Ryan Fowler walked to Glebe Lane and stood watching the house he had once called home. He hadn’t stayed. To have had a job, a home and a family – including the fussy Gladys as a mother-in-law, then almost overnight to lose it all, had been a distressing experience, but now he didn’t think he wanted any of it back. He wasn’t lonely. He hardly missed them. Contented that would describe his present existence. Living in a flat, being paid moderately well for doing a non-stressful job that he could forget the moment the clock reached five p.m. each day, and pleasing himself how he spent his spare time, it was no hardship.
He stood for a long time looking over the back gate, half hidden by the overgrown lonicera. Cutting that straggling mess, a most tedious job, was no longer his responsibility, he thought with a smile. He watched as Sally went in and out of the kitchen serving her paying guests with their evening meal. It was only the thought of Sally finding comfort in the arms of someone else that occasionally kept him awake at night. He didn’t want to go back to her, but he admitted to a little jealousy when he thought of someone else sharing her bed and being fussed over by her in a way he could no longer tolerate.
He walked back to the basement flat. Gradually his mood of relaxed acceptance changed, he wanted everything to go back to how it had been a couple of years ago: Sally as a loving wife; himself as master in his home; It had been strange, even frightening, to look in at the house where he had lived for almost thirty years, seeing it carrying on with its life without him. It was as though he were dead; a restless spirit come back to haunt the place where he had been happy. He wanted to go back, walk in and make himself a cup of tea, read a newspaper in his favourite chair. But he couldn’t. To do that too soon could delay the moment for months. His shoulders drooped as he accepted the reality that to go back was his dream.
Anger swelled. For a while he allowed it to grow, enjoying it, feeling ill treated and sour. He turned on the television and stared with half his mind involved and the other half seething at the unfairness of life. He blamed his parents-in-law, Gladys and Arfon, and his daughters and his wife. They were all to blame. Unable to cope with his turbulent thoughts, he went out again into the dark night.
His feet took him once again towards Glebe Lane. He was still apportioning blame on everyone around him. His daughter Joan had married Viv Lewis, who had pushed him out of a well-paid job. Megan had shamed him by becoming a mother before she was a wife. Then there was his wife. Sally had embarrassed him, robbed him of his authority by turning their house into a guesthouse. She had made it blatantly clear to the whole town that he was incapable of being boss in his own home. Hardly surprising that he’d lost his temper.
Looking into the kitchen, he saw that Sally was washing dishes and being assisted, not by Megan but by a stranger. One of her guests probably, he decided. As he watched, the man touched her shoulder and Sally moved away. Ryan smiled. It wouldn’t be long before she was fussing over someone new. Then he’d really have a reason to be angry.
He roamed the streets through the early hours and could hardly remember where he had walked. In a back lane behind Hartley Street one or two dustbins had been placed outside the gates ready for collection later in the week. One had been tipped on its side and the contents spread across the ground. Stale food was exposed and a pair of boots lay abandoned, decorated with potato peelings and stalks of cabbage. Distastefully, he picked one up and walking briskly, purposefully, went back to Glebe Lane and threw it through Sally’s window.
He felt exultant, a conquering hero, as he hurried home, as though he had won a great victory. But as soon as he reached the back lane behind the High Street and went into his flat, he began to sob.
Mair walked home from the shop slowly, her feet dragging. She was in no hurry to shut herself inside the lonely house. Her father would be out again and apart from preparing a meal there was nothing urgent to do to fill the long lonely hours. She was tempted to call on the Griffithses. Frank would probably be there, working in the garden or talking to the goats, she thought disparagingly. But even Frank was better than no one today.
There was a knock at the door and as her thoughts had been on Frank it was he whom she expected to see. It was Carl. Relief spread across her face and she stood back for him to step inside.
He looked around as though the trees were hiding spies. “It’s all right, Carl. No one can see you!” she snapped.
“I’m sorry, Mair. It’s difficult.”
“So I gather. Your mother, is it? Not wanting to lose her darling son?”
“It is partly my mother, but you’ll have to trust me on this. If we’re careful, make sure no one sees us, we can go on meeting.”
“You haven’t told her about us, have you,” she stated.
