George persuaded Archie to go to the darts match on the following Wednesday, and he and Nelly went with him.
‘We’ll go back with you and make sure everything is all right. We’ll have the dogs with us too – they’d soon tell us if anything was wrong, so you will be able to sleep easily,’ he assured the nervous little man.
The Drovers was full that evening. The tournament was an attraction, with families following the games and supporting the players. Nelly and George pushed their way in with the two dogs and found a place in a corner with a table under which the dogs could settle to sleep.
Nelly was short of money and she glared at Griff when he smiled and said he was sorry not to have any winnings for her.
‘No chance you didn’t get it to the bookies in time then, not like when I ’ad a thirty-three-to-one winner!’ she accused loudly.
‘Bad luck that was, Nelly, don’t try to make more of it. Bad luck it was. Accuse me of cheating on you and I won’t take no more bets. Right?’
He glared at her, hissing the words and she curled her lip and retorted, ‘Watch it, or I’ll be takin’ bets on ’ow soon your Hilda finds out about you an’ Milly Toogood’s daughter!’
Through the smoke of the fire that burned brightly in the grate and the cigarettes, Nelly peered about her and recognised several friends. Phil was there with his quiet wife, Catrin, in support. Two of Freddie’s friends, Griff’s son Pete and young Gerry Williams, who were determined to show the older ones how to play, were teasing Bert and referring to him as ‘Sergeant’ much to his irritation. They were streaked with grease, having come straight from the garage where they both worked, repairing motorbikes.
Bert Roberts managed to keep a space in the over-filled room to allow him to walk up and down, peering at the board accusingly to confirm or deny a disputed score and march back to his position, from which he followed the play and yet managed to add a cursory remark to one or other of the various conversations going on around him.
The two local farmers were present. Leighton silent as usual, merely nodding in reply to any remark, and Billie Brown, who constantly glanced at the door as if expecting someone.
‘Amy,’ Nelly whispered, nudging George. ‘Billie’s waiting fer Amy, I bet yer.’
‘So is he.’ George gestured to the opposite corner where Victor sat in a cloud of smoke as he puffed nervously on a cigarette.
When Amy did arrive, both men half moved towards her but it was to the young boys she went first. ‘Pete, Gerry,’ she greeted them, ‘heard from my Freddie have you? I thought he was coming home but he didn’t turn up. He hasn’t told you why, has he?’
‘Home? But he was home, Mrs Prichard.’ Gerry said. Too late his friend dug him viciously in the ribs to hush him.
‘No, he hasn’t been, not for a while.’ Amy laughed. ‘I’d know for sure, wouldn’t I?’ The light caught her earrings as she shook her blonde head. ‘No, you must have been dreaming!’
‘He’s been back in camp for a few days,’ Gerry admitted. ‘But not weeks.’
‘Shut up, you fool,’ Pete muttered. But the look on Amy’s face made Gerry realise it was too late.
‘Sorry not to have told you, Mrs Prichard, but he asked us not to say, like.’
‘But I don’t understand. If he came home, where did he go?’
The boys looked at each other, their heads lowered guiltily.
‘He said not to say,’ Pete murmured.
‘Where did he go? I insist you tell me. I’m his mother and I demand to know!’ Neither boy spoke and she leaned closer to them and whispered through clenched teeth, ‘I’ll just go and have a word with the landlord, shall I? About boys of sixteen drinking in his bar?’
‘He stayed with Sheila Powell – er Davies.’
‘What? You’re telling me Freddie came home on leave and didn’t come to see meor his sister? I don’t believe you!’
‘It’s true, Mrs Prichard, honest.’
Nelly had overheard most of the conversation and she waved to attract Amy’s attention.
‘Budge up, George. Hey, Amy, come an’ sit with us, why don’t yer?’ Nelly moved the dogs along with her feet to avoid Amy stepping on them. ‘Something upset you?’ she asked.
‘You might say so!’ Amy snapped angrily. ‘Did you know my Freddie came home on leave and stayed upon the council houses with that Sheila?’
‘No, er, yes. Er, sort of.’
‘What do you mean, Nelly?’ Amy’s voice was still sharp.
