Lewis was restless. He was constantly watched by Dora and unable to spend an evening out of the house except when he went to The Railwayman’s with Viv and Lewis-boy, who didn’t really want him with them. When the weather allowed he spent the weekends working on the garden. He dug over the vegetable patch, trimmed the borders and cut back some overgrown shrubs, again watched by Dora who argued with everything he did, having made her own gardening plans for the following year. One late Saturday afternoon, Viv and Eleri were laughing at the pair of them tugging at a spade, each demanding possession of it.
“This is more like it, eh?” Viv chuckled. “I didn’t think I’d miss their arguments, but I have.”
Lewis stormed in and grabbed his coat and hat and they heard the car drive off. Dora came trotting into the kitchen, red-faced, demanding to know where he’d gone. Her answer came an hour later when Lewis returned and told them he had bought a radiogram set. “To keep you from under my feet!” he explained.
It was such a time of change that, each evening after supper the Lewis family sat around the table for longer than usual discussing their day. Viv was enjoying the position of manager of Weston’s even though he still found it difficult to fill his time constructively.
“I repaired a broken latch on the store room today,” he told them near the end of his second week.
“You shouldn’t let the staff see you doing things like that, son,” Lewis said. “You have a position to uphold.”
“I did it when we were closed for lunch,” Viv smiled.
Rhiannon announced that she was now on her own at Temptations, rearranging displays, ordering stock, deciding what they would sell. “And my first decision is to buy a few pieces of china to add to my displays,” she told them proudly. “Barry agrees,” she added, forestalling any doubts.
“China in a sweet shop?” Eleri queried.
“It’s for when rationing finally ends, see,” Rhiannon explained. “One of the reps showed me some illustrations of gifts they intend to offer. Cups and saucers, teapots and jugs, Easter eggs in season, all filled with good quality chocolates and sweets. Lovely they are.”
“I don’t think sweets will ever come off ration,” Viv said gloomily. “Taking a girl out and offering her half of a five boys bar isn’t the same as a box of chocolates somehow!”
Lewis described the smaller and smaller villages where he was placing freezers as the new frozen foods became more popular. Dora added to the general chatter by explaining about the insurances she had signed up or paid out, and the cases she had lost. But Lewis-boy added little to these conversations.
Eleri still worked as an usherette in the picture house and was content to listen and be amused at the events filling the lives of other members of the family. Lewis-boy didn’t want to discuss work, even though he was employed by the same firm as his father. He had admitted to Eleri that he was under threat of the sack if he didn’t bring in more business. Eleri had confided this to Lewis, in the hope that he might help his eldest son.
“I don’t want to talk about it, Dad,” Lewis-boy said, when Lewis tried to give him some tips on fattening his order book.
“Listen to your dad, Lewis-boy,” Eleri pleaded. “You’re putting in the hours so you must be doing something wrong if you aren’t filling your order book.”
“You don’t understand! So stay with your little torch showing people to their seats and leave my job to me. Right!”
Eleri was shocked almost to tears. Anger flared on every face at the dinner table.
It was Dora who stood up and told Lewis-boy to leave the room. Something seemed to snap inside her and she began shouting at them all, accusing them of not caring about the Lewises being a family any more, demanding that they listen to her and show their love for each other. The ranting became more and more confused and when Lewis led her up to bed, they all knew that unless they were very careful, Dora would soon spiral into one of the bouts of depression that had so tainted their childhood.
Lewis came back down but said nothing about Dora’s outburst, attacking Lewis-boy instead. “I don’t know what’s got into the boy,” he said irritably.
“He’s tired, trying every way he knows to hang onto his job,” Eleri snuffled into her handkerchief. “Worried he is, he doesn’t mean to be rude.”
Viv said nothing. He knew that, like father like son, many of the hours when Lewis-boy was supposed to be working he was wasting time chatting with some of the prettier assistants, sometimes even taking them out to tea on their afternoons off.
Lewis-boy had always enjoyed the company of women, specially if they were open in their admiration of him. Even a simple knock-about game of tennis went better for him if there were women watching him play. Viv had long ago realised that Lewis-boy needed an admiring audience like a horse needed hay.
Although so very like their father in appearance Viv knew his brother didn’t have that special something which made women give their father admiring glances.
If only he would stop trying to be a copy of Lewis and allow his own personality to develop, he would probably be more successful, Viv thought. It wasn’t something he could say without offending so he watched, listened but continued to say nothing.