“She’s afraid I’ll marry and leave her. You know what mothers are like.”
“No, I don’t. My own mother died years ago. I do know that my father wouldn’t try to spoil my chance of happiness and a life of my own.”
“Sorry, I’d forgotten.” He put an arm around her and kissed her forehead gently. “It must have been hard for you without her.”
“Can’t you imagine how worthless and foolish you make me feel, pretending you don’t know me? Why can’t you show everyone that we’re friends? More than friends – lovers. Are you ashamed of me? Is that it?”
He held her tightly against him, cheek to cheek, feeling the hot tears that ran down her face on to his lips. “I’m sorry, my darling girl. But I have something to sort out, something that stops me from telling the world how I feel about you. I can’t tell you, but if you could be patient for a little while, then one day it will be different. I promise you.” He let his lips caress her cheek, her neck. “Please Mair, let me stay.”
She looked up at him, his eyes so pleading and his lips so tempting, but she turned away, opened the door and waited in silence as he stepped out. She locked the door and waited, leaning against it, a barrier of just a few inches. She expected him to knock, to plead for her to open it again, but all she heard were his footsteps as he walked away.
An hour after Carl had gone, there was another knock and with her heart filled with hope, Mair ran to answer it to see Frank standing there.
“Don’t say ‘get lost,’” he pleaded, as she began to close the door. “Our Mam’s invited a few friends round and I thought you might like to come. Rhiannon and Charlie will be there and our Basil, Eleri and their boys. There’s Jack and Victoria and our Ernie and Helen and—”
“Yes, I’ll come. Thanks.”
“Oh, you will? Good. Smashing!” He had been taken by surprise by her acceptance and he grinned widely and said hopefully, “Call for you shall I?”
“About eight?”
“Smashing!”
“The grin’s back,” Hywel whispered to his wife as they watched their lanky son dash in and drag the bath out of the shed. “Mair!” they said in unison.
“You invited that policeman’s daughter then, our Frank?” Hywel teased as Frank began filling the boiler to heat water for his bath. “Dangerous that is, mind, remembering where most of the meat for tonight’s food came from. Pheasant, partridge and rabbit pie made by your mam, and eggs from Booker’s hens. Mad you are, boy, encouraging PC Gregory’s daughter.”
“I like her,” Frank replied. He went to talk to the goats. He didn’t mind a bit of teasing, but Mair wasn’t a subject for jokes. When he went back to check on the boiler, Hywel was still in the same mood.
“All the girls in Pendragon Island and you have to go and choose that one.” Hywel sighed dramatically. Frank pushed him out of the kitchen and locked the door to have his bath in peace.
By half-past eight the small cottage was crammed full and still more people came. Janet made sure there was a comfortable seat for Rhiannon, who had made her announcement about the baby she carried, and one for her daughter-in-law, Helen who was eight months gone.
“Make sure you stay in one piece, mind,” Hywel whispered to Helen as she sat awkwardly on Janet’s wooden rocking chair. “I’m no good with people, only goats.”
“Don’t worry, there’s a month to go yet.” Helen laughed. But as she spoke she felt a sharp twinge and grasped Ernie’s hand for comfort.
“Hell’s bells, Helen, I’m not ready for this yet,” Ernie spluttered as he saw her face tighten with the discomfort.
Frank was looking less than cheerful. Mair had been ready when he called for her but since arriving at the cottage, she had ignored him. She was sitting beside Rhiannon and whenever he got close enough to listen, they were talking about babies. He went out and leant over the goats’ pen. A bachelor, that’s what he’d be, for the rest of his life. Minding Mam and Dad when they were past minding themselves; a boring old uncle, and growing old himself, all alone in this place.
He was whispering to the goats, telling them his tale of woe, when Mair came to find him.
“Sorry I’ve been talking to Rhiannon for so long,” she said, and at once his spirits lifted. “It’s about babies, see. She likes to talk babies now she’s going to have one.”
“Her and our Helen. Nothing but baby talk,” he said. “We’re better off out here talking to the goats.”
When they went back inside she stayed with him for the rest of the evening, looking at him to share a joke and singing along when the regular choruses ended the evening.
