Sophie Street

by Grace Thompson

  When she went into the kitchen she saw that the pie had been made, neatly marked with a fork and decorated in attractive swirls on the creamy potatoes, and was ready to go into the oven. Carrots had been carefully sliced into even sticks and swede was already on the cooker top waiting to be boiled.

  A tray had been set with a cup and saucer and a plate of biscuits. He turned away from her and poured boiling water into the teapot and said, “There, you sit down and drink this, I’ll go and pick a stalk or two of parsley to decorate the pie, shall I?” She might not have spoken for all the notice he had taken.

  Unable to decide on the best action, she allowed the meal to pass without saying anything to Maxie or even glancing in his direction. When the others guests praised her for the delicious food, only then she did look at him. But like the others, he was looking at her and joining in the comments on her excellent cooking. It was bizarre to say the least.

  “Freshly poached salmon and new potatoes, tomorrow,” she said weakly.

  She was washing up when he came into the kitchen and this time she was going to make sure he understood.

  “Mr Powell. I appreciate your concern when you thought I was too late back to prepare dinner, but I do not want you to come into the kitchen again. Ever. Do you understand? If you do, I will ask you to leave and not come back.”

  If she expected him to be subdued by her words she was wrong. He smiled widely and opened his arms.

  “Don’t fight it, dear lady,” he said, and she stepped back as though stung. “I know that what has happened between us is sudden and hard to believe. But I knew the moment I saw you that we were meant to be together. You need a man here and, with your husband gone—”

  She slapped his face so hard her hand hurt. “Please leave. Now, this minute!”

  “I’ve spoken too soon, have I?” he said, rubbing his face ruefully. “Proud woman that you are.”

  At the back gate, Ryan watched the scene in the kitchen and at once ran up the path and burst into the house.

  “What’s going on?” he demanded.

  “Nothing I can’t handle,” Sally said. “Will you both leave at once.”

  Ryan looked at Maxie, who was still rubbing his cheek.

  “I thought she and I were friends, that’s all,” Maxie said. “I’ve helped cook the dinner and done everything I can, and now she’s telling me to go,” Maxie spoke as though in shock.

  To Sally’s increasing alarm, Ryan took Maxie’s part.

  “You should be ashamed. Taking advantage of the man who pays to be here. If you can’t manage this stupid idea of yours of running a lodging house, then admit it and give it up.”

  “Guesthouse,” Sally protested in a whisper. “And I can manage.” Leaving the two men commiserating with each other on the unfairness of it all, Sally ran to her room and locked herself in.

  Maxie left after breakfast but on the following Friday when he was next due to stay with her, he came back as though nothing had happened.

  * * *

  Frank was surprised at the change in Mair’s attitude to him. Instead of telling him to get lost whenever he invited her out, she actually instigated some of their meetings. Besides visits to the pictures, which he didn’t really enjoy, the seats being very uncomfortable for his long frame, there were walks during which they stood and kissed and suppers at her home where her father was sometimes present and sometimes not.

  Mair became a regular visitor at the Griffiths’s untidy cottage, calling in after the sports shop closed, certain of a meal and a pleasant evening. Gradually, the idea of being married to Frank and being a part of this unconventional family was no longer a thought to be dreaded. She sometimes wondered, when she saw Janet looking at her when Janet thought she was unaware, if Frank’s mother had guessed the situation and knew the reason for her sudden interest in her son. Perhaps, one day, she’d admit it, but not yet. She had to show Janet and Hywel that, if she married their son, she would be a good wife and a loyal one. Only then could she contemplate admitting how she had used him.

  Rhiannon also wondered about Mair’s change of heart and as she thought of the interest Mair had shown in her plans for the new baby, she was suspicious of the girl’s motives.

  Frank talked to his brother about it one morning. He met Basil as he walked towards the factory where he and their brother Ernie now worked.

