Edward Jenkins was absent from the sports shop more and more frequently as Easter approached and arrangements for his special day were filling his time. Gladys was heavily involved. Megan discouraged her grandmother as much as possible but, as she explained to Edward, she didn’t want to upset her.
“Dear Grannie had such plans for my sister and cousin Jack and me,” she told him as they went through the guest list in Edward’s flat one evening. “I think she had been saving for our weddings for years and if the family business hadn’t failed we would each have had a splendid affair and invited half the town.”
“I don’t think so. Jack and Victoria ran away from her dream of a large white wedding, remember? Going off to Gretna Green like a couple of kids. And when your sister Joan married Viv Lewis they cut her ideas severely, didn’t they?”
“And now we’ve done the same. Poor Grandmother. She did want to pretend the Westons were royalty for the day.”
“What about the reception? We still haven’t decided.”
“You’re sure you don’t want to have the reception in Montague Court? It was your home.”
“My sister is still there and I don’t trust her not to try and spoil it. No, we’ve ordered the cake, and for the rest we’ll ask Dora Lewis – if she can find someone to help her on the day. Mair perhaps? We can’t expect your Aunt Sian to organise the catering for our wedding, even if she is Dora’s partner. We’d never get that one past your grandmother!”
“So, it’s Gomer Hall and Dora and partner, then? You are sure, Edward?”
“We’ll go and see Dora this evening, shall we?”
Dora invited Sian to discuss the young couple’s arrangements and they planned the buffet lunch for Tuesday, April the third. With Sian helping Dora with the advance preparations and Mair agreeing to help on the day, everything was quickly organised.
The day broke calm and dry. Dora was in the hall before seven, checking that the tables were set up and the ordered food had arrived safely. Mair met her there and they decorated the tables and the walls so that the rather drab room was as festive as they could make it.
In the big house overlooking the docks Gladys was almost in tears. “Arfon, what is the matter with our girls? Imagine another Weston wedding in that awful, common, place.”
“Imagine a white wedding with the bride carrying her daughter into the church!” Arfon replied in his pompous manner. “D’you want the girl to be a laughing stock as well as the source of gossip, woman? Megan has a child and the man she is marrying isn’t the father. Stop wishing for the impossible and settle down to enjoy the day. It is a celebration after all.” He rested a hand on the back of a chair and leant at an angle as he prepared to make a speech. “Two people setting out on life’s path and—”
“Do shut up, Arfon dear and let me wallow in misery for a hour or two. Then I’ll put on a brave face like I always do.”
Arfon chuckled then. “They’ve caused a bit of grief here and there, our girls, haven’t they?”
“Always talked about, always setting the trend for others to follow, but this, our dear little Megan having a child out of wedlock and now marrying the owner of a shop! It’s too much sometimes, Arfon dear, it really is.”
“The Jenkinses were landed gentry,” he mocked, “once!”
“All right, you can mock me dear, but I did hope that one of our three grandchildren would make us proud.”
“Rubbish, woman, I’m proud of them all and so are you.”
Megan was leaving her daughter with Rhiannon during the service and then, much to her grandmother’s dismay, she was going to walk out of the church with the baby in her arms. Never one to worry about the town’s gossips, she determined to show them that their words would have no effect on her or on Edward. Megan and Joan’s maxim was, if you do something unconventional or even outrageous then do it boldly, not secretively as though ashamed, there’s less to talk about if you show you don’t care what the gossips say. Today was going to be a test of that attitude, without doubt.
Megan’s mother, Sally, was so besotted with the baby she had long forgotten any thoughts of shame. She helped Megan dress her granddaughter in the new outfit they had chosen with such care, and then braced herself for meeting her husband. Today, Sally and Ryan were going to the register office together as though none of their difficulties had happened. He was meeting her at their house in Glebe Lane. She was anxious, not for fear of him hitting her but afraid he would do something to spoil their daughter’s day. She stood, dressed in her pink and grey outfit, waiting for him to arrive, half hoping that he wouldn’t, wondering if he would be able to cope with the ceremony and with giving his daughter away as he had grudgingly promised to do.
Edward was wondering if his sister Margaret would appear. Rather reluctantly he had issued her an invitation, but not to Megan’s Uncle Islwyn. That would be taking tolerance too far.
