But surprisingly his fears of a falling back in production were unfounded. A number of customers who had left Jenkins’ during the war seemed glad of the excuse to return. The bread continued to be made and seemed little affected by the restrictions.
The BUS, as the units became known, were collected and had to be counted and returned to the food office each month to be put against the ingredients ordered. One day Sam woke, having been asleep only an hour and, realising that Lillian was not beside him, went downstairs to look for her. He found her counting the small pieces of paper into piles ready to send off.
“Come on, Lillian, love, you’ve been up since five this morning. Come to bed.”
“These have to be in this week, Sam.”
“They do, do they.” He took them from the table and stuffed them into a hessian sack in which seven-pound batches of yeast were delivered. “Tell them to come and count them themselves. When that sack is full we’ll get a bigger one. You, my dear girl, are coming to bed.”
When a bowler-hatted, dark-suited gentleman visited a few weeks later, carrying an umbrella and an official-looking brief-case and demanding to know where the coupons for further supplies were, Sam pointed at the sack.
“Over by there and if you’ll send someone to count them, we’ll send them on.”
The threat of stopping supplies until the coupons were received didn’t keep Sam awake, he was too busy dealing with the daily task of baking bread.
* * *
After Viv and Vic’s visit Maisie hadn’t seen Gerry for more than a week. While he was away she had searched through his papers and bank accounts and found they were broke. When he eventually came back home, it was Maisie who half killed him.
“All these years I’ve given you, Gerry Daniels, hiding you from people you know in case they want to ask questions about the money you owe, turning a blind eye to the women you chase, and now here we are, approaching our fifties without anything to live on!”
While Gerry limped off to the pub in search of sympathy and understanding, Maisie packed the best of her wardrobe in two suitcases and in the morning, while Gerry slept off the sympathy and understanding, she picked up the suitcases, all the available cash, and caught the early bus into town.
She had thirty pounds, taken from a box which Gerry had thought he had hidden from her. It was enough to rent a small ground-floor room not far from where she lived before and soon the news of her return brought some friends around. It wasn’t what she had planned for her old age but it was better than coping with Gerry Daniels. She went to see a solicitor and began proceedings for a divorce.
Gerry left the poorly furnished house they had shared owing a month’s rent and hitch-hiked back to town. He didn’t go to his mother’s solitary room. He couldn’t face sharing a roof with his aunt, no matter how difficult things were. He didn’t need to, thankfully. He found a bed on a “one night only” arrangement with Mona Goodright, whose husband was fortunately away.
He went to Bread Street and, brushing his moustache with a finger and thumb, called to see Sam. “I – I know what you think of me,” he began as Sam filled the doorway and glared at him. “But I’m desperate, Sam, and being related once, I thought you couldn’t give me a job, could you?”
“Get your filthy feet off my step.” Sam didn’t move or raise his voice, but Gerry did what he asked, fast.
* * *
Shirley Green was very upset by the revelation that Derek had cheated on the Jenkins’. She had suspected it for years but had refused to believe it until she heard the truth from Derek’s own lips. One day she could cope with it no longer. She waited until Derek had finished his evening meal and said quietly, “I can’t go on like this, Derek, love. All the town will soon know how we made our money during the war. I don’t think I can live with the shame.”
Derek stared at her. She wasn’t leaving him was she?
“Every time I put on a smart dress or an expensive coat, or cook a joint of meat for which you’ve paid well over the odds, I feel guilty. I’m wearing clothes and eating food that was bought with Jenkins’ money.”
“Forget it and enjoy what we have. I worked hard as well, remember, all the hours of the day and sometimes the nights, too, so I’d have a good business to hand on to Paul. The good life for you was what I worked for, too. Don’t pretend not to enjoy it, Shirley, you’ll make all my efforts worthless.”
“Worthless they’ll be if Paul leaves us.”
“He won’t leave.”
“Why did you hate Sam and the Jenkins so much?” Shirley asked the question casually but doubted if her husband would reply.