‘I saw Sheila in a taxi, comin’ ’ome from ’ospital, an’ I thought I saw Freddie in the taxi with ’er. Only thought I did, so I said nothin’.’
‘Gerry Williams let it out just now. He and Pete promised not to tell me. Great, isn’t it? My son home on leave and I’m not supposed to know!’
She picked up the drink that Victor had brought and sipped it before banging it down on the table. ‘Thanks, Victor. I’d better go home after this or I might decide it’s a night for getting drunk!’
‘Don’t do that, Amy,’ George said, offering a couple of crisps to the dogs, under the table, ‘Freddie will explain when he feels able to. Until then try not to question him. He’s very sensitive about his feelings for Sheila, knowing you don’t approve, and it’s easy to make things worse.’
‘Worse? How can things be worse than my son not telling me when he’s home? Staying in the village, and I bet everyone knows. That Milly Toogood will know for sure and she couldn’t keep her tongue still if it was tied to a hand grenade!’ The two boys nodded sheepishly at her and left, their turn in the darts match completed. Amy glared at the door as it closed behind them, her blue eyes like ice.
‘I never dreamt Freddie would do such a thing. What will people think?’
‘Sorry Amy, but I knew as well but decided not to say anything.’ Victor appeared at her elbow and squeezed her sympathetically. ‘Sorry you had to find out at all.’
‘But why didn’t he tell me? Am I such a villain of a mother?’
‘Come off it, Amy,’ Nelly laughed, her crooked teeth making her look more a villain than Amy. ‘It was because ’e didn’t want to upset you, not ’cause ’e was afraid to tell yer.’
Billie was standing at the end of the long rubber mat marking the position for throwing darts, but he turned several times before throwing. Seeing that Amy was upset and hearing a part of what was being said, he wanted to go to her. He threw the darts carelessly, his score jeered at by the good-natured watchers. As soon as the score had been written up he walked through the crowd to Amy as George took his place in front of the dartboard.
‘Amy, what’s wrong?’
‘Nothing really,’ Victor answered for her. ‘It’s just that Freddie came home on leave and spent it up in the council houses with Sheila.’
‘Very considerate boy,’ Billie surprised them all by saying. ‘Sheila rang from the hospital and told him she was very depressed and felt utterly alone. He couldn’t refuse to help, even if she didn’t belong to him. For a youngster he’s very mature. You made a good job of bringing him up, Amy, for him to care like that.’ He pushed his way back to the bar and returned with a tray of drinks, including a brandy for Amy. He was glad he had overheard the conversations – it had given him time to think of a suitable comment, even if it had meant him losing his match.
‘You really think that was why he did it? Because he took pity on her, having no one who understood?’
‘I know for definite. Thoughtful and kind, that’s your Freddie, and what’s more, he knew you’d understand when he explained.’
‘Budge up again for George,’ Nelly said, ‘an’ make room fer Billie.’ They all managed to squeeze into the bench seat as George returned from his match. It was Johnny’s turn to play against the players from a nearby village and the noise as supporters encouraged their favourites made it impossible to hold a reasonable conversation.
Billie happily put his head close to Amy’s as she asked, ‘How did you know? Did you see him?’
‘No, Sheila’s gran told my sister Mary when she ordered extra milk. There’s a lot of clues in the ordering of milk, Amy,’ he laughed. ‘He stayed close to her, his large frame threatening to press Nelly into the wall.
Victor shouted to Nelly, ‘I think Archie wants to go home.’ He pointed to where Archie stood, his cap in his hand, waiting near the door. He came closer as Victor beckoned.
‘Leave, shall we, when you’ve finished your drinks?’ he suggested hopefully.
Nelly had two drinks lined up with the half-empty one she was drinking. ‘’Ere, Archie, ’ave one of these,’ she called.
To Billie’s delight, they were all pressed closer on the bench to make room for Archie and he ended up with Amy seated comfortably on his lap. Victor watched silently. In the hubbub of the noisy bar it surprised Amy how many people were able to follow what was going on at their table in the corner. Johnny came over when he had won his match and whispered, ‘Sorry, Amy. I knew about Freddie too. Saw him and Sheila arriving. Thought it best to say nothing.’
‘Everybody knows!’ Amy said.
‘—what a kind boy your Freddie is,’ Nelly finished with a wink for Billie.