The room in the register office was small with no space for more than the immediate family, but once outside, the happy couple were swamped with well-wishers as they made their way to the hall. Rhiannon was there with her husband and stepson, all dressed in their best: Rhiannon wearing a long coat to hide the swelling of new life within her. Lewis was with them as Dora was in the hall putting the final touches to the wedding breakfast. Janet and Hywel Griffiths were there with their family, including Basil and Eleri and their two small sons. Ernie’s wife Helen was conspicuously pregnant with a baby due the following month and she was in no way shy about showing it. Her mother kept pulling her daughter’s jacket across her front, even pinning it in place at one point, but Helen only laughed and let it hang freely again. “At least try and hide it until people have forgotten the date of your wedding,” Gloria Gunner pleaded, to no avail.
Frank wasn’t with the rest of the family. Learning that Mair was helping Dora with the catering he had gone ahead to see whether he could help.
“I’ll go down and walk with Mair to the bank every evening you’re away,” he promised Edward.
“You can keep an eye on the shop by painting the understairs cupboard while we’re gone, if you like,” Edward suggested, and was amused at the look of delight on the usually solemn face of the tall, skinny young man. In the past, Frank had earned a few shillings walking with funeral processions, setting the solemnity of the occasion with his long, droll features, and to see it smiling was an unusual sight.
Sally was standing alone, remembering the moment she had seen Ryan coming and the way her heart had begun to race. He had looked calm, but he had also looked unwell. He was pale and his eyes were heavy as though from lack of sleep. She tried not to fuss over him, but it was difficult to forget the habits of years. She had been glad her sister Sian had been with her when he had thrown down the buttonhole she had offered him. Grateful too that Sian had held her arm as Ryan disparagingly said that the wedding was a farce and he would not take part in it.
“Get someone else to give the girl away. I won’t be there to see it.”
As he had turned and walked away, Sally had started to run after him but Sian had stopped her.
“Let him go, Sally. We’ll ask Jack. He and Edward are friends and he is Megan’s cousin.”
Sadly Sally had agreed.
William Jones, the retired draper who had once owned the shop that was now the sports shop, was there with his landlady and they both carried small, gaily wrapped wedding presents as well as some confetti to throw over the happy couple. Gwennie Woodlas who ran the ladies gown shop which offered, ‘Clothes for the Discerning Woman’, was there. Viv and Joan looked round the gathering throng and thought that if anyone did start any criticism, there were enough of the couple’s friends here to stop it before it did any harm.
Sally was startled to see Maxie Powell there, also carrying a very large and beautifully wrapped gift. He hadn’t been invited but was obviously not going to allow that small detail to stop him enjoying the occasion.
“I’m here to represent all the people you look after so well in Glebe Lane, Mrs Fowler-Weston,” he said, smiling and handing the box to Mair, to add to a growing pile.
“I can’t get rid of the man,” Sally whispered to her sister.
“Don’t worry, there are always a few gate-crashers and he looks harmless enough,” Sian reassured her. Megan had a quick word with Jack who led the man away. Maxie wasn’t upset or embarrassed.
“I only wanted to deliver the present,” he said cheerfully. “I didn’t intend to stay.”
Sally saw what was happening and she felt mean. “Please stay and share the food, Mr Powell,” she called. Sian and Jack shrugged acceptance of her decision and a delighted Maxie was allowed to return to the crowd in the hall.
“First dance please, Mrs Fowler-Weston,” he said, as he waved his thanks to Sally and Sian.
At first Mair was too busy to note who was there and who was not. The food was simple, most of the work being done before the guests arrived. The cake, made by Sian and Dora a few weeks previously, stood in isolated splendour on a separate table where it could be admired. Barry Martin had already taken a photograph of the couple pretending to cut the cake so he and Caroline and young Joseph-Hywel could sit together and enjoy the occasion.
The babble of voices crowded out Mair’s thoughts. She gathered plates, cut food and served it, stacked used dishes and brought out clean ones, concentrating on the job and trying not to think of the hours she had spent dreaming about such an occasion with herself and Carl as the leading players. The sound of voices swelled around her as the meal progressed. Conversations building as friends exchanged gossip and others introduced themselves and searched among their known acquaintances to find someone they both knew, so they could deepen their friend ship, for the afternoon and evening at least. Laughter and chatter filled the room, yet Mair felt more alone than she had ever been. If only things had worked out between her and Carl, she would have been laughing and enjoying herself too.
