Sophie Street

by Grace Thompson

  Basil scratched his head and frowned. “I’m mystified, Frank, and that’s the truth. And,” he added as he moved on, “I’m going to be late for my shift.”

  “Meet me tonight?” Frank pleaded.

  “About ten?” Basil replied as he hurried on to the factory work he hated but tolerated because he loved Eleri more than he loved the freedom of the fields.

  None of the Griffithses had worked regularly until recently. Living off their wits and the occasional casual work like gardening, or repairing fences, they survived in reasonable comfort.

  When they were younger and needed more money to keep up with friends in regular employment, they had earned a reputation for seasonal work on farms, dealing with hedging and ditching, pruning fruit trees, hay-making, all the work for which farmers traditionally needed extra hands.

  They had to travel to farms further away than Farmer Booker, who knew they visited him only after dark and with illegal intent. Respectability had only come with marriage and, for Frank, that longed-for moment had yet to arrive.

  He was attracted to Mair Gregory and he often wondered whether her acceptance of him as a life partner would be enough to persuade him into regular employment. In his more honest moments he was doubtful. But then, he reasoned sadly, the chances of her looking at him with something other than mild amusement was so slight, he might never have to decide. Her father being a policeman was a serious problem too. Perhaps he should forget her and look elsewhere? But there was still Carl. He wasn’t the right one for Mair and had to be discouraged. It would be fun tormenting him for a while.

  * * *

  Entering the river and finding one of the deep holes where salmon rested, was easy. Basil had done this so often he knew every part of it. Deep in one of the holes, his hands and feet confidently found every depression and every rock. For a long time several of the local families had had a syndicate: one had a second-hand freezer bought from a retiring fishmonger; one had access to the river where they could reach the spot with little chance of being seen; one had a daughter who knew the river warden rather intimately; and then there was Basil Giffiths who could fish with the aid of only the most basic of equipment.

  For one salmon they didn’t need the rest of the team. In fact Basil and Frank took two. Walking back across the fields each of them swollen with a salmon in place of a waistcoat, taking the small paths where they were unlikely to be seen, they were grinning like the experts they were.

  Salmon fishing was a good way of earning extra cash. Selling to hotels who asked no questions was the best way and, to achieve greater success when using a rod and line, an illegal bait was used. A paste, which the locals called jam, contained roe and attracted the fish so readily it was frowned upon by purists and punishable by law. Basil didn’t need this to take the two fish he captured that night, but when Frank placed the fish in Carl’s van, he added a small supply of the paste as well. Telling the police was fun: disguising his voice with a handkerchief across his mouth, pretending to be a woman. He watched as two men came to investigate the contents of the van and saw them take the newspaper parcel and examine it, before knocking on the door of 4 Bella Vista, where Carl had his lodgings. Frank was grinning widely as the policemen took Carl and the parcel away. Then he ran through the lanes and woods to tell Mair what he had seen.

  “Arrested he was, that Carl Rees. Never did like ’im, mind. What’s he been up to d’you think?”

  He gave Mair a bar of chocolate that he’d had in his pocket for days, while trying to find an excuse to call on her, and went home, whistling, convinced that Carl would keep away from the policeman’s daughter after his embarrassing brush with the law.

  While he walked home, pausing a while to watch a barn owl gliding along a hedgerow, marvelling at its ghostly beauty, the police were talking to his father, demanding to know how the fish and illegal bait had been found in Carl Rees’s van, wrapped in that day’s newspaper on which the newsagent had pencilled the address of the Griffithses’ cottage.

  Mair guessed the truth of it when her father laughingly explained what had happened.

  “Can’t you leave it, Dad? It has to be Frank and he was only trying to be clever and get Carl into trouble.”

  “Oh yes, Carl Rees. The man you’ve been seeing – er – in secret.”

  “Hardly secret,” she protested. “You’ve known long enough! So have most of Pendragon Island! He’s a bit shy, that’s all.”