“All right, I’ll tell you, but it’s for your ears only, mind, not Paul’s.” He waited until she nodded agreement. “My father taunted me all my life about Sam being the finer man. He said, and I believe him, that he was Sam’s father.”
“Rubbish, love.”
“I wish I could think so.” He twisted his hands together, remembering. “According to Dad, Sam was taller, bigger, stronger and far more clever than me. All my childhood I dealt with that. And all the time there was that Granfer Jenkins, boasting fit to bust about his fine sons, while my father put me down and told me how useless I was.”
“What are we going to do now?” Shirley asked.
“Nothing.”
“We have to do something or Paul will never forgive us.”
“What d’you think we should do?”
“I think we should sell up and leave Bread Street to the Jenkins.”
Chapter Eighteen
Sam took Lillian and Wayne into Cardiff to discuss with Lucy and Gee the possibility of them coming to live in Bread Street. They went on the bus and treated the journey like a half day’s outing. Lillian had made sandwiches and they took a vacuum flask of tea, with a paper-screw of sugar and a small bottle filled with milk. Sam had used their combined sweet ration and had a bag of humbugs and a bar of Fry’s five-boys chocolate in his pocket. The chocolate was for Lucy. In the basket, besides the food, was a hand-knitted baby coat made by Bessie, a baby’s romper suit, a spare blanket that Lillian did not need, and a ten-shilling note from Gilly.
They were disappointed to find both Lucy and Gee were out.
Leaving the bag of gifts in the porch, they walked in Roath Park and fed the ducks on the lake then went back to the rooms. The couple had still not returned. A middle-aged, rather battered-looking man came out at Lillian and Sam’s third attempt and told them he was Gee’s mate, Arthur.
“Gone to look for a place they have.” He gestured with a thumb into the back of the house: “Her in by there has chucked them out because of the nipper coming.”
“Already? But where does she think they’ll go?” Lillian demanded. “She can’t put them on the street!”
“No, she’s given them ’til next week and, who knows, something might turn up for them by then.”
“That’s what we wanted to see them about, we—”
Lillian was about to explain but Sam stopped her with a frown.
“We’ll write a letter,” he said. “Tell them we’re sorry to have missed them, will you?” He handed the man the basket of presents they had placed in the porch. “And give them these.”
“A few things for the baby,” Lillian explained.
Disappointed, they ate the last of their picnic at the bus station and went home.
Later that evening Sam wrote to Lucy and Gee and invited them to come and discuss the possibility of them coming to work and live in Bread Street. He gave it to Ivor to post and it remained in Ivor’s pocket, forgotten.
* * *
Lucy and Gee had no luck in their search for a room to rent. They began by asking in some of the better streets but the prices forced them to try other, less attractive areas. They lowered their standards even further as refusal followed refusal until, at one house in a poor back street, the door was opened to the combined smells of stale food, dampness, neglect and urine. Lucy’s delicate stomach heaved agains
t it.
“I couldn’t live there if the room was free,” she said. Gee’s eyes were steely as they walked hurriedly away.
When they reached home Lucy was tired but she showed her delight at the gifts left by Sam and Lillian, admiring them and exclaiming her regret at missing their visitors.
“Go to bed, love,” Gee suggested. “I think I’ll go for a chin-wag with Arthur. I’m too angry to sleep for a while.”
Packing the clothes and the blanket away in tissue paper, Lucy went to bed where she slept almost at once, worn out by their fruitless search.
* * *
Gilly moved into the flat above the restaurant with Paul’s help. She had bought or been given a random collection of second-hand furniture, but with artistic flair she had made the three rooms look attractive and cosy. Three rocking chairs of different styles had cushions of creton, made by Shirley from abandoned curtains. A few rag rugs on the floor hid the worst of the stained boards and a worn table was covered with a chenelle cloth given to her by Bessie. It was a bit old-fashioned for her taste but it would do for a start. One day, she promised herself, she would have a house furnished by choice and not chance.
