Meriel’s ex-husband, Evan Parry, drove back from Newport, feeling utterly exhausted. He had broken down on the motorway and had spent hours getting the car fixed. This had made him late for his appointment with a prospective buyer for the last of a recent consignment of conservatory suites. The cane was not the best quality and the cushions were looking a bit jaded and he had offered a low price to get them cleared. The buyer was not soothed by his explanations and apologies and the result was a wasted day.
This morning’s two appointments had been cancelled to enable him to go, which meant a very full day tomorrow and to add to that, Sophie had expected him home an hour ago. Belatedly, he thought he should call to let her know that he was on his way. He’d never had to bother when he was with Meriel. She had accepted his odd hours and irregular meal—times without a murmur. That was because she was dull, he reminded himself. She never wanted to do anything in the evenings except walk the dogs or watch television or read, so it had never made much difference to her if he had been held up. Yet, he wished he was going home to the peace she created. Inexplicably he felt he needed to see Meriel, needed her to soothe away the tensions of his day, and he found himself outside his previous home. He sat in the car for a while, allowing the agonies of the day to settle, and fall from him. He was stiff when he finally stepped out of the car and walked to the door. He knocked and there was the sound of excited barking. He smiled and opened the letterbox. ‘All right, you two, I’ll see you in a moment.’ When nothing further happened he said, in the foolish way of dog owners, ‘Where’s your mum, eh? Go and tell her I’m here.’ Disappointment was powerful as he accepted that Meriel was not there. She wasn’t the type to hide and not answer the door. He wondered with slight irritation where she could be. She rarely went out in the evening.
Returning to the car he dialled Sophie’s number. When the phone was picked up he heard the sound of music played very loudly and in his imagination saw her dancing around their untidy kitchen. He smiled in spite of his tiredness. Peace was not why he had chosen to live with Sophie.
‘Darling, I’m running late, but I should be with you in an hour.’
‘I can’t wait,’ she said, sending kisses down the phone. ‘Shall we go out this evening? There’s a good band at The Farmers.’
‘Well, I do have a lot of paperwork. I should stay in and get on with it.’
‘But you won’t,’ she said. ‘It’s no good trying to sound serious, I can almost see the smile on your face which shows me you’re teasing. I’ll be freshly bathed and perfumed and waiting for you, darling.’
Smiling, Evan drove towards home, only a few minutes away, reminding himself of his good fortune. Sophie is wonderful, he told himself. Young, beautiful, sexy, and altogether wonderful, and she has chosen me! He glanced at the package on the seat beside him. He’d bought a new shirt. It was unlikely there would be a clean one hanging ready in his wardrobe. Young, beautiful and sexy maybe, but Sophie wasn’t that kind of wife, he thought ruefully. Perhaps he should suggest getting someone in to deal with the ironing as well as the cleaning.
As he opened the door, he stopped to take a deep breath, aware of mild irritation. If only she didn’t have the CD on quite so loud. She was dancing around the kitchen, as he had guessed, her face flushed, her long hair a glorious cloud around her lovely face. Her eyes were wide apart and a summer—sky blue, more intense now with the heat of her exertions adding colour to her face. She lowered the sound and ran to him. sweet—smelling, warm and soft and so desirable.
‘You tease! You were just around the corner and not an hour away.’
He laughed, enjoying her delight.
‘Can we eat out?’ she pleaded. ‘I was going to defrost some chicken and do a stir-fry, but I haven’t started preparing anything and I’m starving.’ Seeing the hesitation on his face she added, ‘Your fault, you phoned and told me I had plenty of time.’
‘Give me an hour first, and—’
‘That long? Are you tired of me already?’
‘I’ll never tire of you. I love you.’ he said. ‘Come here and let me show you.’
Meriel opened her door later that evening to see Cynthia standing there, with her youngest son, Marcus.
‘I’ve come to beg a favour,’ Cynthia said as she bustled in. ‘I can’t stay a moment as I’m on my way to a committee meeting. The fourth this week would you believe. The end of school year coincides with the end of season for so many other organizations I don’t know how I can fit them in. Anyway, I won’t keep you.’