  “If it’s only shyness that’s the trouble, why didn’t you tell me?” her father asked. “And why haven’t I met him?”

  “He’s a bit older than me, and he doesn’t want people to know just yet.”

  “Bring him in for supper. I’ve heard a bit about him and there isn’t a satisfactory explanation of that fish. I want to meet him. Right?”

  “I’ll try, Dad.”

  “You’ll do more than try. I want him here tomorrow night. Seven o’clock sharp. Right?” He spoke with emphasis and Mair knew that, easy-going as he was, this was one time when she couldn’t argue.

  * * *

  Basil was unsympathetic when Frank told him the disappointing result of his enterprising attempt to get Carl in trouble with the police.

  “You wrapped it in a newspaper from the house? Barmy you are. No wonder Mair can’t take you seriously. God ’elp, Frank! Neither can I!”

  Frank played with his nephews for a while, Ronnie aged four and Thomas, who was fourteen months old. He envied his brother. Basil was so happy with his life. Eleri and the children adored him. He left their flat in Trellis Street wishing he could find a way of showing Mair that he’d be as good a husband as Basil.

  Walking home via the woods as usual, he couldn’t resist passing her cottage. There was a light on and, stepping with ease over the low fence, he crept forward to look through the uncurtained window into the living room and there, in front of a fire, sat Mair and Carl. He watched for an hour and was sick when the light snapped out and the bedroom light snapped on. What was the use? He was a failure with women, he might as well face it.

  Once home Frank stood for a long time leaning over the goats’ pen, then opened the door of their shed and went in to talk to them. The curious and friendly little creatures came to nuzzle against his hand in the hope of a tidbit. He took down a clean bale of hay and sat, nursing their heads as they dozed. Janet found him there, fast asleep, when she went to unlock the goats the next morning.

  * * *

  Peter’s mother was home from hospital but still spending most of the day in bed. She would get up at midday and attend to the most urgent tasks, preparing food, dealing with washing and ironing and making sure the house was running smoothly, before returning to bed to read one of her favourite Agatha Christie mysteries. Peter and his father dealt with dishes and some of the routine cleaning but, although his father seemed happy to help his wife, for Peter the menial jobs were degrading.

  “Can’t we pay someone to come in and do all this?” he asked, on the third day of his misery.

  “Pity is you quarrelled with Jennie just when we needed her,” his father said sadly.

  “I did ask her to help,” Peter said, “but as usual she found reasons not to do what she didn’t want to do.”

  “There aren’t many women like your mam any more. She’s getting out of her sick bed to cook for us.”

  “Can you manage the rest, Dad?” Peter asked; “I think I’ll go and see Jennie again.”

  “Waste of time, but I suppose it’s worth a try, son.”

  Peter cleaned his already mirror-like shoes, put on a fresh shirt and his best suit, and went out. He knocked on Jennie’s door. The place was in darkness and there was no reply. “Out again,” he reported to his father on his return.

  * * *

  Carl went into the sports shop the following day and when she had finished serving a customer, Mair invited him to supper that night. “It’s our Dad’s day off and he’s promised to cook something for us. Not a bad cook, mind, my father. We
share that chore, I cook at weekends and when he’s on the wrong shift and he does the rest. So, you’ll come?”

  He thanked her, but hesitantly. “I’d love to, but I might be working.”

  “Can’t you change your plans? I don’t mind as a rule, you know I never push for anything you don’t want to do, but this is a bit of a royal command. He wants to meet you.”

  “We’ve met! I was taken in for questioning when someone mistook my van for someone else’s and left an illegally caught salmon in it!”

  “Yes.” She laughed. “I’d heard!”

  “Who d’you think it was?”

  “How would I know?” Her eyes widened innocently. “My dad knows all the local villains, though. So why don’t you ask him when you come to supper tonight?”

  He again promised to try, and when the shop was empty and Edward had gone upstairs to his flat, she kissed him with a promise of better things to come.

  “I’ll be there,” he whispered, before leaving the shop.

