Frank saw Carl Rees open the door wider and invite Mair in. Watching her take the single step that took her inside and out of his reach was as painful as anything he had ever experienced. In just a few seconds he had lost everything. Before she had turned up and knocked on Cad’s door, he had been full of excitement at the thought of marriage to Mair, a child, a home where he could look after them both. Now it was all gone. He had never felt more like crying. His shoulders drooped and his face took on the lugubrious expression so useful in the days when he had walked beside funeral processions and led the mourners.
What could he do? Facing Mair again was going to be difficult. Would she carry on as though this secretive visit to Carl hadn’t happened? And if she did, should he do the same? That would be the easiest thing to do: carry on, make arrangements for them to marry. But if he did that, all the time he would be watching her, waiting for her to leave him and go to Carl. It was Carl she loved and if Carl proposed, she would accept and tell him – poor, dull Frank Griffiths – ‘sorry, and goodbye’.
He didn’t leave the shelter of the hedge. He wasn’t sure why, but at the back of his mind was the certainty that whatever was happening inside the house, Carl couldn’t be relied on to make sure Mair got safely home. There had been no explanation yet, of why some weeks ago she had been attacked and, besides, Carl wasn’t the caring kind.
It seemed hours but in fact it was only ten minutes before the door reopened and Mair’s huddled figure came out. The door closed behind her before she had left the step. Frank didn’t reveal his presence but waited until she had passed him before starting to follow her. It was late, after eleven, and quite dark. She had a hood over her head as she bent forward and began to run. By simply lengthening his stride, Frank had no difficulty in keeping up with her.
At the telephone box she hesitated as though considering making a call and he waited. She went inside, dialled and then replaced the receiver. Running now, along the dark lane, a barely concealed shadow, he heard a low wailing and realised with deep sadness that she was crying.
When she was safely inside the lonely cottage at the edge of the wood, he stood for a long time watching, guessing her movements and remembering with heart-wrenching unhappiness, the room where she slept, which he had sometimes shared over the past weeks. If Carl had agreed to marry her, would she have passed the baby off as his? That thought increased his wretchedness.
Seeing the light go on in her bedroom he turned away and went home to seek comfort from the warmth and friendliness of the goats. There was no point in trying to sleep. As dawn broke he was back in the woods, armed with a shotgun and an empty sack. Patiently waiting at the edge of a field where rabbits regularly fed, he watched until a group of three grazed close together. His shot killed two and dazed the third, which he quickly dispatched. He put them in his sack and slowly walked home. He was preoccupied with his cruel disappointment, and made no attempt at evasion as he passed close to Farmer Booker’s farmhouse. He wasn’t surprised or particularly disappointed when Farmer Booker appeared and demanded he open his sack.
“The police have been informed,” Booker told him, and Frank didn’t argue. “See you in court, then?” was all he said.
An appearance in court, well, it wasn’t exactly excitement, but it would remind him that life goes on, even with a broken heart. He was in this maudlin state of mind, a lovelorn, simple man undeserving of the cruelty of the fates, when he suddenly remembered Mair’s father. It was the constable whom he had set out to follow, and he had gone into the same house as Mair. What was going on?
Mair lay on her bed all that night, switching the light on, then off, trying to read then throwing the book from her, unable to sleep, wondering if she had lost Frank. It was so unexpected for him to say he couldn’t see her and not explain why. Perhaps he had talked things over with his parents and they had guessed that the child wasn’t his. Yet how could he? There hadn’t been time. No, any change of heart had been Frank’s. Memories of her late-night pleading with Carl returned: the humiliation of being turned away; the long, lonely walk back through the lane, her distress numbing her fear; her aborted telephone call to her father, knowing she didn’t want to talk about it to anyone, certainly not to him. As on other occasions, she wished her mother had lived, or that she had a sister with whom to share such moments.
She rose at six and made a cup of tea. Dad would be in soon, perhaps she’d have the fire lit for him. Even in June the house needed the comfort of a fire for at least part of the day, shaded from the sun as it was, by the thickness and height of the surrounding trees.