Then she saw him. He had entered the hall, uninvited, and walked towards the top table. The buzz of dozens of conversations died down as he handed Megan and Edward a long box. “He’s my cleaner’s son you know,” Gladys’s loud voice announced, as Arfon asked the man what he wanted. “I was asked to deliver this,” Carl said, with a bow.
“By whom?” Edward asked, standing to accept the gift wrapped parcel. He looked at their names scrawled on the label and put it aside and sat down. He whispered to Megan “It looks like it’s my sister’s handwriting. I think we’ll open it later.”
Basil and Eleri Griffiths’s four-year-old Ronnie had a different idea. While the toasts were being drunk and his parents’ eyes were not on him, he tore open the box and revealed a doll. A cheap doll, with a gaudily painted face, which he held up in great excitement before running to give it to his baby brother.
Edward tried to hide it from Megan, but she saw it and laughed. “How nice, a gift from my Uncle Islwyn and his mistress, Margaret,” she muttered.
“I’m sorry, Megan. I hope your Aunt Sian doesn’t see it.”
“I have,” Sian said briskly. “It makes me more sure than ever that your Uncle Islwyn leaving me for Margaret Jenkins was the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time.”
The uneasy moment was passed off as a joke, and Sian went into the kitchen to make sure Dora and Mair were coping. She found Mair in tears and Dora comforting her.
“What’s the matter with everyone?” Sian demanded. “You’re staff and aren’t supposed to cry!”
As a contribution to the day, Gladys had paid for her cleaning lady to help clear up after the wedding breakfast and Mrs Dreese arrived soon after her son had delivered the parcel. As she was outside the kitchen she heard Mair telling Dora and Sian why she was so upset.
“It’s Carl. He said he loved me and, and,” she sobbed, “and now he’s told me goodbye.”
“Without telling you why? But why would he leave you if he loved you?” Sian demanded. She wondered, because of the depth of distress in the usually sensible Mair, whether he had left the girl expecting a child. “You haven’t done anything - er - silly, have you?” she whispered. Mrs Dreese watched the scene and was angry. How dare they talk about her son like this?
“Don’t say I could be having Carl’s baby,” Mair wailed. “I’d die of shame!”
“I doubt it,” Sian said dryly. “You’d cope with it like the rest of us.”
“Sorry, I was forgetting about your niece. I didn’t mean to be rude. What a thing to say, on a day like today, too. I – oh, er –” she clasped her stomach and wailed, “I think I’m going to be sick.” Dora helped her out of her chair and directed her towards the toilets, before sharing a knowledgeable glance with Sian.
Carl was standing just inside the hall, a drink in his hands, talking to one or two of the guests. Edward had wanted him to leave, to take the insulting gift back to his sister and Sian’s husband, but decided it was better not to make a scene. Instead, he continued with the pretence that sending the doll as a wedding gift was simply a joke.
Mrs Dreese didn’t go into the kitchen, she opened the door to the hall and called her son. “I thought you’d promised me to stay away from women? These people are talking about you and a woman called Mair. Asking if she’s expecting, and considering you the father.”
“Mam? What are you saying? Keep you voice down!”
Mair, coming out of the toilets, said, in surprise, “This is your mother? Carl, why didn’t you tell me? Why so many secrets?” Turning, Carl collided with Mair, nearly knocking her over. She staggered backwards against the wall before sliding down onto a pile of empty boxes. Without waiting to see if she was hurt he burst through the double doors and out into the street.
Frank had been looking for Mair, still hoping she would find time to talk to him and he could offer to walk her home, even though she had told him to get lost, twice already. When he saw the way Carl pushed her aside he went to help her.
“Go after him!” she said. “Why are you letting him get away with pushing me like that?” She was red faced with crying and her hair was stuck to her cheeks with spent tears. Her eyes blazed angrily at him as though he were the one at fault.
“I can find Carl any time,” Frank said. “I stopped to make sure you were all right.”
“Oh, you’re useless.” She sobbed. “Get lost!”
