The town bristled with outrage at the revelations about the Westons through late spring and early summer of 1952.
It was even more difficult for Viv and Megan to meet, with the families so estranged, but in spite of Joan clinging to her, and Jack watching her every move, Megan managed to escape one day and wait outside the ironmongery store at five, when Viv finished for the day. He was so pleased to see her, and in daytime too, breaking their rule, that he thought she must have spoken to her parents about them.
“Megan! Does this mean you’ve told your parents about us?” he said. “I can’t believe it!”
“That’s just as well because I haven’t! After what you’ve done? Grandfather is worried half to death and Uncle Islwyn is having some sort of breakdown and all because of you Viv Lewis! Any hopes you’ve had of being more than just a man who worked for my father are well and truly gone.” She slapped his face so hard he staggered, and walked off.
A few days later when he saw the two of them walking towards him, laden as usual with shopping bags, Viv had no reason to think either Megan and Joan would speak to him. But some devil in him made him try. After all, he did have a sort of excuse. He stopped and asked, “Got a minute for a friend?”
“You’re a fine one to offer friendship,” Joan retorted. “Thanks to you we’ve lost all ours.”
“Typical,” Viv retorted. “Your grandfather commits a crime and you’re trying to blame me for the effects! I told on him, yes, but who was it who lit that fire? Then pretended it was accidental and took the money, eh? Your sainted grandfather. Who had his hand in the till, stealing from the family firm, eh? Your uncle that’s who! So who’s to blame for all your friends leaving you? Arfon Weston, and Islwyn Heath! Not Viv Lewis, right?”
The twins were wearing short white dresses with white shoes and billowing cloaks of multicoloured fabric. A band of the same fabric held back their hair. The skirts of the dresses were flared and showed a lot of leg. Although they received a fair number of disapproving looks for their unusual apparel, Viv thought Megan looked beautiful.
“What did you want?” Joan asked.
“The Griffiths are having a party, they asked me to tell you they wouldn’t mind if you came.”
“A party in that filthy shack? We aren’t that desperate for friends, Viv Lewis!” Joan began to walk away.
“What sort of party is it?” Megan asked, holding her sister back.
“Just a party. They never need an excuse.”
“Can you imagine what a place like that would do to our clothes?” Joan protested. “How can you think of asking us?”
“I didn’t. I wouldn’t dream of it! Basil did.”
“It might be fun,” Megan said slowly, staring at Viv in a very disconcerting way.
“Please yourself,” he said, staring back.
“But what could we wear?”
“Wear khaki!” Viv snapped. He was walking away when they called after him, agreeing to be there after all.
He didn’t tell them Victoria would be there. “They might enjoy a bit of ‘slumming’, something to laugh about with their friends,” he chuckled to Rhiannon, “but going to the same party as their grandmother’s former servant? Never!”
“Why are they coming?”
“Why do they do anything? To be outrageous and shock their family. Why else?”
Rhiannon tried repeatedly to persuade her mother to go and see her father. She called at The Firs on occasion and tried the same plea in reverse. But both parents were adamant. Each insisted that the other should make the first move. Both insisted they were happier without the other, but Rhiannon disbelieved them. They were both grieving and coping badly with it alone.
“Mam, you sit here on Sundays while we’re all out with the cycling club and I know you hate the empty house. Just go and see dad, there’s plenty to talk about, even if it does only concern the divorce!”
“He’s the one in the wrong. He would come here if there was anything to say.”
“You threw him out. The next move has to be yours.”
“Then your father’ll wait a very long time!”
Dora snapped. “Now let’s hear no more of it!”
Surprisingly, Dora had recovered remarkably well. She had no symptoms, at present, of the ‘nerves’ she sometimes suffered. She was full of energy, cycling around the town collecting the weekly payments, dealing with her paperwork and still able to help with the running of the house. Somehow the troubles the family had endured had given her strength rather than taken it away.
Although she tried to hide it, Dora hated Sundays. Her accounts were always finished on Saturday evenings. She worked late in an attempt to tire herself in the hope of sleep, but this left Sundays a void to be filled with trivia.
One blustery day, when the house felt to her like a prison, she put on her smartest coat and shoes, and went to see Lewis. She walked, taking as an excuse for her visit a small parcel of clothes he had left in the house. She planned to discuss other things to strengthen her reason for calling.