Frank saw her stepping outside in her dressing gown, to collect coals and some sticks. He wanted to go and take the heavy bucket from her, offer to get the fire going while she made them a cup of tea, but he didn’t. She didn’t want him, he reminded himself. It was Carl she loved and for a while she had thought he, dopey Frank Griffiths, would be an acceptable second best.
Unaware of his nearness, Mair wiped away persistent tears and wondered if she dare go and visit the Griffithses and try and talk to Frank. All she would lose was pride, and Carl had taken most of that from her anyway. If only she could stop crying.
At seven o’clock, Dora was up, dressed and out in the warm, misty garden.
Lewis called from the bedroom window, “Dora? What’s the matter, I haven’t overslept, have I?”
“No, I was just measuring up the garden. Which way should we extend the lawn d’you think? Somewhere that gets the best of the sun. The swing can go further down, near the lane. What d’you think?”
“I think you’ve gone mad! Wait, I’m coming down.” He reappeared a few moments later, with a dressing gown flapping around his pyjamas, his hair still a little tousled, his fine dark eyes wearing a slight frown. Very handsome. Dora sighed as she watched him approach.
His film-star looks had made him attractive to women of all ages – his looks and his charm. Lewis had frequently found their adoration impossible to resist and his affairs had caused Dora many distressing moments. She promised herself that now they were together again she would live with it, and not accuse him of infidelity if something happened to make her suspicious. Nia Martin had been her greatest threat and now she was dead, she believed the worst of the danger had passed.
“I love you in the mornings, Lewis,” she said softly, and the slight irritation faded from his face and he hugged her.
“I’m glad, Dora Lewis. Very glad. But,” he added, “I still want to know what you think we’re doing, setting up the garden for children. Rhiannon and Charlie and Gwyn will provide all their baby’s needs, it isn’t for us to do.”
“I know love, but ‘Heshe’ will spend a lot of time here. We’ve got a better, bigger garden for one thing, they only have an ol’ yard.”
“All right. What d’you want to do?”
“Make a bigger lawn.”
“It’s the wrong time for seed.”
“Turf,” she said. “I’ve already made enquiries and it isn’t very expensive. And a swing.”
“A swing. For a baby who isn’t born yet.”
“Ready for when it’s needed.” She didn’t tell him of her other plan. Lewis had to be coaxed. If she came straight out with it now, he’d say no. There was time to persuade him, plant the idea at the same time as they planted the new lawn. That way he’d be half convinced that the idea was his, a sure way to make certain that when the question was raised, he’d say yes. She made tea and toast and they sat outside, discussing the position of lawn and swing and even a sandpit, before they went in to dress.
Rhiannon was already in Temptations talking to Barry, when Dora dashed past hurrying to catch her bus. She waved to her mother and said to Barry, “Always in a hurry, our Mam. She does so much before she goes to work you’d never believe.” She was smiling as she turned back to Barry and the discussion about when Rhiannon would leave work and prepare for her baby.
“How do you feel?” Barry asked. “Will you be able to work a few more weeks?”
“I’ve got more than two months to wait, if I stopped now I’d be bored silly in a week!”
“Caroline said you were complaining of backache, is it better now?”
“I feel fine. If I could stay on until August, then the last few weeks would fly.”
“So we need to start looking for your replacement in about a month.”
“If I hear of anyone, I’ll let you or Caroline know.” She coloured up and then said, “Barry, I’m sorry. I’m looking at this from my point of view. You and Caroline might prefer me to go now, and not work here until I’m waddling around like a duck.”
“Stay as long as you can, that’s what Caroline and I want.” He smiled. “You’ll be hard to replace.”
A routine visit to the doctor a few days later changed Rhiannon’s mind. The doctor recommended that she spend an hour or two each day resting with her feet up. The work at Temptations meant standing for long hours and she had to admit that there were days when she felt very tired. She said nothing to Barry, giving herself another couple of weeks before making up her mind to leave. Her successful, problem-free pregnancy had restored her confidence and she no longer worried so much about losing the child. She told Charlie, but played the doctor’s advice down a little, only saying she should consider stopping work sooner that she had intended.