‘Coffee?’ Meriel suggested when she had a chance to speak. ‘And orange juice for you, Marcus?’
‘It’s about this weekend in Paris that darling Christian has arranged. I’ve been let down by Millie. She wants to go away to some cousins in Hampshire. Could you possibly stay with the boys? I would be ever so grateful to you if you would.’
‘We wouldn’t be any trouble, Meriel,’ Marcus smiled. But as his mother looked away from him, he gave a broad wink.
‘Of course I’ll stay with the boys, but will it be all right if I bring the dogs?’
‘We hoped you would,’ Marcus said, patting the two inquisitive dogs who had come to greet the visitors.
‘Don’t do any housework, nothing at all. Millie will catch up when she gets back, and I’ll leave money for you to eat out whenever you wish. It’s only a few days.’
‘Why don’t I come over tomorrow so you can show me where everything is?’ Meriel suggested.
When Meriel walked into the imposing house near the cliffs, a team of decorators were clearing up having refurbished the hall, landings and staircases. A new chair, upholstered in yellow velvet, stood beside what Cynthia called the post table at one side of the hall, which had a tooled-leather top, bearing stamps, pens and four brass trays, in which the separate piles of post had been sorted and placed.
‘Christian’s business, my committee work, family letters and bills,’ Cynthia explained. She pointed to the waste-basket underneath, ‘And of course, the bin for rubbish.’
Briskly she opened doors and explained where everything was kept. At the back of the garage was a room adjoining the airing room, which, she explained hurriedly, as though with embarrassment, was full of junk. ‘I’ve discarded a lot of old ornaments and rugs, even some furniture now I’ve redecorated the hall,’ she said. ‘Some of it was abandoned years ago, stuff from when Christian and I first married when we had no idea of what we wanted. If there’s anything you think you can use, please help yourself. Just don’t tell anyone you got it from me,’ she said with a self-deprecating laugh. ‘That would be too embarrassing, so tasteless. If you don’t fancy anything,’ she went on airily unaware of the implied insult, ‘I’ll give it to Joanne for her charity shop. People will buy anything, won’t they?’
Meriel stared at the carelessly stacked items and asked, ‘Surely you don’t mean all of these things? Some of this china and glass is lovely.’
‘You can’t mean it, Meriel?’
‘Oh, I do.’
‘Then take it. Bring the car tomorrow and we’ll fill the boot.’
‘But, that looks like a chandelier,’ Meriel said, pointing at a collection of glass and brass in a corner, dumped half in and half out of a large flat box. ‘You can’t mean to discard that?’
‘It’s so old, dear. It belonged to my grandmother in the large house in Llandrindod Wells. I wanted something new. I chose one in hand—wrought iron. Much more attractive.’
‘But if it belonged to your grandmother, doesn’t it have any sentimental value?’
‘It was in the house before my grandmother’s time. Mummy liked such things but not I.’
‘But, it must be valuable.’
‘Must it?’
‘If it’s that old — I would love it but I could never afford to pay anything near its value.’
‘All right, if it makes you feel happier and you really want it, give me something for one of my charities. Oh, and there’s another one somewhere a matching pair.’
‘If you’re sure…’ Meriel at once wrote out a cheque which made Cynthia raise her eyebrows. ‘Meriel, you must be mad, but thank you!’
They went upstairs to glance into the five bedrooms and the bathrooms, with Cynthia pointing out the various store cupboards and their contents.
‘Now, this is our bedroom. Mine and Christian’s and - I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but I’ve hidden all my jewellery. It isn’t that I don’t trust you, please believe me. It’s because, knowing we’re away, someone might force a way in and look for it. It is rather valuable. Picking up a box with everything in it makes it too easy, doesn’t it? You do understand, don’t you?’
‘Of course. But won’t you be wearing some of it?’ She glanced at Cynthia’s fingers unusually lacking ornamentation.
‘I most certainly won’t, Meriel dear. Bare fingers will more likely tempt darling Christian to buy more! Neither will I be taking sufficient clothes, for the same reason!’