She chanted these reasons all the way and was still mentally checking them as she knocked on his door.
The door of number eight opened and an elderly woman came out and asked what she wanted.
“I’m looking for Mr Lewis.”
“You won’t find him here on Sundays, love. Goes up to London every Friday he does. Says he’s looking for some woman friend, but between you an’ me I reckon he’s found her. Carrying on he is, and going all the way to London to do it. Now there’s a thing!”
Stiff-lipped, Dora thanked the woman and throwing the parcel against his door, she hurried home. Still looking for Nia was he? Or perhaps, as the old woman had surmised, he had found her and they were spending every weekend together while she had only the radio for company. Life was so unfair! What had she done to deserve this? A child dead, another taken from her before she had even been told whether she had a son or daughter. The family grown up and practically off her hands and now, when she and Lewis should be enjoying the freedom of being a couple once more, he was still after that Nia Martin like a tomcat on the prowl.
So much for Rhiannon’s idea that they still had something to say to each other.
When Rhiannon, Eleri and Viv returned from their outing, they knew something had happened, as Dora was furiously angry. It was directed mainly at Rhiannon, but they didn’t learn the reason why.
“Something to do with Dad or Nia,” Viv whispered. “It’s got to be.”
Rhiannon prepared the shop for what she hoped would be the final months of sweet rationing and continued to build the sales of china and other gifts.
Barry called often and his first words on every visit and phone call were to ask if she had heard from his mother, but as weeks passed, Nia’s whereabouts remained a secret.
At the end of July, Caroline went into labour. Barry took her to the hospital and walked up and down in the way of so many expectant fathers, until her baby son had safely arrived. When Hywel and Janet came with Basil, Frank and Ernie, he left, inexplicably saddened by a sense of isolation and of not belonging. All he had supplied was his surname. It was several days before he asked the baby’s name and wasn’t surprised to learn that he was to be Joseph Hywel.
On hearing the news, Dora thought sadly that although her husband was the child’s grandfather, Joseph Hywel Martin would never call her gran.
With so much gossip flowing about the scandals affecting the Westons – one of the most important families in the town – little notice was taken of the birth of the little boy. Those who were aware of it remembered that other scandal which had driven away Barry’s mother. Some asked Barry if she were pleased, unaware that Nia didn’t even know she had a daughter-in-law and certainly not that she had become a grandmother.
A few counted the weeks since the wedding, but most didn’t bother.
A month after leaving hospital with Joseph Hywel Martin, Caroline went home to the Griffiths’ shabby cottage.A month after that she applied for divorce with Barry’s full approval. Barry missed her company but was philosophical about it. He had done what he’d promised and given Joseph’s son his rightful name.
In the Weston household, in an attempt to dispel the gloom of the investigation and the prospects of their affairs being broadcast to the whole town in court, Gladys had ordered a television set. Theirs wouldn’t be the first; several of their friends had already bought one in readiness for the first transmission to South Wales. Gladys hoped that at least a few of their friends might call if they advertised their ownership of the new status symbol. It would be something of a victory if she could persuade a few of them to join her family for an ‘At Home’.
Adopting an air of false gaiety was Gladys Weston’s way of dealing with the double tragedy. Her personal bank account was gradually emptied as she treated ‘her girls’ to theatre visits, short foreign holidays and as many clothes as they could cram into their wardrobes. Rationing seemed a perfect excuse to eat out and observers would have been excused for believing the family were celebrating and not trying to cope with serious criminal charges.
With so many of their friends now ignoring them, Joan and Megan began to see more of Viv. Neither side apologised, and Viv didn’t try to be polite or sympathetic, or ingratiating, as so many did. They found that refreshing. His confidence grew and even Joan stopped being quite so rude.
They openly spent more and more time with him, partly because they enjoyed his company, but mainly because their family told them they shouldn’t. Besides the cycling club outings, he was called upon to escort them to the pictures and to an occasional dance. But he insisted on taking Rhiannon with him and, when work allowed, Eleri and Basil came too. Jack Weston frequently joined them, on duty as the girls’ protector.
It was strange to be accepted by the Weston girls after all that had happened and Viv knew it was their forcefulness and not the wish of their family that it was so.
At the Griffiths’ house the Radio Times was read with greater than usual excitement. On the cover was a television screen with a map showing the new Wenvoe transmitter. The caption was: ‘Television Comes To South Wales.’
