Family Pride

by Family Pride (retail) (epub)

  “An ’ealthy girl like you bein’ sick of a mornin’? What other reason but the best one!”

  The rest of the evening was filled with laughter and broadly extravagant plans for the years ahead, but glancing at Lucy from time to time, Gilly could see she was really worried.

  “A baby should be welcomed and not dreaded,” she confided to Paul when they were on the train for home. “Lucy is unhappy about the baby, not because she doesn’t want it, but because it will mean she and Gee are stuck in those rooms of theirs for the foreseeable future.”

  “Isn’t there anything we can do? I don’t mean offer them a loan, neither of us can afford that, but perhaps we can find them somewhere better to live? I’ll start looking around and asking a few people who might help.”

  “I’ll have a word with Uncle Sam. He’s the one to sort out any problems.”

  “Uncle Sam’s got problems of his own at the moment,” Paul reminded her.

  * * *

  It was Cyril who eased the situation between Lillian and Sam. He and Marigold called to see the couple one evening in early summer and invited them to go out for a drink.

  “Any reason?” Sam asked, looking at their smiling faces.

  “It’s no use, Marigold,” Cyril said, touching his wife’s cheek with undisguised affection. “I can’t keep it to myself a minute longer. We’re going to have another baby. Marigold’s expecting a baby early next year What d’you think of that, then?”

  “Lovely, boy! Lovely. Congratulations.” Sam’s voice was less than cheerful. A pain of shame stabbed him. He remembered the excitement of waiting for the birth of Lillian’s child; the dream of a beautiful baby like little Stella, a child he’d be proud to call his own, then the disappointment of seeing little Wayne and knowing it was impossible to accept him as part of the family.

  “I’m really pleased.” Lillian kissed Marigold’s cheek. “I think I might have some clothes that our – that my baby’s grown out of.”

  “Too early to part with spare clothes, isn’t it, Lillian? You’ll be having another before long yourself for sure.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Cyril looked at Sam who was standing there with his head lowered, refusing to look at his wife. Cyril had been stubborn over Stella and missed some of the most wonderful months of her life. Now, for reasons that weren’t dissimilar, Sam was doing the same.

  “A child is a child, Sam,” he whispered as they set off for their local. “Stella is Marigold’s flesh and blood, that’s what you made me see. Blind as a flaming bat you are, boy, if you can’t see that you’re behaving the same way as me.”

  “He’s coloured.”

  “He’s a baby!”

  “He doesn’t look like us.”

  “Every baby’s unique.”

  Sam was polite to Lillian all evening, the first time they had been out together since the birth, he was a man who couldn’t be otherwise. But the strain was clear to see. He avoided touching her, chose a seat as distant from her as he could, spoke only rarely and never included her in the remarks he did make.

  While Marigold and Cyril leaned close and whispered to each other now and again, Sam sat solemnly still, tall in his chair, staring at something on the distant wall as if mesmerised by it. All the others could see was an old dart board without any players.

  When they walked home, the two women in front chattering easily, Sam walked beside Cyril and seemed unaware of his presence.

  “Not the jolliest of evenings, Sam,” Cyril said loudly, to startle Sam out of his reverie. “And there was me thinking you’d join in our celebration. Brought us back together you did and there’s you being as thick-headed as I was.”

  “Marigold’s baby wasn’t as – different – as Lillian’s,” Sam said stubbornly.

  “So the man had coloured blood. My Stella has the blood of Gerry Daniels running through her veins. If that isn’t worse then tell me what is!” He stopped suddenly, angry with himself for letting the fact slip. “Damn drink loosened my tongue.”

