When the sound of the car had faded, Meriel looked out of the window, glaring at the roadway, sending anger and dismay in equal proportions chasing the couple who had ruined her life. She scolded Nipper and Patch for their part in the scene and looked around wondering what she could do to ease her unhappiness. If only Evan and Sophie had moved right away, she thought for the thousandth time, instead of moving into a house she passed almost daily. She might have stood a better chance of rebuilding her life without him if Sophie hadn’t been so near that she could look at her and smile like a sleek and satisfied cat.
She smiled then herself. Sophie was hardly like a sleek cat with her generous folds and her long thick hair that fell in untamed curls down to the small of her back. Sophie dressed in a blatantly sexual way, revealing just a little more than was acceptable. Blowsy is the word my mother would have used she thought, with another smile.
Sophie’s interests did not lie within the home and she boasted about her inability to cook a decent meal. She liked dressing up and going to clubs and discos. Both things for which Evan had previously shown no interest. Perhaps, a hopeful voice within her whispered, perhaps he will soon grow tired of the hectic life Sophie demanded?
She stood up and snapped herself out of the foolish daydreaming. What was she doing thinking foolish and self—indulgent thoughts about Evan? She had to wipe him clean out of her life. Going into the bedroom where they had once slept together but which was now relegated to being the spare room, she looked at the chest of drawers that still held some of his clothes. Packing them up and taking them to a charity shop would be a start. Once she began, the job took hold and when the drawers were emptied, she started on the wardrobe where two of his suits still hung. She dumped them unceremoniously on to the pile.
The loft was next. Books he wanted to keep but for which Sophie wouldn’t find the space, filled a small tin trunk and these she now efficiently packed into smaller boxes. She found a cricket bat that hadn’t been used for years in an old sports bag together with white leather boots scuffed and grass-stained, and a few cricket balls and score cards. Sophie wasn’t the type to watch cricket. She paused a while, remembering the fun of supporting Evan’s team when he played for one of the local pubs. Everything went down to the hall, ready for delivery to the charity shop.
She remembered a pair of velvet curtains long abandoned and which she knew she would never use again. These were also packed and added to the collection. She felt the grumblings of hunger and remembered she hadn’t had lunch, but she didn’t stop to eat, she needed to get these things out of the house. It was almost two thirty, there was sure to be someone there to receive her offerings.
To her surprise it was Joanne who was in charge of the charity shop. She had forgotten Joanne’s boasting about the generous way she gave up her time to help those less fortunate than herself. Having had the reason for the clear out explained to her, Joanne laughed and promised to try and sell the items as quickly as possible.
‘We don’t want Evan coming in and buying them back, do we?’
Meriel stayed for a while, watching as Joanne attended to the few customers who called. Most were idle browsers looking in the hope of a bargain or perhaps an unrecognized treasure.
‘Not much chance of one of those these days,’ Joanne told her. ‘People are too well informed, what with the television programmes and magazine articles.’
‘But it still happens sometimes. In fact,’ Meriel said, as she picked up a small white plate with black sketches of household items on it, ‘I would like this Home-maker plate.’
Joanne pulled a face as she took it for wrapping. ‘I can’t understand the fascination with old things,’ she frowned. ‘I can’t bear the thought of using something that’s been used by dozens of people. Give me brand spanking new every time.’
‘I like the thought of it being used and loved and enjoyed by others.’
‘But you don’t have anything second—hand in your house?’ Joanne queried.
‘Evan’s choice.’
‘Such excellent taste,’ Joanne breathed.
‘But, Evan’s choice,’ Meriel repeated although with little hope of Joanne understanding.
‘Lucky old you!’
Meriel bought a small trowel and fork set, paying double what was asked. ‘I think Toby might like these next time I Toby-sit,’ she explained.
‘I don’t know why you look after him just so Vivienne can go out and enjoy herself.’
‘I don’t mind. I could only look after him during the day when Evan was around, but now I’m on my own I sometimes have him in the evenings. Even to stay the night when Vivienne goes to a club.’
