Nothing is Forever

by Grace Thompson

  Blodwen sat in the bar of the Yeomen’s Arms, tucked in a corner, watching every new arrival. Lunchtime had been stated on the mysterious letter asking her to meet ‘a friend’ there, so she had come at midday and promised herself she would leave at two o’clock.

  The place was quiet at first, with few people coming in and out. Two elderly men sat in a corner playing dominoes, the clicking of the pieces loud in the almost empty room. A man came in and asked for change of a ten shilling note for his bus fare. A woman came and sat in a corner sipping a cider and staring at her. A man opened the door without coming in, stared around then left. Was he looking for me, Blod wondered? But he was a stranger and she didn’t go out and look for him. She sat nursing a drink and watched the doorway for – she didn’t know who.

  The place filled up as several men, workmen by the look of them, came and ordered drinks to go with their packed food. At half past one, she felt conspicuous and gave herself another ten minutes, then she left.

  Across the road a man watched her leave, then he followed her. He got on the same bus and got off when she did. He noted the flats into which she disappeared then wandered off. He walked slowly and paused now and again to catch his breath, he had a sickly pallor and his clothes were a size or two too large for his wasted frame.

  He went into a boarding-house a few streets away and rested on his bed for a couple of hours. Perhaps he had left it too late. He doubted whether he would have the strength for long enough to complete his task.

  Curiosity got the better of Blod and at three o’clock she went back to the Yeomen’s Arms, but by this time the place was closed so she couldn’t go inside. It was already getting dark and she knew she couldn’t stay long but she sat on a garden wall and wrapped her coat and scarf tightly around her and she waited.

  She soon became chilled and having spent half an hour either sitting or walking up and down, decided that five more minutes was as long as she could – should – stay. No point in getting cold and becoming ill. Whoever had written the letter couldn’t expect more. Besides, it might have been a joke. She stared around her as that idea took hold, imagining someone watching and laughing, and wondering what she would say if someone she knew had been playing an unkind trick.

  About to walk away, she saw someone walking towards her and she stopped and waited in case it was the person who wanted to talk to her. It was Jack.

  ‘Hello, Miss Thomas. Waiting for someone?’

  ‘What d’you know about who I’m waiting for?’ she asked suspiciously, ignoring his use of the wrong name.

  ‘I don’t know. Why should I? You ought to get home though, it’s very cold to be standing about.’

  She hesitated, then asked, ‘You didn’t write to me, did you, some kind of joke?’

  He shook his head. ‘What d’you mean? Did someone write to you?’

  She touched the letter in her pocket but remembered the request to tell no one and kept her hand, which was stiff with the cold, in her pocket, and moved on.

  ‘Come on, I’ll walk with you to the bus stop; I think you should get yourself home, or you’ll be ill again.’

  When she got back to her flat she stared at the letter crumpled in her hand for a moment, and this time, when she threw it into the bin, there it stayed.

  Tabs was delighted with the room she had been given in Mali and Megan’s bungalow. It was hardly any larger than the one she had just left, but she thought it was heavenly. It had bright yellow walls that were helped by the sun giving its deceiving winter glow, she felt a surge of happiness as she walked in, something she hadn’t experienced for a long time.

  She continued to work for the newsagent, whose wife was sympathetic to her condition and frequently fed her at lunchtime before she left for home, and was even knitting sweet little garments for the baby. She missed Ruth but was grateful for the way her life was changing.

  The thought of having a baby to care for was still frightening, fear of the responsibility was always her last thought each night before sleep claimed her, but watching Megan and Mali with Mickie slowly increased her confidence. If only she had a sister, how perfect life would be. But she knew how fortunate she was to have friends like Ruth and Henry, and now Mali and Megan.

  It was a lively house but she soon became comfortable with the friends who popped in and stayed for a cup of tea and a chat. Mali and Megan went out a lot, taking it in turns to stay with Mickie, who called them by their first names having given up sorting out which one was his mam.

  The sisters went to dances and on occasions invited Tabs to go with them, but she declined. She had come a long way from being that frightened mouse, but she’d never be that brave! The cinema was different. Tabs often joined one of the sisters to see a film she wanted to see. She also went to films she didn’t particularly fancy, knowing that too many refusals might end up with them not bothering to ask. She missed Jack and longed for him to come back, still half believing that, one day, he would.

  One evening, after much persuasion, she braved it and went to the dance with Mali. She hid herself in a corner, not because she expected someone to ask her to dance, she knew that was unlikely, but because she felt unable to talk freely to strangers. To her surprise, Mali walked onto the stage and sang with the band and Tabs was amazed at the quality of her voice and her confidence as she moved to the music and sang. The crowd loved her and she sang once more later in the evening. Tabs went the next day in great excitement to tell Ruth and beg her to go to the next dance, just to hear her.

  Not wanting to stay in the cold, empty house, Ruth got into the habit of joining Mali or Megan with Mickie, and sometimes Tabs, for the lunch hour. With little to fill her time she was soon helping at the bungalow by doing the odd chore, and she slipped into the role of cook and general organizer with ease, as though it had been planned. She was soon in charge of cooking the evening meal at which they all sat together in the kitchen and shared news of each other’s day, before she left to spend the rest of the evening in the cold and no longer friendly Ty Gwyn.