  “Gerry? Then all the time he was making up to Fanny he and Marigold were—”

  “Try and forget what I said, Sam, please. I’ve lived with it, fought against it and,” he voice lowered as he went on, “I’ve even tried to settle the score but only made things worse. Far worse. ” He was silent for a while, remembering. “Now I’m trying to forget it. Life’s too short, Sam. Accept the fact, live through it, then put it aside like I try to do. There’s no other way unless you want to waste the years ahead. Damn it all, Sam,” he went on, struggling to cover up his slip. “We’ve wasted enough of our lives fighting a flaming war. If Lillian is the one you love, well, there’s no happiness for you anywhere else. If a stubborn bugger like me can accept that unpalatable fact then you should.”

  Sam went out on the rounds the following morning and when he returned to the bake-house he found Lillian waiting for him.

  “I’m leaving, Sam,” she said quietly. “I’ve written home and they’re expecting me.”

  “I see. It’s what you want, is it?”

  “No, it isn’t what I want. I hoped to spend the rest of my life here, with you, loving you, but I can understand why you no longer want me.” He didn’t reply, just went into the yard and unharnessed Ianto and gave him his nose-bag.

  She stood in the doorway and watched him.

  “When are you planning to leave?” he asked, concentrating on washing out the cart.

  “Tomorrow morning. I want to start early, it’s so tiring to arrive late at night and the journey is a long one.”

  “I did it regular when I was looking for you.”

  “Pity you ever found me.”

  “Yes,” he agreed sadly.

  The day was a hot one, heat rose from the concrete yard and seemed to beat against his face. He wanted to tell her he still loved her, but something prevented it. Pride held him back from the final commitment. He needed more time, but if she was leaving tomorrow morning he wasn’t going to get it.

  “I want to take the baby out for a walk when I’ve finished this,” he said. “I need to walk and he might as well have some fresh air.”

  She hesitated, a frown crossed her face. “All right, Sam. Just for an hour. He’ll want feeding again soon.”

  The baby wasn’t yet “tucked”, and Sam watched as he was dressed in a long gown with an embroidered yoke, a lacy cardigan knitted by Bessie, bootees and mittens to match, and then wrapped in a shawl that had been Gilly’s.

  He felt very self-conscious at first, but as he walked along pushing the black and cream pram, he began to feel the heaviness lift from his shoulders. Two ladies stopped to admire the tiny bundle and each time he found himself smiling with a suspicion of pride at their words of praise.

  He went to the park near the bowling green and, as he had expected, found Cyril there. A man of rigid habits, Cyril continued to eat his lunch as he had always done. “Hello, Sam, brought the baby out for a bit of a blow then?”

  “Lillian’s leaving me.” Sam, a man who usually kept things to himself, told Cyril of Lillian’s decision before he had taken a seat beside his friend on the green bench.

  “You aren’t going to let her, are you, boy?”

  “I think it’s best.”

  “Damn fool. That’s what you are, Sam Jenkins. Accidents happen in the best of families, mind, and yours is no exception neither. So what are you feeling so holier than thou about? Marigold told me about your dad. Damn me, only leaving the town once and him with a daughter. Can’t beat that for a yarn.”

  “You’re very chopsy this afternoon.”

  “I’m not trying to pick a fight, boy, just making you think hard before letting Lillian go, that’s all. I read in the paper that there’s somewhere around fifty thousand couples waiting for divorce. Most of them blame the war. Seems we aren’t the only ones to have trouble to face. Now, let’s have a look at little niblo here.” He eased back the covers and looked at the tiny face, dark skinned and utterly sw
eet. “Damn me, Sam, he’s going to be better looking than you for a start off. Probably born with more sense, too.” He grinned at Sam and said, “Can’t stand the competition can you?”

  In spite of his melancholy Sam smiled.

  “He is a cute little chap. I admit I find him very appealing. But how will he feel being brought up in a family where all his relations are pale skinned and most of them blue-eyed?”

  “That depends on you and Lillian. No one else.”

  “D’you regret going back to Marigold?”

  “No.” Tension stretched the skin on Cyril’s face. “Not for a moment. But I do wish I’d accepted the situation straight away. Then a lot of misery would have been prevented.”

  “What d’you mean?”

