by Rosie Harris
They were still in the waiting room when Lorna arrived with Dilly so Clara and Dilly decided that now Lorna was there they would get off home.
Lorna was indignant when she heard how long Sarah had been waiting. ‘This isn’t right, not when it’s a young baby,’ she said firmly. Before Sarah could stop her she had gone up to the desk to see if she could hurry things up. Ten minutes later they were being seen by the consultant.
The news was not good. They wanted to keep Cladylliss in for observation. They were not agreeable to Sarah staying with her but since she was breastfeeding they wanted her to come back at four-hourly intervals to feed her.
‘You’d better come back home with me,’ Lorna told her. ‘It’s a lot easier to get here from Cyfartha Street than from Louisa Street. As it is, you’ll barely have time to have a cup of tea and something to eat before you have to start back again.’
‘I’ll have to go back to Louisa Street and let Clara and Dilly know what is happening and I’d better leave a note for Gwyn or he’ll wonder where I am.’
‘While you are there pack a bag with whatever you think you might need and tell Clara and Dilly that you’re staying with me so you won’t be back there again for a few days.’
‘What about Dad; what will he have to say about it when he comes home?’
‘Don’t you worry about that; leave him to me,’ her mother told her, setting her lips in a firm line.
Sarah remained at the hospital, either at the baby’s bedside or in the small bare waiting room adjacent to the ward while doctors and nurses ministered to the child. She slept fitfully – dozing, but immediately fully conscious if Cladylliss made the slightest movement.
For most of the time the baby lay impassive, eyes closed, her breathing so light and faint that many times Sarah thought she had stopped breathing altogether.
When the end came it was so peaceful, almost as if Cladylliss was in a deep, untroubled sleep. Even though Sarah had tears streaming down her face she felt a profound relief at knowing that her beautiful baby was at peace and would suffer no more.
Everything seemed to be in a mist for Sarah over the next few days. Lorna took her home and put her to bed in her old room where for two days she drifted in and out of sleep.
Lorna had gone down to Louisa Street to tell Clara and Dilly that the baby had died. She left a note for Gwyn and asked Clara to be sure to tell him what had happened.
Back at Cyfartha Street she looked after Sarah as if she was still a child. Each time she woke, Lorna tempted her with food, but all Sarah wanted to do was go back to sleep.
‘You must try to eat and drink,’ Lorna insisted. ‘You need food as much as you do sleep.’
It was mid-morning four days later before Sarah roused herself sufficiently to help her mother deal with all the details relating to the baby’s death and arrange a funeral.
‘Does Dad know that I am back here?’ she asked worriedly as she struggled to sit up in bed.
‘Of course he does!’ Lorna assured her.
‘Does he know about Cladylliss . . . about what’s happened to her?’
‘Yes.’ Her mother nodded, but said nothing else.
‘So what about the funeral,’ Sarah persisted. ‘Will he come if he knows Gwyn will be there?’
‘I don’t know.’ Lorna looked doubtful. ‘Are you sure that Gwyn is going to be there? Clara says that he’s out of the country at the moment and he couldn’t tell her how long he would be away.’
‘So does he know about Cladylliss?’ Sarah probed.
‘Of course he does. He’s very upset but, as he told Clara, work comes first,’ Lorna told her as she plumped up the pillows.
‘Does it? Did he ask if he could have time off so that he could be with me?’
‘Well, I don’t know about that of course,’ Lorna said hesitantly. ‘Gwyn has been abroad a lot lately, hasn’t he? He didn’t even manage to come to see the baby while she was in hospital, remember.’
‘He hasn’t been here to see me either,’ Sarah said sadly. ‘Unless he’s been and Dad wouldn’t let him in,’ she added as an afterthought.
‘No, he hasn’t come here, but it’s not because he and your dad don’t see eye to eye. It’s because, as I’ve already told you, he’s away. Clara said he was covering a story in Germany or somewhere like that.’
‘So how do I get in touch with him to let him know when the funeral is?’
Lorna looked at her in surprise. ‘Well, you know where he works so do you know the name of his boss or one of his colleagues?’
Sarah shook her head. ‘He’s never talked about the people he works with, only about the latest story he was being sent to cover.’
‘He works for the Western Mail, doesn’t he? Then contact William Davis, the Editor, and ask him.’
‘However do you know the Editor’s name?’ Sarah exclaimed in surprise.
‘I would have thought most people in Cardiff would know that, especially if they are readers of the Western Mail, and your dad has taken it for as long as I can remember.’
‘Will Dad mind if Gwyn is there?’
‘I’m sure he would expect him to be there – after all, he is the baby’s father. There won’t be many of us, but you will be inviting Clara and Dilly, won’t you?’
They arranged for the funeral to take place early in the afternoon on the following Tuesday. Sarah took her mother’s advice and went along to the Western Mail offices and asked if they could get a message to Gwyn.
The funeral was a very quiet affair and over in less than an hour. Gwyn wasn’t there and Clara and Dilly went straight back to Louisa Street because they wanted to be there when the children came home from school.