As Meriel prepared to leave, having had the mysteries of the microwave and dishwasher explained, Cynthia said, ‘There is one thing. Marcus is a bit nervous lately, he’s had some bad dreams. I think it’s from the time Ken last took them to the cinema. Will you make sure you don’t take them to see anything fiightening. He’s such a sensitive boy, so easily upset.’
‘I don’t like horror films myself,’ Meriel admitted.
‘It doesn’t need to be horror to frighten him, dear, just something awful happening to an animal and he’s uneasy for days.’
‘I’ll make sure he doesn’t see anything to upset him,’ Meriel promised.
Driving home, thinking about the wealth that could allow Cynthia to discard so many beautiful things without a thought, Meriel turned around and went up to see Cath Lewis in her house high above the town. She might like to be involved in the transporting and assessing of the contents of Cynthia and Christian’s ‘junk room’.
They made three trips, both cars filled with the discarded items from Cynthia’s house which were stored in Meriel’s garage. Much of it was cheap china and glass including vases and drinking glasses of every type.
There were incomplete dinner services and teasets. ‘These teasets are rather nice. It appears that when one or two items were broken Cynthia threw away the rest. And some of this glass is lovely. No complete sets, but they are nice enough to sell individually,’ Cath said, handling a tall champagne flute with obvious pleasure. ‘These coloured cups and saucers might go well too if we show them individually. What d’you think, fifties or sixties?’ The cups and saucers were white china and each was a different colour around the base of the cup and the centre of the saucer. Once a set of six, there were just three left plus a couple of odd saucers.
They carefully sorted the collection and packed them away in boxes marked with a code they devised to show contents and approximate age. The chandeliers had been packed into two large containers and they left these until the last. Opening the box, pushing aside the protective sheets and paper, they looked at their prize items. The light in the garage was not good but the glittering marvel they expected didn’t materialize.
‘They aren’t glass, they’re plastic,’ Cath gasped. ‘I thought you said they were from her grandmother’s large house?’
‘Perhaps they were, but they weren’t bought before her grandmother’s marriage, that’s for sure.’
‘Perhaps her grandmother replaced them?’
‘Perhaps Cynthia is making it up!’
‘No, why should she?’ Cath frowned. She found that hard to believe.
‘Well I have often wondered why she never talks about her parents or any brothers or sisters. And this grandmother and the house in Llandrindod, when did you hear about any of that before?’
‘Family quarrels do happen,’ Cath excused. ‘Plenty of people have left all or part of their family as they grow and move away. Move not just geographically, but in attitude and interests.’
‘You’re probably right. But that doesn’t explain these.’
‘Perhaps “Grannie” sold them and bought these because the originals needed repair that was too costly?’ Cath suggested.
‘We’ll be able to sell them, but not for the amount I had in mind,’ Meriel said ruefully. ‘Lesson number one. Look closely at something before you buy and don’t believe everything you’re told by the seller!’
They arranged for extra locks to be fitted on the garage door and took as much of the more valuable stock up into Meriel’s spare room, the one she had once shared with Evan. as they could manage.
‘I think I should start selling some of the less valuble items at a table top sale,’ Meriel said, looking at the odds and ends she had collected over the past few years. ‘Will you help?’
‘Love to.’ Animation warmed Cath’s face. ‘I’ll share the cost of the first one and we can each sell our own stuff, if you agree.’
With the contents of the garage made as safe as possible, Meriel made plans to go to look after Cynthia’s family. ‘I’ll call every day to make sure it hasn’t been stolen!’ she said to Cath.
‘It would be a bit late if you found that it had!’ Cath said dryly.
Cynthia’s holiday in Paris and London with Christian was an expensive spending spree. She came back with suitcases filled with new clothes and happily discarded half the contents of her wardrobe into Joanne’s charity shop. These were sorted by Joanne, who selected several garments to sell at the nearly new shop in town. It wouldn’t be a lot of money, but the few pounds she gathered seemed a reasonable way to pay for the extra expenses that John chose to ignore.
Meriel and Vivienne’s holiday later in July was cheap, relaxing and enjoyable. They travelled in a leisurely way around Pembrokeshire, enjoying the warmth of the welcome they received, enchanted by the views unfolding with every mile and the fascination of the history of the area. Toby was easily entertained, enjoying visits to farms and theme parks and was contented for hours on the many clean sandy beaches they found.
