The Heart of the Home

by The Heart of the Home (retail) (epub)

  ‘It’s all right, I won’t leave, if you need me I’ll stay,’ he said, longing to hear his father tell him he was needed, valued. ‘I was only a bit fed up, that’s all, just thinking out loud.’

  ‘Go,’ George said quite clearly and forcefully. ‘I’m selling up.’

  *

  News spread fast, with one or two people seeing the ambulance at the large house and guessing George was the occupant. Stella heard about it before the ambulance had even left the main road and had told a hushed group hoping to be served before closing time. Betty was there and those who came into the Ship that evening added to what they knew with what they had guessed or made up.

  It was almost closing time when Teifion came into the pub, and the murmur of conversations ceased.

  ‘Dad’s going to be all right. It wasn’t a heart attack, he was upset and made himself ill. And the fault was mostly mine,’ he added when he spoke to Betty. ‘I told him I wanted to leave and work here and he just, well, he went a dark shade of puce and sort of keeled over. He told me later he’d been angry all day about something and when I made my announcement it all flared up.’

  ‘Did he say what made him angry?’

  Teifion shook his head. ‘I bet it’s something to do with that stepmother of mine. She’s the only one to make him lose his rag apart from me.’

  ‘Frieda? I thought they were blissfully happy?’

  ‘They are, but someone else made her happy too and maybe she didn’t give him up as she tearfully promised. That’s my guess anyway. Now, can I stay and help clear up? I want to learn every aspect of the business and cleanliness is top of the list, isn’t it?’

  ‘Thanks, but aren’t you needed?’

  ‘No, he’s sleeping now.’

  ‘And you still want to leave the business and learn the licence trade?’

  ‘Very much so. I offered to stay, hoping in a way that he’d want me to, but he said “Go!” like that, firmly, coldly, and, well, that’s what I’ll do.’

  ‘This isn’t the time for decisions, Teifion.’

  ‘For the moment my decision is made.’

  ‘Come on then, these glasses won’t jump onto the bar by themselves.’

  He worked beside her for an hour and everything was shiny and clean before he left, closing the door behind him. He didn’t go home, he was unwanted there and something very much like spite made him refuse to go in and answer Frieda’s questions. She should have gone to the hospital, her excuses were ridiculous; as his wife, her place was beside him. He didn’t know she had gone there soon after he had left or that George had refused to see her.

  *

  Walter searched his mind for ways of putting things right between himself and Lynne. Since her brief stay with Gladys May, she had slept in the spare room and treated him formally, as though she was the servant and he the master. It was breaking his heart.

  Learning from Leo that George was in hospital didn’t elicit any sympathy. ‘Twice the man almost ruined our lives, Lynne and me, and if he had died I’d have felt nothing but relief.’

  ‘Twice?’ Leo queried.

  ‘Twice! And if you think I should be sorry that the man’s ill then you’ll just have to be disappointed. Look at what has happened to Lynne and Meriel? They’re broken-hearted, that’s what! And it’s all his fault. Lynne left me because of that man’s rumour-mongering and even though she’s home it isn’t the same; she’s locked away by shock and misery and it’s all down to that man!’

  Leo wondered about the other occasion George had caused trouble but dared not ask. ‘If I took her to see Meriel, would it do any good?’

  ‘Leo, I’m desperate, take all the time you need and try anything you can think of, just get things back to as they were.’

  ‘About Meriel,’ he said hesitantly, wondering whether he’d receive a reply or the man’s fury.

  ‘What about Meriel?’

  ‘She wants to find her – well – her mother, and I wondered, do you have any information?’

  ‘No and if I did I’d keep it to myself. She’s our daughter and searching out her mother would bring nothing but misery. Opening Pandora’s box that would be, finding out where she came from, why she was given up. She could waste years of her life looking for some family who probably haven’t given her a thought in years.’

