The town of Pendragon Island was a popular place for families to spend their holidays. The beach was a good one and there were parks and wild areas in which to spend time pleasurably. Plenty of cafés and shops around the main sandy beach meant children could be fed and spend their pocket money without difficulty.
Sophie Street was in an area about twenty minutes walk from the sands, but since World War II, it had become possible to get a glimpse of the sea. Once a long terrace, it now had spaces where bombs had demolished houses. At number eight, opposite the Lewis’s, Maggie Wilpin’s house was supported by wooden framework to save it joining its neighbours in a heap of rubble. Maggie spent a lot of time sitting on a rickety chair on her doorstep and she sat now, watching the Lewis’s door, wondering who would be first home. Aged seventy-five and unsteady on her legs, she lived vicariously through the activities of others. She smiled and waved as Rhiannon opened her front door.
Rhiannon stood on the doorstep of number seven and stared along the street in both directions. Evening was coming with a suddenness brought on by gathering rain clouds being pushed inland from the sea. The lights of the two shops on the corner spilled out across the pavement, adding garish colour to the occasional passerby. On impulse, she pulled the door closed behind her, gave Maggie Wilpin another wave and walked to the street corner. Both shops were open for business; Gertie Thomas’s grocery and Nia Martin’s sweet shop, Temptations.
Near Temptations, she paused and looked across the road, through an empty site where a bomb had demolished two houses, towards the sea.
Lights from ships glittered like fallen stars and a ship’s hooter sounded melancholy on the murky air. Rain began to fall softly and in seconds the lights on the sea vanished as if someone had turned a switch and plunged the area into darkness.
“Come inside, Rhiannon, it’s pickin’ to rain, girl. Get soaked you will, standing there like a tit in a trance.”
Rhiannon turned and smiled at Gertie Thomas, who grunted as she lifted a small sack of parsnips up the step and into the crowded shop.
“I just wanted a look at the sea,” Rhiannon said. “Although the war’s been over six years, I still get a thrill from seeing all the lights, don’t you?”
“Daydreamer you are, Rhiannon Lewis.” Gertie lowered her voice pleadingly and asked, “Come and give me a hand bringing the veg in, will you love? There’s a good, lovely girl you are.”
The pavement outside the shop window was narrowed by a line of benches on which Gertie displayed potatoes, carrots and onions in sacks and cabbages and caulis in crates. Rhiannon carried them inside and stacked them neatly in the back store room. She swept the debris, accepted Gertie’s thanks, then crossed the road to where the sweet shop was still open for business. Unable to pass without a greeting, she leaned in through the doorway. It was Barry who stood behind the counter.
“Where’s your mam?” she asked in surprise as he stepped forward expecting to serve. “I only wanted to say good-night,” she explained, flustered by his unexpected appearance. “She was here when I walked past not fifteen minutes since.”
“It’s Friday,” Barry said. “She usually leaves early on Fridays and takes work home. I’ll tell her you called.” He frowned as if wondering why Rhiannon, who only lived three doors away would bother to call in and say good-night to his mother.
Rhiannon felt she needed to explain.
“I walked to the corner to look at the sea and got caught by Gertie, who persuaded me to help,” she whispered.
“Oh.” Comprehension seemed further and further away. “Did you want some sweets?” he asked.
“No, I’m in the middle of getting supper for us all.”
“Cooking it out there in the street?” He laughed then and offered her a Lovells toffee out of one of the dozens of jars displayed around the shop.
“I often step out and look at the street as evening comes,” she said. “I like to look at the sea and hear the ships. Daft, I know.”
“I enjoy the beach late at night. I don’t paddle in the tide though,” he smiled, remembering their walk. “The seashore is relaxing and a perfect place to think out a solution to a problem.”
“Sounds lovely,” she said. She stood, not knowing what else to say. They hadn’t met since the afternoon of her birthday when they had walked to the beach together. Barry was wearing a half smile as if he too looked for something to add but couldn’t come up with anything worth saying.
“Best I go,” Rhiannon said, “or my baked potatoes will be dried up like leather boots!”
“I might as well close. There isn’t much doing.”
“It’s hardly four o’clock, your mam’ll kill you if you shut before half-five,” she said in mock horror.