‘What a fool he is,’ Amy whispered sadly.
The door opened, making the smoke in the room swirl and eddy like liquid, and Tad Simmons came in. He looked around the room but did not acknowledge anyone. Nelly watched as he ordered a drink and went to stand where he could watch the game in progress.
‘I wonder where ’is little girl is while ’e’s boozin’ away ’is money?’ Nelly said, with little attempt to whisper.
‘Hush, Nelly love, he’ll hear you,’ George warned. He touched his eye tenderly. ‘I don’t want another black eye.’
Nelly stood up, pushing Billie and Amy close to the edge of the seat in her haste. She banged her glass on the table and said, again to George, but loud enough for Tad not to mistake the words, ‘I wonder where poor little Dawn is, while ’er Dad is boozin’?’
Tad turned his head sharply and stared at her red-faced challenge, but she might have been a painting on the wall for all the notice he took after his instant reaction.
Slowly, he turned his head back to the darts players and raised his glass to his lips.
‘Looked right through me, ’e did, the cheeky…’
George smiled and patted his wife’s arm with a sigh. ‘Time we went home, I think.’ To his relief, Nelly gave in, if not gracefully then with a subdued protest, and he guided her out of the crush to the door, the dogs following in his wake.
Archie, who had been standing anxiously waiting for them to leave, his flat cap twisting in his fidgeting hands, promptly opened the door for them and stepped outside.
Nelly could not resist a parting shot and, as the door began to close behind her, she burst back in and said, ‘Some people don’t deserve kids! Blimey, you’re worse than my Evie!’ Her voice began to get more and more maudlin as she went on, ‘Poor little Dawn, poor little kid, love ’er cotton socks–’ George good-naturedly dragged her away from the door, her fingers grasping the edge like a child hanging protestingly on to a sweet-shop counter.
Delina Honeyman was angry every time she thought of Tad Simmons. She cycled to the school in Llan Gwyn where she worked each day and had to pass the house in Hywel Rise where he lived. After her attempt to discuss his daughter, she had been tempted to avoid passing his house by using Heol Caradoc instead, but she contented herself with glaring at the door as she freewheeled down the steep hill instead.
She thought repeatedly of the way she had forced herself to go and try to help with Dawn, only to be told rudely to mind her own business, which had startled and then humiliated her. Her emotions were tender since the sudden cancellation of her wedding to Maurice Davies and she was easily hurt.
Going down to see the trench-digging in Nelly’s garden was the first time she had mixed with the villagers since that awful occasion when Sheila had announced that Maurice was the father of her child. She had been aware of the hastily turned faces every time she walked from the bus, or had ridden along Sheepy Lane past the house where Ethel, Maurice’s mother, lived. She guessed that as she passed groups of people, the conversation would immediately become a sympathetic revival of the day Ethel forced her son to marry Sheila Powell. It would be a long time before Delina could convince herself she was not the centre of almost every conversation in Hen Carw Parc.
That Tad Simmons had spoilt her first effort made it worse. She could see his face every time she remembered the incident, the blue eyes starting out of his head as anger exploded from him. The familiar curl of embarrassment twisted her stomach as she tried to force the memory from her. The words she had used had implied interest and understanding and surely had not warranted such an outburst?
She had not seen him since, but as she rode on her bicycle to the point when she would have to dismount and push it, she felt herself becoming more and more tense. If the sensation of panic did not cease soon she would use the other hill and avoid passing his house. But for the moment, there was enough defiance in her to make her refuse to take the easier option and change her routine.
She rode further up the hill than usual, puffing with the effort of the steep gradient, and the bicycle began to make complaining noises. She wished she had taken the other hill. How embarrassing it would be if she should break down outside his house. Her imagination flew and she imagined him seeing her and believing she had arranged the whole thing. Anger against him grew until she was having imaginary arguments with him. Her face had lost its usual calmness and a faint blush of colour had become a moist redness which increased the blueness of her eyes. She put on as much speed as much as possible, bent on passing his house before admitting defeat and getting off to walk.