“Look at this!” Hywel gasped. “Two whole pages of television programmes!” As usual, Janet and Hywel had envisaged a party to celebrate.
Inviting the Weston girls had been Janet’s idea, egged on by Basil. Besides the family, Barry was invited to experience the new phenomenon, and Viv promised to bring Rhiannon. News spread and several of Frank and Ernie’s friends were invited.
Many more came without waiting to be asked and on the night itself the small room was so tightly packed Janet wondered if they would be able to uncurl themselves when the programmes ended.
Megan and Joan came dressed as if for a visit to Ascot, and Jack Weston followed them in. Viv managed to find a seat for Megan beside him and Joan pushed Basil onto the floor and took a place beside Frank, who plied Jack with home brewed beer throughout the evening.
After a concert to celebrate the new service, they watched the news with great fascination and declared it almost as good as the films. They listened to Eric Robinson’s Serenade and part of the Weekend Magazine. Then, when they couldn’t sit still any longer, opening the windows and pulling back the drawn curtains, they allowed the party to develop.
At midnight, as Caroline went up to attend to Joseph, who was yelling with what Janet said proudly was a very healthy set of lungs, the guests trooped off. The men arranged to return to watch cricket the following afternoon when England played against India in the fourth test.
That it had been a success they had no doubt. “I don’t think life will ever be the same again,” Janet said sleepily, as she went upstairs.
Viv, Basil and Eleri, who had been collected after her shift at the cinema, agreed to walk the Weston girls home. Jack was so deeply asleep on the couch they decided to leave him until the morning.
Several of the men stayed a while, gathering around Hywel to play cards and share the last flagon. Shrugging herself into her jacket, Rhiannon heard Barry call to Caroline when she came down to deposit a soiled napkin in the bucket.
“Are you all right, Caroline? Is there anything you need?” he asked.
“Nothing, Mam and Dad look after us well.” She touched his arm affectionately. “Barry, you’ve done so much, giving Joseph Hywel a name. I’ll never forget what you’ve done for us, never.”
Rhiannon saw the affection in Caroline’s eyes and the smile that softened Barry’s lips and felt painful jealousy. Would they change their minds and stay married? Or was there a possibility that one day Barry might give her a second chance? Barry watched as Caroline went back up to her son, a strangely gentle expression on his face and she decided not. If it wasn’t love they shared, it was a respect and an admiration almost as strong.
She sang with the others as they walked back through the fields, Viv peeling off to take Joan and Megan on the long walk home, and Basil loping along beside Rhiannon, Eleri and Barry. When Barry turned off for Chestnut Road he didn’t even glance in her direction.
The Westons waited patiently for their TV set to be delivered, but it wasn’t until Sunday that they sat and prepared to be amazed. Only the family were present. In spite of all entreaties, the friends who had gradually drifted away since the police had made a farce of their upstanding reputation could not be coaxed back, even with the promise of an evening of television and some of Gladys’s cake.
The Radio Times cover showed the band of the Highland Light Infantry marching along Princes Street Edinburgh, advertising the Edinburgh Festival.
“It all looks very exciting,” Gladys said, reading out descriptions of the programmes.
“I’d rather listen to Harry Secombe, and P.C. 49, on the radio,” Arfon smiled, “but, if it pleases you ladies.”
With friends no longer accepting her invitations, Gladys had made sure all the family were present, but as the time approached to switch on the flickering screen, Megan and Joan stood up and announced they were going out.
“But we bought this set for you, dears. Just think, you’ll be some of the first in the town to see it,” Grandmother Weston coaxed.
“We’ve already seen it, at the Griffithses’,” Joan told them. “They had a party and we saw the opening night with them;”
“You’ve already seen television? With the Griffithses?”
“Morriston Orpheus choir, Bryn Mawr dancers and band of the Royal Rifle Corps. Lovely it was. They planned a party so as many as possible could see it and Viv got us an invitation.”
“Really, girls, you could have waited and shared it with us. And why d’you have to mix with such peculiar people?”
Ignoring this, Joan said, “By the sound of things it’s going to be more popular for sport than anything else. Cricket, football, racing, can you imagine anything more boring?” Leaving the rest of the family with their mouths open, they went out.