  Ruth sometimes went out with one of the sisters, and once, to the weekly dance, where Mali left the dancers to sing with the band. And whenever Tabs had to attend a clinic she always went with her. It was Blod who warned her that she was taking on a role very similar to the one she had left. Ruth joked about it and said it was only until she had decided what she wanted to do.

  ‘It’s only on a temporary basis, Aunty Blod,’ she assured her. ‘Just until Tabs settles in. I don’t want her to automatically fall into the routine of being housekeeper for the sisters as she had for that father of hers.’

  She left her aunt’s flat where already some of her things were stored and went back to the house which still stood unsold and spent time there, huddled near the fire and tried to make plans for a future that looked bleak and lonely. She hardly saw Tommy or Bryn. The house was effectively empty and without that centre, that base, there was no natural meeting place and the family was disintegrating as she had guessed it would, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

  Two couples came that weekend to look at the house and she showed them around with indifference, answering their questions with little enthusiasm. It would sell, she knew that. Like King Canute she couldn’t halt the inevitable, but she was determined not to help.

  Tommy and Bryn had called at Blodwen’s flat on their way back from work a few times in an attempt to remind her she wasn’t forgotten. They called once when Ruth was there and greeted her enthusiastically, and asked about the prospect of a sale. They begged a cup of tea from Aunty Blod, but it was difficult: the flat was too small for visitors. Blod didn’t have the endless supply of food that Ruth had always been able to provide and too many people around tired the old lady who was used to a quieter life. Ruth knew it could never replace the house that had been the centre of the family all their lives.

  Henry was far from happy. He needed to change his life too and it was proving difficult to make a decision. The most impo
rtant decision was being made for him, with Ruth avoiding him and refusing to talk. Twice, he had taken a book and a snack and driven to Rhossili to spend a hour with the sound of the sea for company. Early in March, Lillian’s dog darted out barking and causing him to brake. He opened the van door and said, ‘Sally, you silly dog. It’s me; surely you haven’t forgotten me?’ The dog jumped into the van and settled on his lap as though preparing for a ride. He was laughing when Lillian came out, apologized and invited him in for a cup of tea.

  ‘Once the stupid dog knows you, she might give up attacking your van.’ She smiled and added, ‘She only might give up; Sally’s a bit stubborn, I’m afraid.’

  Henry parked the van amid excited barking and much tail-wagging from Sally and followed the lady around the house into the back garden.

  ‘This is a heavenly place,’ he said. He stood and stared over the low hedge to a view of the beach far below, with its towering rocks creating arms to encompass the huge breakers hurling themselves at a sandy cove. ‘But I’ll be glad to get inside out of this cold wind.’

  After a pleasant hour during which they shared information about themselves and he learned that she was a widow, who had spent most of her life in London, where her husband had been a doctor, she asked if any progress had been made between himself and Ruth.

  He shook his head. ‘We’re more and more like strangers these days.’

  ‘You’ve told her about the new business?’

  Again he shook his head. ‘I’ve tried, but she refuses to listen.’

  ‘But it will be starting soon. You’ll have to say something then, unless,’ she added softly, ‘unless you plan to walk away from her completely?’

  ‘April is when we open for business and if she isn’t interested, I’ll be looking for a cook-cum-housekeeper and a part time handyman-gardener. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find suitable people. I don’t want to employ anyone yet. I still hope to persuade her to join me, if only as a paid member of staff.’

  ‘Good luck, Henry.’

  ‘I’ll need it!’

  Jack still worked at the green-grocery and on Fridays and on Saturdays he was given the task of delivering the weekly orders to customers. The pay was abysmal and trying to keep Abigail and Gloria comfortable was almost impossible, until he hit on a plan.

  A few customers paid at the end of the month, going into the shop to settle the four or sometimes five weeks’ bills. Most customers paid on delivery and from these he made a small profit.

  He would knock at the door and stand smiling, with the box of vegetables in his arms, they would ask how much they owed, and, without offering the invoice, he would tell them an amount just a little bit higher than the total. Still not showing them the invoice he would take their money, sometimes even letting them off a few pence, and would leave happy customers thinking what a lovely, polite young man he was.

  It was a lady called Miss Farr who spoilt it all. She had bought a few things for a bring and buy sale and wanted to know the prices of the items. Jack pulled out a pocketful of invoices and, apologizing, promised to bring it next time.

  Mrs Farr went to the shop and explained her request to the shopkeeper. When she was shown the copy of the invoice she was surprised as the total was one shilling and sixpence less than she had paid.

  ‘It must have been a mistake,’ he said apologetically and handed her the difference and a couple of oranges as compensation.

  He didn’t think any more about it until a few days later when another customer remarked that her regular order had increased by two shillings and asked what item had been the cause. She explained that she hadn’t been given the invoice so was unable to check for herself. He then picked up the invoice book with its copies of orders delivered and called on a few customers. He soon realized what had been happening.