Barry stepped out and watched as she ran back past the two terraced houses and waved as she looked back before entering the third.
Rushing to the oven to check on the potatoes, Rhiannon felt a wave of excitement flood over her. She had known Barry Martin all her life yet that afternoon over a week ago was the first time she had really spoken to him. The experience was worth repeating she thought, as she began to grate the dried end of their cheese ration to add to the potatoes.
She glanced at the clock. Only an hour before her mother and her father were due. Eleri was in her room getting ready to go to work. Viv closed Weston’s Wallpaper and Paint at five-thirty and would arrive soon after six. She wasn’t sure what time to expect Lewis-boy as he was attending a sales conference that day. She carefully cut an oval at the top of each baked potato, turned out the contents and mixed it with cheese before refilling the skins. Placed back in a low oven, they could be eaten as and when required with the salad she had prepared.
A knock at the door surprised her and for a second her thoughts flew to Barry Martin. Could he be thinking of her and calling to ask her out again? She threw off her apron and straightened her skirt just in case, and opened the door.
It was Barry, and she felt a blush suffusing her cheeks that had nothing to do with the hot oven she had been attending. But he didn’t look very pleased.
“I want to speak to Lewis! Caught him properly this time. Ran out like a scalded cat he did but I recognised him, no mistake. He won’t wriggle out of it this time. His wife’s going to be told just what sort of a cheat and liar he is, carrying on with other women, telling his poor wife he’s working—”
“Wait a minute!” Anger flared in Rhiannon’s dark eyes. “Wrong you are! He’s at a sales conference and I can prove it!” She picked up the telephone and asked to be put through to the hall where Lewis-boy was supposed to be, her fingers crossed as she prayed silently that she would be right and that her brother was innocent, this time at least. When Lewis-boy came on the line, she smiled sweetly and handed the instrument to a coolly confident Barry.
Barry listened for a while and then handed it back in disgust. “I’m not talking about your twerp of a brother. I went home and caught your father in bed with my mam!”
Rhiannon was trembling as she sat waiting for her father to come home. She was only eighteen and to find herself in the position of facing her father with something so unbelievably embarrassing as adultery was making her squirm. Barry sat opposite her, one foot resting on the other knee in such a relaxed manner that what he had told her was becoming less and less believable. Barry looked around the room, at the fire burning sluggishly, at the gas light humming and occasionally popping, at the pictures around the walls, waiting silent and tight-lipped, making her embarrassment more painful.
How could she even think of Barry inviting her out after this? And how could she face her father and her mother knowing this terrible secret? She imagined the gossip and the half-smiling glances as people gleefully passed on the juicy item. It would be so distressing for them all. She did have a fleeting thought that perhaps some good might come of it; it might make Lewis-boy behave.
“I wish I could run away from this,” she whispered after ten minutes had passed in silence.
“Sorry I am that you’re involved in your father’s sordid behaviour.” Barry’s voice was harsh but she saw his jaw relax as he added, “Don’t be upset. It’s your father who should feel bad not you. You can go out of the room when your father comes in. You needn’t hear anything of what’s said.”
“Thank you.”
She rose from her chair and went to check unnecessarily on her cheese boats. She lit the gas under the kettle and stood waiting for it to boil, unable to return to her chair and continue to face Barry Martin in silence. She stood looking out at the patch of garden revealed by the kitchen light and was startled when he came and stood behind her.
“I can understand how embarrassing this is for you,” he said, touching her shoulder comfortingly. “To have to face something like this involving parents whom we like to think are perfect. But I have to face your father, tell him I mean to keep him away from Mam. I tried to talk to her before I came here but she locked herself in her bedroom and refused to talk to me. Don’t you see, I have to end it before it gets any worse?”
“Do you?” She turned to face him and saw the hurt and anger showing in the tightness of the powerful jaw and the frown creasing his wide brow. Her brown eyes looked black in the artificial light. “Can’t you go home and forget it?” she pleaded. “Surely Dad won’t see your mother again? Not now he’s been found out?”
“Mam says it isn’t my business,” Barry said hesitantly.
