Sophie Street

by Grace Thompson

  In the big house overlooking the docks Gladys was almost in tears. “Arfon, what is the matter with our girls? Imagine another Weston wedding in that awful, common, place.”

  “Imagine a white wedding with the bride carrying her daughter into the church!” Arfon replied in his pompous manner. “D’you want the girl to be a laughing stock as well as the source of gossip, woman? Megan has a child and the man she is marrying isn’t the father. Stop wishing for the impossible and settle down to enjoy the day. It is a celebration after all.” He rested a hand on the back of a chair and leant at an angle as he prepared to make a speech. “Two people setting out on life’s path and—”

  “Do shut up, Arfon dear and let me wallow in misery for a hour or two. Then I’ll put on a brave face like I always do.”

  Arfon chuckled then. “They’ve caused a bit of grief here and there, our girls, haven’t they?”

  “Always talked about, always setting the trend for others to follow, but this, our dear little Megan having a child out of wedlock and now marrying the owner of a shop! It’s too much sometimes, Arfon dear, it really is.”

  “The Jenkinses were landed gentry,” he mocked, “once!”

  “All right, you can mock me dear, but I did hope that one of our three grandchildren would make us proud.”

  “Rubbish, woman, I’m proud of them all and so are you.”

  Megan was leaving her daughter with Rhiannon during the service and then, much to her grandmother’s dismay, she was going to walk out of the church with the baby in her arms. Never one to worry about the town’s gossips, she determined to show them that their words would have no effect on her or on Edward. Megan and Joan’s maxim was, if you do something unconventional or even outrageous then do it boldly, not secretively as though ashamed, there’s less to talk about if you show you don’t care what the gossips say. Today was going to be a test of that attitude, without doubt.

  Megan’s mother, Sally, was so besotted with the baby she had long forgotten any thoughts of shame. She helped Megan dress her granddaughter in the new outfit they had chosen with such care, and then braced herself for meeting her husband. Today, Sally and Ryan were going to the register office together as though none of their difficulties had happened. He was meeting her at their house in Glebe Lane. She was anxious, not for fear of him hitting her but afraid he would do something to spoil their daughter’s day. She stood, dressed in her pink and grey outfit, waiting for him to arrive, half hoping that he wouldn’t, wondering if he would be able to cope with the ceremony and with giving his daughter away as he had grudgingly promised to do.

  Edward was wondering if his sister Margaret would appear. Rather reluctantly he had issued her an invitation, but not to Megan’s Uncle Islwyn. That would be taking tolerance too far.

  The room in the register office was small with no space for more than the immediate family, but once outside, the happy couple were swamped with well-wishers as they made their way to the hall. Rhiannon was there with her husband and stepson, all dressed in their best: Rhiannon wearing a long coat to hide the swelling of new life within her. Lewis was with them as Dora was in the hall putting the final touches to the wedding breakfast. Janet and Hywel Griffiths were there with their family, including Basil and Eleri and their two small sons. Ernie’s wife Helen was conspicuously pregnant with a baby due the following month and she was in no way shy about showing it. Her mother kept pulling her daughter’s jacket across her front, even pinning it in place at one point, but Helen only laughed and let it hang freely again. “At least try and hide it until people have forgotten the date of your wedding,” Gloria Gunner pleaded, to no avail.

  Frank wasn’t with the rest of the family. Learning that Mair was helping Dora with the catering he had gone ahead to see whether he could help.

  “I’ll go down and walk with Mair to the bank every evening you’re away,” he promised Edward.

  “You can keep an eye on the shop by painting the understairs cupboard while we’re gone, if you like,” Edward suggested, and was amused at the look of delight on the usually solemn face of the tall, skinny young man. In the past, Frank had earned a few shillings walking with funeral processions, setting the solemnity of the occasion with his long, droll features, and to see it smiling was an unusual sight.