“How soon is ‘soon’?” he asked anxiously.
“How long is a piece of string? I’ll give it two more weeks then tell Barry to look for someone else. Right?”
Jennie met Carl one day, quite near the shop she had once rented. He walked her past it swiftly. She thought he was being kind and not allowing her to mope over the loss of her business. As they crossed the road, he asked her about the sale of the house.
“It’s going through and I have to get out in a couple of weeks,” she replied.
“You have somewhere to live? Or are you going to live with Peter’s parents?” he asked.
“Not a chance! No, I haven’t found anywhere yet. I haven’t treated the problem as urgently as I should, it hasn’t seemed real somehow. I suppose I didn’t really think our marriage would end so – so – casually. I’ll have to do something soon, though, or I’ll be sleeping on the beach beside the dreaded seaside rock shop!” she laughed.
“You know Sally Fowler-Weston, don’t you?” Carl said. “She has paying guests. It might be an idea for you to take a room there, at least until you decide what you’re going to do. Better than rushing into something you might not like.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. Meals provided too, it does sound tempting.”
“You can keep an eye on one of the lodgers,” he said confidentially. “Mrs Weston is nothing to me mind, but I do wonder about a man called Maxie Powell. He’s a labourer on one of the sites where I sometimes do a few days work. He was boasting one day that he intended to flatter her into accepting him as a permanent part of her life. He needs watching and I think she’d be better off having another woman in the place.”
“I’ll go and see her. If she has a room vacant, I’ll take it, for a while anyway. I’ll quite enjoy being spoilt.”
“And you’ll watch Maxie Powell?”
“I’ll watch Maxie Powell,” she agreed.
Jennie found the days at the beach selling seaside rock very boring. She knew she should put aside all thoughts of what might have been and forget the business she had begun and lost, but she was still very bitter. One morning, leaving the house early, she was more dejected than usual. She had signed the contracts for the sale of the house where she and Peter had begun their marriage with such hope and optimism. They hadn’t met for over a week; even the contracts had been signed separately, each going into the office when an appointment had been made and dealing with the simple action that was going to change everything so dramatically.
One morning a few days after she had spoken to Carl, she was too early to catch the bus. The seaside shops and stalls and shows didn’t open until ten o’clock, there being few visitors to the beach before then. She turned down the road by the church and, after trying not to look, stopped and went across to her old shop. Something was happening. The window was covered with stuck-down newspapers, making it impossible for anyone to look inside. The glass door, too, was covered with hardboard and, even pressing her nose to the edge of the window, she couldn’t see anything of what was going on inside. She walked on and stopped at Temptations to talk to Rhiannon.
“What’s happening to my old shop, do you know?” she asked as she went inside.
Rhiannon put down the duster she was using and shook her head. “I haven’t heard any rumours. Is it re-let, then?”
“Apparently. The windows are covered and something is going on. I wonder what kind of a shop it will be?”
“If I hear anything, I’ll let you know,” Rhiannon promised. “How is the job at the rock shop making out? Interesting, is it?”
“It was – for the first ten minutes!” Jennie sighed. “Can you imagine, everyone comes in and, as though they’re the first to think of such an audacious idea, decide to give some rock in the shape of a dummy, to their big brother, or their boss, or their grown-up son. Or rock in the shape of a fried breakfast to give their husbands after promising breakfast in bed. For a while I forced a laugh and declared that it would be such fun and how did they think of such a hilarious idea. Now I want to scream!”
“Thank goodness we have more variety here in Temptations. I think I’d be screaming after a week of that.”
“I’m looking for something else, but not over the beach. I think I’d rather sell second-hand socks to tramps.”
“What about this place?” Rhiannon asked quietly.
“Me manage Temptations? Of course, you will be leaving soon. But won’t Barry have someone in mind?”
“I’ll have a word if you like, find out if he has offered the job to someone, but I don’t think he has.”