  “D’you think there’s a chance she’ll marry me? I don’t have anything saved, or a job, but if I thought there was a chance I’d look for work and even promise her dad I’d give up fighting and poaching.”

  “Duw, there’s love for you!” Basil teased. “You’d get a job?”

  Ignoring the jibe, unable to see the funny side of his situation, Frank went on, “Has she just turned to me because she misses Carl? Viv said something about marrying on the rebound. Is that all it is?”

  “If it is, then I’d work fast, Frank. Ask her before she either goes back to Carl or finds someone else to grieve with.”

  “I’ll go and see her when she closes the shop for lunch talk to her and ask her how she feels about me.”

  “You’re sure, are you? There’s more to marriage than savings and a job, mind. Take this problem we have with the flat. I think we’ll be evicted before the summer’s over. I have to deal with it, find a place that’s comfortable and that we can afford. Would you be able to sort out problems like that? You can’t take on a wife and not be prepared to look after her proper.”

  “I don’t expect where to live would be a problem, she’d want to stay and look after her father, wouldn’t she? That cottage belongs to him. We’d be all right there.”

  “You sleeping in the same house as a policeman? You’d never feel safe enough to close your eyes!”

  “Oh, I would,” Frank said with a sideways grin. “Already tried it, haven’t I?” He left Basil at the plastics factory gates staring at him in surprise, and walked back the way they had come. He wouldn’t wait for the shop to close for lunch, he’d go and see Mair now, this minute.

  * * *

  Sam Lilly was another man with marriage on his mind. They hadn’t known each other long, but he wanted to take care of Glory, give her some of the ordinary treats that her life had sadly lacked. Since the accident on the way back from Tenby he had been afraid to invite her to go for a drive, although, when she referred to the incident she never suggested that any of the fault was his. If she knew about his poor eyesight, that was never mentioned either.

  When she turned up for work one morning and told him that Jack had offered to teach her to drive, he was delighted. If he ever felt he was no longer able to drive his car, then Glory would be able to take on that task for him. He offered her the use of his car, but declined to give her lessons himself.

  “I don’t think I’d be such a good teacher as Jack,” he admitted. “I once tried to teach my sister and we didn’t speak to each other for a month!”

  It was only much later that he felt the beginnings of doubt. What was he doing? Training Glory to be his slave? He hadn’t thought about how she would feel, acting as his eyes, and perhaps giving up all thought of her own needs and desires to look after him. He felt ashamed. How could he be so selfish?

  For the next few weeks he was out when she arrived for work, although she noticed he had attended to many of the tasks he habitually dealt with. There was no word and he never called to see her and check on the lovely garden he had given her and in which he took such a pride and pleasure.

  They met once in the High Street, when she was looking for some material to make dresses for her daughters, Elisabeth and Margaret. Caroline Martin, Barry’s wife was serving her with buttons and cotton when Sam walked in with his sister. He greeted her with obvious pleasure and, at his invitation, the three of them went to the Bluebird Café for a cup of tea and some cakes.

  The talk was trivial: Glory and Martha discussed the material she had bought and the style of dresses she would make and Sam sat for the most part in silence, watchin
g her and obviously pleased to be there.

  “How are you getting on with your driving?” he asked as they prepared to part outside the café.

  “Very well,” she replied. “I enjoy it more than I’d imagined.”

  “Use the car whenever you need to practice,” he said again. “If anyone would like to give you an hour or so.”

  She was aware of him standing watching as she walked away and turned for a final wave. She wondered why he had suddenly begun to avoid her when he still enjoyed her company and cared about what she did. Was he afraid she had begun to think about marriage? ‘Be wery careful o’ vidders all your life’, Dickens’s Sam Weller had warned, she remembered with a frown. Perhaps she had better look for another house to clean and leave Sam Lilly well alone. The thought was inordinately sad.

  That she had made the right decision seemed to be confirmed when she told Mrs Adams the following week that she no longer wanted to work for her.

