Stanley looked doubtful. ‘I don’t think I fancy them big breakers.’ he said to Wilf.
‘Not a strong swimmer yet?’ Wilf asked in surprise. ‘All the hours you’ve spent on the beach I thought you’d be able to swim to France. Not that I’d recommend that just at present, mind,’ he added with a laugh. To encourage the boy to where others were having fun, he added, ‘You don’t have to swim, Stanley, it isn’t very deep. Walk to the rocks and just mess about and cool off. I wish I could.’
‘Don’t tell me you can’t swim!‘ Stanley jeered. ‘And you telling me off for not going in.’
‘I can swim, lad, but because I have this heart problem, I’m advised not to.’
‘Oh, sorry, Mr Thomas.’
‘When the tide drops back a bit I might paddle, mind. Come on, I’ll walk across with you, shall I?’
Stanley looked at the water foaming around the bottom of the cliffs before exploding and bouncing back in a creamy shower and the temptation was too much. Harold followed him but Percival refused.
‘No, our Stanley, it’ll be over my head and I’ll drown,’ he said, backing away before Stanley could insist. Stanley could be a bit of a bully sometimes, making him do things he didn’t want to do. ‘I’ll watch and cheer when you dive through the waves,’ he promised. With Harold beside him, Wilf coaxing Percival to at least come and sit on the rocks and dabble his feet, Stanley walked down and sat on a rocky shelf where the waves foamed over his feet. Audrey waved and came after them.
The rocks on which they found a place to sit were quite high above the waves and the water was deep as it swirled around them. After calling to tell Wilf what he was doing, Stanley made his way across the rocks to where he could make his way down to the water to join the others who were standing in a row, holding hands and jumping up and down chanting rhymes.
Wilf found a convenient spot where he and Audrey could lean against the rock and they sat looking down at the children having fun. He turned to Audrey and said sadly, ‘We’re so extravagant with the years when we’re young. There seems to be plenty of time for anything we want to do, until something happens to remind us that time isn’t for ever.’
‘I know, dear. So many times we’ve said wait till next year and now we aren’t sure how many next years we’ll have.’
‘There’ll be plenty. We must think so or we’ll waste the time we have.’ He patted her arm affectionately. ‘What is important, Audrey, dear, is that you don’t waste the time you’ll have after I’m gone. You promise to do what you’ve planned? Not waste time regretting the past? Being angry about how much we lost?’
‘I promise, dear.’
He looked at her strangely, ‘And you won’t hate me if I’ve done something you don’t fully agree with?’
‘Hate you? You aren’t capable of doing anything to make me feel anything but love, Wilf dear.’
Shaking off the melancholy of their conversation, Wilf turned to see Percival standing on the rock not far from him. He was leaning over precariously, exchanging insults with his brother. Below, the tide was at its fullest, the water creaming high against the rocky outcrop with the added turbulence that accompanied the change from flow to ebb. The bathers were more than waist high in the foam, still holding hands, still chanting their rhymes.
‘Step back from the edge, Percival,’ Audrey warned.
‘I want Stanley to go and get that kite for me,’ Percival complained. He pointed up at the cliff near the café where, with its string caught on a jagged piece of rock, a red kite fluttered in the thermals rising up the cliff face.
‘Don’t worry about that one, it’s probably damaged. It’s better if I buy you a new one tomorrow.’ Wilf said. ‘It isn’t worth risking a fall.’
‘Thanks, Mr Thomas.’ Percival turned to call again to his brother and, when Stanley didn’t appear to hear him, he leaned over and shouted in what was for him a loud voice. ‘Our Stanley, I’m having a new one so you can forget the stupid kite. Right?’
A piece of sharp rock hurt Percival’s foot and put him off balance. Wilf shouted for him to be careful. ‘Look out, Percival!’
As Percival turned in the direction of the voice, he lost his balance, teetered, cried out and fell. In horror, Wilf jumped up and looked down at the water, but there was no sign of Percival. The foaming waves had swallowed him up.
The crowd in the water hadn’t seen the boy fall and no one seemed to be doing anything to help. Wilf ran across the rocks and jumped down into the sea. His heart was racing with the fear of the boy drowning and his own guilt for distracting him when he was so precariously balanced. Still no one reacted. Wilf dived in and headed for the place where he had seen Percival disappear.
Audrey stood, unable to call, her breath tight and her head filled with panic. She looked around but no member of her family was near enough to have seen what had happened. She took a deep breath and called to the bathers nearest to her, but her voice sounded puny, the noise of the waves and the singing of the youngsters made it impossible to make herself heard.
When Wilf hit the water the pain in his chest all but overcame him. He managed a few strokes and found he could stand up. He looked around, but in the turmoil of the white waves hitting the wall and bouncing off, it was impossible to see anything that might be among them.
He shouted for help but no one responded. He called the boy’s name and walked around, his hands and legs searching for him below the surface, and still no one realized his distress. ‘Stanley!’ he called but Stanley waved cheerfully and went on with the game they were playing, leapfrogging in the water and falling about like demented clowns.
The pain in his chest became unbearable and he clutched his body and struggled a few paces trying to reach out for the rocks. They seemed a long way off and as he struggled to reach them, they seemed to recede from his outstretched arms and grasping fingers. Slowly he became unaware of everything happening around him. Sounds became muted and it was as though he were in a dream, with people far away, no longer a part of the moment, like memories of other days and other places.
He felt hands reach under his arms and voices murmured unrecognizable words and he felt himself being dragged along in the water, with the pain pressing and everything whirling. Then he was being carried and was carefully lowered until he was lying on the concrete and a soft, soothing voice was talking to him, a face close to his own. A dear face; a loved face. ‘Audrey,’ he gasped. ‘What have I done?’ Then the darkness came and he relaxed into its welcoming, painfree arms.