Vivienne, as Meriel expected, disappeared often to look at shops or to find ways of amusing herself in the evenings. Night-life was sparse in some places they stayed, but she usually found a public house where music was played or on one occasion a village barn dance in progress during which she quickly made friends. Meriel and Toby went with her on this occasion, but Meriel took the little boy home when he began to tire. Vivienne had been promised company to walk her back to their B and B and followed them later. Much later.
Meriel had taken books to read and occasionally she wandered around the second-hand and antique shops, buying a few items to add to her growing collection of fifties memorabilia, trying to explain their fascination to a bemused Vivienne.
Discussing their vacations in Churchill’s Garden on their return, it was clear they all wanted different things from life. For Cynthia the full wallet and comfortable hotels where she was waited on and made to feel important, were essential. For Meriel and Vivienne it was the simpler pleasures dependent only on the weather, in which they had been fortunate.
Helen had her three children staying with her for a week. William who was twelve, George thirteen and Henrietta who was now fifteen. Helen managed to squeeze them into the flat she and Reggie called home and they spent a happy week exploring and bathing, and eating all the things their father didn’t allow.
‘My holiday in Spain has been cancelled,’ Joanne told them, displaying great sorrow. ‘John can’t even manage a weekend between now and when the boys go back to school. I don’t mind for myself, but it’s so disappointing for the boys.’
‘Why don’t you take them?’ Cynthia asked. ‘I took mine away a few times when Christian was building the business.’
‘I can’t. I like to be here when John gets home for a few days. He needs looking after, his life is so stressful.’ She glanced at Meriel before adding sweetly, ‘We don’t want him given the opportunity or the excuse to stray, do we?’
‘If I was so worried about Reggie, or my first husband, Gareth, I wouldn’t have married them in the first place!’ Helen said loudly. ‘And if you’re wondering about my first marriage. it was a mutual parting. He didn’t leave because I hadn’t stirred his tea!’ She touched Meriel’s arm understandingly and glared at Joanne.
Embarrassed by the following silence, Meriel stood to collect more coffee. Joanne touched her shoulder and gently pushed her down. ‘I’ll get it, Meriel, I’m sorry if you misunderstood what I said.’
‘That’s the trouble,’ muttered Helen. ‘She did understand!’
Cath watched, listened and said nothing.
Later on, as they were about to leave. Cynthia sympathized with Joanne. ‘Such a pity your holiday had to be cancelled.’
‘Oh. I don’t know. I wasn’t that keen, and the boys find plenty to do in the garden and on the beach. Why do we need to go away when we’ve everything they need right here?’
‘Why indeed.’ Vivienne agreed.
‘My holiday is having my three children to stay,’ Helen said. ‘I don’t see them often enough to miss a moment of their visit. And they love the beaches around here.’
Cath got up without a word and hurried from the cafe. Meriel thought once again, it was the talk of children that upset her. One day she would ask.
Cath Lewis didn’t appear at the popular cafe so often in the following weeks, and Helen Symons — fount of all knowledge - told them that besides working for Tom and Ray Harris, she was also working for two men living on Gregory Way. ‘They work in some nightclub or other,’ she explained, ‘So they don’t rise very early. The bedrooms get done on the mornings following their nights off.’
Cynthia and her family had now gone to New York for ten days, Helen was doing extra shifts in the shop to help over the holiday period, Meriel was decorating the house preparatory to offering it for sale, so the table was never full.
One morning Helen called in and was telling Vivienne and Meriel in urgent whispers about the breakup of the marriage of a mutual friend, when Cath came in and said to Meriel,
‘Can I have a word?’ Refusing the invitation to join them, she said, ‘There’s a table top sale on Saturday. Would you like to come? We might pick up a few things cheaply.’
‘And get pointers ready for when we take a table ourselves.’
As Vivienne continued to listen avidly to the lurid details of Helen’s latest newsletter, Meriel agreed to meet Cath at eight o’clock on Saturday morning and drive to the village where the sale was to be held.