‘Or on the pull! Isn’t that what they call it these days?’ Joanne gave a ladylike sniff of disapproval but Meriel didn’t reply.
Seeing a pressed glass jug with an appealing shape, Meriel bought that too. How could she explain to people like Joanne the pleasure of a beautifully shaped jug? Or her fascination with articles that had led former lives? It was a contact with history, a glimpse of how people had once lived. She loved to run her fingers over a piece of furniture that had been lovingly polished by many hands over several generations, or handle a kitchen utensil worn by years of use.
Thanking Joanne she went across the road to the newsagents. Helen was browsing through the greetings cards and so she stopped to share a few words.
‘Buying a card for my daughter Henrietta I am,’ Helen smiled. ‘It’s her birthday and she and the boys will be coming to tea on Sunday. Fifteen she’ll be mind. Hard to believe, eh? So I don’t suppose she’ll be wanting to see her Mam on her birthday much longer.’
‘Do you see them often?’ Meriel asked, aware that, since her divorce, Helen’s sons William and George and her daughter Henrietta lived with their father and his new wife.
‘They come more in the summer. Like the beaches they do and they spend a lot of time up with Cynthia and Christian’s boys. Henri doesn’t seem to mind being the only girl, in fact, she’s more like a boy herself.’ she laughed.
They chatted for a while then Helen lowered her voice and whispered, ‘There’s a few rumours flying about, I hear it all, working here, mind. It seems that Joanne is no longer as well off as she pretends. So I’ve heard anyway. Never invites us to coffee no more. And she’s got rid of her cleaner and her gardener, even though she denies it. And, this is the clincher, she doesn’t shop in Sainsburys no more. She goes to the cut price store and for a snob like her that shows things must be serious don’t you think? She wouldn’t have been seen dead in one of them bargain shops up till a few months ago. D’you think her John’s business is in trouble?’
Meriel was careful not to respond more than was necessary for politeness. It couldn’t be true John was opening new premises every few months and Evan had remarked more than once on the success of his enterprises. Small cafes offering fast food for a reasonable price, the All Day Breakfast had caught on and was showing no sign of fading. No, Helen must be wrong.
She went home and, letting the dogs out into the garden, she climbed up into the loft and began unwrapping some of her stored treasures. She remembered her start of guilt when Cath had asked whether she had a hobby or interest. These valued pieces had been kept a secret from Evan all through their marriage. For years she had been buying and storing pieces picked up in second-hand shops and car boot sales and wherever she saw something that appealed. Mostly china and glass, but hidden in the back of the garage she had a few small pieces of furniture. If Evan had noticed he would have thought it was junk, to be carted off to the tip one day. Her interest spanned from fifties memorabilia, to much earlier items. One day, when she left this house which she had shared with Evan, she hoped to find a place where she could indulge her interest and furnish it to suit her personality. Everything her own choice.
The prospect of living alone in a strange new house was frightening, but perhaps it was something she had to come to terms with. A second marriage was not a prospect that excited her. She couldn’t risk being hurt again like Evan had hurt her.
She fingered a Susie Cooper teapot that had been her mother’s, valuable now, but something she would never sell. Perhaps she should put it on show, somewhere prominent where she could enjoy it every day? She began thinking of places where she could add shelves and corners where she could display her favourite things, but then she sadly rewrapped it and put it back in its box. One day, but not yet. She had to dig up her roots here, not make the place more attactive, more her own, more difficult to leave.
Her friends Cynthia and Joanne had a rivalry about owning the latest gadget and the newest designs. Although, she pondered, remembering Helen’s latest ‘news’, she now wasn’t sure about how well Joanne actually kept up with Cynthia. We none of us tell the truth, she mused silently. I certainly don’t tell all of it when we meet and chat as if we were true friends. We all boast a little, perhaps Joanne boasts more than the rest of us? Perhaps the need to pretend a little is the reason we meet? The thought was a sad one. No, she told herself, we meet because we are friends.
She made a sandwich, then walked the dogs, making sure she didn’t go in the direction where she might see Evan or Sophie. She didn’t want to see them for a very long time.