He did pause to wonder if Lewis-boy felt somehow that he would only measure up by, like his father, finding another woman. But no. Not with a wife as gentle and loving as Eleri. He wasn’t that much of a fool. He frowned as he remembered that Lewis-boy did go out every evening, long before it was time to go and meet Eleri from work. Sometimes he was at the pub, but not always. Was there more to his flirting than words and the innocent afternoon teas? He hoped not. Mam would kill him! And Eleri didn’t deserve it. He was staring at Eleri when he was jerked out of his reverie.
“There’s some post for you, Viv. From France,” Rhiannon said, jumping up to fetch it. There were two cards, and two letters, all from the Westons. A picture postcard from Jack was in French, but the saucy picture needed no translation. He hid that one quickly from his mother. One of the twins, Joan, had sent a polite card, the other, Megan, had written a long letter which Viv put aside to read later. The fourth item was from Arfon. The card was filled with tiny writing, which Viv read out. It was a thinly-veiled warning of the problems he would face if all was not well on their return. In tone it was a reminder of how much they – the Westons, were trusting him – a mere employee, and depending on him to keep everything safe and secure for their return.
“Pompous old ass! He even manages to make a speech when he sends a holiday postcard!” Viv laughed after reading it out in a good imitation of Arfon’s voice.
“What’s the letter, Viv?” Rhiannon asked.
“Isn’t that from France too?”
“Oh, nothing. Just – er just a few notes on things I mustn’t forget.”
“Like the colour of Megan’s eyes?” Lewis-boy whispered, glad that the spotlight was on his brother for a change.
“Don’t talk daft,” Viv laughed. “Old man Arfon wouldn’t let me get close enough to find out.”
Rhiannon looked at her brother, then shared a smile with Eleri. It seems that Viv was smitten, but if he had fallen for one of the Weston family, he was going to be unlucky in love, she was certain of that.
The following morning, when Rhiannon went to take her mother a cup of tea, knowing from previous experience Dora would wake with a bad headache, her mother’s bed was empty. An hour later Dora returned, having gone on a cycle ride to clear her head. All signs of the evening’s outburst had gone. Her mother was more cheerful than she had been for weeks. Rhiannon was worried, knowing it was almost certainly another symptom of her mother’s impending bout of depression.
Rhiannon was still shy when Barry Martin was in the shop. Although her confidence in the job had grown, she still felt very much a student when he watched her. Fumbling fingers and a telltale blush added to her confusion and she was afraid she would make a mistake in giving change and really embarrass herself. The reason for Barry’s occasional visits to Temptations was the flat above. Once the home of the Martin family, it was now only a series of store rooms where he kept his supplies and boxes of photographs. Several times a week, sometimes more than once in a day, he would walk through the shop, greet her briefly then go up the bare wooden stairs to retrieve something or add to the pile of work he was building.
On the penultimate day of Viv’s managership of Weston’s, less than two weeks since she had begun, Barry came in to find the shop unattended. Rhiannon scuttled down the stairs from the kitchen above with a tray of tea, he quickly halted her apology.
“I don’t come here to check up on you, Rhiannon. Please don’t think Mam doesn’t trust you,” he said. “I’m not making excuses to come and make sure you’re looking after the place properly. Mam’s pleased with you. It’s just that I haven’t got my premises sorted yet.”
“It’s an old garage, isn’t it?” Rhiannon said. “Will it be big enough for a studio and dark room and whatever?”
“I don’t need a lot of room for a studio, and the dark room can be even smaller. As for the ‘whatever’, that’ll have to wait!” He smiled.
“I thought you’d need room for displaying your work,” she said.
“I hope to, one day. Until then I have to advertise and hope my reputation builds by word of mouth.”
“I see.”
“It’s already growing. I’ve got four weddings booked for next month, a firm’s annual dinner and two Christmas parties wanting a photo grapher. But—”
“But it isn’t what you want. What would you really like to do?”
“Oh,nothing special. Weddings and Christmas parties will do for now.” He moved away hurriedly as if he regretting talking to her so freely. Rhiannon was hurt by his sudden departure. Did he consider her interest prying?
“Oh yes,” Viv said when she told him later, “Like me with them Westons. You can be thrown crumbs of kindness but you have to know your place, mind!”
The letter from Megan had puzzled him. It was more than a few crumbs of kindness. Megan had written as if she were a close friend. She said she had missed seeing him and was constantly wishing he was there, in France, making her holiday more enjoyable and memorable. He had admired her but there had never been a word or gesture to suggest she had even noticed, let alone shared his interest. It was all very odd.