Frank saw quite a lot of Mair over the following days. Edward and Megan took the baby out and about as the days lengthened and the sun became warmer, and Mair was left in charge of the sports shop. Willie Jones who used to own the premises, which he had run as a draper’s shop, called several times a day, and would sometimes stay to allow Mair to dash to the cake shop to buy something for her lunch. Frank made the excuse of sizing up a few jobs still needing to be done, and assured Mair that he was there if she needed any help.
Mair didn’t admit it but she was often glad he was there, especially when she had to walk to the bank to put the bag in the overnight safe. After that unprovoked and unexplained attack on her, she had become less confident. He would walk beside her jauntily, as though riding shotgun on some stagecoach of old, Mair thought with a smile, as he glanced around him, both looking out for trouble and in the hope that some of his friends would see them together.
There had been no sign of Carl for several days and one evening, when the bag had been safely posted through to the night safe, he felt emboldened to ask, “D’you fancy going out later? Pictures? A walk?”
“All right. But I’ll have to get our Dad’s tea first. He’s on nights again this week.”
“On nights a lot isn’t he, your old man?”
“I think he changes with one or two of the others. He doesn’t mind it.”
After walking her home they arranged to meet at seven and Frank strolled back to the cottage, whistling cheerfully. It seemed that the gossips had been right, and Mair and Carl Rees no longer met. This evening, with her father on nightshift, there might be a chance for them to talk, really talk, and perhaps put their meetings on a regular footing.
They came out of the cinema at ten thirty and almost immediately bumped into Carl. Leaving Frank with a few hurried words, Mair ran after him and began talking to him with some urgency. Frank stood in a shop doorway wondering what to do. It was clear from the way Carl had responded that he didn’t want to talk to Mair. As she clutched his arm, he edged away, trying to pull free. She held her ground and he stopped, but his reluctance was plain from the stance of his body. He wanted to get away.
Frank decided to wait. She might not want him to see her if she were upset, but there was no way he was going to let her walk home alone and Carl couldn’t be relied on to care for her properly. Leaning his long frame against the door of the shop, he settled in his patient way to watch and wait.
“Carl, I have to talk to you,” Mair said, as Carl insisted he was in a hurry. “I have something to tell you.”
“Sorry, Mair, but I don’t think it can be any concern of mine. It’s over. I’m sorry, but you were right it has to end. There are things I have to be free of before I can get involved with anyone.”
“But—”
She tried to interrupt but he hushed her, talking patiently to her as though to a child. “I can’t discuss it, but one day you’ll understand. I have responsibilities. Not a wife, I swear to you that I’m not married—”
“Good,” she said. “Glad of that I am, you not having a wife. Because I think we’re going to have a baby!”
Frank was watching and although he couldn’t hear what was said, he knew it was something serious. Carl looked as though someone had shot him. He held both hands to his chest and stared down at Mair.
“Rubbish,” he said, finally. “Don’t think you can trap me with that old trick. If you’re expecting, it isn’t mine!”
Mair stepped back and Frank guessed that this time she was the one receiving the shock. His heart was racing, he wanted to go and thump Carl, whatever was happening. His muscles were aching, longing for the sensation of landing his fist on Carl’s chin. Then he saw Carl swivel on his heels and hurry off.
He waited a moment or two, until he saw Mair start to walk in the direction of her lane. He followed but didn’t try to catch her up. Best let her recover from whatever argument they’d had. She passed the phone box and hesitated and he thought she might be thinking of ringing her father to ask him to leave work and see her home, afraid of facing the dark lane. He stepped forward and said, “I’ll see you safe home, Mair.”
He walked silently beside her until she went through her door. She seemed hardly aware of him. He stood for a long time in the darkness beneath the trees, waiting, hoping to see Carl, longing for an opportunity to pick a fight with him. He didn’t need a reason; he badly needed a fight. At two a.m. he went home disappointed.
Victoria and Jack walked home from the pictures that evening and they were silent too.
“Don’t be unhappy, love,” Jack said comfortingly when they got back to their little house in Philips Street. “Having a baby is such a wonderful thing, it’s well worth waiting a few more months for.”
“Rhiannon is expecting. Helen Griffiths has a baby due any day. I’m so disappointed, Jack.”