“I suppose she’s right. It isn’t anything to do with us what our parents do.” She smiled nervously. “Couldn’t we say nothing and see what happens? There’s bound to be gossip once you face him with it. The less we say the better if we don’t want people to snigger and spread exaggerated stories about them.” His eyes began to soften and the skin around them crinkled in the most fascinating way and she began to hope that the situation would at least be allowed to cool, when the door opened and her father’s cheerful greeting startled them both.
“Hello? Anyone home then?”
“Mr Lewis. Cheat and coward! Leaving my mother to face it alone!” Barry’s voice was a low growl.
“Rhiannon, go upstairs, love. I’ll call you when Barry leaves.”
“Too late to hide it from her, or anyone else, Mr Lewis.” The voice was still soft but the blow to her father’s face from Barry wasn’t.
Rhiannon had an almost irrepressible urge to giggle as the expression of casual confidence left her father’s face, was replaced by one of utter disbelief and followed again by one of pain.
She stood there, her hands covering the lower part of her face and her eyes twinkling as if she had just listened to a risqué story. Barry calmly returned to his seat, rested one foot on the other knee and patiently waited.
“My nose, is it bleeding?” Lewis asked, his voice lacking clarity.
“I don’t think so, Dad.” Warily Rhiannon approached her father, one eye watching to see if Barry was going to repeat his attack. “It looks a bit funny though.”
“Can’t we meet later and discuss this, Barry?” Lewis said, gingerly touching his face and checking for damage. “This isn’t the place.”
“I’m waiting here until your wife comes home. I want her to know what sort of man she’s married to.”
“That won’t solve anything, boy. Your mam knew what she was doing. You’re talking as if I seduced a young girl. Willing she was, and for your information she’ll be willing again! You can’t tell her what to do. Damned impertinent of you to think you can.”
His confidence was returning; he seemed to have forgotten his daughter was still in the room and he turned angrily and added, “I thought I told you to go upstairs! Listening to things that don’t concern you – go on, get out!”
“She might as well stay!” Dora Lewis had come in as their attention was on Rhiannon and she glared at her husband with her blue eyes flashing, then stepped up and slapped his face, hard.
This time Lewis’s face wrinkled up like an ancient apple as he prepared himself for the blow, but he didn’t yell. He had expected it the moment he saw his wife watching him. “Dora, love, I can explain—”
“All some misunderstanding, is it then?” She stepped forward to hit him again but this time he ducked. “Come, on, Barry, tell me the full story before I ask you to help me kick him out through the door.”
Rhiannon escaped into the kitchen then. Shock and excitement made giggling and tears fight an equal battle. Words flew to and fro, Barry’s voice low and calm, her father’s and mother’s rising and falling as excuses were offered and discarded. Viv, Lewis-boy and Eleri came home and were pushed unceremoniously through the living room into the kitchen, where Rhiannon explained in hushed tones the events of the last hour.
Eleri said the least. Always a quiet, gentle girl, she sat watching her husband, a curious expression on her round, rosy face. More than once Rhiannon wondered what she was thinking. Then she asked one question and Rhiannon knew her thoughts as if she had spoken them aloud. “Barry’s sure is he? That it was your father and not – anyone else?”
“It was our Dad all right,” Rhiannon said firmly. “I confess, Eleri, I thought at first he meant Lewis-boy – no reason mind,” she added quickly. “It was only because I thought our dad too old for carrying on like that. I phoned Lewis-boy at the conference and Barry spoke to him. No, it was our dad all right. Poor Mam, eh?”
“So that was what that mysterious phone call was all about!” Lewis-boy laughed. “Had me puzzling all the way home that did.”
The voices in the next room had gone quiet and Rhiannon slowly opened the door and looked in. Her parents were sitting glaring at each other, her mother’s face tight with pain and fury, her father’s already swelling and becoming discoloured from Barry’s punch. They were alone. Barry Martin had gone.
“Wait in the kitchen!” Dora’s high-pitched voice snapped. “Your father is going up to pack a suitcase now this minute. Going to see if his fancy woman will give him back his bed for the night.”
“Dora, I’m not going anywhere—” Verbal battles recommenced and Rhiannon swiftly shut the kitchen door. It was an hour later that she offered the cheese boats and salad, but no one was interested.
With disbelief in his eyes, made stupid and slow by the speed with which events had overtaken him, Lewis saw his wife hand him a packed suitcase through a haze of confusion.