  “I can’t tell you. But believe me, I have to live with something that’s tearing my guts out and it wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t refused to accept that what happened to Marigold was as much a casualty of the war as the millions of deaths and injuries. The war left more than bombed houses in its wake, Sam, and that’s a fact.”

  They both looked at the baby in the pram and Sam nodded. “Damn me yes.”

  The baby was crying as he reached the shop. Lillian was waiting for them, watching the road with an anxious expression.

  “He’s too hot,” she said when she had taken him out of the pram.

  “I didn’t like to touch him,” Sam said. He was startled to see anger flare in those kindly eyes. “I didn’t mean I didn’t want to touch him, Lillian. I meant I was afraid of disturbing him. Afraid of doing the wrong thing. I don’t know anything about babies and… for God’s sake, give him to me.” He took the baby from her and with his huge but gentle hands removed the shawl and cardigan. He held the baby close to him, cuddling it, and as the baby’s crying ceased his own began. “Don’t go, Lillian. I love you and need you.” She stared at him remaining perfectly still. “Both of you,” Sam said. “I love and need you both.”

  * * *

  Gilly’s restaurant opened and at once began to do good business. She concentrated those first weeks on serving simple, traditional food, the cook she had employed was an excellent one and soon the new place had earned a reputation for good value meals and a pleasant atmosphere. Paul’s experience in large quantity cooking proved invaluable. He still worked for his father but during the evenings he helped in the kitchen and, when things were busy, in the restaurant itself, watching to see that the waitresses behaved in a suitable manner, recommending dishes, and attending to the slightest need of the customers. Gilly found his presence reassuring and unfailingly helpful and she told him so.

  “I can’t thank you enough, Paul. You’ve taught me so much. There were so many things I hadn’t allowed for. I never thought I would be so tired for a start,” she admitted. “Without you I don’t think I could carry on. I’m falling into bed at night and when I wake in the morning I hardly know how I got there! I thought sleeping like a log was an exaggeration but now I’m not so sure.”

  “I’d help more if you’d let me.”

  “I can’t afford to pay you and I can’t let you work for nothing. Besides, you have your own work to do. Starting to bake bread early in the morning and then working here ’til late, it isn’t possible to do that for much longer without feeling the effects.”

  “Marry me.”

  “No, Paul, I can’t.” The question and its firm reply were repeated frequently and now the negative answer came to Gilly’s lips almost without thought.

  Paul had offered to give up his father’s bakery and throw in his savings with hers to make the restaurant and the two cafés an equal partnership. She wanted to work with Paul beside her, sharing the good things and the bad, but deep down, although she loved him, she couldn’t forget how his father had cheated her family. She loved him but couldn’t make the final commitment and trust him with the business she had worked so hard to achieve.

  Gilly announced one June morning that she was moving out to live above the restaurant. “I won’t be far away, still in Bread Street, but there’s plenty of room there and I’d find it more relaxing to live on the premises. There’d be less work for you, Lillian. I’ll still be able to help with baby-sitting and the occasional shift in the bake-house if I’m needed, mind. I don’t want to disappear from your lives or anything. What d’you say?”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Sam said. “The place rattles around us as it is. When I think of how it used to be with all of us home, and now there’s only four of us and room for double that number. Don’t go, Gilly. Not yet. I don’t think it will feel like a home any more with only us and Ivor here.”

  “What about Lucy and Gee?” she asked quietly. “I’ve seen them recently and they are worried about having to leave their flat now Lucy is expecting and they both work in a bakery if you haven’t realised it. They’re spending every spare moment looking for another room, afraid to tell the landlord she’s expecting for fear of being thrown out there and then.”

  She left her uncle and aunt to discuss the situation and hurried to the café where she had to prepare for the morning opening as one of the girls was sick. She wondered if Lucy and Gee would agree if Sam did invite them to live in Bread Street. Sam was in serious need of someone to help. Dai Smoky was a very willing worker and did much more than anyone could reasonably expect. But the heavy work in the bake-house needed a younger man and Gee was already experienced.