After Meriel had left the charity shop, Joanne began to look through the offerings her friend had left. Apart from the curtains, which she put on display, everything in the boxes had belonged to Evan. She closed the lids and looked up expectantly as a customer entered the small, overfilled shop. She was pleased to see that it was Cath, the sad young woman they saw in Churchill’s Garden.
‘Hello! Mrs Lewis, isn’t it? Cath? What a lovely surprise. Are you just browsing like most of my callers or can I tempt you to look for something specific?’
Cath only nodded in response to Joanne’s greeting, making no comment on the use of her name. She asked the price of the curtains Meriel had brought in, which Joanne had hung on a rail.
‘For you, five pounds.’ Seeing Cath begin to retreat, she said hastily. ‘Two pounds fifty?’ Cath hesitated, touching the soft fabric with her long thin fingers and Joanne said, ‘Go on. two pounds and they’re yours.’
Smiling her thanks, Cath took out some silver coins. ‘I need this material to cover a chair I’ve been given.’ Cath explained, ‘And perhaps make a few cushions. I don’t have much furniture but what I do have, well, I like it to look warm and comfortable.’
‘You sew then?’
‘Fonunately yes.’ She thanked Joanne again, bundled the curtains under her arm and left.
Ken Morris felt like an honorary uncle to the Sewell boys. Now and then he took them to Swansea for a MacDonalds and the cinema. One day in June he met the boys from school in his old van and they set off for town. Abertrochi didn’t have a cinema but Swansea did and they were excited at the prospect of a film and before that a meal at a restaurant of their choice.
Ken wasn’t surprised when they chose MacDonalds and he parked in a multi-story not far away. When they had eaten, there was still an hour before the film began so they were in no hurry as they walked through a small laneway on their way back to the car park. When the three men suddenly came out of the shadows and stood in front of them, Marcus yelled in fright and Oliver and Rupert moved swiftly to stand protectively beside him.
‘Let the boys go,’ Ken yelled as one of the men grabbed him and pinned his hands behind his back, with an arm across his throat.
‘Go back to the car! Scat!’ the man standing in front of Ken hissed at the boys. But they couldn’t move, being frightened and disorientated by the suddenness of the men’s appearance and their threatening behaviour. One of the men sauntered menacingly towards them and they shrank together for comfort.
‘Go, boys. Go back to the van and wait for me,’ Ken said, his voice distorted by the arm around his neck.
‘No police, mind!’ the one holding Ken threatened. ‘No clever tricks or you’ll all be sorry, right?’ Oliver and Rupert grabbed Marcus and hurried away.
When they reached the car they stood glancing around, avoiding each other’s eyes and the fear they knew was there. Oliver and Rupert comforted Marcus soundlessly by holding his trembling shoulders tightly. Tears bulged and fell silently down his face. His foot tapped an involuntary rhythm on the cold concrete.
Ken arrived at last, walking slowly and awkwardly, but waving cheerfully and they ran towards him. He held them at arm’s length, explaining that he’d fallen earlier in the day and was a bit tender.
Oliver and Rupert shared a knowing glance. They had watched enough police programmes on TV to guess what had happened. During the film, Ken got up and went to the toilets and when he came back Oliver was aware of the sour smell of vomit.
They were all subdued when they drove home even though Ken tried to cheer them up by talking about the film they had seen. Once outside their house, Ken made them promise not to say anything about what had happened. ‘Just a bit of a misunderstanding, see? Those guys thought I owed them money but they’d got the wrong man!’
To Millie’s surprise the boys went straight to bed without the usual arguments. She wondered whether they had eaten too much. Ken was inclined to indulge them when he took them out.
Cynthia’s birthday was fast approaching and having faced the awful truth that she would soon be forty, she decided to celebrate boldly rather than pretend it wasn’t happening. That way she’d feel better about it and enjoy it instead of feel the dragging dismay at the loss of her youth.