“She wants something, boy,” was Joseph’s contribution to the enigma. “Bet you half a crown she wants something.” The pragmatic Viv sadly agreed.
The final day of his temporary managership did not go well. First of all there were the paint tins. The labels had fallen off in the dampness of the outer storeroom and although they were marked with a touch of the paint inside, two customers returned tins of the wrong colour.
The shop was busy with people deciding to re-decorate before the Christmas season and it was Viv who went to the storeroom and opened every tin and marked them with the appropriate colour. It was tedious work and when it was finished, he decided to go out for an early lunch and get himself cleaned up. At twelve forty-five, Arfon walked into the shop and asked where he was.
He looked at the ledgers and nodded approval of their neatness then glared angrily at the painstaking notes Viv had filled in against his minor errors. When Viv returned, long before the shop was due to reopen, Arfon was sitting at the desk with a face like thunder.
“Where have you been?” Arfon demanded. You weren’t here to lock up the shop. Gallivanting in time paid for by me, were you?”
Viv was normally a quiet young man who backed away from even the slightest confrontation, but he was bruised and aching from heaving paint tins around in a confined space, there was paint on his overalls which he would have to pay to replace, as well as on his best shoes. And he hadn’t had anything to eat. Without a word he walked towards the paint store and gestured for Arfon Weston to follow him.
“That’s where I spent most of the morning. Cleaning up those cheap and nasty tins your son-in-law bought. I’ve moved every one of them at least three times, as well as opening each one, checking the contents and marking them. Seventeen are rusted through and leaking. I’m stiff and tired and hungry and my gallivanting as you call it was to go home and get myself cleaned up so I wouldn’t frighten away your customers, sir.”
“We shouldn’t have bought that paint, should we?” Arfon said, backing down. He didn’t know how to deal with Viv in this mood.
“It’s been more trouble than it’s worth, sir.”
“Who bought it?”
“Ryan.”
“Mr Fowler,” Arfon corrected automatically, but the correction wasn’t echoed by Viv. “I’ll have a word with him.”
“Best if it’s all taken to the rubbish dump if you ask me.”
“Apart from that there were mistakes made. The cut wallpaper, for example.” If Arfon expected Viv to apologise he was wrong.
“It was sold the following day. I only wrote it in the book so you wouldn’t think I was keeping anything from you.”
“Er-well done, Viv. Well done.” Arfon patted Viv’s shoulder and, smiling affably, went out.
“I’ll get the sack for sure,” Viv muttered to himself. “When he thinks about what I said to him he’ll say I’m impertinent and tell me to go.” But Ryan Fowler and Islwyn Heath returned to work on the following Monday with nothing more to Viv than a nod.
Lewis still slept on the couch. He had tried without success to convince Dora she needed him near in case she had one of her panic attacks when woken by a nightmare, but she refused. He made a joke of it to the family and dared them to mention it outside the home. Rhiannon had long been the first to rise each morning but these days, she came down to find her father up and dressed, the fire lit and the kettle simmering ready for a first cup of tea.
On the Monday after the Westons’ return from France, Lewis greeted his daughter then announced that he was going for a walk.
“This early, Dad? It’s only just six o’clock and so dark it might as well be the wartime blackout.”
“Tell the true, love, I’m damned stiff after sleeping on that couch. Six feet tall I am and that couch is five feet two. How can she do this to me, eh?”
“She’ll come round. Talk the birds from the trees you can.”
“I’ve tried every trick I know apart from faking a heart attack, but she just glares, and you know how your mother can glare!
He put on his heavy coat and, slipping a torch into his pocket, went out of the house. But he didn’t walk far. He went to where he had parked the car and drove up to Nia’s house on Chestnut Road. He wasn’t very optimistic about seeing her, but if he could attract her attention before Barry and Joseph were awake, she might come down and talk to him, even if it was only to tell him to be quiet! As he approached her house he mentally counted the number of times he had tried to see her. Twenty? Thirty? Wherever he went, however he pleaded, apart from those stolen minutes in the shop, Nia wouldn’t talk to him. It couldn’t be over. Lewis would not believe that. Not after all these years. Unconsciously, he began to pout. It wasn’t fair. She couldn’t treat him like this.
Like some cartoon lothario, he picked up a handful of pebbles and threw them at her window, which was partly open. All he achieved after six attempts, was a brief glimpse of her dressing-gowned figure as she closed the window with a bang and drew the curtains tightly shut. With disappointment tinged with anger, he drove back home for breakfast.