As Jack rose to follow them, he was told to do everything he could to discourage the girls from associating with ‘the rougher element’. “We’d be more successful at that if you tried to encourage it, Grandmother,” he sighed. “And,” he added as a parting shot, “this nurse-maiding has to stop. I’m a teacher and following my two girl cousins around might earn me a certain reputation!”
“It’s only until your grandfather and your father are cleared of these trumped-up charges,” Gladys said.
“That long!” he moaned. He didn’t wait for her response.
With Christmas once more approaching, Rhiannon was busy. Most families had saved their sweet ration and small boxes of chocolates were added to the usual displays. She still heard from Nia on occasions, only postcards that never included an address. She always put them on one side to show Barry, who examined them minutely as if the photograph and the few words held a hidden message.
“When will she come home?” he said one morning towards the middle of December. “It’s been so long.”
“There’ll be lots of news for her when she does,” Rhiannon smiled. “Baby Joseph will thrill her and make her wish she hadn’t stayed away so long.”
“I wish we could tell her.”
“And you being married. That wasn’t even a vague plan when she went away, was it?”
“I thought of marriage, Rhiannon, but only to you. If you hadn’t turned me down our lives would be very different.”
“But I did,” she said softly, “and we have to accept that your life is with Caroline and Joseph’s baby.”
“You haven’t heard?” He stared at her for a moment then said, “Caroline and I will be getting a divorce. It was what we planned all along. I’ll be a free man again.”
“D’you know, until all this happened, I didn’t know anyone who’s been divorced and now my own parents are going through it, and you.”
“It’s different with me. Caroline married me for my name.”
“But you’re fond of her, aren’t you?”
“She’s a sweet, gentle girl, and yes, I’m very fond of her. But there’s no love between us.”
“Affection though?”
“Rhiannon, it isn’t enough. Come out with me, we’ll take a picnic and drive to a beach somewhere.”
“No,” she said sadly. “It might not be a real marriage but it’s enough to keep us apart.”
Her need to fill the house and disguise the absences made Dora invite Barry for Christmas dinner.
“So long as that mother of his stays away I can cope with Barry. Poor dab, having a mother like that.” But Barry refused to come. An invitation to the Griffithses’ he also declined. He felt he had to be at home in case his mother returned. He didn’t want to risk her coming back to an empty house. He planned a couple of days cleaning and sorting out his studio. The run up to Christmas was a busy time for him and he would enjoy the quiet, he’d explained.
On Christmas afternoon, Basil arrived at seven Sophie Street pushing a wheelbarrow laden with the newly-finished chest of drawers for Eleri. The wheelbarrow was too small for him and Basil walked with his knees bent in an effort to keep it straight.
“Gawd ’elp, look at him, he looks like a pair of scissors pushing a cotton reel!” Dora chuckled.
After helping Eleri to place it in her room, he took her for a walk. Viv went to meet Megan at the corner of her road, in the hope that she would escape from Joan. Rhiannon went for a walk alone and Dora sat thinking of other Christmases spent with Lewis and feeling angry and sad in equal proportions.
It wasn’t Rhiannon’s intention to call at Chestnut Road, but her feet seemed to find their way there of their own volition. The streets were silent. Fairy lights twinkled cheerfully in many windows and revealed rooms crowded with people having a happy time.
Unable to resist staring in as she passed, the atmosphere conveyed itself to Rhiannon and she was smiling as she reached Nia’s house.
As she passed the end of the drive she smelled smoke and hesitated. Perhaps the house was unattended? She ran up the drive and almost bumped into Barry, who was burning papers on a small bonfire.
“What are you doing? I thought the house was on fire!”
“I thought I’d summoned you up out of the flames!” he laughed. “Want a cup of tea? I’ve some photographs I’d like you to see.”
It seemed churlish to refuse. Involving herself with a man who was married, even if in name only, was not wise even if she had walked to the vicinity of his house in the undeniable hope they would meet! “All right, but I can’t stay long, I have to get back for tea. Mam’s on her own.”
“How is she coping? This time of the year is a sad one, memories close in, don’t they?” he said, remembering his own loss.
“Mam is surprisingly strong. She’s doing most of the cooking and enjoying it I think. Filling the place with food seems to help her pretend that everything is back to normal.” She moved towards the open door.
“I’ll make that tea while you finish seeing to that fire.”