  “I thought you’d be off as soon as you knew,” Martha said and Glory was startled by her bitterness.

  “Know what?” she asked. “I’ve simply decided to look for something closer to home, somewhere I can walk to where I don’t have to catch a bus.”

  “You don’t convince me. You can’t face it, can you?”

  Puzzled, Glory went to see her son-in-law and asked him what Mrs Adams had meant.

  The following day Jack called at Goldings Street and told her that Sam’s sight was failing and that within a couple of years there was a chance he’d be registered as blind.

  “Why didn’t he tell me? Why didn’t he trust me?” she said, hurt more than dismayed by the revelation.

  “Give him a chance to tell you. He might just need more time.”

  “I’ve told Martha I won’t be going there any more.”

  “Go back and talk to her, tell her how you feel, tell her you’ve changed your mind. Women do, all the time.” He smiled, and led her out to his car and gave her a lift back up to Chestnut Road.

  It was Sam who answered and invited them in. Jack left the room and closed the door as she said, “Sam? Are you avoiding me?” There was a pause, then she went on, “You are, and I find it very hurtful. Is it because you can’t talk about your sight problem? A problem that hasn’t even begun?” Another pause, then, “That accident was not your fault, Sam. You can see perfectly well or you wouldn’t consider getting into a car and driving. You’re thinking too far ahead. Any changes in the future can be dealt with as they arise.”

  Jack was shamelessly listening at the door and he smiled as he heard his mother-in-law’s gentle laughter after listening to Sam’s response.

  Chapter Eight

  When Rhiannon knocked on the door of 7 Sophie Street one morning in June, she was frowning. Without waiting for her to say anything, Dora asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “I want to come back home to live,” Rhiannon replied.

  “What’s he done? I’ll kill ’im!” Dora’s blue eyes blazed, yet her heart was calm, belying the angry words and outraged expression. She knew that Rhiannon and Charlie were happy, waiting for the birth of their child with great joy and excitement, she knew that Rhiannon was teasing.

  Unaware that her mother hadn’t been taken in by her attempt at portraying misery, Rhiannon’s face creased into laughter as she said, “They’re coming to do repairs to the house and we need somewhere to stay for a couple of weeks!”

  Rhiannon’s house had originally been a terraced property but bombing of Pendragon Island during the war had damaged it and caused the one adjoining to be taken down. The pine end had been shored up with huge bulwarks of timber ever since. Their name had at last reached the top of the list on the council’s order of repairs and a letter had arrived that morning telling them work would begin the following week and expected it to take about a month.

  “It will be good to have you, you know that,” Dora said, after pretending to be shocked by the teasing. “I’ll get the rooms sorted so you can come over as soon as possible. Your dad’s got some holiday to come so he can help Charlie empty the rooms on that side of your house.”

  They parted then, Rhiannon to open Temptations and Dora to catch the bus up to the lake and start work at the Rose Tree Café.

  * * *

  The postman brought a surprise letter for Megan and Edward Jenkins too, with a London postmark and handwriting Megan vaguely recognised. She frowned as she slit the envelope and took out a single page. She scanned it quickly and handed it to Edward.

  “From your dear cousin, Terrence,” she said, as he began to read.

  Dear Megan,

  It is such a long time since I had word of you and our daughter, so I have decided to call and see for myself how you both are. I can’t tell you how much I am longing to hold the darling child in my arms.

  My fondest love to you both,

  Terrence

  “What a lot of bunkum!” Megan said, as Edward looked up, his expression one of dismay.

  “But he says he wants to see Rosemary. He’ll want to take her from me. I couldn’t bear that, darling. Can he have heard of my plan to adopt her d’you think?”

  “I can’t think how. I do think he has an extra sense about things that might mean money. I imagine that’s what this is about, don’t you, Edward? Money?”