It was the start of a new routine for them. With summer sliding quietly into autumn, on most weekends there was a sale somewhere and they didn’t need to travel more than twenty miles to attend one. They had to leave before seven am, to get the best of the car boot sale bargains and sometimes they went for a coffee before going home.
Meriel had found the summer months easy so far as the gardening was concerned. Both men were away for most of the six weeks that the schools were closed, touring France, Tom had told her on a rare occasion when they met in July. The beds were planted and it was too early to think about spring bulbs. There was little to do apart from weeding and cutting the grass. She went often to get out the hosepipe, though, especially for the many planters she had filled.
For Meriel, dealing with the garden for the absentee employers and decorating the house was a way of helping to take her mind off Evan and Sophie. She began to realize that on some days, hours would pass without thoughts of them entering her mind and causing a revival of her distress. Mail sometimes came for him and she readdressed it and posted it on. Phone calls came from people involved in his business activities and these she dealt with sharply and unhelpfully, as though they were automatically on his side, as much to blame as Evan himself for his abandonment of her.
During one of her gardening mornings she met Tom. She had hoped to see him at some time before the school holidays ended, but the house always appeared to be closed up. Then, during the first week of the autumn term, he was waiting for her at the door. He was tall, fair and rugged-looking, in corduroys and a thick aran sweater, like a hero from a ’forties film, she thought with a smile. He held out a hand and greeted her warmly.
‘I had to stay and thank you for all you’ve done,’ he said, waving an arm encompassing the neat borders and the well—tended grass. To Meriel it sounded like the beginning of a ‘goodbye’ speech and she frowned. ‘Don’t worry,’ he laughed, having guessed her thoughts. ‘I don’t want to lose you. I just wondered what to do when the weather gets worse. Will you come when you can? We’ll pay you of course.’ As she began to protest, he said quickly. ‘We’d prefer to retain you rather than get to springtime and have to look for someone else, someone who might be far less skilful than you.’
They discussed what was needed and finally agreed that she would be paid a half fee on the days she didn’t come, although, she decided silently that even if she had to change her day to accommodate the unreliable weather, she would do enough to earn the money he gave her.
‘Do you do much of this kind of thing?’ he asked as he handed her the money he owed her.
‘No, in fact I haven’t done this sort of thing before.’
‘You surprise me! But you must be keen on growing things. A hobby maybe?‘
‘Not even that. I’m hoping, one day, to learn enough about antiques to start a business of my own.’ she explained.
‘I don’t know anything about running a business, but my brother Ray tried and failed. He made the mistake of renting an expensive premises in the main road. Better I think, to find a cheaper place and make your customers find you.’
‘Thank you, that’s worth remembering,’ she smiled.
In late September Cynthia decided to organize a large charity dinner in aid of the NSPCC and, having persuaded most of her circle of friends to attend, she insisted that Joanne put aside her usual excuses and join them.
In case her husband wouldn’t help with the money, she began using the usual excuses.
‘I can’t leave the boys, Cynthia, dear,’ she said baby-voiced. ‘John is away. I’d love to come but I simply can’t leave Jeremy and Justin on their own.’ A look passed between Joanne and Cynthia, an awareness of their differing views on childcare.
‘She could at least offer to contribute if she can’t come,‘ Cynthia complained to Millie later. Rupert who had overheard the conversation, offered to help.
‘Why don’t we go down and stay with Jeremy and Justin, Mummy? Oliver and I are over fifteen.’
‘What a good idea, darling. I’ll telephone at once. She won’t get out of this one!’
‘Do I go with them?’ Marcus asked hopefully.
‘I don’t see why not. If you’d like to.’
‘I’m still not sure,’ Joanne was saying as she dressed carefully watching the clock, seeing the minutes pass before Helen and her husband Reggie were calling to pick her up. ‘There’s still time for me to cancel.’
‘Don’t Mummy, you deserve a night out,’ fourteen-year—old Jeremy said.
‘Can we go to bed really late?’ asked twelve-year—old Justin, before being hushed by a glare from his brother.
Oliver, Rupert and Marcus arrived at that moment and they unpacked a game of monopoly and several books. They conversed politely, until the toot of a horn announced the arrival of Helen and Reggie.