  Sally was standing alone, remembering the moment she had seen Ryan coming and the way her heart had begun to race. He had looked calm, but he had also looked unwell. He was pale and his eyes were heavy as though from lack of sleep. She tried not to fuss over him, but it was difficult to forget the habits of years. She had been glad her sister Sian had been with her when he had thrown down the buttonhole she had offered him. Grateful too that Sian had held her arm as Ryan disparagingly said that the wedding was a farce and he would not take part in it.

  “Get someone else to give the girl away. I won’t be there to see it.”

  As he had turned and walked away, Sally had started to run after him but Sian had stopped her.

  “Let him go, Sally. We’ll ask Jack. He and Edward are friends and he is Megan’s cousin.”

  Sadly Sally had agreed.

  William Jones, the retired draper who had once owned the shop that was now the sports shop, was there with his landlady and they both carried small, gaily wrapped wedding presents as well as some confetti to throw over the happy couple. Gwennie Woodlas who ran the ladies gown shop which offered, ‘Clothes for the Discerning Woman’, was there. Viv and Joan looked round the gathering throng and thought that if anyone did start any criticism, there were enough of the couple’s friends here to stop it before it did any harm.

  Sally was startled to see Maxie Powell there, also carrying a very large and beautifully wrapped gift. He hadn’t been invited but was obviously not going to allow that small detail to stop him enjoying the occasion.

  “I’m here to represent all the people you look after so well in Glebe Lane, Mrs Fowler-Weston,” he said, smiling and handing the box to Mair, to add to a growing pile.

  “I can’t get rid of the man,” Sally whispered to her sister.

  “Don’t worry, there are always a few gate-crashers and he looks harmless enough,” Sian reassured her. Megan had a quick word with Jack who led the man away. Maxie wasn’t upset or embarrassed.

  “I only wanted to deliver the present,” he said cheerfully. “I didn’t intend to stay.”

  Sally saw what was happening and she felt mean. “Please stay and share the food, Mr Powell,” she called. Sian and Jack shrugged acceptance of her decision and a delighted Maxie was allowed to return to the crowd in the hall.

  “First dance please, Mrs Fowler-Weston,” he said, as he waved his thanks to Sally and Sian.

  * * *

  At first Mair was too busy to note who was there and who was not. The food was simple, most of the work being done before the guests arrived. The cake, made by Sian and Dora a few weeks previously, stood in isolated splendour on a separate table where it could be admired. Barry Martin had already taken a photograph of the couple pretending to cut the cake so he and Caroline and young Joseph-Hywel could sit together and enjoy the occasion.

  The babble of voices crowded out Mair’s thoughts. She gathered plates, cut food and served it, stacked used dishes and brought out clean ones, concentrating on the job and trying not to think of the hours she had spent dreaming about such an occasion with herself and Carl as the leading players. The sound of voices swelled around her as the meal progressed. Conversations building as friends exchanged gossip and others introduced themselves and searched among their known acquaintances to find someone they both knew, so they could deepen their friend ship, for the afternoon and evening at least. Laughter and chatter filled the room, yet Mair felt more alone than she had ever been. If only things had worked out between her and Carl, she would have been laughing and enjoying herself too.

  Then she saw him. He had entered the hall, uninvited, and walked towards the top table. The buzz of dozens of conversations died down as he hande
d Megan and Edward a long box. “He’s my cleaner’s son you know,” Gladys’s loud voice announced, as Arfon asked the man what he wanted. “I was asked to deliver this,” Carl said, with a bow.

  “By whom?” Edward asked, standing to accept the gift wrapped parcel. He looked at their names scrawled on the label and put it aside and sat down. He whispered to Megan “It looks like it’s my sister’s handwriting. I think we’ll open it later.”

  Basil and Eleri Griffiths’s four-year-old Ronnie had a different idea. While the toasts were being drunk and his parents’ eyes were not on him, he tore open the box and revealed a doll. A cheap doll, with a gaudily painted face, which he held up in great excitement before running to give it to his baby brother.

  Edward tried to hide it from Megan, but she saw it and laughed. “How nice, a gift from my Uncle Islwyn and his mistress, Margaret,” she muttered.

  “I’m sorry, Megan. I hope your Aunt Sian doesn’t see it.”