A boy was standing in the gutter where he usually parked the car. A paperboy. He was rearranging his papers having dropped them dodging a lively dog. Irritation growing, Lewis drove the car until it almost touched the boy then tooted his horn loudly. Getting out of the car, he proceeded to tell the boy off for blocking the road.
“Miserable old fool! Silly old sod! You could have killed me!” the boy shouted.
“Wandering about on the road, you ought to know better. I’ll tell your mother when I see her. I know who you are, Gwyn Bevan! Wandering on the road then swearing at me. Disgraceful!”
“Tell her what you like!” the boy shrieked. “I’ll get our Dad on to you!”
“When he gets out of prison, boy. He’s a crook and you’re crackers!” Immediately ashamed of the words, Lewis took out a coin and flipped it at the boy, but Glyn watched it roll into the gutter and walked away.
Rhiannon put a breakfast of tomatoes on toast in front of her father and he ate while still wondering how he could talk to Nia. If only he could meet her somewhere outside the house, a place where she couldn’t shut the door on him. He had once met her out shopping but she had simply walked into a hairdressing salon and behind the steamed windows settled down for a long session.
“I saw Joseph Martin today, Dad,” Rhiannon said, and at once she had her father’s full attention.
“Oh? How is he then?”
“He’s fine. He said they have a pre-Christmas sale on and there are lots of bargains in summer weight suits and sports jackets.”
“Perhaps I’ll pop in. I could do with a new jacket. The sleeves of mine are getting frayed.”
Filled with optimism Lewis stopped off later that day at the gentlemen’s outfitters and looked along the racks of reduced price clothes. Surely luck was leaning his way at last. He’d talk to Joseph and find out what Nia did each day. Working as a rep made it easy to be any place he wanted to be. He would soon catch up with his sales target. In fact he would work better once he and Nia had repaired this stupid rift.
He realised that extra staff had been employed for the week of the sale, as unknown faces came smilingly forward asking if they could assist. He was vague about his requirements, waiting for Joseph to appear. After a few minutes and a few suspicious glances from the manager, he asked if Joseph Martin was working that day.
“Mr Joseph has gone to the warehouse,” he was told. “He won’t be back until after lunch.” Dispirited, convinced that the world was against him, he walked out.
If he had glanced in as he passed the wool shop, he would have seen Joseph leaning on the counter talking to Caroline Griffiths. Using the excuse of buying a few extra buttons for the woman who did alterations and repairs in the basement of the shop, he had called in and offered to buy her lunch. Joseph returned to the shop as Lewis was stepping back into his car.
It was Rhiannon who finally guided him to the right place at the right time. That evening she chattered away about the day at Temptations and Lewis was only half listening.
“I offered to help Barry clean up his new studio now the plastering and carpentry is finished,” she said. “Barry thanked me but said there was no need as his mam had promised to help on Sunday afternoon. He won’t be there, he has a booking to take photographs at a family party where five generations will be celebrating a Christening. But she’s happy to get on with it, so he should have the place in use in a fortnight’s time. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“Wonderful,” he said, and to her surprise, he kissed her.
The possibility of seeing Nia alone filled him with excitement. When it cooled, his thoughts jumped to the problem of getting away from Dora on a Sunday afternoon without rousing her suspicions. Ever since she had allowed him back into number seven Sophie Street she had watched him so closely he felt like a mesmerised rabbit. Sunday afternoon, with all the family floating about, was not going to be easy.
He ate the Sunday lunch. A small slice of lamb and a pile of roast potatoes cooked in very little fat. Vegetables piled up on each plate, which swam in Bisto gravy, filled them all satisfactorily and he felt happier than he had for weeks as he prepared to go out and find Nia. But he did have qualms of conscience as he heard Dora singing along to the radio as she and Rhiannon washed the dishes. As well as feeling a bit of a swine, eating the food and planning to deceive her yet again, there was a churning fear in the pit of his stomach. The meals the landlady had supplied at The Firs were pretty terrible and he didn’t want to risk going back there. It was such a miserable place. His choice of such sad surroundings had worked, though. Once Dora had seen him there she had rescued him straight away, as he had known she would.
“I think I’ll go out and get some cigarettes,” he said, when Dora was sitting down looking through the News Of The World.
“On a Sunday afternoon? Where d’you think you’ll get cigarettes at a time like this?”
“I’ll try the back door of The Railwayman’s. Or Wilf Brickley might have some. He’ll be down the allotment.”