Jack held her and whispered, “Another month longer to have you all to myself.”
He had spoken to a doctor and been told that tension, longing for a child so much, could in itself be the problem. “Tell your wife to relax, forget about conceiving and just be a loving wife,” had been his advice. How could Jack tell her that?
He knew that relaxing while they made love was almost impossible for Victoria, brought up in a house with a drunken father and a mother who spent most of her married life either feeding a child or preparing for another. The sounds of lovemaking had been frightening to her as a child and the memories were slow to leave. Decorating the bedroom in cheerful, light colours had been his idea. Making it as different as possible from the rooms she had known as a child. It seemed to have made a difference at first, but soon her beautiful, gentle face had slipped into the same expression of dread as soon as they walked into the room and approached the big, comfortable bed. He didn’t know what to do.
Victoria changed the subject. She was aware of a big difference in her mother. “It’s since she’s been working for Martha Adams and Sam Lilly, isn’t it?” she said to Jack. “D’you think there can be a romance developing?”
“It would be wonderful if there were. Your mother is still young. She’s kind and loving and gentle – just like you, my darling girl – and quite a catch for someone. Even with six children to care for,” he added with a smile.
“Sam Lilly seems very fond of her. He helps her when she works for his sister, makes sure Mam doesn’t have any heavy lifting. And now he’s invited her to take two of the children to Tenby for the day.”
“And he planned that surprise garden for her. That’s the act of a besotted man if anything is.”
Two of Victoria’s brothers were working. They had both found jobs in a store selling animal feed and some of the other needs of farmers and small holders. One of Victoria’s sisters delivered morning papers and, with the few piano lessons her mother gave and the money she earned from cleaning, the family managed quite comfortably. Jack and Victoria helped a little, buying clothes as birthday presents to eke out the family finances. Even Gladys Weston offered cast-off clothes on occasions, although her choice of garments, beside being too large for the dainty Mrs Collins, were hardly suitable. Mrs Collins was a skilled needlewoman, however, and she used the material to make smaller garments, some times to sell.
“Poor Mam. She’s so busy, she never has an idle moment. That’s why I was pleased by Sam Lilly’s invitation.”
“They’re going for the whole day?” Jack asked.
“Mam and the two youngest. I said we’d look after the others, get them their meals. Is that all right?” she asked. “You needn’t come if you don’t want to. I’m sure Viv would be interested in a fishing trip if not.”
“Now that is a good idea.” Jack smiled.
Mair and Rhiannon had not been close friends, but gradually, over the past weeks they had begun to see more of each other. Leaving a few minutes early for her lunch break one day, Mair ran down to Temptations hoping to catch Rhiannon before she closed. Rhiannon was just locking the shop door but she hesitated when she saw Mair coming down Brown Street.
“It’s all right, I’ll open up for you,” she said, as Mair puffed and panted towards her. “Sweets, is it? Or a birthday card you’ve just remembered?”
“I wanted a chat if you’ve got time. I’ve brought a couple of pasties and some cakes. If you’ll provide the tea we can eat and talk.”
Delighted with the unexpected visitor, Rhiannon led the way across the road to her house.
“Right opposite your Mam and Dad, lucky thing,” Mair commented, glancing across the road. “All right for a babysitter, eh?”
“I’m not thinking that far ahead,” Rhiannon said, and Mair saw from her friend’s face that she was a little troubled.
“Didn’t you want a baby?” she asked, as Rhiannon set out cups and saucers and filled the kettle.
“Of course I want the baby. But I’m afraid to bank on everything being all right, after last time,” she added.
“Oh, Rhiannon, how thoughtless of me. You lost a baby last year, didn’t you.”
“Mam said women often do lose the first. I don’t know if that’s the truth, mind. Trying to comfort me she was.”
“I wish it was true,” Mair said, eyeing Rhiannon to see her reaction.
Rhiannon looked at her, a quizzical frown on her face. “You don’t mean – Never!”
“I haven’t been to the doctor yet. But yes, I think I’m going to have a baby, sometime in December according to my reckoning. What can I do?”
”See a doctor. That’s the first thing. I’ll come with you, if you want me to.”
“Thanks.”