To her alarm the pedals slipped occasionally and the noise became worse. The locking, followed by the slipping of the pedal, caused her to jerk forward and she looked down at the source of the creaking and groaning, wondering if she could make it past Tad’s house. She couldn’t get off now, not until she had passed it. She pushed more determinedly against the pedals in agitation. The creaking and groaning changed, there was a moment’s blessed silence apart from the hissing of the tyres on the road surface, then there was a crack and the chain came off.
The road, which had been empty, soon filled with people either curious or wanting to help, as she stepped away from the machine and looked anxiously at the chain. She had no idea how to get the chain back on and was grateful when a man came from a house near that of Tad Simmons and offered help.
She bent to watch as he expertly replaced the chain, but her words of thanks were cut off as he said, ‘Sorry, love, you’ll have to get it mended properly. The link’s gone, see?’ With hands already covered with the grease which coated the chain, he pointed out the distorted link and shook his head sorrowfully.
‘Thank you anyway,’ Delina smiled. ‘If you could put the chain in a wrapping of some sort, I’ll walk home and get it fixed.’
‘I have a spare joining link,’ a voice said and she stood up from her perusal of the offending chain into the eyes of Tad Simmons. She felt the shock of arriving at a situation she had foreseen and had dreaded. Yet there was warmth too in seeing him looking at her with such interest. She disliked him yet was attracted at the same time. His blue eyes held a promise of something special and now, even the mouth had lost its accustomed tightness and the hint of suppressed anger. She was flustered and her reply to his polite offer of assistance was curt.
‘No need, thank you. My father will be able to see to it for me.’ She took the chain, which the first man had had wrapped in a piece of brown paper, and pushed her bicycle up the hill and around the corner into St Illtyd’s Drive without looking back.
Her heart was racing. The encounter had unnerved her and put her out of sorts with herself. Why had she allowed the man to affect her so? He was rude and ill-mannered and therefore not worth a second’s thought. His offer of help would not change that. But why had she been so angry at what might have been a peace-making gesture? It had seemed genuine – he had offered an open palm on which was a small metal object that she presumed was the link she needed. But no, she had to act like a spoilt child and storm off.
‘What’s happened, love?’ Victor asked when he saw her throw her bicycle with unaccustomed anger on to the front lawn.
‘The chain has broken on my bicycle.’
‘That’s nothing. I’ll get a new link tomorrow and fix it in no time.’ He studied her flushed face, wondering at her ruffled expression. ‘Something else wrong?’
‘No, just that Tad Simmons, offering to help. As if I’d let him help me. I wouldn’t take his hand if I were drowning!’
‘Upset you proper, didn’t he?’
‘I simply don’t like him.’
‘Funny that,’ Victor mused, ‘how we have to like someone to accept their help.’
‘It’s usually a two-way thing, offering and accepting, but there’s no friendship in either direction between Tad Simmons and me. I feel sorry for the little girl, though,’ she said more calmly as she slipped off her coat and began to wash her hands. ‘If I could find a way of helping her without having to meet her dreadful father, I’d gladly do so.’
‘Call and see Nelly. She seems to have taken a liking to the girl. She’ll have a few ideas, I bet you a shilling.’ he covered his face in mock dismay. ‘Whoops! Mustn’t say “I bet” in case your mother’s listening!’
‘You aren’t, are you, Dad? Betting again, I mean?’
‘Now and then, like,’ he admitted quietly. ‘Life is pretty dull and a little flutter adds a bit of spice.’
‘You and Nelly are a fine pair!’
‘Now Nelly, there’s a woman who loves the horses. I called there the other day while she was listening to the racing results and she was so close to that wireless of hers I could only see the soles of her feet!’ He watched as Delina’s smile slowly wiped away the frown, hoping he had succeeded in cheering her up as well as taking her mind off his attraction to gambling.
Victor did not find gambling a problem and it was only occasionally he risked a few shillings on a race, but Imogen, his wife, was a very religious woman who frowned even on the purchase of a raffle ticket, except when it was in aid of some charitable cause when, she insisted, it was to be considered a gift and not as an attempt to win something without paying for it.
It was his Imogine’s strong determination to live a rigidly straight and honest life that had caused the serious rift in their marriage. Although never a loving couple, they were reasonably content until Victor found himself in court accused of theft. He had stolen from his employer, Harry Beynon, and his wife’s fierce religious beliefs had made her cut him out of her life, except for the basic necessities of food and laundry. From that day, his wife had never addressed a word to him, communicating where necessary through Delina or one of her brothers. She had cut herself off from the village too, bitterly ashamed of what had happened.