Sarah felt very distressed that Gwyn didn’t come. The deputy editor she’d spoken to had assured her that the paper would not only contact him but also see that he returned in time to be there. The fact that he didn’t come meant only one thing; he didn’t care enough to do so. It was something she would never forget or forgive.
Looking back, she realised that he had never shown very much interest in their baby. His interest in her had started to wane long before she was born, Sarah thought unhappily. The only thing that he did seem to care about was his job.
When her mother suggested that she should stay with them a little longer, until she knew for certain when Gwyn was coming home, she agreed. Anything was better than the loneliness of being on her own in Louisa Street.
‘There were only five people at the funeral,’ Sarah sighed as they finished their evening meal. ‘No one else knew her.’
Lloyd shook his head but said nothing. He’d said very little to Sarah since she’d come home and she suspected that he was keeping his opinions to himself and tolerating her because it pleased her mother to have her there.
Three days later Sarah went back to Louisa Street. She knew she would have to deal with disposing of all the baby’s things and was on the point of asking her mother if she would come with her. Then common sense prevailed. It was time she sorted her own life out, she decided.
Possibly the best thing to do, she resolved, would be to see if she could return to university and finish her course. It was really only a matter of taking her exams, and if she outlined the circumstances that had prevented her coming back earlier, then they might make an exception and still let her sit them.
Once she had a degree under her belt she would be in a position to find a worthwhile job; one where she could earn enough money to be self-supporting and able to build a new future for herself.
As for Gwyn, well, since they weren’t married it was only a question of packing her bags and leaving and she could do that right away, she reasoned. Simply walking out on him seemed to be the wrong way to handle the situation, however. It was vital for her own peace of mind to face him and tell him that she was going.
Chapter Seventeen
Sarah looked around the two attic rooms in Louisa Street and shuddered in dismay. After being back living in comfort a
t Cyfartha Street she wondered how she could ever again live in such a sordid place.
The walls and ceiling were grubby, the lino cracked and in places the mottled pattern had merged into a brown streaky mass where it had been repeatedly walked on and scrubbed. The furniture was so old and dilapidated that it made her cringe to think she had to sit on it.
Her mind was made up; she wouldn’t even wait for Gwyn to come back from wherever it was he’d been sent, she’d begin planning her new life right away.
One thing was certain, she didn’t intend to go on living in Louisa Street any longer than she had to, whether it was with him or not. She’d miss Clara and Dilly because they’d been really good friends, but they could still visit her – if they wanted to. She’d noticed that when she’d invited them to come back to Cyfartha Street after the funeral they’d seemed uneasy about accepting and they’d looked at each other questioningly before making the excuse that they had to get back home for the children.
Her own career plans were still vague. Completing her education and getting properly qualified was top of her list and so she resolved to find out first if this would be possible.
When she went to see the university officials, they were most understanding and promised her they would take steps to allow her to sit her exams if she was sure she was ready to take them.
Even though she’d now missed out on a lot of tuition she was confident that if she applied herself to studying for the next few weeks she would be able to do so.
Studying would keep her mind off her other major problem of whether or not Gwyn wanted them to remain together, she told herself. Meanwhile, she remained in Louisa Street for a couple of weeks while she resolved what to do, and sorted out everything with the university.
It was the end of the second week, and Sarah had just moved her things back to Cyfartha Street, when Gwyn came home. She expected him to be exhausted but although his kiss was rather brief he seemed to be in very good spirits and she noticed that he was wearing a new light-weight grey suit.
She waited for him to ask about the funeral but he never mentioned it. His immediate demand was that he was hungry and what was there for him to eat.
‘Not a lot,’ she told him. ‘I haven’t felt like eating, not since the funeral.’
He frowned, and then put an arm round her shoulder. ‘That’s all in the past so don’t brood over it.’
‘You mean I should do like you did and ignore it?’ she questioned, shrugging his arm away.
‘Come on, Sarah, no need to be like that. I was in Germany and I couldn’t get home,’ he blustered.
‘That’s not the way I heard it. Your boss said that he would let you know right away and make sure you came straight home.’
‘He did let me know, but it was too late to get back for the funeral,’ Gwyn told her evasively. ‘Everything went all right, didn’t it?’
‘Splendidly,’ she said in a sarcastic voice. ‘Clara and Dilly were there . . . and my dad. He might be a hard-hearted workaholic but he did manage to take the day off even though he’d never seen his granddaughter while she was alive.’
Gwyn chewed on his lower lip and loosened his tie but made no comment. Picking up his suitcase he opened the door of the bedroom and tossed it on to the bed.
‘If there’s nothing here to eat, why don’t I take you out somewhere? It might be easier to talk away from this place,’ he suggested as he turned round.
For a moment she thought of refusing, then the sense of what he said registered. He was right. It would be much easier in the anonymity of a café or restaurant than it was in the confines of their two rooms to tell him she intended to get right away from Louisa Street.
To Sarah’s surprise he took her to a smart restaurant in St Mary’s Street. He seemed on edge and she wondered whether it was because, compared to him, she looked shabby in her black and white cotton dress or whether he was afraid she was going to cause a row about his long absence, so she decided to keep him on tenterhooks a little bit longer.