‘It’s the ‘0’s,’ she explained to Joanne and Meriel when she rushed in to join them for coffee one morning, ‘It’s the ending of a decade that makes it so serious, isn’t it?‘
‘I don’t agree,’ Joanne said brightly. ‘Twenty was marvellous, you’re still wanting to grow up and be considered a person of note, to have your opinions sought after and valued. Thirty makes you think you’re over the hill and any ambitions you might still have must be abandoned. But at forty, you’re wise enough to know it’s never too late to begin something new and succeed. Oh, no, Cynthia, the big “four oh” is a wonderful age. The children are less worry and everything is less urgent somehow. I can’t wait,’ she added as a reminder that she hadn’t reached that wonderful milestone herself.
‘You won’t have to wait long, dear,‘ Cynthia said dryly as she checked her lipstick in her mirror, ‘A year soon passes.’
‘How will you celebrate?’ Meriel asked.
‘A party of course. Is there another way?’
‘Plenty I’d have thought.’
‘Well, I think my darling Christian has something planned. He asked me to check that the passports are in order last week and he hasn’t mentioned a holiday, so – a surprise is likely, don’t you think?’
The actual day of Cynthia’s birthday was Friday, July the tenth but Christian decided to arrange the surprise for the following week. Coming out of the hairdressers and into the cafe one morning, an excited Cynthia waved for Cath to join them.
‘Come on, I’ve got something to tell you all!’ Pushing the coffee Meriel had bought for her to one side, she waved a sheaf of papers and announced. ‘We’re going to Paris on the seventeenth! A whole weekend together, with no children, no interruption for business emergencies or family problems. Christian has promised not to go near a telephone from Friday until Tuesday!’
‘What about the children?’ Joanne asked.
‘They’ll be all right with Millie. She and Christian have arranged it all, aren’t I lucky? We’re staying at the George Fifth of course. Oh, I’m so excited.’ She went to the counter to remind the staff to bring out the birthday cake for all she had previously ordered and the friends sat and enjoyed a morning party, listening to Cynthia’s plans for her romantic weekend.
‘I’m buying everything new — underwear, night clothes, a new outfit for travelling in.’
Cath was quiet as usual, although she did make a few comments on Paris, which she described as her favourite city and suggested a few places Cynthia and Christian might visit.
‘You know Paris well, do you?’ Joanne asked.
‘I’ve been a few times yes.’
They waited for her to explain but Cath added nothing more.
When they were leaving, Vivienne walked with Meriel down the road towards the sea.
‘Toby and I are thinking about going away for a few days this month,’ Vivienne said. ‘Are you planning anything this summer?’
‘I hadn’t thought about going away. I feel tied to the house, afraid of leaving it in case Evan and Sophie go in to snoop. And the dogs. I wouldn’t want those two to look after them. Silly I know, but it’s how I feel. I won’t feel able to go away until I’ve decided what I’m going to do with the rest of my life.’
‘Make a decision about the rest of your life! What a terrifying thought!’ Vivienne laughed. ‘I never plan more than a month or two. It’s too boring to know so much of what lies ahead. Impulse is much more fun. Why don’t you come with us? Toby’s funny, fascinating, exhausting at times on holiday but not difficult. After all, you know him well enough — which reminds me, can you look after him tonight? I was hoping to go out with two girls I met a couple of weeks ago.’
‘Yes, to minding Toby, but I’m not sure about going away. There’s the house—’
‘Lock it.’
‘And the dogs—’
‘Ask your ex to mind them. Might as well make use of him.’ Then, seeing that the suggestion was not well received she added, ‘Or, why not bring them?’
‘We couldn’t manage two dogs and Toby. Could we?’ She couldn’t admit that she wouldn’t leave the dogs with Sophie because she was afraid she would steal their affection like she had stolen her husband, coaxing them away from being her own dogs.
‘The house will still be there when you get back. Dusty perhaps, but unharmed.’
‘I don’t know,’ she said doubtfully.
‘Kennels. A friend. A house-sitter. If you want to come I can obliterate all your objections.’
‘Where were you thinking of going?’