  “I have,” Sian said briskly. “It makes me more sure than ever that your Uncle Islwyn leaving me for Margaret Jenkins was the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time.”

  The uneasy moment was passed off as a joke, and Sian went into the kitchen to make sure Dora and Mair were coping. She found Mair in tears and Dora comforting her.

  “What’s the matter with everyone?” Sian demanded. “You’re staff and aren’t supposed to cry!”

  As a contribution to the day, Gladys had paid for her cleaning lady to help clear up after the wedding breakfast and Mrs Dreese arrived soon after her son had delivered the parcel. As she was outside the kitchen she heard Mair telling Dora and Sian why she was so upset.

  “It’s Carl. He said he loved me and, and,” she sobbed, “and now he’s told me goodbye.”

  “Without telling you why? But why would he leave you if he loved you?” Sian demanded. She wondered, because of the depth of distress in the usually sensible Mair, whether he had left the girl expecting a child. “You haven’t done anything - er - silly, have you?” she whispered. Mrs Dreese watched the scene and was angry. How dare they talk about her son like this?

  “Don’t say I could be having Carl’s baby,” Mair wailed. “I’d die of shame!”

  “I doubt it,” Sian said dryly. “You’d cope with it like the rest of us.”

  “Sorry, I was forgetting about your niece. I didn’t mean to be rude. What a thing to say, on a day like today, too. I – oh, er –” she clasped her stomach and wailed, “I think I’m going to be sick.” Dora helped her out of her chair and directed her towards the toilets, before sharing a knowledgeable glance with Sian.

  Carl was standing just inside the hall, a drink in his hands, talking to one or two of the guests. Edward had wanted him to leave, to take the insulting gift back to his sister and Sian’s husband, but decided it was better not to make a scene. Instead, he continued with the pretence that sending the doll as a wedding gift was simply a joke.

  Mrs Dreese didn’t go into the kitchen, she opened the door to the hall and called her son. “I thought you’d promised me to stay away from women? These people are talking about you and a woman called Mair. Asking if she’s expecting, and considering you the father.”

  “Mam? What are you saying? Keep you voice down!”

  Mair, coming out of the toilets, said, in surprise, “This is your mother? Carl, why didn’t you tell me? Why so many secrets?” Turning, Carl collided with Mair, nearly knocking her over. She staggered backwards against the wall before sliding down onto a pile of empty boxes. Without waiting to see if she was hurt he burst through the double doors and out into the street.

  Frank had been looking for Mair, still hoping she would find time to talk to him and he could offer to walk her home, even though she had told him to get lost, twice already. When he saw the way Carl pushed her aside he went to help her.

  “Go after him!” she said. “Why are you letting him get away with pushing me like that?” She was red faced with crying and her hair was stuck to her cheeks with spent tears. Her eyes blazed angrily at him as though he were the one at fault.

  “I can find Carl any time,” Frank said. “I stopped to make sure you were all right.”

  “Oh, you’re useless.” She sobbed. “Get lost!”

  Frank loped home dismayed, wondering why he was always in the wrong. He sat in the back porch waiting for the rest of the family to return and thought that his life was utter misery and showed no sign it would ever improve.

  The wedding party finished at eleven thirty and Mair walked home alone. Several people had offered to see her safely back and to each she had explained that she had someone waiting for her. The night was cold, an easterly wind biting her flushed cheeks with an iciness that she welcomed. Although there was no moon it wasn’t completely dark for someone like Mair, who was used to walking home alongside the dark trees and far from street lamps.

  The woods were comfortingly quiet, she had no fear of an attack, although once she reached the darker stretches of the lane, she did wish she had agreed to her father coming to fetch her as he had pleaded to do. Why had she sent Frank away? He’d have at least made sure she was safely home. Instead, she had stupidly hoped that Carl would miraculously appear and walk with her. When would she learn?

  She was hardly out of sight of the last of the houses, having just passed the telephone box where she and Carl had sometimes met, when she heard someone coming up behind her. Some instinct told her it wasn’t Carl. Increasing her speed she went on into the dark, narrow, tree-lined lane, looking ahead for her first sight of the lights in the cottage.