“Dora, you can’t mean for me to go. You can’t!”
“Don’t bother coming back, I’ll have the locks changed first thing tomorrow and,” she added shrilly as Lewis glanced at Rhiannon, who was once more peering around the door, “— don’t try and persuade Rhiannon to argue your case, mind. I won’t listen. Get out! And I hope your tart will be as pleased for you to come as I am for you to go!”
Nia Martin wouldn’t even open the door to him. “It’s best you go and let things calm down,” she told him and dejectedly, still glancing around half expecting to see Dora coming to tell him she’d forgiven him, Lewis wandered along the main road to a shabby boarding house called, rather grandly, The Firs, where he booked in for one night. Sure to get it all sorted tomorrow he thought, with futile optimism.
It was Rhiannon who took the worst of the neighbours’ tongues. She wanted to avoid going to the corner shop for the few hours she helped Gertie Thomas but decided that it was better to get it over with, let people have their say, make their jokes, then allow the situation to cool.
Even while expressing sympathy for the girl, Gertie was not averse to spreading gossip and Rhiannon felt her cheeks redden as Gertie took some of her closest friends upstairs to her flat to ply them with tea and the latest details to emerge. Rhiannon suspected that what Gertie couldn’t find out she invented.
The days following the revelations about Lewis and Nia Martin were difficult ones for all the Lewis family. As Rhiannon had guessed, within hours, the neighbourhood was discussing it. Each member of the family had told someone in confidence, those people had passed it on to one person – in confidence – and within hours it was being passed practically from door to door. The gossip was more eagerly spread as the Lewises were considered to be a bit uppity, better off than most, being able to afford for Rhiannon not to work, apart from the few hours she helped Gertie Thomas in the corner shop. There was unanimous glee in reporting their trouble.
Dora wondered if her husband would lose his job. Respectability was very important in a job like his. She tried to tell herself she didn’t care. He deserved everything that happened to him. “I hope the bed he rents is full of fleas!” she said aloud to a surprised Viv one morning. “And if he loses his precious job it’ll serve him right!”
Viv looked at his mother and frowned. “Hang on, mam. There’s a chance that the gossip about Dad might filter through to the Westons and if it does I might lose my job. Gladys and Arfon Weston and their miserable sons-in-law are very holier-than-thou in their attitude to such things.”
“Jack Weston’s your friend, he wouldn’t let them.”
“He mightn’t have a choice. The precious Westons try to protect ‘the Weston girls’ from anything remotely sordid. Damn me, if old man Arfon knew half of what they get up to he’d have a fit!”
Gladys and Arfon Weston’s granddaughters, the twins of Sally and Ryan, were always referred to as ‘the Weston girls’ even though their name was actually Fowler. With wealthy grandparents who adored them, Joan and Megan Fowler happily encouraged it.
The Westons were relatively wealthy in that they owned a large house with a view over the sea and could afford a cleaner and a young girl whom they called their servant. Victoria Jones was only fourteen and was expected to help in the kitchen, removing her apron whenever she left it. She also had to answer knocks at the door, at which times it was her duty to tell Mrs Weston who was calling and return to either invite the caller in or announce that Mrs Weston was not “At Home”. Not at home did not mean Mrs Weston was out, Gladys had patiently explained to Victoria but that she was not at home to visitors. Neighbours and those attempting to be friends were amused at Victoria’s nervous – “Mrs Weston says for me to tell you she isn’t in, I mean at home.”
Mr Arfon Weston had made most of his money during and immediately after the war, dealing in property. Gradually selling it as restrictions on building were relaxed, he was in a position to make a lot more. Arfon was not inhibited about his increase in wealth but proudly flaunted his ability to provide his family with the luxuries of life.
Arfon and Gladys had twin daughters, Sian and Sally, now in their forties. Both were married and the brothers-in-law ran Weston’s Wallpaper and Paint shop in the high street. Sian and her husband Islwyn had a son, Jack – who also used the name Weston, which his parents had added as a Christian name to support Gladys Weston’s determination to found a dynasty.
For Sally and Ryan, history had repeated itself and they had twin daughters, Megan and Joan, now twenty and both ridiculously spoilt by their proud grandmother, Gladys.