Frank loped home dismayed, wondering why he was always in the wrong. He sat in the back porch waiting for the rest of the family to return and thought that his life was utter misery and showed no sign it would ever improve.
The wedding party finished at eleven thirty and Mair walked home alone. Several people had offered to see her safely back and to each she had explained that she had someone waiting for her. The night was cold, an easterly wind biting her flushed cheeks with an iciness that she welcomed. Although there was no moon it wasn’t completely dark for someone like Mair, who was used to walking home alongside the dark trees and far from street lamps.
The woods were comfortingly quiet, she had no fear of an attack, although once she reached the darker stretches of the lane, she did wish she had agreed to her father coming to fetch her as he had pleaded to do. Why had she sent Frank away? He’d have at least made sure she was safely home. Instead, she had stupidly hoped that Carl would miraculously appear and walk with her. When would she learn?
She was hardly out of sight of the last of the houses, having just passed the telephone box where she and Carl had sometimes met, when she heard someone coming up behind her. Some instinct told her it wasn’t Carl. Increasing her speed she went on into the dark, narrow, tree-lined lane, looking ahead for her first sight of the lights in the cottage.
The hand on her ann was sudden and heavy. It was Carl after all, was her first thought. The blow to the side of her head was unexpected and she was disorientated as more blows rained down on her. She tried to run but tripped over the grass at the edge of the lane and fell to the ground. Her head, her legs and her arms were beaten and kicked until she was crying, pleading with her assailant to leave her alone. Then she stopped speaking, lost in a whirlwind of pain and fright, just concentrating on trying to avoid the punches and kicks, listening to the grunts as her attacker aimed each one. The beating slowed down and instead of grunts, she heard panting as the person grew tired.
The attack stopped as suddenly as it had begun and she lay for a while, aching and sore and very frightened, half expecting the person to return. The phone box wasn’t far and, slowly and painfully, she made her way there. She had lost her purse but got through to the operator who, eventually, rang her father’s number. She sobbed as she tried to explain what had happened, then slumped to the floor and waited for him to come.
“Who was he?” he asked, once he had got her home and they waited for the doctor. “Did you recognise him?”
“No, I don’t know who it was. But Dad,” she said in a whisper, “I think it was a woman.”
In the days following the unexplained assault, Frank was a regular visitor to the Gregorys’ cottage. Mair refused to see him for the first few days, but he brought gifts, leaving them with her father, or outside the back door. He delivered fresh eggs, a chicken, a rabbit – stolen – and, with acute embarrassment, a bunch of flowers which he hid under his coat until he had entered the kitchen. When she finally saw him, Frank asked her if the man who had made such a cowardly attack had been Carl.
“No, it wasn’t a man’s voice,” she told him emphatically. “The sounds I heard were very brief, but I’m sure it was a woman.” Frank was convinced she had been mistaken.
Rhiannon opened the shop early one Monday morning and was surprised to have several customers before the usual time of nine o’clock. When she saw Barry Martin later that morning she suggested to him that she could try opening at eight thirty each morning. “Just for a trial,” she said. “See if it’s worth it. Most people start work at nine so there must be plenty of passing trade between half eight and nine. Pity to miss it.”
“Won’t it be a long day for you?” Barry asked doubtfully.
“I don’t mind. Charlie and Gwyn go off to Windsor’s garage before eight and I’m up to cook their breakfast, so it isn’t as though I’d need to rise earlier.”
“Well, if you’re sure.” He drove off in his van to a town in west Wales, where he had arranged to take photographs of a wedding party that afternoon and a golden wedding celebration that evening. With the promise of plenty of orders he was going to have a good day.
Carl Rees was one of Rhiannon’s customers who called before nine o’clock. He came in and looked surprised. “Didn’t expect to catch you this early.” He smiled. He chose a box of Milk Tray and a bag of toffees.
“Who are the chocolates for – Mair?” Rhiannon asked, as she packed his purchases. She received only a grunt in reply. “Sorry, I wasn’t being nosy,” she said untruthfully. Mair hadn’t explained, but Rhiannon knew she had been upset at Megan and Edward’s wedding.
“Jumping to conclusions is worse,” Carl said, slapping the money on the counter.
At lunchtime, Rhiannon usually went across the road to start preparations for the evening meal but today she went up to the High Street. Walking into the sports shop she called to Mair.