On the first night she planned staying there, she felt a little uneasy. A strangeness seemed to develop as the time for Paul to leave came near. The walls seemed alien and unfriendly, the sounds of the old building a whispered chorus of dissent against her presence. The smells of recent cooking were reduced to less pleasant odours, partly masked by the scent of chimney soot and new paint.
“Would you like me to stay awhile? It will take time before you feel safe and at home here. It hasn’t been lived in or even used for years, creepy it is,” Paul reminded her.
“I’ll be all right. Just don’t remind me about its emptiness or talk about my being alone in the rambling old place. ” She spoke sharply, revealing her fear.
“It’s late, but why don’t we light a fire?”
It seemed a good idea, a friendly fire was what the place needed. Why hadn’t she thought of that? Coal and sticks had already been brought up by Sam, and Paul knelt and started the fire into a blaze.
Paul stayed on the fire-side rug and he held out a hand for her to join him. She sat beside him, the fire sending out a warmth that made her languorous and sleepy. His kisses increased the sensation of relaxed contentment for a while, then as his hands began to explore her body a new sensation replaced the soft ease of tired, luxurious comfort.
She began to pull away from him but his lips held her a prisoner of desire. Her arms relaxed, resistance vanished like a wraith of mist in the sunshine and she slowly reclined against him, turning into his embrace and falling back onto the rug.
He didn’t rush her, but gradually and lovingly caressed her, enflaming their need of each other. When they were both naked, it was she who reached out for him, she who pressed her body to its destined fulfilment.
They woke when dawn was seeping through the curtains giving the unfamiliar room a pinkish glow, and Paul lifted her head, kissed her and said softly, “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“Marry me.”
“No.”
“Marry me,” he asked again, pleadingly.
“No.”
When Paul left, lights were beginning to show in the bake-houses in Bread Street. He imagined Sam, Lillian and Dai Smoky beginning their day, and nearby his father and his assistants were no doubt wondering when Paul would turn up for his part of the morning’s activities.
* * *
With a day off, on which Gee was working, Lucy was intending to continue the search for accommodation, but on a whim she caught the train and went to see Gilly, Sam and Lillian instead.
“We thought you were never coming,” Gilly said when Lucy walked into the restaurant where she was setting the tables for the lunchtime clientele. “Didn’t you get Sam’s letter?”
“Letter?” Lucy frowned.
“Oh, no! I bet Uncle Ivor forgot to post it. My fault, I usually check his pockets when he’s given something to post. So you don’t know about our invitation, for you to live in the house with Lillian and Sam and work in the bake-house?”
“Work here? But – why?” was Lucy’s first question.
“Look, I have to start writing out the menus soon, but why don’t you go and talk to Lillian. She’ll be in the bake-house now, cleaning up. Sam’ll be back before long and they’ll tell you all about it.”
“But Sam, I don’t know what to say,” Lucy frowned later as the proposition was put to her. “I don’t think you should do this simply because I’m sort of related. You owe me nothing.”
“Lucy, I can’t think of anything that would have pleased the old man more than Lillian and me finding you and bringing you back to share the family business. I think it was a remarkable coincidence that when we met, you were working for a baker, don’t you? A sign, if you like, that what we suggest is right. And if you don’t like that explanation, well, Gee is Lillian’s brother, isn’t he? It’s a perfect solution for us all to be together.”
“My working in a bakery was nothing more than coincidence, Sam. I wanted to earn my living selling accessories to shops, that was my plan for the future, but the war stopped all that. I went back to cleaning people’s houses for them because I couldn’t find anything better. Then one day Gee persuaded me to give the bakery a try. It wasn’t some inborn instinct.”
“But you do like the work?” Lillian asked.
“Yes, I find it satisfying in a way, although I’d prefer to do the whole process and not just a repetitive part of it. And I’d like to do something more, like cake-decoration, and some rich continental style tarts and some chocolate cooking when rationing finally ends.”