He was honest enough to admit to himself that even if his homelife were not barren and loveless, he would still have been attracted to Amy. But coming from the emptiness of his marriage she was like a dream to him, a hope that kept him sane. Amy, so cheerful and loving, who he could imagine sitting opposite him while they chattered through relaxed mealtimes, and who would share his lonely bed.
On the following morning, Delina opened the front door and looked towards the lawn where she had thrown the bicycle, but it was not there. It was standing against the hedge and when she stepped closer she saw that the chain had been mended and the bicycle cleaned and polished like new. She went back and called to her father.
‘Dad, thank you! What a lovely surprise. You must have been up since the crack of dawn to fix it for me.’
‘Fix what, love?’ Victor asked, shaking on his overalls ready to leave for work.
‘That bicycle. The chain is on and you’ve cleaned it so the chrome gleams. Thank you!’
Victor looked confused.
‘But I didn’t, haven’t, I mean. I intended to buy the link today and see to it this evening.’ Still puzzled, he went out to look at the shining machine, then turned to his daughter with a frown. ‘Someone’s fixed it, love, but it wasn’t me, unless I’ve been working in my sleep!’ Delina looked at the secure chain and her face wore a frown to match her father’s.
‘I wonder if the man who came to help me did it? But why should he?’ Then her face changed, tightened in anger. ‘Oh, no! He couldn’t have—’
‘Who are you thinking of?’ Victor asked. He smiled teasingly as he guessed, ‘Not that awful Tad Simmons!’
‘Why would he? If he thinks this will make me forget his rudeness he’s mistaken.’ She felt a childish impulse to kick the bicycle but satisfied herself with only glaring at it before walking out of the gate, head held high. ‘I’d rather walk!’
Victor thought he’d have another word with the man who had upset his daughter so badly and, on the way home from work that day, he stopped at Tad’s door. There was no reply to his knock and he walked around to the back of the house and peered through the window to see if anyone was home.
He could see that the house was very bare and lacked comfort. There were only hard chairs, no big soft armchairs drawn up near the fireplace, which, it being summer, lacked even the normal cheer of a glowing fire. A table stood against a wall and two wooden chairs were near it, askew, as if the occupants had risen suddenly and had left in haste. Victor felt a sudden rush of pity for the man who was trying to make a home for his daughter and himself.
He felt the stirrings of a need to help and wondered how he could offer assistance without offending the man who, he knew, had a short temper. His gentle thoughts were interrupted suddenly by a slap on the shoulder and when he turned around, a smile half prepared to greet Tad, he was punched once and fiercely in the face.
‘Get out! I won’t have snoopers nosing about!’ A low, almost growling voice muttered the words, which Victor heard through a humming mist of pain. His nose felt distorted and huge, the blow had made his eyes water profusely and he could see nothing. It was moments before he could make out his attacker standing before him, arms on hips, raised on the balls of his feet as if preparing for retaliation on Victor’s part. Nothing was further from Victor’s mind. All he wanted to do was get past the man and hurry out of the gate.
In a voice Victor hardly recognised as his own, he said, ‘I came to thank you for mending my daughter’s bike. If it was you.’
‘Came to see what was to be seen, more like,’ the man snapped.
Victor fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief to quell the blood now beginning to flow. His lips felt like rubber tyres as he explained, ‘Looked in to see if you were there, that’s all, man.’
Tad handed him a handkerchief. He didn’t apologise but, as Victor later decided, he came as close to it as he was able, when he muttered, ‘That’s what everybody round here does, poke their noses in. It’s what I expect.’
‘Damn me, there won’t be any noses left to poke, the way you’re going on!’ Victor gasped, bending his head back and trying to hold his nose firmly as he spoke.
‘You’d better come inside and clean up.’ Taking a key from under an old flower pot, Tad opened the door and gestured for Victor to enter. Victor hesitated.
‘Will I get another swipe if I don’t keep me eyes to the floor? Shut them, shall I, and let you guide me?’ he said sarcastically.