Leaving Barry making the bonfire safe she walked into the kitchen and was at once confronted with his inadequacy in caring for himself. Why did men so rapidly abandon the importance of hygiene, she wondered. On a plate were the remains of a meal. The burnt crusts were a testament to a disastrous meal of beans on toast. She scooped the mess into the overflowing bin and started to wash up. By the time Barry came in, the surfaces were clean and a kettle simmered on the stove. Teacups, freshly washed, were set on a tray.
“I don’t suppose you have any biscuits?” she asked. “Or a piece of cake?”
“Why, are you hungry?”
“No, but I suspect you are after a Christmas dinner of baked beans!”
“It didn’t seem worth the effort. I usually eat in cafés and I forgot they would all be closed for a few days.”
“Why didn’t you accept our Mam’s invitation?”
“You know why. I can’t bear being near you without a hope of anything more.”
“Don’t Barry. Please don’t.” Rhiannon found a bag of biscuits but they had softened in the air and so ended up in the bin. Searching the cupboards, she found the makings of some drop-scones and as she baked they talked.
“Still no news of your mother?”
“I had a Christmas card.”
“So did I. London postmark but no address. I wonder when she’ll come home?”
Five minutes later, she did.
“Rhiannon, how nice to see you here with Barry,” Nia said, as she walked through the door laden with suitcases and bags. “Pay the taxi, will you Barry love?”
Too startled to say anything more than a stammering “Yes,” Barry went out, leaving Rhiannon stupefied and Nia asking for a cup of tea.
“How is it between you two?” she asked, when Barry had returned and stowed away her luggage.
“Between us? There’s nothing. He – he – I—”
Nia looked at Barry for explanation. “What’s going on?”
“You’d better sit down, Mam.”
Between them, Barry and Rhiannon explained fully the sequence of events. Nia was silent, then she said slowly. “What a mess. We’ve really caused a lot of damage, haven’t we, your father and me. And we really believed we were hurting no one. The sad thing is,” she added, glancing reproachfully at Barry, “until people found out about us, that was true.”
“Caroline and I have applied for a divorce, so perhaps one day it will unravel itself and we can all get back to the lives we were meant to lead.”
“What a mess,” Nia repeated. “Where’s Lewis, back with Dora?”
“Between trips to London searching for you, he’s living in a small room at The Firs,” Rhiannon told her.
“He didn’t go back to Dora? I thought they would after the loss of their son.”
“Mam wouldn’t have him. She thought about it I think, but unfortunately, she found out he was looking for you. She refuses even to talk to him. She’s filed for divorce too.”
“Poor Lewis. I’ve really let him down.”
“And what about you, Mam? What have you been doing? You’ve been away for months without a word.”
“Oh,” Nia said wearily, “yet another complication. I’ve remarried.”
News of Nia’s return was greeted with resentment by Dora. “She can swan off and have a glorious time, leaving us with the mess she made. Now she’s back with a husband in tow, and there’s us still coping with her disasters.”
Rhiannon and Viv decided to let their father know straight away, but Dora was there first.
This time a knock on his door was opened and, straightening his tie and preparing a smile, he stared at her. Before he could say more than, “Dora,” she told him that Nia was back and with a new husband.
That it was a shock, Dora was in no doubt. In fact, she saw his face crumple and almost felt sorry for him. But not quite. Anger was more satisfying than sympathy.
“So all your searching has been a waste of time and money, hasn’t it? Going off to London and looking for her and all the time she was carrying on with someone else! And not some bit-on-the-side either. Not some secret and sordid affair! Someone important enough to marry!” She couldn’t stop hurting him once she began; her anger and humiliation gathering momentum until she was breathless.
Leaving him standing in his doorway in the shabby house that smelled of damp and yesterday’s cabbage, she cycled home, her eyes red with unshed tears. Revenge is a double-sided weapon, she thought, it hurts the one who hands it out as much as it does the target.
Although adamant about never speaking to him again, Dora often passed the end of the road where The Firs stood. Only a glance, as she freewheeled down the hill when her round was finished, but enough to realise that his car was there more often than it should be. Was he ill? Or was he taking some holidays? She couldn’t ask anyone but passed almost every day to see if he was in or out. Mostly he was in.
Rhiannon went to see her father and was startled to see him in a less than clean shirt and in need of a shave. She had never seen him looking less than spotless before and it worried her. She persuaded Viv to go and see what was wrong, but said nothing to her mother.