  The hand on her ann was sudden and heavy. It was Carl after all, was her first thought. The blow to the side of her head was unexpected and she was disorientated as more blows rained down on her. She tried to run but tripped over the grass at the edge of the lane and fell to the ground. Her head, her legs and her arms were beaten and kicked until she was crying, pleading with her assailant to leave her alone. Then she stopped speaking, lost in a whirlwind of pain and fright, just concentrating on trying to avoid the punches and kicks, listening to the grunts as her attacker aimed each one. The beating slowed down and instead of grunts, she heard panting as the person grew tired.

  The attack stopped as suddenly as it had begun and she lay for a while, aching and sore and very frightened, half expecting the person to return. The phone box wasn’t far and, slowly and painfully, she made her way there. She had lost her purse but got through to the operator who, eventually, rang her father’s number. She sobbed as she tried to explain what had happened, then slumped to the floor and waited for him to come.

  “Who was he?” he asked, once he had got her home and they waited for the doctor. “Did you recognise him?”

  “No, I don’t know who it was. But Dad,” she said in a whisper, “I think it was a woman.”

  * * *

  In the days following the unexplained assault, Frank was a regular visitor to the Gregorys’ cottage. Mair refused to see him for the first few days, but he brought gifts, leaving them with her father, or outside the back door. He delivered fresh eggs, a chicken, a rabbit – stolen – and, with acute embarrassment, a bunch of flowers which he hid under his coat until he had entered the kitchen. When she finally saw him, Frank asked her if the man who had made such a cowardly attack had been Carl.

  “No, it wasn’t a man’s voice,” she told him emphatically. “The sounds I heard were very brief, but I’m sure it was a woman.” Frank was convinced she had been mistaken.

  * * *

  Rhiannon opened the shop early one Monday morning and was surprised to have several customers before the usual time of nine o’clock. When she saw Barry Martin later that morning she suggested to him that she could try opening at eight thirty each morning. “Just for a trial,” she said. “See if it’s worth it. Most people start work at nine so there must be plenty of passing trade between half eight and nine. Pity to miss it.”

  “Won’t it be a long day for you?” Barry a
sked doubtfully.

  “I don’t mind. Charlie and Gwyn go off to Windsor’s garage before eight and I’m up to cook their breakfast, so it isn’t as though I’d need to rise earlier.”

  “Well, if you’re sure.” He drove off in his van to a town in west Wales, where he had arranged to take photographs of a wedding party that afternoon and a golden wedding celebration that evening. With the promise of plenty of orders he was going to have a good day.

  Carl Rees was one of Rhiannon’s customers who called before nine o’clock. He came in and looked surprised. “Didn’t expect to catch you this early.” He smiled. He chose a box of Milk Tray and a bag of toffees.

  “Who are the chocolates for – Mair?” Rhiannon asked, as she packed his purchases. She received only a grunt in reply. “Sorry, I wasn’t being nosy,” she said untruthfully. Mair hadn’t explained, but Rhiannon knew she had been upset at Megan and Edward’s wedding.

  “Jumping to conclusions is worse,” Carl said, slapping the money on the counter.

  At lunchtime, Rhiannon usually went across the road to start preparations for the evening meal but today she went up to the High Street. Walking into the sports shop she called to Mair.

  “I think I offended your boyfriend,” she whispered. “I only asked whether the chocolates were for you again, and he seemed a bit angry. Sorry.”

  “So am I,” Mair replied. “He’s never given me any chocolates and anyway, we’re finished. So whoever he’s buying them for, it isn’t me!”

  “Oh dear. I’ve really done it, haven’t I? That’s the last time I try to be friendly.”

  Rhiannon left Mair, feeling very embarrassed at her innocent remarks and quickly did her shopping. Mair stood thinking about the strange courtship that had ended so mysteriously. She thought about the attack. If it had been a woman, could it still be connected with Carl? A wife? A jealous girlfriend? She had never been given an explanation for his secretiveness. He owed her that, at least. She decided she had to have a serious talk with Carl.