“The father, he does know?” Rhiannon asked, hesitantly. “Don’t say if you’d rather not, but you have to decide whether or not you want to marry him, or go it alone, like Megan Weston did. Brave that is, mind.”
“He knows, but he won’t marry me. He’s going to deny ever seeing me except on a bus or in the pictures.”
“Carl Rees!”
“His real name is Dreese, and his mother works for Gladys Weston. Would you believe that? He doesn’t use his father’s name and won’t say why. A great one for secrets, is Carl Rees. I wonder what else he hasn’t told me.”
“Something shameful his father did, perhaps?”
Mair only shrugged.
The kettle was boiling, the kitchen was filling with steam, but neither girl seemed aware of it. Mair was silently wondering if she would be lucky and lose this poor unwanted baby as Rhiannon had done and have the problem solved for her.
“Do you know who attacked you that night?” Rhiannon asked as she turned away at last to deal with the kettle. “Was it Carl?”
“No, and that’s for definite! It was a woman.”
“You’re not covering up for him?”
“No! I wondered if it might have been his wife although he swears he isn’t married. A wife or perhaps a jealous girlfriend?”
“I’ll ask Jennie Francis when she comes into the shop. She might know something about him.” Rhiannon changed the subject slightly then, to talk about the preparations for her anticipated new arrival. She was positive about the situation and tried to present images of them both walking their babies in summer sunshine, and growing up and becoming friends as they headed for school.
“I’m afraid of the pain as well as the gossip,” Mair admitted. “Do you feel any different yet?”
“I feel really well. Although, I do have a bit of backache. I daren’t mention it though, or Charlie will ask me to give up work. Which reminds me,” she added, looking at the mantlepiece clock, “I’d better get back to Temptations or the job will leave me!”
“You should tell Charlie,” Mair said. “How can he look after you if you don’t tell him everything?”
Thinking about her friend’s words later, Rhiannon told Charlie after they had eaten, that she was a bit uncomfortable and, at once, he took her over the road to number seven.
“Mam?” he said as Dora opened the door to them. “Rhiannon is having a bit of backache and we’ve come for reassurance, right?” He knew how afraid Rhiannon was that her second pregnancy would end the same way as the first, and he tried to take away any slight alarm as soon as possible.
“Are you sure you’re all right to drive that far, Sam?” Martha asked her brother when he told her of his plans to take Mrs Collins and the children to Tenby. “You know you need your glasses changing and the sun can be very harsh this early in the year.”
Sam didn’t tell her that his sight had deteriorated and he was avoiding having a test, in case he was warned of the possibility of giving up driving altogether. Just one summer, then he would face the unpalatable fact. Just one summer to give Mrs Collins and her children a few treats.
He called for the three Collinses at ten o’clock and they set off with the car packed with blankets, hampers and flasks, intent on finding a place to have a picnic lunch. He had also brought a beachball, plus a few buckets and spades in case the children wanted to build sandcastles. “I hope they aren’t too sophisticated,” he confided in their mother, “I’m rather looking forward to castle-building myself.”
“Winston will build them but I’m afraid Montgomery will prefer to jump on them.” Mrs Collins laughed.
They were leaving Tenby after a few pleasant hours and were on the way home when Sam stopped the car to allow the children one last run around on an area of open grassland. He sat beside Mrs Collins and said, “Friends are we?”
“Of course we are. You’re a wonderful friend to us all, Sam.” She used his first name deliberately, knowing what he was about to ask her. “And,” she went on, “if you promise never to tell anyone –” she waited for his nod then went on – “then my names, my stupid names, are Gloriana Fleur. Now can you understand why I never admit to them?”
“Glory. I will call you Glory,” he said softly.
The mood had changed when they set off again. Their friendship had broken through a barrier leaving them more relaxed, less formal, their affection for each other easily seen. Sam kept glancing at her as if to reassure himself she was comfortable and happy. He was smiling and Mrs Glory Collins thought he was the kindest man she had ever met, that the day the most perfect she had known, and that she was the most fortunate of women. The euphoria lasted about ten minutes, until Montgomery began to feel sick, his wail of misery and disbelief bringing them down to earth with a bump.