While he washed his face and cooled the sting of the damaged nose and mouth with cold compresses Tad spoke in short bursts and again the words were close to saying he was sorry.
‘I’ve got nothing to hide here – Dawn and I manage all right, if people will stop interfering. It’s hard, only being able to work part time. Afraid they’ll take Dawn away.’
‘No chance of that, is there? Everyone can see how hard you’re trying. She’s a handful though, your Dawn.’
Victor stepped away as he said it, expecting another violent reaction but the man hung his head and once again Victor felt a surge of sympathy.
‘She will wander,’ Tad told him. ‘I rarely go out after I finish work but occasionally I have to get away and have a drink and hear other voices around me. Then I leave her with a neighbour, but she always runs off.’ He washed out the basin where Victor had been cleaning his wounds. ‘Punishing me I suppose. Sometimes in the night I wake up and go to look in her room to see if she wants covering up and her bed’s empty. I look out of the window and she’s sitting in the garden. Other times I’ve found her wandering through the streets, looking through other people’s windows.’
‘Stays near though, does she?’ Victor was half afraid to speak in case the man stopped talking to him; he felt in the other a need to share his problem, at least briefly.
‘Several times she’s gone further afield and I’ve had to go looking for her. Frightening, that is.’
Now he had begun to talk he went on, explaining all the difficulties of a man caring for a small child, hardly looking at Victor who sat holding a cold cloth to his stinging face.
‘And there’s school, dozens of things to remember there and half of them I can’t get for her. Costumes for the end of term play. Now how can I make things like that? I know she refuses to take a part when she’s offered it, because she knows I won’t be able to get the things she needs. Then there’s help with homework. My mind is an adult one, used to dealing with adult problems. I can’t bring myself to her level somehow, although I badly want to.’
Victor wondered if his meal would still be waiting for him, cold and congealing on the kitchen table, or whether it would have been thrown in the ash-bin as on previous occasions. His nose had stopped bleeding and, apart from the sensation that his mouth and nose were of exceptional size, he felt sufficiently recovered to leave.
‘Where’s Dawn now?’ he asked.
‘Down with Nelly Luke or whatever her name is. Teaching her to use an old camera they gave her.’
‘Kind old soul, she’ll help you with Dawn, if you try to give up your hobby of clouting people,’ Victor dared to joke.
‘When her mother died I promised her I’d never let Dawn be taken into care,’ Tad went on, not heeding Victor’s remark. ‘You can imagine how easy that seems when you say it. But in reality the responsibility is enormous. Trying to work and, in the few hours available to you, to earn enough to feed us both and make a home, it’s damned near impossible.’
‘Trying to be independent doesn’t help, mind,’ Victor felt brave enough to say. He glanced at the man warily to see if he was taking offence. ‘People round here, they’re great, and they’ll help if you stop quarrelling with everyone, and give up punching noses.’ Seeing Tad calmly listening to him, he went on more confidently. ‘In fact, we’ve got a couple of armchairs we don’t use, out in our shed, they are, and we could bring them down if you like. Only as a thank you for fixing Delina’s bike, mind, not charity. Perish the thought!’ he joked. He risked a smile and was relieved to see Tad smile back. ‘It was you, wasn’t it? You who fixed Delina’s bike?’
‘Delina, is that her name? I never caught it the first time we met. At Nelly Luke’s party, it was.’
‘That’s her. How did you know where to find her?’
‘I do know one or two things about the village, you know,’ Tad answered brusquely. There seemed to be nothing further coming, so Victor left, with Tad’s handkerchief still held over his nose. He would have to explain how, between stepping off the bus and reaching home, late, he had managed to get involved in a fist-fight. Lucky for once that Imogine did not speak to him, he thought wryly. He would enjoy keeping her guessing. Why not? And in any case, he did not intend to let Delina know who was responsible.
Constable Harris was on his way up the hill, gaitered legs wobbling a little as the hill grew steeper and the bicycle harder to push. Victor hoped he was not on his way to complain about Dawn, as he had once wanted to himself. He turned his head away. A third bloody nose would bring Tad Simmons a lot more trouble than a ruined handkerchief.