  ‘She wants to know. She’s in a vacuum at the moment, not knowing who she really is. In a complicated way she feels cheated, by you and Lynne, and by me, because we knew and didn’t tell her. I thought, if I could help find them, or at least try, she’d settle again. Whoever her real parents were they couldn’t have given her more happiness, she does know that much.’

  ‘Real parents? We’re her real parents. She came to us at ten days old and we couldn’t love a child more. We were told nothing, just that the mother couldn’t keep her.’

  ‘No reason given?’

  ‘None. We presumed her mother was unmarried and her parents wouldn’t accept the child. Either that, or the poor mother died. Young, unmarried, let down by the father, that’s most likely, don’t you think?’ He picked up a photograph of Meriel from his desk and his expression softened as he looked at it and wiped away imaginary dust. ‘Look at her. She’s so beautiful and yet someone gave her to us. What could you say if you did find her mother, eh?’

  ‘I don’t know, Walter, I just feel that we ought to search for her and find out.’

  ‘Where do you start?’

  ‘You know the town where she was born?’

  Walter shrugged. ‘I don’t suppose it’s far from here. Just far enough for us not to have noticed a girl carrying a child and never pushing a pram. I seem to remember being told the girl was from Dinas Powys but I don’t trust my memory enough to be sure.’

  They discussed it for a long time but nothing in the way of a slightest clue occurred to them. Leo continued to spend part of each day helping Meriel and Lucy and even agreeing to fill in when Lucy took a few days off to visit Gerald’s parents and renew acquaintance with his family.

  *

  He went to look again at the cottage near the church with no intention of trying to talk to the occupants. He stared as though the stones of the walls would somehow tell him what he wanted to know.

  He became aware of music coming from the church, an organ, not very well played, the same hymn tune repeated, and he guessed the musician was practising for the following Sunday. Then other music reached his ears. The Tommy Dorsey version of ‘On the Sunny Side of the Street’, played loudly. Curious, he went to the window and looked inside. A girl was dancing, her arms and feet flying as she sang along with the lyrics obviously enjoying herself. The music ended and was swiftly followed by ‘Blue Moon’, to which the girl danced holding a cushion in her arms. Smiling, Leo stepped quietly away.

  ‘Here, what you doing snooping around?’ a voice called and he turned to see the red-faced girl, still hugging her cushion.

  ‘Sorry, miss, I was curious about the music. ‘Sunny Side of the Street’ is one of my favourites,’ he told her.

  ‘Just don’t tell my father,’ she said more quietly. ‘He doesn’t approve, see. I hide my records and only play them when he’s out. Mum doesn’t mind. Anything for peace, that’s Mum.’

  He waved and drove off. Anything for peace? he mused. Would that have included giving up a child her husband wouldn’t accept?

  *

  Lucy bought a new summer coat in off-white linen, and went to check on a dress being made for her by Peter Bevan’s wife, Hope. She needed to feel confident for the visit to Gerald’s parents. Before their marriage, Hope had lived for a while in Badgers Brook and it was interesting to share their thoughts on the place. On the subject of attracting people in trouble, Hope was convinced. ‘I went there without a thought of troubles, but when they came the calmness of the old house soothed me and it was there I met Peter. We’re so happy and I know I wouldn’t have coped so well without Badgers Brook to rush home to each evening.’

  L
ucy smiled. ‘I’m the exception. My worries are well behind me. It was a good way to leave home, though,’ she admitted. ‘I couldn’t have afforded it otherwise.’

  ‘All is well now, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh yes. I’ve never been happier. My ex-fiance has turned up, we’re together again, back where we were before the war disrupted everything.’

  Wearing her new clothes gave Lucy extra confidence and she walked into Gerald’s home as though the long months since her last visit had been only days. Gerald was attentive, affectionate and only a regular reference to the business she half-owned marred the few days of her visit.

  ‘It’s as though I’m not the dull, boring ex-fiancée, just a business woman with prospects,’ she told Meriel when she returned to Badgers Brook on Sunday evening.