Viv called on his way home from work at the warehouse, which closed at five o’clock. The car wasn’t there and he almost didn’t knock, presuming his father was still at work. But then he decided that as he was there he might as well try. Lewis was in. The car had gone. His shabby appearance, his depressed mood and the frequently cancelled appointments had cost him his job.
Viv and Rhiannon pleaded with Dora but she refused to have him back in the house.
“If it had been his choice to return I might have considered it,” she said in a fiery blaze of anger. “But it isn’t his choice. I’m only the last hope. Good old Dora, she won’t let me down. No. No. No!”
With sweets rationing due to end, the confectioners were building up their team of representatives ready for the anticipated increase in sales. It was with one of these firms, Bottomley Confectionery, that Lewis found work as a rep. He prided himself that he could sell anything and the sweets manufacturer gave him the opportunity to prove it. He had some money saved, having spent little in the weeks since leaving Dora, and he decided to leave The Firs and get himself a flat.
This accomplished, he met Nia when she was shopping and offered her a key. He dropped it into her pocket as she shook her head firmly.
“Lewis, I can’t. I’m married now and I told my husband everything. He has accepted me and in return I promised him he can trust me. I want to give it a chance. Laurence is a good man and I owe it to him.”
“You what! You owe him, a man you’ve just met? What about my Dora? I put my marriage on the line for you! Yes, and lost it!”
“Do you think I’ve forgotten that? Your life is a mess, Dora’s life is a shambles, Barry and Rhiannon’s happiness has been destroyed. All because of our selfish love for each other. We’ve done enough, Lewis, enough. I can’t face more disasters because of my love for you. Let me at least have this chance.”
“We should have made a fresh start years ago.”
“It’s easy to say that now. I wanted to once, remember? But there were the boys and Rhiannon.” She stared at him hard and added, “And, you couldn’t let go of Dora, could you?”
“That isn’t true.”
“Goodbye, Lewis.” She turned away and he watched her walk to where an elderly man stood holding open the door of a gleaming new car.
“Fell on your feet though, didn’t you!” he yelled.
It was only seconds before he realised she hadn’t returned the key he had placed in her pocket. Hope surged and he ran back to where his battered jalopy waited for him, with something like his old enthusiasm.
Eleri spent a lot of time out walking with Basil Griffiths. He wasn’t keen on being indoors and their dates usually meant a walk through the fields or along some sand-dune-edged beach where they could be alone. He never tried to do more than kiss her and with him she felt safe. It was reaching the stage when she couldn’t think of life without him and she wondered if she loved him.
When Basil was not available, she often walked on her own, following the paths he had shown her, using her freshly-trained eyes to spot the shy wren, the bobbing wagtails, guessing where they nested and making a mental list to tell him when she saw him next.
She was at the furthest end of town from Sophie Street late one afternoon when rain began and she hurried into the town to get a bus home. The street leading from the fields was where Arfon Weston lived and it was here that she bumped into Megan Fowler-Weston.
“Come in and shelter. It’s going to thunder any moment and I’m scared,” Megan pleaded.
“I don’t think your grandparents would like it,” Eleri said. But Megan grabbed her arm and pulled her through the front door as the first flash of lightning made them squeal.
“There’s no one in. They’ve all gone to see the solicitor for one of his pep-talks. Come on, we’ll go into the kitchen. It’s below ground and I feel safer there.”
Once the storm had moved away and Megan had found the makings of tea, she talked about Viv.
“Hot-tempered like his mother,” Eleri said with a chuckle, when Megan explained about his rudeness to her grandfather. “Never one to be subservient, our Viv.” She frowned. “Not like Lewis-boy, who desperately needed to be liked, even if it meant being soft.”
“I don’t remember him as soft. Kind though, and devoted to you.”
“How can you say that? Out with Viv, and you and your sister… A nice little foursome. How can you say he was devoted to me? He was just like his father. A flirt, a womaniser. Anything for a bit of fun.”
“Lewis-boy wasn’t like that.” Megan looked at her in surprise, not knowing about Molly Bondo.
“What was he doing out with you and Joan, then?”
“Earning a fiver. For you.” She laughed at Eleri’s startled expression. “Joan and I offered him five pounds to come with us to collect the clothes Grandmother had bought for us without our parents knowing. He said he’d buy Viv a pint and give the rest to you to get something for the new flat.”
At last, Eleri could cry.