  He hurried away angry with himself for allowing the situation to develop so far and so fast. He should never have started it. Now everyone knew; Edward leaving them alone, obviously understanding their need for privacy. Rhiannon in the sweetshop saying coyly that the chocolates he was buying must be for Mair. Even Jennie Francis was teasing him. It should never have been allowed to become general knowledge. Why couldn’t Mair have enjoyed the secret? It had to stop. Meeting her father was one step too far.

  * * *

  In the basement flat below the sports shop, Sally’s estranged husband, Ryan, was staring out at the garden. It was overgrown and badly in need of tidying. He wasn’t going to start doing that or Edward would expect him to make it a part of his tenancy. Pity he’d missed work today, but he’d had a sleepless night, angry with Sally for sending that man to talk to him.

  The day was dull but he looked out at the rain-soaked trees and shrubs and at the strong spears of daffodils boldly declaring the arrival of spring. Buds were breaking and showing the cheerful yellow that would fill the corner where Frank had planted bulbs he had found when he had cleared the neglected garden before Christmas. Late they’d be, but better for that.

  He was content, he realised. If only he could get Sally and the rest of the Westons out of his mind, life would be perfect. He went to work, doing an undemanding job just well enough to keep it. He went for a walk after work each evening, then home for supper. The rest of the evening was spent listening to the radio or reading. Peaceful, no interruptions.

  Above him, the shop was closed and there was very little noise from Edward’s flat on the top floor. Edward was a fool to think of marrying Megan. Megan, his daughter, who had been given everything she wanted. How well she had turned out! There she was, promising to marry Edward, to love honour and obey, with another man’s child in her arms. Women were not to be trusted. That Molly Bondo had been someone’s loved child once and look at her now, sitting in the Railwayman’s looking for a man she could cheat out of his money. Another example of how weak most men were. Couldn’t manage without a woman. He didn’t need a woman. He was happier without them.

  * * *

  Besides Mair and her father inviting a reluctant Carl for supper, Dora issued an invitation that evening too.

  When Lewis called at the Rose Tree Café and had a snack there at lunchtime, he said, “We’ve been given a piece of salmon, Dora, from Hywel Griffiths, what d’you think of that, eh?”

  “Probably pinched!”

  “Tasty though.”

  “Enough for five?” Dora asked.

  “Yes, with a bit of salad and some new potatoes. Thinking of inviting our Rhiannon and co are you?” When she nodded he said he’d call in to the sweetshop and ask their daughter.

  “No,” Dora said, in her sharp voice. “Better than that. Why don’t you go to the garage and ask Charlie and Gwyn?”

  Lewis was still a little unhappy about Rhiannon having married Charlie Bevan, who had spent several years in prison, and taking on his son, so he understood why Dora had made the request. “Give me another cup of tea, love and I’ll go straight away. Gwyn’ll be pleased, won’t he?”

  * * *

  Frank was wandering aimlessly through the wood that evening. At seven it was still just light and he had been to see someone who wanted a coal house built. He’d refused the job. No particular reason except that he had no urgent need of money. He only worked when his wallet was looking a bit thin, and at present he had enough cash to last another month including, paying Mam and buying a few pints for his friends.

  Without really planning it, his feet took him to Mair’s cottage. To his delight she was standing at the gate.

  “Waiting for someone are you?” he called, as he stepped out of the trees opposite the house.

  “None of your business Frank Griffiths.”

  “Oh, I see. It’s that Carl is it?”

  “What if it is?” she snapped.

  Guessing that Carl was either late or had forgotten, he sidled across the lane and asked, “Come for a walk if he doesn’t turn up? I saw the barn owl again last night and I’ll show you where she nests…”

  “He’ll come.”

  Desperately trying to think of a subject that would persuade her to enter into a discussion and take her mind off Carl, he said, “I’ve been to look at a job, building a coal house.” No response. What a stupid idiot I am to think she’d be interested in a coal house, he berated himself. Only slightly better, he said, “This gate’s a bit wobbly, want me to fix it?”