“Thank you. I’d like to work here.”
“You’d have to see Barry of course. But the wages aren’t bad enough for you to pay for a room and feed yourself.”
“It’s Wednesday and, although the beach shops stay open, it’s my half day, so I’ll call and see him on my way home, shall I?”
“Er, no, not on a Wednesday,” she said, unaware of any change. “Barry and Caroline consider that their special time and they don’t make any other arrangements. Come tomorrow morning on the way to work and I’ll try to make sure Barry’s here.”
“Their special time? Barry Martin and Caroline? I thought they were separated?”
“They are, but they’re working on it.”
“Good luck to them,” Jennie said sadly. “All right, I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
She hurried out wishing she and Peter were working on their disaster of a marriage. Mother-in-law trouble was often used as a basis for jokes but it wasn’t really funny. Not funny at all.
Instead of going to the bus stop, Jennie went to Glebe Lane to see Sally. There was a room vacant, but Jennie didn’t take it. There were a few days to go before she had to leave the house and it would have been a waste to pay rent unnecessarily.
“I’ll come back next week and see whether the room is still available,” she promised Sally.
Waiting at the bus stop, guilty that she would be late opening the shop, the van she had sold to Carl approached and he stopped to give her a lift.
“Thanks, Carl. I’m late. I’ve been to see about a room in Mrs Fowler-Weston’s house.”
“Good.”
“I haven’t taken it, but I think I will, next week when I have to leave the house.”
They drove out of town and along the road towards the Pleasure Beach. A few coaches were pulling into the car parks and excited holiday-makers were spilling out, carrying picnic baskets, sunshades and towels wrapped like sausage rolls around swim suits. Before she got out of the van, Jennie asked, “Have you heard who’s taken the shop?”
“Rumours flying,” he said, “everything from fish and chips to books to sweets to clothes. Look, I have to go, I’m blocking the road.” Waving cheerfully, he drove off and Jennie walked towards the shop planning her apologies.
Terrence had failed in his attempt to get Megan to part with some money. He knew Edward was the weak one but he didn’t seem able to get him on his own, and work on his anxiety. He would have to change his tack. Failing Edward and Megan, perhaps Megan’s grandmother might be persuaded if he threatened to publicise the fact that he was being denied access to his child? The local newspaper wouldn’t be interested in their petty squabbles, but Gladys might not know that. He set off optimistically to visit Arfon and Gladys’s large house, hoping to find Gladys on her own.
As he touched the front gate he heard voices. Instead of knocking at the door he went round the side of the house and looked into the garden. Megan and her grandmother were laughing at the little girl as she kicked and struggled to roll over, on a fluffy white blanket spread on the lawn. In the shade of a tree, Edward and Arfon were smiling as they watched the scene. Terrence went back out to the pavement and waited.
When Edward and Megan left he met them by accident, or so it seemed, and at once said apologetically, “Megan, I’m ashamed of myself. I don’t know what got into me. It was wicked, asking you for money. I would never do anything to hurt you. I won’t raise any objection if you and Edward want to adopt our daughter legally.” Megan thanked him rather grudgingly. “There is one thing,” he said, leaning over the pram where Rosemary was now sleeping. “I really do need a loan. I would appreciate you lending me a thousand pounds. I don’t want you to think my signing away my daughter is anything to do with this, but I am rather embarrassed financially at the moment and I’d be very glad of your help. It’s only temporary. You have my word on that.”
Edward hesitated, frowning as he tried to think of the right words to use. Megan tightened her jaw, her eyes sparkled with irritability as she said, “No, Terrence! We don’t have any money for one thing, the business needs building up. For another, I wouldn’t give or lend you money if I were the owner of thousands.”
“But—” Edward began.
“Don’t think for a moment that Edward and I will feel sorry for you, and we won’t submit to blackmail.” She glared at him angrily. “So, there’s nothing more to discuss, is there? If you’ll give us your address, we’ll send the papers on when they arrive.”