Johnny Cartwright swung himself off the bus as it slowed near the bottom of Sheepy Lane, shouting thanks to the driver and the conductor. He had just finished his shift and had taken the bus back home. He began to walk up Sheepy Lane towards the council house he and Fay rented but changed his mind and went instead to see his mother. Fay would still be out. It was rare that she was home before six o’clock and could be even later when she travelled down to Pembroke or up to Brecon to visit her newer areas.
He wished Fay didn’t work. With shift work, he had spare time during the day and it would have been wonderful to be able to go home and spend the time with his wife instead of pottering around the house and garden, constantly watching the time, hoping to hear her car stop outside the gate. One day, when she decided it was time for them to have a baby, then he would really feel they were married. At present he felt that their relationship, although loving and warm, was still precarious.
Netta opened the door as he reached the gate, having seen him approaching. Her once-dark hair was a halo of white around her gentle rosy face and her well-rounded figure was neatly dressed in a cotton frock and an embroidered apron.
‘Mam, any chance of a cuppa and a cwlff,’ he gasped. The slice of bread, thickly cut and covered with jam was his favourite and something his fastidious wife did not approve of. He stopped at the door and sniffed appreciatively. ‘No, changed my mind, I can smell your cooking from here. Bake-stones, is it?’
‘Yes, some bake-stones and a few pancakes. Will that do you?’
‘Like you, Mam, lovely!’
He heard Phil’s voice call him and said loudly, ‘Oh, he’s here is he? Not still delivering them letters, are you Phil Davies?’
‘Catrin is out and he has to shift for himself today,’ his mother explained with a chuckle.
‘Never! Phil-the-Post make his own tea?’
He went into the living room where a low fire burned and settled to enjoy an hour of chatter. Before he could drink his tea, there was a knock at the door and Nelly arrived with her two dogs.
‘Nelly Luke!’ Johnny teased, ‘Might have guessed you’d smell the teapot!’
‘Johnny, I think people ought to call me Nelly Masters now I’m married to George.’
‘I agree, Nelly,’ Netta said in her quiet voice. ‘It’s almost an insult to George that no one uses his name, the name he gave you.’
‘Nelly Masters you shall be,’ Johnny promised. He sat again as Netta busied herself with extra food.
‘Did you find out any more details?’ Netta asked her newest visitor and Johnny asked, ‘What’s this then, something I should know about?’
‘There’s a celebration on the twenty-ninth to mark the hundred-and-fiftieth anniversary of the Mumbles Train,’ Nelly explained. ‘I’m going with Oliver and Margaret.’
‘And you, Mam, are you going?’
‘Of course, Johnny. Why don’t you and Fay come too? It should be fun. There’ll be all sorts of entertainment and some of the passengers are going to dress up in the clothes of years ago.’
‘Yes, come why don’t yer?’ Nelly coaxed. ‘We can all go on the bus an’ we’ll take a huge picnic an’ ’ave a lovely time.’
‘I might be working,’ Johnny said. ‘I’ll have to check. Someone has to do the driving!’
‘Then we’ll invite Fay,’ Netta said. ‘Will you ask her, Johnny? You’ll see her before I do.’
‘There was talk of hiring a bus,’ Nelly grumbled, ‘but Bert forgot to book, thinking Phil was doing it.’
‘Best keep it simple and make your own way,’ Phil advised. ‘’Specially after last night!’
‘Last night?’ Johnny asked.
Phil settled into the armchair to tell the story, his finger rubbing the side of his nose in a familiar gesture.
‘Someone suggested an outing for the darts teams,’ he began. ‘Good idea that, but then they were persuaded to let Bert organise it. So far, they’ve had four meetings and Bert has been in the chair. He’s tied them up so tightly in rules and formal democratic procedures, they haven’t even been able to decide on a date! Damn, it’s funny, even if it is frustrating for them that’s hoping to go. “Must speak through the chair” is one of his favourite sayings. According to little Archie, Billie Brown stood up and lifted a chair and shouted through the rungs, telling Bert to get on with it.
‘Bert banned him! He did!’ he said as the others laughed. ‘Banned him, until the landlord threatened to ban Bert till Christmas if he didn’t behave.’
Before Johnny left, he decided that even if he didn’t go on the outing, it might be fun to sit in on the meeting called to arrange it.