‘That’s better! I thought we could just set off for West Wales and see where the car takes us. Pembrokeshire is particularly lovely in summer. It shouldn’t be that difficult to find bed and breakfast. What d’you think? If there’s some other area you’d prefer, I’m not averse to a change of plan, in fact, I love changes of plan.’
‘If you’re sure you want me along, I think I’d like to come. Thanks.’ Meriel went home feeling more cheerful than she had for a long time, a year in fact. Although she did have a slight apprehension as to how many evenings she would sit alone. Toby-sitting, while Vivienne went out!
‘John and I will be going to Spain.’ Joanne told them when holidays were being discussed again a few days later. ‘Not a very exciting choice, but the boys love it. Sea, sand and swimming pool. That’s all they want. Plus plenty of good restaurants to satisfy their giant-sized appetites.’ She sighed theatrically. ‘Soon it will be sea, sand and sex, I suppose, then the troubles start. But at the moment that’s all in the future and Spain is a restful break for John, and easy for me, not having to choose meals, and shop and cook.’
‘Where are you staying,’ Cynthia asked.
‘Oh, Menorca,’ Joanne replied, saying the first name that came into her head. She couldn’t admit that John had told her they couldn’t afford a holiday this year. Later on, she could explain they’d had to cancel owing to pressure of work or something.
‘North or south?’ Cynthia wanted to know.
Joanne frowned as though trying to remember. ‘West — I think.’
‘Cuitadella?’
‘Mmm, that might have been it. I’m a bit vague actually. John sees to the bookings. I leave everything to him.’
‘Pretty little town, there’s a river running through and the island’s so small you’re never far from a beach.’
Anxious to change the conversation, Joanne invited Cath over and began to ask her about her recent purchases from the shop.
‘I covered my chair and made two quilted cushion covers,’ Cath told them. ‘The velvet looks lovely. So rich.’
‘You’ll have to invite us up to see them,’ Joanne suggested, knowing she would never set foot in the place no matter how many times she was invited. It was bound to be a tip.
‘Perhaps I will.’ Cath gave one of her rare smiles.
‘Lovely,’ Joanne breathed.
‘I’m beginning to sort out what I need to keep and what I won’t use and I have a couple of shelves you might like,’ Meriel said. ‘And a couple of kitchen chairs I no longer want.’ She wrote down her address. ‘Call if you’d like to see them.’
Cath thanked her and promised to do so the following day.
Cath arrived at three. She stepped out of an old Saab wearing a long flowing dress made of assorted patchwork and dyed a uniform green, with a crotcheted shawl low on her shoulders to take away the slight chill of the ever-present breeze coming in from the sea. Walking slowly, her head held high, her hair undulating gently around her, a velvet shoulder-bag swinging against her hip, Meriel could imagine her looking quite at home in a scene centuries back in history.
She would have fitted perfectly in a film of a Thomas Hardy story, or one about a Celtic queen, Meriel mused, as she watched the woman approach. As she drew near, she realized with sudden surprise, that Cath was very beautiful.
After a coffee, Meriel showed her visitor into the garage where, stacked along one wall, there were tea chests and boxes all neatly labelled, in which Meriel kept her treasures.
Cath was pleased with the shelves she was offered.
‘I have some baskets abandoned by a florist that I’ll fill with dried flowers and grasses,’ she explained, a faraway look in her dark eyes. ‘I’ll display them on these shelves fastened to the wall. My tiny kitchen will be a brighter place in which to work. Thank you very much.’
‘It sounds lovely,’ Meriel smiled. ‘I wish I’d thought of it myself.’
‘If you’ve changed your mind and want to keep them, I’ll help you fill them?’ Cath said at once.
‘No, no. I’m gradually taking my home apart, not building it up,’ she said lightly. ‘I have to move soon. When I’ve decided where I want to live.’
‘That must be exciting.’
‘That’s a better response! I usually get, “poor you”. And I have to admit that’s usually how I feel. I thought I’d stay here, with Evan, for the rest of my life.’