  “Shut up, Frank.”

  “He won’t come. He can’t face your father. Not after being found with a salmon he can’t.”

  “What d’you know about that salmon?” she asked suspiciously.

  “You know me, I wander about picking up odd bits of conversations, get to know a lot of what’s going on, just wandering about. Like I told you, I saw your father taking him away for questioning while someone searched his room. Found a lot of fishing tackle they did.”

  “You put the salmon there, didn’t you? Leaving your name and address on it. Real clever, that was!”

  “No, that wasn’t me, that was someone trying to incriminate me,” he said, having been primed in his answer by Hywel. “No, Carl won’t face your father. Not now.”

  “And you can?”

  “No problem for me.”

  She opened the gate and hauled him through. “Come on then! You can come for supper!”

  When she opened the living-room door, her father was sitting in a fireside chair. On the table stood a dish of new potatoes, over which butter slowly melted, a bowl of salad and, on a platter, decorated with wedges of lemon and slices of cucumber, sat a whole salmon.

  “Pity to waste it, don’t you think?” Mair’s father said, studying Frank’s startled face suspiciously.

  * * *

  At 7 Sophie Street, the Lewises sat down for supper at the same time as Frank and the Gregorys. Dora had scraped the potatoes in between attending to customers at the café, putting them on to boil as soon as she reached home. With the salmon – ironically – poached the meal was easily prepared, but tasted like a feast.

  When Rhiannon and Charlie and Gwyn left to return to their home across the road, Dora sighed. “Nice having a crowd here, isn’t it, Lewis?”

  “You still miss Rhiannon and our Viv living here, don’t you? What about a lodger then? A pretty young girl. Someone to keep me amused while you’re at the café on my days off?”

  She turned and her bright-blue eyes blazed momentarily, but there was no real anger on her face as she playfully thumped him. They hugged affectionately. “I do find the house empty though, don’t you?”

  “I enjoy the peace. We have to accept this is a different stage in our lives, love. We’ve done what we can to give our kids a good start and you must admit they’ve doing us proud. There’ll be grandchildren one day, and they’ll fill our hearts if not our house. Lucky we are and don’t forget it.”


  “I know how lucky I am,” she said, as they kissed affectionately.

  Gwyn looked in the door at that moment and gave a theatrical sigh. “Not you two as well! Everybody’s kissing. Mam and Dad and now you two!”

  He was smiling as he collected the coat he had forgotten.

  “I hope you don’t think we’re too old, young man,” Lewis said warningly.

  “Nearly, but not quite,” was Gwyn’s parting shot.

  * * *

  When Jack called on his grandmother one evening after school Gladys reminded him that she was still looking for someone to help with the cleaning. “D’you think I might ask Victoria’s mother, Jack?”

  “No, Grandmother. I would not be happy about you employing my wife’s mother. There must be someone willing to give you a couple of mornings.”

  “Mair was all right, but she’s working full time now. I’ve interviewed several young girls, dear, but none of them are suitable. So clumsy and uncaring. I’d lose all my lovely ornaments in a month.”

  “I’ll ask in school. Someone will be found.”

  “The wedding isn’t far off and I want the house looking its best for that, even if Megan is determined to have a small affair.” She looked up at him, and pleaded gently, “You don’t think Mrs Collins, just this once, might…?”

  “I’ll do my best to find someone, Grannie dear.”

  “Grandmother, Jack, you know I consider ‘Grannie’ to be common!”

  Jack was smiling affectionately as he left. Whatever problems the Westons had suffered, or would in the future, Grandmother Gladys would never change.

  * * *

  Victoria’s mother enjoyed working at the house on Chestnut Road but she preferred it on the days when Martha Adams was out. Then, Sam Lilly relaxed and they worked together, enjoying the tasks Martha had set, stopping for a cup of tea at ten thirty which, weather permitting, they drank in the garden.