When they’d selected what they wanted to eat and drink he did start to talk but it was all about his job, the story he’d been covering and how important it had been.
‘It was a real step up for me, I can tell you. I knew from the moment they sent me there that if I did a good job it would not only mean a permanent appointment but also be a stepping stone to better things. I came through with flying colours. They even gave me a by-line when they printed the story.’
‘So are you on the permanent staff now?’
‘It seems that way,’ he said confidently. ‘In all probability I will be sent abroad again and this time I will be their official Foreign Correspondent . . .’
‘Rather a big step for someone who has only just been made an accredited journalist, isn’t it?’ she interrupted sarcastically.
He reddened. ‘I’m afraid you don’t understand the workings of a newspaper office,’ he said loftily. ‘I would be working with a small team; possibly the same people as I did in Germany.’
‘So does that mean you will be going there to live?’
He hesitated again, a dull red creeping up his neck. ‘That’s one of the things I wanted to talk to you about; something we’ll have to discuss.’
‘Go on, then, that’s why you brought me here, isn’t it?’
He waited until their main course was served and the waiter had poured their wine. Raising his glass to her he said, ‘Here’s to the future.’
‘Yes, to the future,’ Sarah responded in a studied voice. ‘Would that be my future or yours?’
Again Gwyn hesitated, concentrating on loading his fork, and then he laid aside both knife and fork and leaned across the table. ‘Let’s clear the air. Living together in Louisa Street is not working out, is it?’ he declared softly. ‘I don’t want to spend the rest of my life holed up in two rooms in Tiger Bay and I don’t suppose you do either. My mother always used to say “When trouble comes in the door love flies out of the window.” It never made sense to me in the past but it does now; but it’s more than that. We want different things from life.’
Sarah raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. ‘Are you quite sure about that?’
‘You moved in with me because you were pregnant and your old man threw you out,’ he reminded her.
‘And how did I get pregnant? If I remember correctly, you had something to do with that,’ she said mildly as she took a sip of her wine.
‘Yes, I admit I was responsible and because of that I made sure you had a roof over your head but—’
‘Yes,’ Sarah said bitterly, ‘you provided me with shelter, but you never suggested putting a ring on my finger. You didn’t want to be tied down by marriage and you had no time for me when I was pregnant. You weren’t at my side when Cladylliss was born and you showed practically no interest in her. You hated all the paraphernalia and responsibility of a baby. You weren’t even willing to pay for a doctor when she was ill. You weren’t there when she had to go into hospital or even for her funeral.’
She put down her wine glass and sat back, exhausted by her lengthy outburst but glad she had said it. It was all out in the open now. He would know exactly what her feelings were.
He stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. The catalogue of misdeeds seemed to have left him stunned.
‘Are you trying to tell me that you want to finish with me?’ he demanded, his voice tinged with annoyance.
‘Why on earth do you think that?’ Sarah asked.
He looked at her in bewilderment. ‘After your tirade I thought that would come next,’ he admitted.
She smiled coldly. ‘Is it what you hoped for?’
He turned back to his meal, eating rapidly, concentrating on what was on the plate, and avoided her questioning stare.
He drained his glass of wine and made to pour himself another, proffering the bottle in her direction. When she placed a hand over the top of her glass he poured some more into his own glass before slamming the bottle
back down on the table.
They finished their main course in silence. When he laid down his knife and fork he said, ‘Shall we go?’
‘Don’t they do desserts?’ she asked mildly.
He scowled but called the waiter over and asked for the menu.
Sarah studied it. He hadn’t said that he wanted to stay with her and she sensed that he had no intention of doing so but wasn’t sure how to tell her. Either that or he was hoping that she would be the one to say they were parting, she thought cynically.
After my outburst about the baby he probably thinks it is better to wait until we are outside before talking about it in case I make a scene, she thought wryly.
She waited until the waiter had served them before she said anything, then as she plunged her spoon into the delicious-looking mixture of fruit and ice-cream that was in front of her she asked, ‘So are you going to move to Germany, then?’
For a moment she thought he hadn’t heard or didn’t intend answering. Then he pushed aside his own pudding and, leaning his arms on the table, brought his face as close to hers as he could. ‘That’s the other thing we haven’t discussed,’ he said in a controlled voice, ‘but I don’t think this is the place or the time, do you?’
‘I think it is,’ she told him. ‘You’ve just treated me to an excellent meal and now I’d like to hear what your plans are for the future.’
His eyes glazed. ‘I’m not sure how to tell you this or how you will take it,’ he mumbled.
She looked at him expectantly, noticing for the first time the furtive way he avoided her eyes, his weak, slightly receding chin, and the mean tightness of his mouth. He might appear to be handsome but he was weak, she realised. Weak, greedy and self-centred.
A few moments later his words confirmed what she’d expected.
‘Look, Sarah, this new job in Germany will depend on team work if I am to make a success of it. That means long hours and no proper home life. I don’t think you’d like living in Germany. You’re not all that happy in Tiger Bay, so it would be even worse there because you wouldn’t be able to see your mother . . .’