  ‘You’re imagining it,’ Meriel said with a smile. ‘I don’t suppose they had ever imagined the quiet, capable hairdresser would become an expert in another business. They underestimated you, that’s all, Lucy.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘I hope he isn’t marrying me for what I’ve achieved, with an eye on the business and the money I’ll bring with me.’

  ‘Lucy, love, you have such low esteem! He looks at you and sees what other people see, a pretty, clever young woman, and he can’t believe his luck. He’s proud of you, perhaps even a little in awe of you. Doesn’t that feel good?’

  ‘I suppose so, but it isn’t the same as it was before.’

  ‘Of course not, you aren’t the people now that you were then. You must realize how you’ve changed?’

  ‘I see him staring into nothingness as though I bore him and he’s silently counting the minutes before he can escape. The only time he’s at all interested is when he asks about how well the business is doing or makes remarks about the house we own which is our office. He makes me feel I’m boasting to impress him, keep him attracted to me.’

  ‘You aren’t boasting if he asks the questions.’

  ‘I’m Lucy Calloway, not a set of figures and a bank account.’

  ‘Doesn’t he talk about his father’s business that will be his one day?’

  ‘Only to tell me how much he hates it.’

  ‘No talk of love? Plans for engagement and marriage?’

  ‘Some. It isn’t enough, though, is it?’

  ‘Give yourself plenty of time, Lucy. Don’t rush into anything.’

  As though she hadn’t heard, Lucy asked, ‘How can I be sure he really loves me this time?’

  ‘He’s a fool if he doesn’t.’

  ‘Or I’m the fool for thinking he does,’ Lucy said quietly.

  Eight

  Walter sat in the silent living room that mocked him with its empty chairs, and wrote to Lynne. It was a routine to fill a page or two each evening and post it before twelve the following morning so Lynne received one every morning while she was away.

  Since her short visit to Gladys May she had spent a few days of every week with her, aware, she told Walter, that the old lady was far from well and needed some extra care. Walter knew the real reason was Lynne’s determination to gradually leave him, so if their secret were revealed she could slip out of his life altogether, taking any blame with her. It was breaking his heart. They had been utterly content throughout their years together, Meriel was an added joy and now the hollow empty house seemed worse than a tomb.

  He no longer pleaded with her to come home, but always told her how lonely he was without her and how he missed her. Then he would write a few lines about the trivial events of his day, sometimes even describing the clients, making fun out of ordinary things, and telling her whom he had met on his regular visits to the café. He had given up applying pressure but settled for gentle hints about how she was needed. He knew from the little she told him that her days with her aunt were spent in the garden or helping with some sewing, decorating or cleaning. Mind-numbing tasks that stopped her thinking about where she ought to be, he thought sadly. How can something that happened so long ago come back and create such confusion?

  He reported in detail any news he had of their daughter, such news usually coming via Leo, whom he still sent to help as it was the only way of making sure everything was well with her.

  Sometimes he wrote on a picture postcard, as though he were on holiday and she was left behind. Other times he pretended she was the one on holiday and how he was longing to see her and hear all about it. He kept the comments light and hoped they made her smile. Every day he posted his message and every day he waited in vain for a reply. She usually wrote back after two or three days but he feared the time spent away from him would increase until she no longer felt the place was her home.

  *

  George was worried both about his health since he had collapsed in such a dramatic manner and for the business he was neglecting. His anxiety didn’t help him recover from what the doctors thought was caused by panic and anger rather than a heart attack, which was what they had first suspected. He refused to see Frieda and told the nurse he wanted to see his son.

  Teifion had been there constantly whenever visitors were allowed but this demand from his father, now well enough to tell him what he thought of his intention to leave the firm, made him less willing. Reluctantly, he put on his best suit and picked up the items George had asked him to take in. He was going to the hospital this time with less concern for his father’s health and more for the outburst that was sure to come his way. He met the postman at the door as he was leaving and took the letters he offered.