“I think I offended your boyfriend,” she whispered. “I only asked whether the chocolates were for you again, and he seemed a bit angry. Sorry.”
“So am I,” Mair replied. “He’s never given me any chocolates and anyway, we’re finished. So whoever he’s buying them for, it isn’t me!”
“Oh dear. I’ve really done it, haven’t I? That’s the last time I try to be friendly.”
Rhiannon left Mair, feeling very embarrassed at her innocent remarks and quickly did her shopping. Mair stood thinking about the strange courtship that had ended so mysteriously. She thought about the attack. If it had been a woman, could it still be connected with Carl? A wife? A jealous girlfriend? She had never been given an explanation for his secretiveness. He owed her that, at least. She decided she had to have a serious talk with Carl.
Her opportunity came when he passed the shop an hour later. She called to him and he stopped and came in. Edward was away buying stock and she offered Carl a cup of tea. As he sat and drank it, she asked, “Who’s my rival then? Who’s the mysterious woman you’re buying chocolates for?”
“None of your business,” he said, the sting taken out of the words by a wide smile. “I’ll tell you one day, but not now. Right?”
“I’m not a very patient girl, Carl,” she said.
“Then waiting to learn my secret will be good for you,” he retorted.
“But if it’s over, and we won’t be seeing each other again, the least you can do is explain. Please, Carl?”
Thanking her for the tea, kissing her lightly on the cheek he left, whispering, “All right, meet me tonight and ask me again.”
“You mean it’s on again?”
“No, I can’t go on seeing you, but we can meet one more time.”
“And we’ll talk?” She smiled as he nodded, although she half dreaded hearing what he had to tell her, convinced he had a wife; a jealous wife who had taken revenge on her in that dark lane, Her father would be out at some meeting or other and wouldn’t be back until ten. Plenty of time to persuade Carl to reveal his secret. For the rest of the day she puzzled over it and at five thirty, when she left for home, she was still wondering.
She was edgy walking home even though it was not yet dark. She jumped at every sound and was relieved to see Frank and for once didn’t tell him to get lost. She thanked him for his gifts during the days she had been off work recovering from her injuries.
“I know you don’t know who was responsible,” he said, “but I’m glad you and that Carl Rees are finished.”
She didn’t reply.
On her way back from the cinema that afternoon, Jennie Francis walked past the premises she had once leased. The window was still empty. That, and the absence of a sign made it clear that no one had so far rented it. It was already beginning to look neglected and shabby. If only Peter had supported her and she had been able to stay a bit longer, she might have turned the business around. Saddened by the finality of the brief visit, she went for a walk.
She knew she would have to get a job, but until she had persuaded Peter to sell the house, she had no intention of helping him with the finances. She was in debt, with the end of her business, but not by much. Once she was earning she would easily settle the few outstanding bills. The sale of the house would give her a little capital, enough to start her savings plan towards a fresh business of her own. Really her own. This time she wouldn’t begin it in debt to Peter’s parents.
She wandered aimlessly along the streets, her feet slowly and almost unknowingly, taking her to the popular Pleasure Beach where several stalls and shops were preparing for the forth coming holiday season. It was almost dark by the time she reached there but there was still plenty of activity. Ladders had sprouted like exotic plants, propped against shop fronts supporting men wielding paint brushes with more enthusiasm than skill. Windows were being cleaned of the grime of the winter months and buckets of water were thrown across paving.
Whitsun was the big opening and the proprietors of the cafés and shops were going to be ready; One café seemed to be open for business and she went in. It was filled with the local traders. All of the customers were dressed for work. Mostly paint-stained trousers and shirts, or dungarees with paint brushes and small tools jutting out of every pocket. Men were arguing about the best way of repairing gutters and complained about the mess they had to clear out. The women wore coarse aprons with pockets bulging with dusters and tins of polish.
“We’re closed, Missus,” the man behind the counter said. “Only for the traders this is, see.”
“I’ll buy her a cup of tea, Wyn,” a familiar voice called, and Jennie turned to see Carl sitting at one of the tables.
“I’m repairing some of the shop signs,” he explained as he stood and offered her a seat. “This is Jennie, my ex-boss,” he said, by way of explanation.