On the Monday morning following the revelations about Lewis Lewis and Nia Martin, Viv Lewis was called to the private office of Weston’s and told to wait outside the door. Soon afterwards, sixty-six-year-old Arfon Weston arrived.
Nervously, Viv entered when called, and stood in front of the huge desk behind which sat Arfon Weston with his two sons-in-law, Ryan Fowler, father of the Weston girls, Joan and Megan, and Islwyn Heath, father of Viv’s friend Jack. The three men wore such similar expressions of disapproval they could have been carved from stone, Viv thought. He shrank as he waited for one of them to speak.
“We have heard some unpleasant gossip regarding the Lewis family, Mr Lewis,” Arfon began.
“Yes, my father has embarrassed all of us,” Viv muttered.
“Not only you, but the firm of Weston’s. I’m afraid I can’t allow the name of Weston’s to be besmirched.”
“What’s it to do with Weston’s?” Viv dared to ask.
“You work for us, you serve our valued customers. We have to decide whether we wish you to continue.”
Viv knew a speech was coming. Arfon stood, leaning back, fist on waist and addressing the furthest wall. He didn’t dare to interrupt or attempt to reply. He didn’t even look towards the somewhat ridiculously pompous faces lined up in front of him, but instead, studied the view from the window. Gardens and sheds, many with galvanised baths hanging ready for Friday night’s bath time. A cat lay contentedly on a roof enjoying the autumn sun. When Islwyn finally spoke to him, Viv moved his eyes slowly as if it was not really anything to do with him.
“We will overlook it this time,” Islwyn said, “but if there’s any more trouble of this sort and rumours continue we’re afraid you will be asked to leave.” Viv looked at Islwyn with a half smile on his face. Islwyn and Sian’s son Jack had been his friend since they were young, even when different schools had threatened to separate them. Funny to think that they had climbed trees and fought rival gangs together; now he had to sit in front of Jack’s father and pretend to be some inferior being. “How is Jack?” he asked.
“He is well. Now, do you understand what we’ve been saying?”
“So long as my dad behaves I’ve got a job, right?” Humour glowed in Viv’s eyes. The situation was no longer fearful. Their remarks were so nonsensical he had difficulty in holding back laughter.
Arfon Weston left the shop and drove home, where Gladys stood poised to send for coffee and biscuits, it being eleven o’clock and the correct time for it. She clapped her hands for Victoria, who came running and was told off for her haste.
When the tray had been brought and approved, and Victoria had returned to the kitchen, Gladys asked if he had sacked Viv Lewis.
“No I didn’t. I wanted to, but you persuaded me otherwise. But I think I might have been wrong to keep him on.”
“Nonsense, dear. He knows the business and it takes so long before a newcomer is of any use.”
“But there’s something impertinent about the boy. He seemed to find it amusing to be threatened with losing his position with one of the biggest businesses in the town. And as for grateful for being given a second chance, he seemed almost – well, instead of showing humility he positively smirked, Gladys.”
Gladys tutted. “Still, he is good at his job and it was his father’s behaviour, not his, after all.”
Arfon went on, “Perhaps the whole family is tainted? A father sets the standards, and Lewis Lewis allowing his wife to go out to work – now there’s no war to make it necessary, is a bad sign. Running an insurance round and taking the job from a man returned from fighting for his country, too. It isn’t right. He isn’t setting a good example for his children to follow.”
“No, dear.” Gladys hid a smile. You could tell Arfon was on the council by the way he spoke. Even a conversation with his wife sounded like a speech.
“If Dora had been home looking after him instead of allowing Rhiannon to run things it might have never happened,” Arfon went on.
“Forget it now, and listen to my idea.” Gladys smiled. “What about us taking the whole family on holiday?”
“All of us?”
“All of us. Our girls, their husbands and the grandchildren. We could rent a house for a couple of weeks and relax and enjoy some sun.”
“Sun? It’s the end of October!”
“I was thinking of France, dear. We could travel abroad and stay in France. After all, with their education, the grandchildren can speak the language and who knows, we might pick up a few phrases ourselves. That will impress people, won’t it?”
“Is that why you advised me not to sack young Viv Lewis? So he can run things while we’re away?”