Sam slowed down, looking for a convenient and safe place to park where he could allow Montgomery to get out and breathe some fresh air. Approaching a left-hand bend, he glanced back to see if the boy was able to wait a while longer, and he drifted out too wide. The car was hit by a car of equal size coming the other way.
Neither car had been travelling fast but the bump, plus the drivers’ reaction, turned both vehicles and Sam’s car ended up facing a hedge, while the other careered across the road, the driver pulling frantically at the wheel and over-compensating madly. After circling around, his eyes wide with panic, he finally stopped his car immediately behind Sam’s.
The shock of the sudden collision, plus the terrifying sound of scraping metal, had frightened the children and they were screaming. It was minutes before Glory and Sam were satisfied they weren’t hurt. The drivers got out and each admitted to a lapse of concentration. The other car had two dogs in the back and these, the man explained, had begun to fight.
“One of my passengers was feeling sick,” Sam said, and Glory added that the sudden bump hadn’t avoided that problem!
Mopping up and making sure neither car had suffered serious damage took some time, but within half an hour they both drove off having exchanged names and addresses, but each certain they they would do nothing further. Both drivers were convinced that the fault lay with him.
When Sam told his sister what had happened, she at first only wanted to reassure herself that no one had been harmed. It was later that she began to wonder whether Sam’s invitation to Mrs Collins was simply altruistic or whether he was about to break his promise and find a woman to share his life, leaving her alone.
Martha was a war widow and Sam an apparently confirmed bachelor, so they had pooled their money and bought the house on Chestnut Road from Barry Martin. If Sam broke his word and left her, she wouldn’t have the money from the half share of the house to buy anything to compare. She also wondered if Sam had told Mrs Collins about his failing eyesight and whether she would be willing to look after him if he became blind. That had been her promise to her brother, that she would stay with him and care for him.
Several people had been to look at Jennie and Peter’s house. Jennie met them and showed them around the home she and Peter had once built up with such pride, now nothing more than a property someone would take off her hands. Everything in it had been purchased to make it more their own, a place with a character they had helped form, a unique atmosphere they had fashioned for themselves and which was like no other. Now it was something to destroy, break up and disperse like a stage set when the run had ended.
At the end of April they had received an offer for the full amount and Jennie went to see Peter, to arrange a time to go to the estate agents together and set the sale in motion. He refused.
“But Peter, we agreed!” She was exasperated. “This is what we decided. You and I no longer live as a married couple, so we cut everything we have built in half, and go our separate ways. It’s what happens when two people no longer love each other.”
“I think we should give it a bit longer, give ourselves a chance to work things out.”
“Why? We might wait months for another chance to sell. I want to start living my life again, not spend week after week sitting here waiting for you and your precious mother to make up your mind!”
She argued with him for almost two hours, while he sat in a chair in what had been their living room, straight-backed, feet neatly together and remained obdurate.
The following day she went to talk to his mother.
“The value of the property will go down, not up, with the paint work already showing the effects of several winters. There are rooms that need decorating and the place will soon have that abandoned atmosphere that puts prospective buyers off quicker than noisy neighbours,” she explained calmly.
Later that evening, Peter put a note through the door telling her he would be at the estate agents the following lunchtime. Instead of being pleased, Jennie was sad. Sad to be reminded once again that it was his mother he listened to, and that a discussion with her, his wife, had made no difference at all.
Peter was aching with misery. He wanted to go back to his marriage, but how could he? If he made all the promises Jennie wanted him to make and even if they moved away from his parents, as she also wanted, nothing would really change. She would still be overbearingly stubborn and insist on having a say in everything they did. She accused him of being weak where his mother was concerned but couldn’t see that she was any different.
After meeting her at the estate agent and dealing with the initial steps towards selling their house, he didn’t go back to the office. He couldn’t face the routine as though nothing had happened. Not caring where he went, he wandered through the town, and out towards the lake. A café tempted him to rest and he went inside where, the first person he saw was Viv Lewis, the manager of Westons, the man who had bought the stock from his wife when she closed down her business. He recognised Viv although they hadn’t met. For no particular reason he went over and introduced himself.
“Peter Francis?” Viv frowned. “Oh, are you related to Jennie Francis?”