When she was sitting with a cup of tea in front of her, Carl asked, “Have you decided what you’re going to do, yet? Will you reopen when you’ve sorted out your finances?”
“I’ll do something, run a shop of some kind but so far I haven’t decided what business it will be. I should have stuck with my original plan and made it a gift shop,” she said bitterly. “A place selling really special gifts, something for everyone. Once I’d become well known, I’d have persuaded people to come long distances to buy from me because of my unusual stock and wide choice. I’m sure it would have been successful.”
“Get in touch if I can help,” he said.
“Thanks. Now, what about you, Carl? How is that girlfriend of yours?”
“What girlfriend? I don’t stay with a girl long enough for her to call herself my girlfriend.” He took a sip of tea and added, “Too wily for that, I am.”
“What about the one called Mair? Mair Gregory, wasn’t it?”
“Only occasional friends. Nothing serious,” he assured her as he stood to get back to his work.
An hour or so later, Mair was getting ready for Carl’s visit. Despite his saying they could not go on meeting, she had convinced herself that this would be the day he would tell her everything and propose. They hadn’t known each other long but the passionate nature of their brief relationship was proof that love wasn’t slow to grow. Thank goodness Dad would be out.
Carl must have been watching for her father to leave because he knocked on the back door only a few minutes after the constable had ridden off on his bicycle. He stepped inside and at once took her in his arms. There was a scraping sound from outside, which they both recognised as her father’s bicycle being propped against the wall, and instead of standing there as her father re-entered, Carl darted out of sight and crept up the stairs. “Forgot the minutes of the last meeting,” her father explained as he retrieved his papers from the living-room table and left once more.
“Where are you?” Mair whispered, a giggle of amusement in her voice.
“I’m up here, stuck under your bed,” Carl hissed back and the unnecessary struggle to pull him out ended in the way his secret visits had always ended, in her bed, both swearing undying love.
It was past nine o’clock before they came down and Carl was anxious to leave.
“Don’t dash off, my father isn’t an ogre,” Mair pleaded. “Why don’t you stay for supper, there’s plenty for three unless – unless you’re full up after eating those chocolates Rhiannon thinks you buy for me?”
“Look, Mair, I think it’s best we don’t see each other again. For a while at least.”
“What? But I thought we were together again?”
“No. Believe me it’s best this way.”
“How can you say that after all we said and did upstairs?”
“I meant all that, every word. But I have a problem and until it’s solved I’m not free.”
“You’re married!”
“No, I’m not married. But this problem, well, I can’t talk about it. You’ll have to trust me. I know it’s asking a lot, we haven’t known each other very long, but I have to deal with it on my own.”
“How long?” she asked. “You promised to tell me, get every thing out in the open. You told me you loved me, Carl!” Questions crowded her brain and were about to tumble out, eventually, in anger.
Carl put a finger over her lips. “Please, Mair, please trust me.”
“How long?” she repeated.
“Months. Maybe years,” he said, lowering his head in apparent dismay.
The sound of the bicycle scraping against the wall again alerted him and he kissed her hurriedly and left by the front door. She hid her dismay from her father, talking lightly about her day in the sports shop as she prepared supper, but all the time she was hurting inside. Ending it without any explanation and after telling her he loved her, what had gone wrong?
When she slipped into her bed, remembering with such pain how Carl had shared it with her so recently, she realised that she still didn’t know who was the recipient of those chocolates, or why he had run so desperately fast from Gomer Hall. She had to face facts. All his previous behaviour pointed to there being a wife. The attack made by a woman added credence to that theory. What should she do?
When Jennie heard from a neighbour that her mother-in-law was recovering from her spell in hospital, she rather reluctantly went to call on her. It was seven o’clock on a mild May evening and she wore a summer dress for the first time. That alone will be enough to start her off, she thought irritably. Never cast a clout, and all that. Well, she wanted to get out of the heavy winter clothes. And her mother-in-law’s house was so gloomy she needed to cheer herself up before going inside.
Peter was there as she had hoped. He looked nervously at her as though she would undoubtedly bring bad news.
“Mam isn’t well enough for visitors,” he said at once.
“Oh, in that case, will you give her these?” She handed him a bunch of mixed spring flowers, but he shook his head. “Flowers always make Mam sneeze, you should have remembered that.”