  Sacked and with no reference, Jack knew he’d got off lightly. But with no wages, and no work, how was he going to look after Abigail and Gloria?

  He explained his difficulties to Gloria with a few imaginative changes to the facts and she and Abigail wrote out false references for him, hoping that a prospective employer wouldn’t bother to check.

  His next employment was a casual arrangement that suited him perfectly. He occasionally helped with deliveries of furniture and heavy items for a second-hand shop. It wasn’t much but at least there would be enough to buy food. And he was still adept at lifting the odd purse.

  Abigail’s job was a success. Her skills as a sales lady with her beautifully modulated voice and elegant appearance were soon noticed by the manager and she was transferred to the large hat department where she was an even greater success. Jack knew they could manage, but if he could find the family he’d been searching for, there was the promise of enough money for a good start in a place of their own.

  He knew he was lucky that even after all the disasters, Abigail still insisted on him continuing his search. He would make it up to her when he found his inheritance, but he wondered how much more time he could spend looking for it. With what Tabs had found out and his own gut feeling, he had been so sure Ty Gwyn had been the place.

  There was no way he could find out if they were the family he was seeking without revealing the reason for asking, and they would wonder why he had been so secretive. So much time had passed since the days his father had talked about and he knew that he would have to give up soon, but not yet. He wasn’t ready to give up on an inheritance. His father’s treasure was somewhere and he wanted it. Perhaps he’d wait for the summer then try somewhere else, some other small, seaside town. He had to find them, they owed him!

  Ruth was passing Henry’s shop when the van stopped and he got out. He was carrying a box containing carefully wrapped vases which he had bought. He didn’t invite her upstairs, but put the box on the counter and asked if there was something wrong.

  ‘No, but I wanted to tell you that my moving in with Aunty Blod won’t work. She can’t cope with the boys visiting and I want—’

  ‘Ruth, I have something to tell you. It’s important and I’d like to know what you think.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Henry, but this is important too. The family is falling apart and I need to find a place they can treat as their home, call in and expect meals. Aunty Blod isn’t up to it and—’

  ‘I’m sorry, Ruth, but I haven’t time for this!’ She was startled by the anger in his voice and stared at him. ‘When you have time to listen to what I have to say,’ he added, as he opened the door for her to leave, ‘if you ever have time to listen, perhaps you’ll let me know!’ He opened the shop door, gesturing for her to leave, and its bell tinkled cheerfully as, with a gasp of annoyance, she went out.

  She didn’t go upstairs to sleep after eating a snack supper beside the fire. The couch in the cosy room was impossible to leave as night fell. The stairs looked dark and uninviting. The fire was banked up and would stay in all night, she had no one to please but herself, so why move?

  Geraint had arranged for a telephone to be installed and it sat on the dresser. Beside it were notebook, pens and pencils so any appointments could be written down. There had been surprisingly few since a busy period after the For Sale board had first been displayed and those who had come, had been discouraged by her pointing out all that needed to be done, rather than tell of it’s best features. The large house with a roof needing attention and in need of paint seemed too much of a commitment for the young couples who came, and one elderly couple were convinced that the place was unsafe when Ruth pointed out a small crack in one wall that wasn’t even a part of the house, but a separate outhouse where the washing boiler had once lived.

  Ruth had taken down the last of the pictures and mirrors, and darker patches in the colour of the walls revealed their absence like guilty secrets. There was nothing structurally unsound, except in the doubts she placed in viewers’ minds.

  The place did need money spent on it. Ruth hadn’t noticed how shabby it had become, but now she felt a sneaky, guilty pleasure
and hoped it would never sell. It was an excuse for not starting to make plans, or to look for a place of her own, although she knew that once summer came and everything looked brighter, it would have more appeal. She wouldn’t necessarily be given much time to make arrangements. Although, even then, she told herself, there was always Aunty Blod.

  To her dismay, there were two appointments made during that morning and she reluctantly prepared for them. Hostess skills couldn’t be ignored and she made cakes in case they had come a long way, the kettle simmering on the cheerful fire. The first couple were not impressed and spent the time criticizing everything, even the friendly kitchen, which they said would have to be ripped out as it was impossible to use in its present state. The lovely room where the family met and talked about everything? Ripped out? Ruth rushed them through the rest of the visit and slammed the door before they had taken two steps away from it. How could she give the place to strangers, people who didn’t appreciate its wonderful warmth, its spaciousness, and who lacked the imagination to see themselves living there happily as she and her brothers had done?

  Blodwen received another letter. As before it went to Ty Gwyn and Ruth gave it to her. ‘It’s from an old friend,’ she told her. ‘Lost my address she has, and I haven’t written back. Shame on me,’ Blodwen muttered, stuffing it in her handbag.

  The letter was unsigned like the first one and it apologized for not turning up as promised. It went on to explain that he, or she, had been in hospital but was now well again. There was another date, this time in two weeks time and curious about it, Blodwen marked the date on her calendar.

  When the day came, she was sitting eating her breakfast and wondering what to wear as the sky looked dark and rain threatened, when there was a knock at the door.

  Bryn was there and his white, anxious face made her immediately think something terrible had happened to Brenda and the baby.