Terrence smiled. “Still the same old hard-faced bitch you always were, Megan. Really, cousin Edward, you have my sympathy. Well, perhaps I’ll be hard-faced too and forget my promise to sign away Rosalie, or move and forget to give you my address? You’ll have to wait a long time then, won’t you? Always worrying whether I’ll turn up and demand to see my child?”
He hurried off and Megan and Edward walked home in silence.
When Rosemary was in bed, Edward said, “Don’t you think that was unwise?”
“No! and I don’t want to discuss it, Edward.” Her next outburst revealed to Edward how upset she really was. She pointed out that he didn’t even remember the baby’s name. “Rosalie. He called her Rosalie! Can you believe the man! The other day he didn’t correct me when I called her Dorothy. What does he care, apart from using her as an excuse to get money from us? He won’t succeed, I won’t let him use Rosemary this way and you shouldn’t consider it either.”
Edward lay awake long into the night, wondering how real Terrence’s threat was and whether he should defy his wife and pay the man.
In the Griffiths’s cottage, Caroline lay awake too, wondering where her life was taking her – if anywhere. She and Barry had stopped meeting regularly every Wednesday afternoon in the flat above Temptations, when, for a few hours they pretended to be a courting couple sneaking a few hours away from everything else to talk, and make love and dream of that wonderful future where everything was perfect. After so many false starts they were both hesitant about trying once more to make their difficult marriage work and Barry’s suggestion when he had met her to drive her home from work that afternoon, had thrown Caroline into confusion. He had begun by telling her about the possible applicant for the job of managing Temptations when Rhiannon left to have her baby.
“Who is she?” Caroline asked. “Do I know her?”
“She’s called Jennie Francis and she used to run the small paint, wallpaper and carpet shop near the church. Fancied herself as a rival to the Westons she did, for a while. Then something happened and she suddenly closed down. From what I’ve learned from Rhiannon, she and her husband have separated and their house is being sold. So,” he went on hesitantly, “this Jennie Francis needs accommodation as well as a job.”
“There’s nothing we can do about that,” Caroline said, “but I’ll ask around, see if there’s a suitable place near enough for her to get to the shop. That is, if she’s suitable.”
“If she is, how d’you feel about her having the flat?”
“You moving out, you mean?” Her heart began to race, but not with excitement at what he was certainly going to suggest, but dismay. “Where would you go?” she said, pretending to be stupid. “We’ve sold Chestnut Road and there’s hardly room for you over your showroom-cum-studio.”
“We aren’t short of money. Isn’t it time we bought a house and began to make a home, for the three of us? Joseph-Hywel should have a brother or a sister before much longer, or he’ll be more like an uncle to the new arrival. Caroline, we’ve lived apart for so long, and we’re drifting further apart. Isn’t it time to try again, and this time with a determination to make it work?”
She lay in her lonely bed, with the sound of trees murmuring outside the windows, her small son sleeping peacefully beside her. Joseph-Hywel would be four next month. Barry was right, if they were to give him brothers and sisters they shouldn’t wait much longer. But the thought of being a wife, twenty-four hours of every day, was not a prospect that excited her as it should. She tried to work out why this was so. She had been so comfortable living with her parents that, unlike many young women, she had never dreamed of marriage as a way of escaping. She had loved Joseph, Barry’s brother, completely and she would have travelled to any part of the world if he had wanted her to. Losing him while expecting his son, and before they were married, had numbed her senses. Marrying his brother had been a necessity and nothing to do with love at all. She had tried for a while to love Barry, but now, once more facing the prospect of living with him, sharing everything, being a loving wife and all that entailed, she knew it would be wrong. She felt tears trickle onto her pillow as she confessed silently that she didn’t even want to share her son. He was hers; hers and Joseph’s and, pretend as she might, that could never change. She would never love Barry in the way he deserved.
She slept finally, having made the decision to tell Barry as soon as possible that it was over, she was staying with her parents, probably for the rest of her life.