‘Just be good, don’t make a mess and don’t cause any trouble.’ Joanne left the house after a last warning about tidiness and good behaviour as the five boys were settling down to read one of the story-books they had brought. She heard Oliver saying, ‘Come on, we’ll read it aloud, a page each, right?’ as the door closed behind her.
As soon as the sound of the car faded, they threw the books and the monopoly in the air and turned on the television. They looked expectantly at Oliver who had promised them a special treat. Slowly he pulled from his coat pocket a video.
Laughs and catcalls filled the air, nudges and looks were shared, but after the first illicit excitement the scenes began to pall and they lost interest. They looked around for something to do to celebrate their freedom from adults.
The autumn evening was humid and, ignoring Joanne’s instruction, they trooped out into the dying light. Calling for Joanne’s poodle, Fifi, which they didn’t like to admit knowing and whom they called Stupid, they set off down the garden and on to the cliffs.
The night was calm, the air heavy making them feel sticky and uncomfortable. The leaves on the trees were still. The only sound was the distant shushing of the sea. The moon was full and already high in the sky, yet looking so close they could imagine being able to touch it.
‘Let’s go and look at the sea,’ Rupert said, holding his arms out in the hope of a cooling breeze. ‘It’ll be colder there.’
‘I don’t think we should,’ Jeremy said. ‘We promised Mum and…’
‘You come out when she’s here, so what’s the difference?’
‘I don’t know. It’s creepy somehow, walking away and leaving the house empty at night.’
‘Don’t be a wimp!’ said Marcus, brave in the company of his brothers. Pulling the door closed, he walked towards the cliff path and the others followed, the twins laughing affectionately at their young brother’s bossiness.
The tide was hardly moving, slipping quietly in with hardly a sound, no frilly white underskirt to reveal the extent of its journeyings. The sky was pink and yellow and orange, with fingers of dark clouds signalling the day’s ending.
It was no one’s suggestion, nothing was said as, in unison, they stripped off their trousers and tops and clambered down the sloping rocks, ran across the strip of wet sand and plunged headlong, with shrieks of genuine shock, into the sea.
Rupert and Oliver, Cynthia’s twins, left Jeremy and Justin to get on with enjoying their unexpected and strictly forbidden freedom, and concentrated on Marcus’s swimming lessons before leaving him kicking about near the edge and going for a swim themselves.
When they eventually looked up, they realized that the night had fallen and the tide was approaching the rocks.
Above them, ghostly white in the failing light, was Fifi alias Stupid, barking and growling, playing with something they couldn’t see.
‘Come on,’ Oliver shouted. ‘Time to go.’
Shivering now they were out in the night air, they clambered back up and began arguing about whose trousers belonged to whom, laughing like conspirators. Joanne’s boys were almost delirious with delight at their adventure. Until Justin failed to find his shirt and socks.
Laughter ceased and they all began to search for the missing clothing. The shirt wasn’t found and only one sock was discovered before they admitted defeat and walked back to the house. The one sock they had found was full of holes.
‘So that was what Stupid was playing with,’ groaned Justin. ‘What shall I do?’
‘Throw it in the bin and swear you know nothing,’ Marcus advised. The laughter that followed eased Justin’s anxiety and they made some hot chocolate and ate the biscuits Joanne had left for them. Then they used a loaf of bread making toast and drank more hot chocolate before declaring themselves thoroughly warmed.
When Joanne came rushing in at eleven thirty, anxious to reassure herself that everything was all right, she found the five boys, dressed in pyjamas and dressing gowns, feigning sleep, sprawled across the chairs and sofa and the floor. Coming in behind her with much sentimental ‘aw’ing’, Helen and Reggie helped her get the boys to their allotted beds. When she was alone, Joanne plumped cushions and straightened the furniture minutely to get it correctly aligned and looked around in satisfaction. They must have behaved remarkably well.
The books Cynthia’s boys had brought were neatly stacked and the kitchen had been left without a trace of their having eaten supper. Perhaps she might do this again? If only money wasn’t so short, she sighed.
The next morning after breakfast, all five boys diligently helped her to search for the missing shirt and socks and declared themselves utterly puzzled by their disappearance.