“In that case, as I’m not allowed to behave like a daughter-in-law should, can I have a word with you?” She gritted her teeth as he looked around him, trying to think of an excuse. “It’s all right,” she hissed, “I haven’t brought reinforcements.”
“You’d better come in I suppose.”
“No! Just meet me at the estate agents tomorrow at five o’clock. The house is going to be sold.” She left him standing there and hurried off, wondering how she could have possibly loved him, wondering why she had ever thought he would be a supportive partner.
For a while it had been wonderful, she being the strong one. Peter had needed her and together they had defied his mother and bought a house, refusing to live in two of her spare rooms. They had decided to start a business which she would run until it was established, they would then run it together: fine glassware and china; novelties and seasonal offerings, perhaps paintings as well, later on. A happy business expanding as their fame spread, their reputation for having something for every purse and every occasion. It would have been so wonderful. Tempted though she so frequently was, she had never once said to Peter, ‘told you so’, when the decorating business his parents had insisted on, had failed. He was there, outside the estate agents when she arrived at five the following day, but he did not look as though they would agree about the house. She took a deep breath and prepared to argue. “Look, Peter. You let me down about the shop and I’m not willing to let you win this one. I want the house sold. It’s pointless me staying there on my own.” She waited for him to speak and when he did, the next stage of her argument was forgotten.
“I want to come back,” he said.
She looked at him for a long time in silence. “How is your Mam?” she asked in a polite voice. “Oh, she’s a bit better, but she isn’t strong.”
“You’re still having to shift for yourselves? Find your own food?”
“Yes, I – no, Jennie! That isn’t the reason I want to come back.” She weakened momentarily but knew their marriage was over. It had been over the day he had insisted she close down the business and return the loan his parents had given them. Without loyalty there was nothing. Hardening her heart and, avoiding looking at him, she said coldly, “You left me, Peter. I was working all the hours I could to get our business underway, and all you could do was criticise me for not being the perfect wife. I was working for us. You and me. I could never trust you again. You supported your parents instead of me once too often.” She pushed her way into the estate agents’ office and announced loudly. “Mr and Mrs Peter Francis. We have an appointment. We’re putting our house on the market. Aren’t we, Peter?”
Peter could only nod.
When she went home she sat in a chair for a long time, getting colder, her thin dress no protection against the chill of the evening, too upset to light a fire. The room grew dark and she couldn’t raise the enthusiasm to turn on the light. She felt the grumblings of hunger but when she did move, she went straight to bed. Today she had ended her marriage. She was a bully and she felt ashamed.
Mrs Collins had never been called by her first name: her husband had called her Collins; the children called her Mam; everyone else called her Mrs Collins. The invitation to call Sam Lilly by his first name had alarmed her. If she did so, she would have to admit to the foolish name her parents had chosen for her. How could she do that?
Sam had been so kind to her. Generous, too, helping with the work his sister Martha paid her to do and preparing the wonderful surprise garden.
Before leaving for work that morning, she went out into the yard and admired the sturdy geraniums with their burgeoning buds of pink, red and white, and the more delicate lobelia which were already sending out branches of blue flowers amid the stocky sweet alyssum and forming a frame around the larger flowers to come. Small shrubs in a corner promised green throughout the year and nearby, marigolds and nasturtiums were arranged to fill an old coal bucket and drift over a pile of stones. There were even a few hollyhocks Frank had found a place for against the wall where the concrete had weakened and allowed him to prepare a bed.
What would happen if Mrs Martha Adams discovered how her brother had been spending his spare time? Sam hadn’t said, but she had guessed that he had not told her about his help with the housework. She pushed aside the small hope that if she were told to leave he would still be a friend. She was a widow with seven children and a stupid name. What was she thinking of, imagining someone like Sam was more than a generous and kindly man willing to help anyone? Why think for a moment that he thought of her other than as a deserving case? ‘A deserving case’, had been most people’s opinion of her, both before her husband had died and since. Nothing was ever likely to change that. Certainly not the kindness of Sam Lilly.
She dressed the two younger children and delivered them to her daughter. Victoria had agreed to look after them for the morning. Then she caught a bus on the High Street. She was due at Martha Adams and Sam Lilly’s house in half an hour and she wished she was not. Because of her fanciful thoughts of a friendship that would grow and perhaps become something stronger, she was embarrassed when she walked into the house in Chestnut Road to begin her work.
