was where my Dad first lived when Mam threw him out,” she confided.
“Really? It’s an awful place. What happened to make them separate?”
“Well, I don’t suppose it’s a secret, not round here anyway. But don’t mention it in front of Mam, will you?” She waited for Jennie’s nod. “My father had a mistress, Nia Martin. When Mam found out, he and Nia Martin lived together up in Chestnut Road until she died. Nia was Barry’s mother, which is why I’m telling you, so you’re aware of the connection.”
Jennie looked thoughtful. “But everything is all right between them now?”
“Mam couldn’t cope with it at first, but somehow they’ve worked a way through the difficulties and, yes, everything seems to be fine now, thank goodness.” She added, with a grimace, “For a while Charlie and I had Dad as a lodger. It was one of the reasons Mam took him back I think.”
“Thank you for telling me. I’ll never mention it, I promise.”
“Dad really loves Mam, but he loved Nia Martin too. I think he was completely happy with Nia. She was so gentle and kind. Mam has this terrible temper you see.”
“I thought Peter loved me but that love wasn’t strong enough to escape from his mother’s authority. He never put me first. Not ever.”
“Come back and have a cup of tea this afternoon,” Rhiannon suggested. “I used to come into the shop and do a bit of cleaning during the half-day closing, but I don’t any more. Since Barry and Caroline started meeting in the flat I feel a bit uncomfortable, afraid they’ll think I’m eavesdropping or something!”
“Why do they do that? They’re married, aren’t they?”
“Not so’s you’d notice they aren’t! She lives with her parents and he lives here. Crazy how some carry on, eh?”
Jennie smiled, “And there’s us thinking that marriage was straightforward!”
When Jennie called at number seven Sophie Street later, Rhiannon told her about the papers Dora had found. She took the box out of the cupboard but didn’t suggest looking through them. “They aren’t really very interesting,” she told Jennie.
“I’d like to see them though. If your mother wouldn’t mind?”
“I’m sure she wouldn’t. They don’t concern the Lewises, and so old they are, I doubt if there’s anything left to keep secret,” Rhiannon said. “But I’d better check with Mam first. I’ll talk to her, shall I? Then we can look through them another day.”
Carl called at the Griffithses’ cottage a few days later and asked to see Frank.
“Sleeping,” Hywel said succinctly.
“Try the back porch,” Janet added.
Bemused, Carl walked through the house accompanied by three cats and a rather weary-looking dog, to find Frank sprawled on the grass under an oak tree, his body protected by a blanket to which a dog would be ashamed to lay claim.
“Frank?” Carl said, touching Frank’s shoulder and stepping back quickly.
“Wha’r is it?”
“Fancy doing a bit of work for me? One night or maybe two.”
“I might.” Frank was cautious.
“Just between me and you.”
“Oh oh, something funny, then?”
“Not really, not illegal anyway.”
“Pity. I’d like to see how far I can push PC Gregory!” Fully awake now and sitting up, Frank called for his mother. “Mam? Any chance of two cups of tea? Two sugars? And some cake?”
“Get it yourself, I’m ironing,” came the reply. Frank stood up and shrugged. “Worth a try,” he said, ambling into the kitchen and filling the kettle. “So, what’s this job then?”
“Nothing difficult, shelves mostly. I’m fitting out a shop. And time is a bit tight. Most of the shelves are already made and if you fit them on the walls, I’ll get on with the rest. Okay?”
“Nights you said?” Frank frowned. “Why is that then?”
“Simply because there’s so little time.”
“You’ve given a date for finishing?”
“Yes. The place opens in less than two weeks.”
“What sort of shop is it?” Frank asked.
“You’ll see,” Carl replied evasively. “Something and nothing, bits and bobs.”
They drank their tea in silence, Cad looking around the untidy collection of barns and sheds, watching the goats who were trying to get out and join the cats who drowsed in the sun and the chickens who scratched the earth, heads on one side, looking for tidbits of food. “Nice place,” he said, when he caught Frank watching him.
“This baby of Mair’s. Yours is it?” Frank asked.
“No chance,” Carl said quickly, too quickly. “Mair and I were never that close.”
Frank thought of the times he had watched the cottage at the edge of the wood. How he had guessed what was going on inside from the pattern of lights, on and off, ending with the bedroom curtains dimly lit before that light too was extinguished. He remembered the pain of seeing Carl hurrying away from the cottage just before PC Gregory came home from his supposed night duty. It made him sad, but not sad enough to be less than thrilled at the prospect of marrying Mair.
“Getting married we are,” he told Carl, watching his face intently. But if there was anything more than pleasure on Cad’s face, he couldn’t detect it. “Yes, in about four weeks,” he added. “Haven’t told our Mam the date yet mind. Suppose we’d better tell her soon, so she can start passing the news around that the Griffithses are having a party.”
The thought of the party reminded Frank that he and Mair were likely to have nowhere to live. He’d better tell her about her father and that Dreese woman, get their claim in quick, before they announced their plans.
At first Mair didn’t believe him and then, realising that her father was involved with Carl’s mother – Carl, whose child she was carrying, it all seemed too much and she quarrelled with Frank, telling him he was a gossip and worse. He stepped back from the tirade of abuse she threw at him, then quietly took her arm.
“You’re coming with me,” he said quietly.
“Get lost! I’m not going anywhere. How can you do this to me? Tell stories about my father. What reason is there for insulting him when he’ll be your father-in-law.”
“I followed him back one night when he said he was on night duty and he went to the house in Bella Vista.”
“That’s where Carl lives.”
“She has rooms in the same house. And your father visits her there. Come with me and we’ll talk to Carl. He’s working in a shop in town.” She refused to go, and when he thought about it, he understood why she didn’t want to come face to face with Carl.
Promising to meet her that evening and sort it out, hoping that his request for accommodation would be met by embarrassing her father, Frank went loping across the fields and into the police station. Gregory wasn’t there so he left a note, untidily written with a stub of a pencil, telling him to talk to Mair and tell her the truth.