“That suits us, doesn’t it, Lillian?” Sam smiled. “I’d be pleased if we could branch out into something more adventurous.”
“I’m grateful, please don’t think I’m not, but can I keep the idea to myself for a few days before I discuss it with Gee?”
“Of course, so long as you stop being grateful and realise that you’d be helping us, not the other way round,” Lillian said firmly.
“Damn me, yes,” Sam agreed.
“I don’t think Gee would refuse, would he?” Lillian said. “He must be worried about you not having a place to live and with the baby coming and all.”
“If you do agree, you could come straight away,” Sam said.
Lucy was thoughtful as she travelled home and when she went in to their room, where Gee had a meal waiting for her, she said nothing of her discussions with the Jenkins.
* * *
The twins came back for a visit the day after Lucy had called. They were told about the offer made to Lucy and Gee and they heartily approved. The four of them discussed it for a while, and Sam asked if there was a possibility of Vic and Viv returning to the business.
“I don’t think I’ll ever want to work in the bake-house again,” Vic told them. “We’ve been finding short spells of work on farms, sleeping on the boat when we can, and I’ve enjoyed the outdoor life. I wouldn’t stop Viv, mind.” But Viv assured Sam that, for the present, he had no intention of returning to Jenkins and Sons.
“Vic is much stronger, as you can see,” Viv told Sam later, “but he’s still not fully recovered from that prison camp. It’s the nights that are the worst. Sometimes he stays awake through all the hours of darkness and I try to stay awake with him. Then we sleep as dawn breaks and wake when the sun is high in the sky. Living like we do it’s no problem, but I can’t see him settling into a set pattern of sleep and work. Not yet. Not for a long time. Sorry, Sam.”
“As long as he’s getting better. I can keep things going here for a while longer, but Dai isn’t getting any younger and he can’t manage as much as he could. I confess I’ll be very relieved if Lucy and Gee do come and share the load. Or you two,” Sam added.
“When he’s slept through the night for more than three times in succession I’ll be hopeful of return
ing to a routine, but so far he hasn’t managed two in a row.”
That night was a restless one for Vic. He tried to stay in bed for fear of disturbing a household that rose early. At twelve o’clock he slid out of bed and at once, Viv was standing beside him.
“All right, Vic?” he whispered.
“I think I’ll go for a walk. You don’t have to come. I’ll be all right.” But his twin was already pulling on his trousers.
They walked through the town with no real purpose but found themselves on the road passing the old harbour and heading for the deserted pleasure beach. The fairground rides were silhouetted against the sky, some mere humps shrouded in canvas. Others had been left uncovered, sticking into the sky, their distorted shapes unrecognisable as the fun-packed and brightly painted roundabouts and terrifying rides. They looked more like broken toys abandoned by a giant.
The night was warm and the walk, for which Vic had set a fast pace, had made them sticky, their clothes uncomfortably clinging to their skin.
“What about a bathe?” Viv suggested.
“No bathers,” Vic replied.
“Since when has that stopped us? Remember when we were kids, being chased across the docks after being caught bathing in the buff?” Viv laughed.
“And having to hide in the blackberry bushes ’til the coppers gave up and went away before we could go back for our clothes?”
“Blue we were and shivering too much to talk. Damn me it was fun, mind.”
The sea was quiet, the waves touching the shore with hardly a glimmer of white foam. The fall of each wave was a whisper in deference to the late hour. They pulled off their clothes, threw them into an untidy pile and ran down across the silvery sand, racing each other like children. The tide was icy cold and as they threw themselves full length, breaking its smooth surface, they gasped with the shock of it. But soon they were enjoying its silky touch and for a long time they swam lazily around, sometimes floating, sometimes racing with each other. When they eventually walked back up the beach, it was to find most of their clothes missing. The rest were already wet, bouncing about in the shallows.
Family Pride Page 33