“She’s my wife.”
“How is she? Has she decided on a new venture?”
“We’re separated, that’s how she is,” Peter’s voice was bitter.
“I’m sorry to hear that. But it can’t have been because of the business failure surely? She’ll try again and I’m sure that next time, with a better position or a different stock, she’ll be successful.”
“Why does she want to run a business, be independent? I can afford to keep her and she could be a proper wife. Oh no, that isn’t for Jennie. She has to show everyone how clever she is.”
Seeing that the man was distressed, Viv motioned to his mother and Dora came over with a pot of tea and some cakes, left them, and quietly walked away. Viv poured the man a cup of tea and pushed it towards him.
“My wife loves being in business. We work alongside each other without a moment’s disagreement. That’s my mother who served the tea. She and my father are both happy working and enjoying their spare time together.” He crossed his fingers superstitiously when he said that. “We’re all different and we have to do what’s best for us. Your Jennie will run a successful business one day. You ought to be proud of her.”
“She makes me feel less of a man. Emasculated, that’s what I am, not having any say in the way we live. She refuses to accept the traditional role of caring wife and mother, and without it, everything falls apart. My mother has never worked. She spends all her time looking after my father and me. Cared for us wonderfully she has. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, for your mother. But that wouldn’t be enough for my Joan or my mam. I suspect that Jennie is more like Joan than like your mother.”
“We’re selling the house.”
“Divorcing?” Viv asked.
“No!” Peter looked shocked. “No talk of divorce.”
“Sorry, I thought…”
“We’re living apart for a while, that’s all.”
“Where are you living?”
“Back with Mam.”
“Big mistake that is, man. Going back to Mam? Never should have done that.”
“She looks after me well.”
“Then you should move out straight away and show that wife of yours you can look after yourself!”
“What would you do if Joan left you?”
“Anything necessary to get her back. Anything. I’m so proud of her, she makes me feel twice my size every time I look at her and realised she’s chosen me. Less of a man? What a lot of ol’ rubbish.”
Peter was very thoughtful when he left Rose Tree Café and walked home.
In the Griffithses cottage, Caroline was dealing with her week’s washing and great clouds of steam were issuing from the boiler. The back kitchen floor was covered with bowls filled either with newly washed garments or piles of soiled linen waiting their turn. A huge galvanised bath was resting on a wooden stool and, beside it, Caroline was rubbing a pair of Joseph-Hywel’s trousers up and down on the rubbing board. Putting the soap in its rest at the top of the board she paused a moment and leant across the side of the bath. Perspiration seeped in bubbles from her skin and her face was red with the energy she was expending on the tiring task.
It was Wednesday afternoon and she knew that Barry would be waiting for her in his flat above Temptations. They had been meeting there regularly for some time: a pretence that their farce of a marriage still had a core of life worth reviving. Today she had decided not to go ever again. It was over and she knew she would be happy to live the rest of her life without him. She and her son were content here in her parents’ home, with her brothers and their wives always calling in. She had missed the noise and laughter of the place when she had gone to live with Barry. The long hours spent alone while he was out working had been too much for her to bear.
Her mother said nothing as the time passed, two o’clock, three o’clock, until she knew her daughter would not be going to meet Barry. Now, at four o’clock, Caroline was unnecessarily washing clothes that Janet and she would normally deal with at the weekend.
The dog barked and she looked out of the window to see Ernie walking towards the door. What was he doing here when he should be at work?
“Ernie love, is everything all right?” she asked as her son fought his way through the kitchen, coughing exaggeratedly in the steamy air. “The baby isn’t on the way is he?”
“Helen is fine apart from the occasional twinge. And I’m all right, I suppose, Mam,” he said as he flopped into a chair. “I didn’t feel like another couple of hours at work so I said I was feeling sick and they sent me home.”
“But you aren’t sick?” Janet questioned. “Sick of work, sick of everything.”
“Oh no. Not another Griffiths failing to settle down. Why can’t you be like our Basil? Took to married life like a duck to water he did. What terrible thing is your Helen supposed to have done?”
“Helen isn’t the problem. Happy we are, looking forward to the baby coming. No, everything’s fine between Helen and me. But living with her mother is driving us spare.”