Jennie arrived at Temptations the following morning with a couple of references, and she and Rhiannon waited in the shop for Barry to appear. They didn’t see Caroline walk up the back steps and go into the flat. But Rhiannon heard voices behind the door from the shop, and quickly realised that Caroline had called. As the voices became louder, she knew Barry and his wife were quarrelling. This was disturbing. Caroline was a quiet, gentle person and Rhiannon had never heard her raise her voice before. She wondered what had happened, and hoped that her curiosity would be satisfied. She had known Caroline and Barry a long time, knew of the problems they had encountered and wished them well, but she was human enough to want to know what had caused Caroline, the most peaceable of the Griffithses, to become angry enough to shout.
When all had gone quiet, she waited, wondering whether to knock on the door to the flat to remind Barry of Jennie’s appointment, or to wait, in the hope he would remember and come down. She went into the small kitchen beyond the shop and made tea, giving a cup of tea and some biscuits to Jennie while she waited. “Is there a cup for me, Rhiannon?” a voice called, and Barry came through the shop door, from the street, not from the flat as she had expected. His rather pugnacious face was flushed, but his voice seemed calm as he asked, “Are you Miss Francis?”
“Mrs Francis, yes,” she said, taking his proffered hand.
Barry asked few questions, his mind seemed elsewhere, but he quickly learnt of her circumstances either from Jennie herself or from what he remembered Rhiannon explaining previously. After ten minutes, he had offered Jennie the job and had also told her that if she could wait a month, the flat might also be available.
Pleased for Jennie, but saddened at the knowledge that the shop she had been so happy to manage was hers no longer, Rhiannon told Barry that she would like to work two more weeks, one on her own, as usual, and the second beside Jennie, so she could explain how everything was run. Still distracted Barry appeared only to half listen to her suggestion.
Jennie explained that she had a couple of weeks before vacating her house but an arrangement was being considered for her to live in a guesthouse after that. “A month’s time would be fine,” she told Barry. “If I could see the place fairly soon, so I can plan what I need to bring?”
“Rhiannon will deal with that,” Barry said gruffly, as he left the shop, leaving the tea Rhiannon had poured untouched. What had happened? Perhaps she and Charlie could take Gwyn for a walk with the dog on Sunday and visit the Griffithses. Nosy maybe, but there was also a reason: Caroline would need a friend and, Rhiannon, in spite of enjoying gossip, was well able to keep confidences.
Mair went to work as usual and hoped that Frank would call, but for the next two days she didn’t see him. He was there, but although he watched her as she walked to and from work, he made sure he wasn’t seen. He wanted to see whether she and Carl met. On the second evening he was watching the cottage when he saw PC Gregory emerge, wheeling his bicycle as though setting off for a nightshift. As before, Frank followed and, as before, he went into the house where Carl rented a room, and slipped in through the french windows.
Frank waited for an hour, but there was no sign of Gregory leaving. He had learnt from various sources that Carl rented a bedsit and that his mother lived in the same house, but with her own rooms. He had also learnt that the rooms visited by Mair’s father were those of a Mrs Dreese who worked for Gladys and Arfon Weston. The woman had obviously chosen ground-floor rooms, so she could entertain without anyone being any the wiser. Well just let old Gregory start getting all uppity about him and Mair and he’d remind him of this address!
He went around and knocked on the front door, then hid, as Carl opened the door and looked at the empty step and the shadowy garden.
“If that’s you, Mair, go away,” he hissed. “You and I have nothing to say to each other, don’t you understand?”
“It isn’t Mair, it’s me,” Frank said, seconds before his fist contacted with Carl’s face. He hurried home, rubbing his painful knuckles but smiling at the peaceable feeling in his heart. “Pretty boy no longer,” he gloated.
He walked through the fields and lanes knowing he wouldn’t sleep and wondering what he should do about Mair. His dream was still there, he and Mair married, and a child on the way, but would she still marry him after his unexplained disappearance? How could he tell her the reason was that he was checking up on her father? Why hadn’t he forgotten about PC Gregory until he and Mair had told everyone they were engaged? Made everything official. He would never have known about her visit to Carl and some things were better not known. Why hadn’t he thought about things properly instead of going hell bent on finding out what her father was up to? How did he get in such a mess when everything was about to be perfect? Everyone else seemed to sort their life out with ease, but for Frank Griffiths, nothing went right. Still pondering the imponderable mysteries of life, he went home.