Dora stared at him, her bright blue eyes piercing. This was it. Now or never. If she offered to come with him he was sunk. He took a deep breath, crossed his fingers and asked casually, “Come down for a walk, it isn’t a bad afternoon.” He tweaked the curtain and looked out on a dreary day, with low clouds dark with the threat of rain.
“No thanks. But I don’t want you to go. I don’t think for one minute you’re so desperate for a cigarette you’d walk through the mud of the allotments in smart shoes to borrow one off Wilf Brickley! What are you really planning, Lewis? Meeting her again, are you?”
“Dora, love. If you’re going to watch me every moment of the day we’re going to end up screaming at each other. Think straight, love. I’m out of your sight for eight hours a day all the week, so why should I choose a Sunday afternoon to go off the rails, eh? Does it make sense, love? If I wanted to make you suspicious I’d choose a Sunday afternoon! I’ve got all the week when you can’t be watching me, so why start getting upset when all I want is a bit of a chat with Wilf Brickley?”
He stood up and pulled her up into his arms. Looking down into her eyes he watched the sharpness leave her face. Her gaze softened and her mouth lost its tightness. “Dora, why don’t you come with me? We used to go for long Sunday walks once upon a time, remember?”
“You’re right, I’m being silly. I can’t watch you while we’re both at work so why should I worry about an hour or so on a Sunday? It’s just that—”
“I know. I treated you badly and I’m so ashamed. Look, I’ll just go and spend an hour with Wilf and try the back door of the pub for some cigs, then I’ll be back.” He lowered his head and allowed his lips to brush hers. “Come with me and we can dally around the hedgerows like we used to, taking the long way home.”
“Oh, go on,” she said, trying to push him away, but she was pleased and Lewis knew he would soon be relieved from sleeping on that torturous damned couch. Her usual strident tone was softened as she said, “Don’t buy any Turkish cigarettes mind. I won’t let you smoke them in here.”
“What about in the bedroom?” he said, sliding his hands over her shoulders and down her back, feeling her body soften against his own. “You can inhale the intoxicating scent and perform the dance of the seven veils.”
She was still smiling as he ran to the car and headed with speed towards the old garage Barry had bought to begin his photography business.
The garage already looked different. The exterior had been given a fresh rendering of cement and was painted white with a pattern of ribboned scrolls around the entrance. Inside all was quiet. New wooden floors threatened to announce his arrival and he wanted Nia to be surprised into listening to his prepared speech. Slipping off his shoes he crept on stockinged feet to what he presumed would be the studio, and opened the door.
Nia was on her knees washing the paintwork free of sawdust. As his shadow fell across her she turned her head and smiled. “Oh, it’s you. I thought you’d come.”
“Nia? How could you have known?”
“Barry told Rhiannon I’d be here alone.”
“You wanted me to come then?”
“No. I almost cancelled my plans once I guessed you knew I’d be here. But then I thought it was just as well. I have to talk to you, Lewis. I have to tell you goodbye.”
He took out a handkerchief and began to dry her hands. Then pulling her up he held her and kissed her.
“Not goodbye, Nia, my darling girl. I couldn’t bear it. Anything but that. Please.”
“It’s over. We can’t risk—” but the rest of her protest was lost, forgotten like the coldness of winter when the sun returns.
Joseph Martin was walking down to the Westonses’ to find Jack. He was looking forward to hearing Jack’s version of the family holiday in France and was smiling in expectation of a lively account. Jack had a quick wit that was often cruel. If he will talk about his stuffy father and mother and his spoilt twin cousins there won’t be any complaints from me, Joseph grinned.
Jack’s house was deserted. To his disappointment, Gladys and Arfon Weston’s large house was also empty. Not even a servant to open the door. Kicking a stone along the gutter he wondered whether to head back home or go and find Mam. Barry had told him she might need a hand moving things so she could give the floor a final wash. The garage – which they must all now call The Studio – was not far. Still kicking the inoffensive stone, Joseph went to see if his mother was there.
The door opened at a touch and as he was wearing daps, the local name for plimsoles, his footfall was silent as he walked toward the studio. He felt the hair on his scalp tighten as he heard voices. Slowly opening the door, a fist ready to attack any intruder, he choked on a cry as the sight of his mother and Lewis came shockingly into view.
His brain reeled with distress; among his first thoughts was the reminder of how he had criticized Barry for his reaction in telling the Lewis family. He now suddenly understood the revulsion Barry had felt. Having witnessed the scene, he too wanted to hit out, shout his anguish to the world and he certainly had no fine thoughts about sparing the feelings of others.