Janet sighed with relief. This was something soon sorted. “Get yourself a place of your own, even if it’s only a couple of rooms, Ernie. Every married couple needs space. Ask around and see if you can’t find something not too expensive and near enough for your mother-in-law to be able to call. Near us too if you can. We want to enjoy this new baby when he comes.”
“I don’t think Helen will want to move for a while, not with the baby and all.”
“And can’t you cope a bit longer, for her sake?”
“I’m not allowed to sit in the armchair and eat my sandwich at supper time. I’m not allowed into the living room – that’s the lounge – until I’ve changed out of my working clothes. Mam, I wear my second-best suit and she still won’t let me in there! Oh, and we only watch interesting programmes on the television, no comedy, and no music. The woman’s barmy, our Mam.” Ernie looked up to see both his mother and his sister stifling giggles. “All right, joke over. What am I going to do?”
“There’s always the shed,” Caroline laughed. “Threaten that and perhaps she’ll behave.”
When Ernie went on his way, slightly more cheerful than when he had arrived, Janet put her hands on her hips and said, “That’s our Ernie sorted. Now, Caroline, what are we going to do about you?”
Mair tried not to think about the baby she carried. It could only be a couple of months, there was plenty of time. If her father had been suspicious, he might have noticed that she walked away from any talk about babies, even shutting off the television when anything remotely connected with children was shown. She still hadn’t spoken to a doctor, although she had almost decided that if nothing had happened by the middle of May, she would accept Rhiannon’s offer to go with her, and make an appointment. She continually put it off, knowing that once it was official, she could no longer pretend it wasn’t true.
Once she began avoiding anything to do with babies, she seemed to come across the subject everywhere. Shops advertised maternity outfits, toys were recommended for every stage of childhood. Even on buses there were women knitting small white garments and every magazine she bought had something to add to the knowledge she did not want to gain. She was beginning to feel trapped.
The worst occasion was when she accepted an invitation to go to the pictures with Frank. The film was boring, so instead, they went to find some supper at the cottage Frank shared with his parents. Helen and Ernie were there, all lovey-dovey, talking about the flat they were going to find once the baby was born. Seeing Helen’s swollen figure and the way she was boasting about her appetite, eating for two, Mair wanted to run straight out. She went into the kitchen where lines of washing had been hung to dry, and made tea, helped by the very attentive Frank. When the sounds of groaning and panting and cries of alarm filled the small house, she looked at Frank and said, urgently, “I think I should go home.”
Shouts and wails and calming whispers played counter-point as Hywel begged Helen to get to the hospital and told Ernie off for not keeping her at home, and Janet soothed everyone and calmly asked Frank to run and phone for a taxi.
“There’s the van,” Frank suggested, but Ernie shook his head. “Quicker it’ll be mind, and I’ll let you drive it,” Frank offered, aware of Mair’s embarrassment. “You could go now, this minute and be there in no time.”
“Go, Frank, and phone the hospital,” Janet urged.
Reaching for Mair’s hand, Frank pulled her out of the house and headed for the phone box at the end of the lane.
It was then that Mair had her idea. Frank wasn’t very bright. She might be able to persuade him that the child she carried was his, if she could change her attitude towards him and get him into her bed within the next few days. She wouldn’t let him down. She’d be a good wife and he’d have no cause for complaint. Frank’s biggest asset as a prospective husband was his slowness. He had that highly desirable facet of his character that every woman dreamed of: Frank Griffiths was malleable.
Carl had done her a favour denying they had been lovers. Apart from Rhiannon, no one would think it strange that she had been seeing Frank and not talking about it. He wasn’t considered a great catch. The Griffithses and her father were hardly likely to welcome the idea of a romance between them so it would hardly seem surprising that they had kept their meetings a secret.
When the telephone calls had been made, she led Frank back to her cottage, explaining that with her father once again on nights, she didn’t fancy being alone tonight. “It was knowing that Helen’s baby’s birth is imminent,” she said. “I don’t know why, but it made me want company tonight.”
Frank saw no point in asking for further explanation.
“Charlie Perkins’s horse impressions again,” Hywel whispered to Janet when Frank arrived home in time for an early breakfast.