  “I hope so. I’ll pay anything so long as he leaves us alone.” He sat down crushing the flimsy sheet of paper in his hands. “How could he know? I didn’t think anyone kept in touch with him, now grandfather has gone.”

  “Your sister Margaret?” Megan suggested.

  “Of course! I’ll go and see her and ask what this is all about. Even in my most pessimistic moments, I can’t imagine cousin Terrence wanting to be involved with bringing up a child.”

  “I agree. So, it’s money and I don’t know about you, darling, but I don’t want him to gain anything from a threat to harm our happiness. Whatever he wants, the answer is no. Do we agree?”

  “I don’t know,” Edward looked very doubtful and Megan hugged him.

  “Darling, it’s a form of blackmail. He’ll be back again and again if he thinks we can be squeezed for extra money. Oh, it will be pleasantly done. He’ll be at his most charming. But it will still be blackmail. So we don’t give him a penny. We are agreed, aren’t we?” There was a firmness in her voice as she repeated her decision, demanding that he shared it.

  He smiled at her but there was a slight quiver in the corner of his mouth. “I think we should wait and see what he says. We can’t decide on any action until we know what he wants.”

  “But we don’t hand over any money. We have to be certain how we feel about that before we see him.”

  “All right,” Edward said, but Megan had a feeling that he was not as strongly convinced as she.

  * * *

  Terrence stepped out of his car at the entrance to Montague Court and looked around for someone to help with his luggage. The place hadn’t changed much apart from some fresh paint and slightly more orderly grounds. Shrubs that had been overgrown and spread across the grass had been cut back and the edges neatened. He smiled at the realisation that he would never have noticed such things before meeting Coral Prichard, widow and his most recent conquest.

  He opened the boot and strolled towards the entrance. No one about. He was sure that the new owners would have someone available to handle his cases. He went into the reception area and called. A man in a smart suit and a cap came forward and as Terrence recognised him, he burst out laughing. “Islwyn? What on earth—?” Still laughing, he pointed to his car and said, “My man, gather my luggage and take it to my room, would you?”

  Islwyn glared at him and walked away.

  A lady appeared then, opening the door glass door of the office, stepping out and smilingly asking how she could help.

  “I have a booking for three nights, Mrs er—?”

  “Grant,” Annie supplied. “And you are Mr Jenkins?”

  “My family owned this place u
ntil recently,” he said.

  “Then we’ll have to make sure we look after you well, won’t we?” Annie smiled.

  “With my cousin Margaret and Islwyn Weston attending my every whim, it’s a fascinating thought.” Terrence smiled. “Imagine you succeeding in making him work. So many have tried and failed. What a delightful prospect.”

  Annie Grant made no comment. She had thought when he telephoned that he had come to gloat. She had noticed that the car he drove was an expensive new one, and guessed he was going to make sure his cousin Margaret noticed it too.

  Terrence had to carry his own bags to the room he had been allotted on the first floor. It had once been his Aunt Dorothy and Uncle Leonard’s room, he remembered, full of ancient, heavy furniture, with thick curtains draped across the windows, and cobwebs regularly appearing in the corners. The room had been so dark it had frightened him as a child. He remembered running along the corridor when he had to pass its door, feeling the threat of attack between his shoulder-blades.

  Now it was cheerful, the once sombre walls painted a delicate lemon, with a blue carpet and pale oak furniture, and the ghosts had gone. Outside, the month of June was behaving itself and the sky was clear, the view across the gardens calm and soothing. He was surprised at how much the Grants had changed the place. His aunt and uncle would have hated it though. Change had been an anathema to them. They had been obsessed with tradition to the detriment of progress, comfort and profit. He guessed that cousin Margaret hated it too. The thought made him smile. Served her right, the bad-tempered old witch.

  After unpacking and sending for a drink, which he hoped Islwyn would bring, but which was delivered by Annie Grant’s husband, Leigh, he went out to find Megan and Edward intending to play the doting father for a while.

  * * *