‘Better to pull up roots at least once. You know who you are after living in a house for a while, then you can move on and choose what you really want.’
‘I thought I had what I wanted.‘
‘Two years from now you will know it was not.‘
‘You sound so sure.‘
‘Two years,‘ Cath repeated softly. ‘Then you’ll know I’m right.’
One of the tea chests was still open, only partly packed, and Cath spotted a wooden fire engine. It had been well used but was still strong and ready for more rough handling. She picked it up and fondled it with her long elegant hands, a frown clouding her lovely eyes.
‘You don’t have children?’ Meriel asked softly, about to explain her own lack of a family and, to her alarm, she saw the dark eyes flood with silent tears. Unable to decide what to say, wishing the words could be revoked, she stood and watched as Cath coped with the sudden rush of emotion before replying briefly,
‘No.’
‘I wonder whether things would have worked out differently if Evan and I had had children,’ Meriel said as she gathered up the shelves and put them beside Cath’s car. She had turned away from her and was talking to give the woman a chance to recover, aware she should have chosen a different subject but unable to think of one. ‘We wanted them, but it just didn’t happen. I’m afraid it’s too late now.’
‘There you go again, Meriel. Think positive, isn’t that the slogan for today? You’re young enough to remarry and have children, so why shouldn’t it happen?’
‘Perhaps I can’t?’
‘Perhaps he couldn’t.’
Meriel laughed aloud then. ‘Keep trying, Cath. You’ll teach me positive thinking in the end.’
‘Would you like to see where I live?’
‘Really? Well, yes. I’d love to,’ Meriel said in surprise. ‘Thank you.’
Packing the shelves into Cath’s car, and an old, unwanted watering-can Cath had admired, plus two slightly damaged urns, they set off. Meriel was quite excited. She had an idea Cath’s home would be unconventional, but would certainly be a calm, peaceful and attractive place. She also thought it was a place to which few were invited.
It was high on a hill, backed by trees growing out of the rocky higher ground behind it and leaning over its roof as if for extra protection. From the front there was a view over the town and the distant sea. There were three houses similar to Cath’s but hers was the furthest in, tucked into a corner cut from steeply rising rocks, close to the narrow path which led to the back entrance of the houses.
The impression Meriel had on entering was more or less what she had envisaged: drapes of material, tassels and ropes, wind-chimes, gold embroidery and polished brass and copper. Carpets and rugs were piled on the floor one on top of another in casual disarray yet looking elegant and tasteful. Cushions offered comfort and relaxation. Amid all the draperies, the windows were unadorned to allow the view to be enjoyed to the full.
There were several soft toys around and they looked well used. Meriel didn’t comment on them. The subject of children was, for whatever reason, one to be avoided.
She wasn’t shown any of the other rooms, so Meriel presumed that the rest had yet to be furnished. The kitchen was filled with jars of pulses and dried herbs and several kinds of rice and pasta. Draped around the walls were garlands of hop vines.
It was not a home in which she would have enjoyed living, there was an all-pervading air of sadness, but it was the perfect setting for the tall, slim, mysterious and beautiful woman who was pointing out to her with obvious pleasure, where the flower shelves would be fixed.
‘Tom Harris, one of the brothers I work for, is very kind. He’ll come and fix them for me,’ she explained.
‘I work for him too,’ Meriel explained. ‘Although I haven’t seen Tom since the day he hired me, and Roy not at all.’
‘They lead a very full social life, belonging to various organizations and with a variety of interests which they share.’
‘They seem remarkably close, for brothers.’
‘They have so many interests in common I suppose.‘
‘And gardening is not one of them,’ Meriel laughed.
Meriel felt it a privilege to have been invited and knew her visit wasn’t one she would share with Cynthia, Joanne or Helen. Not even Vivienne would be given the opportunity to discuss Cath so intimately. They wouldn’t understand and might ridicule Cath’s style.
When she was back in her own place, she sat and stared into space for a long time, wondering what had brought Cath to live in Abertrochi and what had happened to the children for whom she grieved.