  One was from an important client. He got into the car but before setting off he thought he should read it. If it contained bad news he might be able to soften the blow by telling his father before he gave him the letter. When he opened it he groaned. This was the worst news. An important auction promised to them was being taken out of their hands and he knew that there was no way to soften that news.

  ‘I don’t care what dream you’re dreaming, boy, so far as I’m concerned you can go and be a pot-boy as soon as you like, but you have to stay and see to the big auction next month,’ were his father’s first words when Teifion walked into the room. ‘According to this lot,’ he gestured disparagingly with a thumb, ‘I won’t be well enough to deal with it on my own and temporary staff will need a careful eye. You have to stay, understand?’

  ‘Calm yourself, Dad, or you’ll be ill again,’ Teifion dared say.

  ‘I’ll be ill? I am ill! And I won’t get better while you’re playing with the job instead of getting on with it. You can’t leave. It’s your business and you have to be aware of that and look after it. This sale is important.’

  ‘There’ll be others,’ Teifion said.

  ‘Not many as big as this one, and what d’you mean “there’ll be others”? If we make anything but a perfect job of this one people will choose other auctioneers in the future. There are plenty looking to take our place. Every sale is important, surely you’ve learned that much?’

  With a nervous glance to make sure the nurses weren’t far away, Teifion handed his father the letter that had come that morning. As he might have predicted, his father burst into angry demands and accusations.

  ‘Have you phoned and asked them why they’ve changed their mind? Promised them a better deal? Extra advertising? More staff to help shift the goods about? Canvas cover if it’s raining? That won’t be expensive to hire. Transport to deliver to buyers at reduced prices?’

  ‘The letter came as I was leaving the house. I haven’t had a chance to do—’

  ‘Then what in blazes are you doing here?’

  ‘You – I – it was you asked to see me,’ he stuttered. ‘I thought it must be important.’

  ‘Not as important as getting this agreement back, you idiot! Go home and sort it and don’t come back till you have. Right? Anything there you don’t understand?’

  He was waving the letter about and Teifion took it, tore it through and left.

  ‘Come b
ack!’ George shouted, leaping out of bed, grabbing the torn pages. A nurse told him to stay in bed.

  ‘Stay in bed while my stupid son ruins my business? Get my clothes, I have to go home.’

  ‘I’m sorry if you have problems, Mr Dexter, I really am, but you can’t go until the doctor’s finished his rounds.’

  ‘Sorry for him?’ the nurse whispered to a colleague. ‘I’m more sorry for his son!’

  Teifion went back home coldly calm. It was as though his father’s anger had released him from any doubts about what he wanted to do. He packed a couple of small suitcases, left his keys on the table and looked around him. It should have been sad leaving the place where he’d lived for most of his life but he could find no regrets, only excitement. He was like a child on the last day of term, nothing but freedom beckoned and he had a job not to shout with excitement. He drove to the pub and knocked at the side door. Betty appeared, wrapped in a waterproof overall and wearing cut-down wellington boots.

  ‘Hello, Teifion, I won’t be a minute finishing the floor, my cleaner failed to arrive again. Go in and put the kettle on, will you?’

  ‘I’ve come to make a start if that’s all right with you, Mrs Connors, and perhaps you’ll show me how I can best help.’

  ‘Put the kettle on,’ she repeated with a grin. ‘Tea first then we’ll talk about who does what, right?’

  She spent the morning patiently explaining the system of stock-keeping so everything was used in sequence. He seemed to understand and even suggested moving one or two items so that the most frequently used were nearer the entrance to the bar. He felt satisfied he had made the right decision, at least for the present. And Betty was encouraged to believe he would be a useful and, more to the point, an interested employee.

  He didn’t visit his father even though he was told he’d come home. The room Betty offered was small and sparsely furnished, old-fashioned and rather dark, but seemed to him just perfect. About the all-important auction he thought not at all.