“What a crafty little wife you’ve got, Arfon Weston,” she chuckled.
That evening, after totting up the takings and locking his desk securely at Weston’s Wallpaper and Paint, Viv Lewis went home to share his amusement with Rhiannon.
“What do they expect me to do with our Dad, keep him on a chain like a disobedient dog?” he laughed. “Nineteen I am and not so desperate that I need to hang on to their piddling little job for fear of never getting another. I’m tempted to leave anyway. I’m good at what I do and with five years’ experience I won’t have difficulty getting another job.”
“Have you seen Dad?” Rhiannon asked.
“Not yet. I thought I’d go and see him tonight. You coming?”
“I don’t know whether I should, Mam might be upset.”
“Tell her we’re going to the pictures then. He’s staying at The Firs boarding house isn’t he? It’s not far.”
“What if Nia Martin is with him?”
“She was serving in the shop when I passed. There’s a laugh, her calling her sweet shop ‘Temptations’, eh?”
“Viv!”
After the family had eaten, and Lewis-boy had escorted Eleri to work, Rhiannon announced that she and Viv were going to the pictures. Dora Lewis didn’t raise her head from the round-book she was filling in but said casually, “If you’re going to see your father you don’t have to lie about it.”
“Well we did think we might,” Rhiannon admitted. “Just to see if he’s all right.”
“That woman will probably be there, you know that, don’t you?”
“She won’t. Will she?”
“Why not? Got him all to herself now she has. I kicked him out, remember?”
“Well, perhaps we will go to the pictures then,” Viv said. “I wouldn’t know what to say if Nia Martin was there.”
“Yes, Mam. We’ll go to the pictures.”
“Best for you, too,” Dora replied dryly. “You don’t want to take sides in this.”
Brother and sister walked along the main road towards the cinema, passing the turning that led to The Firs boarding house with nothing more than a hesitant glance towards its tall facade.
“It sounds as if Mam’s expecting them to get back together anyway,” Rhiannon said, voicing the end of a silent consideration. “Telling us not to take sides suggests that, doesn’t it?”
“Or putting it another way, least said easiest mended. Yes, you could be right.”
“But I would like to see him,” Rhiannon said, slowing her steps.
“The main film doesn’t start for twenty minutes…” They turned and went back to the corner and in moments were at the front door of the shabby building with the grandiose name.
Lewis Lewis showed no remorse at the situation he was in. His smile was wide as he welcomed them. “Come in. What a lovely surprise. Off out somewhere are you? I’m going to the pictures later, why don’t you come with me?”
“We were intending—”
“Oh, forget the dreary plans you’ve made and come and have a laugh with your old dad, eh?”
Viv grinned at his sister as they agreed. “Fancy a cup of tea?” Lewis asked and on the nod, he called across the landing to another boarder, “Got any milk to spare, Miss, er, thing-o-me?”
A young woman came over with a glass of milk and Lewis thanked her with a blown kiss.
“Stop it! Behave, or you’ll get me the sack, our Dad,” Viv chuckled, then described the morning’s interview with the Weston family. “Don’t worry, son. Even if you went in drunk, Gladys Weston won’t let them sack you at present.”
“What d’you mean?”
“Well, their servant, Victoria, is related to Miss thing-o-me across the landing and her across the landing said Gladys Weston wants them to go to France for a holiday and you’re the only one who could take charge.”
“When did you hear this?” Viv asked.
“Not five minutes ago, when I went over to borrow some tea.”
“Don’t know why we bother with newspapers round here!” Rhiannon giggled.
When they came out of the cinema into heavy rain, they began to run for a bus, but Lewis pulled his son and daughter into a shop doorway.
“D’you want your mam and me to get together again?” he asked.
“Of course we do,” Viv said solemnly.
“You will, won’t you, Dad?” Rhiannon asked.
“If you want to help, tell your mam I’m as miserable as hell and demented with remorse. If either of you tell her I saw a film and laughed all through it, I’m dead. Right?”
They rehearsed their story on the way home but had difficulty hiding their laughter as they told Dora how unhappy their father was living in a squalid bedsit without anywhere to store even a drop of milk. For effect, they added that he was constantly hungry, as the landlady had taken his ration book, which didn’t start until the following week.