Janet almost tripped over him the following morning as she went out to open up the goats’ and chickens’ shed. He was sprawled across the back porch, fast asleep, his hand wrapped in brown paper soaked in vinegar.
“Our Frank’s here. Been fighting again, by the look of him. Nothing ever changes,” she called back to Hywel.
Jennie and Peter met a few evenings after she had accepted the job in Temptations. Foolishly, she thought he would be pleased and she went to his parents house to tell him.
“So, you have accommodation and a job. Good. That’s what you wanted isn’t it? To be independent and needing no one? Well I hope you’ll be happy!” Peter snapped when she told him her news.
“It wasn’t what I meant by independence, and you know it!”
“You certainly didn’t need me.”
“When I needed you you were never there!”
“That’s rubbish! Mam said—”
“Don’t tell me what your mam says, I don’t want to know. You’re still a child, Peter Francis, needing your mother to wipe your nose for you!”
“What does she want?” a voice called.
“Nothing you’ve got,” Jennie muttered. Aloud, she said to Peter, “I just wanted to tell you I’m settled, that’s all, and to ask if you want any more of the china before I dispose of it.”
“No, there’s nothing I want,” Peter said. Then his mother’s voice called, “I’ll have that cottage teapot, Peter.”
“It’s broken!” Jennie lied, determined to smash it the moment she got home.
When Jennie had left without another word, Peter was aware of life running away with him. Decisions were being made without proper thought and they were being made by Jennie and his mother. No one was asking his opinion. He didn’t know whether he was pleased or not, but knew he was far from happy with the way his life was moving. Had he allowed himself to be dictated to by Mam? He’d always maintained that was nonsense, but now he began to wonder. Mam was very strong minded and looking back, she had never approved of any girl he had brought home. Jennie had been the only one who had stood up to her, and that had been flattering. But now she was gone too.
Mrs Glory Collins passed her driving test first time, and when she and Sam went out in his car, he would often stop and change places with her so she could get some practice. They explored the charming villages of the Vale and sometimes took a picnic and sat beside the river, or on a quiet beach or an isolated headland, to enjoy the tranquility of the countryside near the sea.
Sam had bought several books for the children and he helped them to identify the many varieties of wild flowers that grew in such abundance all round them. It added greatly to their outings and the children began to be quite expert at recognising the rarer species. Glory, which Sam insisted on calling her, had never imagined such happiness.
The problem with Sam’s sight had not developed beyond his needing thick lenses and he had been assured by both doctor and optician that driving was not something he need give up. He knew that one day things would change but he wanted Glory to continue to enjoy their trips with her children when he could no longer drive them.
It was on a Sunday that they saw Jack and Victoria. They had locked their car and were walking towards a public house called the Sandpiper, where lunches were being served. It was not difficult for Jack and Victoria to persuade them to have lunch with them.
“We can share your picnic later, for tea,” Jack said, leading Margaret, Elisabeth and Winston and carrying Montgomery towards the dining room.
It was after three o’clock when they left the Sandpiper and shared themselves between the two cars to find a place to sit and enjoy the dubious sunshine of the rather chilly afternoon. They found a bay where the children amused themselves searching in the rock pools for small fish and crabs and shrimps, stranded by the tide.
“No sign of a baby yet?” Victoria’s mother asked her, when the men had gone to help the children in their search for winkles to take home for tomorrow’s tea.
“No, not yet.”
“And you haven’t seen a doctor?”
Victoria turned away from her mother’s scrutiny. “You know I can’t ask a doctor about such things, Mam. I’d be so embarrassed.”
“I’ll come with you. It isn’t embarrassing. It’s the most natural thing in the world to want a child by the man you love. If you won’t do it for yourself then do it for Jack,” Glory pleaded.