He backed away and as he was leaving the building, he saw Barry’s van approaching. He flagged him down, jumped in and told him to drive away. When Joseph was able to talk about what he had seen, Barry stopped the van and said, “What do we do now? Personally, I want to hit him.”
“I think we should say nothing. For Rhiannon’s sake as much as ours.”
“Let’s tell Mam we know and see if that brings her to her senses.”
“All right. But say nothing to Lewis’s family. It didn’t do much good before, did it? Just caused them a lot of grief.”
“I wouldn’t like Rhiannon to leave the shop and if she found out they were back together again, I think she would.”
“Let’s be extra nice to her, so she won’t feel on her own if it all comes to light,” Joseph said. “She seems a nice kid and if we’re to keep the shop running and keep an income for Mam, we need her.”
Neither Barry nor Joseph mentioned the incident to Nia. They waited for the appropriate moment, which never came, and each silently felt relief at not having to discuss the embarrassing affair with their mother.
Viv returned to his usual position in the hierarchy of Weston’s Wallpaper and Paint. The two sons-in-law of Arfon Weston said little besides sarcastically asking him to decipher a few of his entries in the ledgers. Nothing was mentioned about the ancient tins of paint that were collected and disposed of, and when he asked for a replacement for the ruined overall and damaged shoes they discussed it in front of him and told him the fault was his for being so careless. On the Friday afternoon, Viv handed in his notice.
On Friday evening, there was a knock at the door as Viv and Lewis-boy were dressing to go to The Railwayman’s before meeting Eleri from work. Rhiannon opened the door and looked startled when she recognised Joan and Megan.
“We want a word with Viv, please,” Joan’s high-pitched, haughty voice demanded.
“Oh, yes, well, I’ll just see if he’s—” But the Weston girls weren’t used to standing on ceremony and they pushed past Rhiannon.
Joan demanded of Viv, “What’s this nonsense about you leaving Weston’s?”
“No nonsense. I’m leaving next Friday and thankful I’ll be to be out of there.”
“I’ve spoken to Daddy and he will buy you a new pair of shoes and replace your overall with two new ones. Will that be sufficient? Or are you looking for more?”
“The overall and the ruined shoes were only part of it. Your father and his brother-in law treated me like someone found guilty of some terrible crime. I did a good job while you were away and they haven’t even thanked me.”
“Tut tut, aren’t we the touchy one,” the quieter Megan said, her eyes crinkling with amusement.
“All they have done is search frantically for something to complain about. Picking to find some little thing I did or didn’t do.”
“Did they find anything?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s that then. What d’you want, a concert in celebration of your saintly perfection?” Joan asked.
Megan chuckled and her amused expression was infectious. Viv grinned wryly and said rather sheepishly, “Well, I did expect a little word of thanks.”
“You’ll get one,” Megan said.
“You’ll have one. Monday morning first thing,” Joan added. “Now, can we tell Grandfather you’ve changed your mind about leaving?”
“Had it changed for me more like,” he said ruefully.
“Good. Now, as we’ve let the taxi go, you can walk us back to the house.”
“I – er – I’ll just get my gloves.” A bemused Viv ushered them out and, after vaguely arranging to meet his brother later, walked beside Megan to the Westonses’ home.
“I need to keep you sweet, you see,” Joan explained briskly, as they approached the main road.
“We need a favour,” her sister explained.
“You only had to ask, you didn’t have to act out all this charade,” Viv said.
“We need a few parcels collected from an address in Cardiff, probably next week. Will you do that?”
“As long as you assure me it isn’t illegal or immoral I don’t see a problem. But why? There’s an excellent postal service and if the parcel’s too large the railways will do it, for a fee.”
He was gradually regaining his wits and now felt more than a little angry at the way they had invaded his home to persuade him to back down on his decision.
“It’s from France.”
“Oh, and that’s supposed to explain it is it?”
“Mummy and Daddy don’t know we’ve got it.”
“What is it for heaven’s sake?”
“Only clothes.” Joan said. “But what clothes! The shorts are tighter and shorter than you can imagine, and the colour combinations on the dresses, well, this town will be weak with envy when I wear them.”
“I don’t understand,” Viv frowned.
“Grandmother took us shopping you see,” Megan told him. “The clothes were rather daring and Grandfather and the parents wouldn’t have approved.”
“Just clothes? You’ve gone to all this trouble for some clothes? You can buy those in the town, no fuss.”
“French clothes, silly boy. Not the same thing at all.”
“Quite startling really,” Megan whispered, briefly touching his hand.