  “Of course,” she said to Paul later, “it would mean that for Gee’s help we’d have to keep two. Lucy won’t be able to do much for a while, but I think the business will be able to stand it, just about.”

  Paul looked away from her. There was always a strain between them when the discussion touched on the low state of Jenkins’ bakery.

  “Gilly, why won’t you let me talk to Dad? I know now what he did. The story about Gerry arranging the sale of the bake-house can’t be denied and as for the rest, the cheating and the over-charging, even swamping the fire with water so you lost a day’s baking on Christmas Eve, I don’t doubt any of it now. If I spoke to him I’m sure he’d do something to make up for what he did.”

  “Your Mam has always been a friend to me. I can’t allow her to have the truth thrown at her. No, best let things lie. If I can get someone to run the café who’s more reliable than the girl I’ve got now, I can give a hand in the bake-house in the mornings. I don’t need to open the new restaurant ’til twelve and—”

  “Marry me, Gilly.”

  “No, Paul. Now if I go to the employment exchange and tell them what I want, then—”

  “Marry me and take me in as your partner.” This time he was more insistent and he held her shoulders and stared into her eyes. “Tell me you love me.”

  “I love you, Paul, but it’s still no to marriage.”

  “Tell me why?”

  “I want to make my own way I suppose. I’ve worked hard to get things underway and I want to finish the job, make a real success of the restaurant. It’s mine, Paul, and I want it to stay that way.”

  “It isn’t because you don’t trust me?”

  “I trust you, of course I do.” She looked away as she lied to him. How could she admit that she was afraid to believe him.

  “Then marry me.”

  “No.”

  * * *

  Gee was upset. His amiable face was contorted with despair. His wages had never been high but with Lucy earning a few pounds it had enabled them to manage the rent on the two rooms and even put a little by for the flat they hoped to find one day. When Lucy gave up work not only would they find it hard to pay the rent, there might not be any rent to pay. Once the pregnancy began to show or the landlord got word of it they would be told to leave.

  Where would they go? They didn’t have a stick of furniture and even if they found a place where the baby would be accepted it would have to be furnished accommodation again and more expensive. There seemed no way out of the rut they were in.

  He wanted so mu
ch for Lucy. Polly had told him how Lucy was determined to own her own business one day. He had promised to help her achieve her ambition and here he was unable to even give her a home. I’ve let her down, the words haunted him day and night. He loved her and he had failed her.

  He had tried talking to his boss and had asked if there was the possibility of a rise in pay, but the man had shaken his head sympathetically and told him he, too, was facing difficulties and might have to let some of the employees go.

  Lucy had begun again to make lacy collars and ornaments for dresses and hats and one day, when Gee was working, she went to some of the shops to see if there was a chance of reviving her small business. Most of the buyers were polite but firm in their refusal. One lady laughed and said, “Good heavens, no, my dear. Today’s young people want practical styles. They aren’t looking for old-fashioned frills and furbelows that came out of the ark!”

  “One day,” another buyer told her more kindly, “these lovely things will be sought after again. Fashion, like most things, goes in circles, but who can tell when?”

  Lucy abandoned her attempt to add to the budget and made clothes for the baby instead.

  * * *

  Jenkins and Sons began to expand again and Sam and Lillian were kept very busy dealing with the increase. Sam realised they had to have extra help or they would both fall asleep one day in the middle of their work. Then came the announcement that bread was to be rationed in July. It seemed unbelievable that so long after the war things were still getting tighter and more difficult.

  Sam studied the information leaflets from the Ministry of Food and ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation. He handed them to Lillian with a sigh. “Seems we have to take bread units from our customers and can only bake and sell the amount of bread the units allow. Damn me, there’s us trying to re-build a business and for the purpose the government is telling us to hold back! I’m beginning to wonder who won the war!”