Victoria shook her head. “We’ll wait a while longer, Mam. There’s plenty of time and we’re very happy as we are.”
She knew that wasn’t true. She and Jack desperately wanted a baby but she was always so tense when they made love that she wondered if they ever would. Jack was so patient, but something about the darkened room, the almost secret way they declared their love for each other made her feel guilty, ashamed of showing her love for this man she adored. It was such nonsense, a contradiction whenever she tried to analyse it and tell Jack how she felt. She had tried to explain it to him quite recently, and he had been very understanding.
“Give it time,” he had told her. “Give it time and we’ll sort it out together. It’s our problem and we’ll find a solution. In the meantime, don’t worry. Remember I love you and nothing will ever change that. Nothing at all.” Yet she knew that unless she found a way of relaxing and being less guilty about the whole thing, they would never know the joy of seeing their own child.
When Sam decided it was time to leave, Jack told him that he and Victoria would stay a while longer. Victoria looked at her husband in surprise. “Where are we going, Jack?”
“Wait and see.” He smiled and he put an arm around her shoulder as they waved the others off, Glory driving, showing off to her daughter and son-in-law as she manoeuvred Sam’s car out of its parking place and turned it neatly into the road.
Kissing her hair, her cheeks, her neck, her lips and, holding her tight, Jack led Victoria back to the dunes. Distant sounds were muted to a soothing hum. There was only the soft murmur of the receding tide, the soft breezes touching the marram grass and the occasional call of a bird.
Hidden from sight they began to make love.
Frank was feeding the goats when he heard the gate open and close. He hid when he saw Mair. She was coming to tell him she had changed her mind, for sure. Sidling around the corner of the goat shed he watched as she knocked on the kitchen door. Janet opened it and they exchanged a few unheard comments before Janet came down the path, calling for him.
“Frank, Mair is here and she wants a word.”
“Tell her to go away, I’m out,” he whispered.
Janet ignored his words and called back to Mair, “Here he is, feeding the goats and telling them how beautiful they are. Never known a man so besotted with animals as our Frank.” She was smiling in a satisfied way as he revealed himself from the side of the shed. “Stay in the garden and I’ll fetch some tea,” she said as she disappeared into the house.
“If asking me to marry you was an impulse, later regretted, don’t worry, Frank, I won’t hold you to it,” Mair said quietly. “We can still be friends though, can’t we?”
“I hoped we’d be more than that, Mair, with you having my baby an’ all,” he said, stooping and hiding his face in embarrassment.
“I wanted that too. So, what went wrong?”
“It’s that Carl Rees you really want, isn’t it?”
“Carl and I finished a long time ago, I wouldn’t two-time you with him, or anyone else,” she said. “That’s something I can promise you, Frank.”
He waited, wanting her to explain the late-night visit to Carl’s rooms. When she didn’t, he took a deep breath and said, “You visited him though, in his house. I saw you when I was – er—”
His wit gave out then and he couldn’t think of an excuse for his presence in that part of town. “When I was wandering, like,” he finished weakly.
“All right, I did go and see him. He gave me up, I didn’t finish it. I wanted to tell him that you and I loved each other and were going to get married, that’s all.”
“Do we? Love each other?”
“I love you, Frank. I’d hoped it was the same for you.”
Frank didn’t believe her explanation, it didn’t go with the tears she had shed; but better to pretend, or he’d lose her. “Can we tell Mam?” he asked, hugging her awkwardly and kissing the eyebrow that got in the way when he aimed at her lips.
“Frank, you’ll never regret marrying me,” she whispered. “We’re going to be real happy. Living with our Dad won’t be easy for you, him being a policeman and you being too fond of a bit of poaching, but he’ll soon accept you’re the man I love and want to spend the rest of my life with.”
“Can we tell our Mam now?” Frank’s eyes were glowing.
“Mrs Griffiths, we have something to tell you,” Mair said shyly, when Janet came out with a tray of tea.
“An’ will you an’ our Dad come with us when we tell her father,” Frank said, only half joking.