Martha was dressed to go out and, giving Mrs Collins her instructions for the three hours for which she paid her, she left to meet her friends at the Rose Tree Café. Hoping that Sam was also out, Mrs Collins gathered her dusters and polishes, mops and brushes and started on the bedrooms. Singing coming from the bathroom unnerved her and she coughed and called to let him know she was there.
“It’s me, Mr Lilly, I’m starting on the bedrooms.”
“Good morning, and call me Sam,” he said as he came out onto the landing. “Now, what d’you want me to do first?”
“Really, you shouldn’t. You’ve done so much for me already. Mrs Adams pays me to do it.”
“I’ll take the rugs into the garden and beat them. Best make the most of the dry day, eh?” Ignoring her protests he tackled the rugs and then came back in time to help her put fresh covers on the bed. With few words necessary, they dealt with everything on the list and went out into the rather chilly garden to drink a cup of tea.
“I hope we don’t have a frost tonight,” he said, looking up at the clear blue sky. “Pity to see those geraniums of yours damaged.”
“What can I do? Frank told me to cover them with newspaper.”
“Worth a try. But don’t worry, they’re tough enough.” They walked around the garden when they had drunk their tea and Sam explained to his interested companion the names and habits of the plants in the flowerbeds.
“The lady who lived here before you, Mrs Nia Martin, loved her garden,” Mrs Collins told him. “So sad that it killed her, wasn’t it?” She told him about the accident in the garden when Nia been trying to cut down a branch that she considered dangerous. Lewis Lewis, who had shared the house with her at the time, had been promising to deal with it for weeks and one day, perhaps to surprise him, she had tried sawing through the branch herself. It had fallen on her and killed her.
“I think it must have been worse for the man. He must feel guilty every day of his life,” Sam said softly. “I know I would.”
“He went back home to his wife eventually and I think she has helped him deal with it.”
“Nice to have someone who cares, isn’t it?” he said.
“There are times when it can save you from despair,” she replied, as if from personal knowledge, although there had never been anyone in her life to whom she had been able to turn. As if sensing this, Sam took her arm and walked side by side with her back to the house.
There was a sensation of contentment between them, as though a corner had been turned as they washed their cups and Sam walked her to the bus stop.
“If you won’t tell me your name,” he teased, as the bus came into view, “tell me again the names of your children.”
“My husband was a great royalist so the first three were called Victoria, George and Albert – our Bertie. Then we have Elizabeth and Margaret. Then war began so we added, Winston and Montgomery.” She laughed. “We’re a family for grand names and no mistake.”
“No Eisenhower?”
“The cat was called Ike.”
“And yours?”
The bus stopped and the conductor called, “Hurry along please.”
“Seven is enough to be getting on with,” she replied. She was smiling as the bus stopped then started on its slow journey back to her children and the need to cook supper.
Frank was still happy. His observations told him Carl no longer visited Mair. Hope was such a powerful tranquilliser that he did the chores requested by Hywel without argument and even dug a patch of ground ready for planting out lettuce without being asked. Mair would soon forget Carl. She’d soon realise what a waster he really was. He went several times to the sports shop hoping to see her but Edward would explain that she was out, or busy, or in the stock room. It took a long time for him to realise she was avoiding him. She made it clear when they did eventually meet. Hanging around in the lane waiting for her to get home from work, he stepped out and offered to carry her shopping bag.
“Mair, it’s smashing to see you.”
“Is it?”
“Yeh.”
Reaching the gate she went through and closed it after her leaving him firmly on the outside.
“Nice meeting your dad the other night. He and I could be friends now I’ve given up poaching and all that, couldn’t we?”
She looked at him with utter disbelief.
“Mair, I was wondering—”
“Get lost!”
“All right.” He sighed. Hands in pockets, long legs bending and straightening like an automatic doll, he headed for home, accepting the inevitable disappointment like a small boy.
Mair almost called him back. She was going to be alone that evening. Her father had some meeting to attend, then he would be working through the night. She wasn’t in the mood for a solitary meal, the wireless and bed. She didn’t think she’d eat and she was doubtful of sleeping. She had a lot to think about and none of it was pleasant.