That Dora believed, but the tale of her husband’s misery she very much doubted.
Lewis tried phoning, calling and writing to Dora and Nia in an attempt to extricate himself for the discomfort of The Firs, but both women were determined not to take pity on him. Dora, because she was dreadfully hurt and Nia, because she didn’t want to end up looking after a man whom she had only ever wanted for brief moments of passion.
During the weeks Lewis was absent from home, Barry Martin continued to serve at the sweet shop. Many refused to go into his mother’s shop, convinced that someone who ‘carried on’ was unclean. Others went in solely to let Barry know that they had heard the gossip, and yet others blatantly to ask questions.
Nia found the prospect of returning to the shop more and more difficult. One morning, when Barry was impatient and demanded to be freed to return to his own work, she said she would never go back but would sell the business.
“Mam, the worst is over. There’s limit to what people can think of to say and most of it’s been said. To me! Give it a few days and they’ll let it rest. Your regulars will soon be tired of walking all the way up to the main road. You’ve been through the worst. Stick it out for just one week and you’ll see an end to it. There’ll soon be something else to make their tongues clack.”
“I’m not opening this morning and I don’t know if I’ll ever open again.” Nia was adamant. “I’ll open today but I can’t take more than one more day off. You’ll have to face it or find someone to run it for you.”
“All right. You can get someone else to run the place. I can’t.”
Barry took a deep breath and said, “What about Rhiannon Lewis? If her mother agrees.”
“Rhiannon Lewis? Don’t be ridiculous!”
“She’s bright, and I think she’d be reliable and hardworking. Looking after her family like a staid aunt, it’s no life for a girl of eighteen. Why not ask her? She might be glad of the chance to work outside the home now. The rest of the Lewises are old enough not to need waiting on.”
“No, Barry. I don’t want any further connections to the Lewises.”
“What connections? You and Lewis Lewis used to see each other. That’s hardly a connection. It’s over now, isn’t it?”
“I don’t want Rhiannon or any of the Lewises working for me.”
It took all of Barry’s persuasive powers but eventually Nia agreed – mainly to shut him up – that he could ask Rhiannon. She had no doubt what the answer would be so why bother arguing with Barry when the result was a certain refusal?
It was on Saturday evening that Rhiannon opened the door to her father. He came in dragging his suitcase and his briefcase overflowing with advertisements and price lists of the frozen foods he sold, and carrying a battered ration book in his hand. Rhiannon looked at her mother, hoping for compassion and saw tight-lipped fury. Dora opened the front door, pushed his belongings out and heaved him after them, deaf to his protests.
There was another knock, almost immediately, and this time Dora stood watching as Rhiannon nervously approached it. “Your father won’t get past the step this time,” Dora muttered, her eyes glistening dangerously.
When Rhiannon opened it and saw Barry there, she panicked. Surely he wasn’t going to vent further icy fury?
“Don’t you dare say there’s more trouble between my father and your mother!” she shouted before Barry said a word. “He hasn’t been near your mother so don’t you dare say he has!”
“I came to ask if you’d consider running the shop for Mam,” Barry said, when the outburst finally ceased. “Mam isn’t well and I don’t want to close the shop.”
“But – I don’t know anything about running a sweet shop!” She still spoke as if she were telling him off. “And how can I with this lot going on?”
At that moment, Viv squeezed past her, muttering that he’d be back about ten, and would she save some supper. Viv was closely followed by Lewis-boy and Eleri, who had the evening off, and who were going to visit friends. Barry moved to one side to let them pass but didn’t give her the opportunity to close the door.
“Time you started to think about your own future, isn’t it? I just thought that you’d like a chance to learn a nice clean business and earn some money for yourself.”
She plumped herself up for a retort but before she could reply Dora called from the kitchen, “Rhiannon; I can’t face these dishes, I’m going out for a bike ride. Put a light under the soup about ten, will you?” She went out the back way; a draught threatened to slam the front door, held by Barry.
“Who do you think you are, Barry Martin, telling me what I should do?”
“Thinking about that spoilt lot in there it’s time someone did!”
“It is, is it? Well, all right then. I will!”
As she closed the door on a surprised Barry, she wondered how she would ever persuade Mam to allow her to work for her father’s fancy woman!