Dripping wet, but unharmed, Percival stood and looked down at the man and cried. ‘He was nice to me,’ he wailed. ‘He was going to buy me a kite an’ all.’
‘He still will, Percival,’ Audrey said in a choked voice. ‘As soon as he’s well, you will have your kite.’
Wilf woke up in hospital and was declared a hero. He spoke very little, only to Audrey and then simply to apologize for his foolishness. He touched her arm and whispered, ‘Forgive me, my darling.’ Then, ‘Such a surprise planned.’ Then he murmured something unintelligible. Leaning over him Audrey caught a few words, like: ‘our son,’ and ‘little Bobbie.’ The words ‘forgive me’ were repeated several times and once, he said clearly, ‘I tried to tell…’ The rest was just a jumble. Three days later he died.
The day after his death, ignoring the pleas of Marged and Hetty to rest, Audrey tried every shop in the town searching for a red kite. Every other consideration was blocked out. She had to keep Wilf’s promise for him. She found one at last and presented it to Percival, who was on the edge of tears.
‘I’m sorry, Auntie Audrey,’ he sobbed.
She guessed that he was feeling at least partly responsible. ‘Don’t upset yourself, Percival. He died because he was an elderly man and was very ill, so ill the doctors couldn’t help him. It was nothing to do with you falling in. Remember that, will you?’
There had to be an inquest and once that had been dealt with, Marged arranged the funeral. Audrey was
locked in grief and unable to think of anything but the briefness of her happiness. In her heart she kept thinking that if Percival hadn’t been so foolish, leaning out so precariously, Wilf would still be alive. She would never speak her thoughts aloud. The boy hadn’t intended such a thing to happen and no one should have to carry such guilt. Giving him the kite had been important. It was a sign that Wilf didn’t blame him either.
‘Why did he have to die?’ she moaned softly to Marged. ‘As if there haven’t been enough deaths. All he wanted was to see Eynon and Johnny come home, but this damned war goes on and on and every tragedy is made worse because of it.’
Marged crossed her fingers superstitiously. Talk about the boys coming home in the same breath as talk about Wilf dying frightened her. The war was a long way from over and her son and her nephew were in daily risk of their lives. ‘I’ve written to tell Eynon,’ she said, ‘and Bleddyn will write to Johnny. They have to be told.’
‘Will you close the café on the day of the funeral. Marged?’ Audrey asked.
With only two more weeks before the season officially ended, Marged had intended to employ help and keep the place open rather than miss a day’s takings, but looking at her sister’s face and the accusation there in her eyes, she nodded. ‘We’ll close,’ she said. ‘Of course we’ll close.’ It was what Huw and Bleddyn wanted, and besides, her sister’s wishes were paramount at this time.
* * *
There were three flower shops in St David’s Well but the most popular one was Chapel’s Flowers. Mrs Chapel was assisted by Maldwyn Perkins who when he first came to town had worked in Marged and Huw’s café and on the stalls on the beach. But he had been unhappy there and when Mrs Chapel offered him a job in the florist, he had accepted with relief. Flowers were what he knew and preparing bouquets to sell and filling the window of the shop with tempting displays gave him a lot of pleasure.
It was Maldwyn who spoke to Marged when she came to order flowers for the funeral of Wilf Thomas.
‘Sorry, I am to hear of your loss, Mrs Castle,’ he said at once. ‘Read it in the paper, I did. Brave man, going in to rescue young Percival when he knew he shouldn’t dive into cold water. Instinct, isn’t it, to help someone in trouble? Everyone’s talking about it.’
‘I hope the talk fades once the funeral is over. Brave he was indeed, but there’s Percival to consider in this. We have to look after the living, the dead are beyond our help.’
‘I don’t know what you mean, Mrs Castle. You don’t think he was a courageous man?’
‘Of course we do. What he did was unthinking bravery. We’re trying to keep the paper reports from Percival though, in case he thinks he’s to blame. He’s only a boy and if we aren’t careful he’ll never get it out of his head. There’s no point in him being upset.’
‘No, indeed,’ he said, still not quite understanding her concerns.
Maldwyn watched Marged go after he had taken a note of her requirements. It was strange how grief changed a person. He’d noted it before, lines appearing on their faces, the stooped walk, the lowered voice and brief sentences leaving some things unexplained.
Seven wreaths were ordered. He went into the back room to check they had the bases mossed and ready. Mrs Chapel was sitting beside the small work table and she began to select evergreen leaves from those she had recently gathered from the garden of a neighbour. Pruning the fir trees in the gardens of friends gave them all the evergreen they needed. Once they were fastened into place, the flowers would be quickly done on the morning of the funeral. Looking at Maldwyn’s neatly written list, she scribbled down the flowers she would need.
‘Better phone them to make sure we get what we want, Maldwyn dear. This will be a big occasion and we don’t want to have to make do with anything but the best.’
She had to speak twice as Maldwyn was daydreaming.
‘Thinking about your wedding, are you, Maldwyn?’
‘Sorry, Mrs Chapel, it’s hard to imagine that I’ll have a wife in a couple of months.’ He turned to her and smiled. ‘I’m so lucky. Delyth will soon be my wife, I’m here working with you, doing what I enjoy, and even my poor eyesight was a sort of blessing, keeping me out of the army.’
‘Phone through and get the order booked then you can go back to your daydream,’ she said with a chuckle. ‘I don’t think I’ll get much sense out of you over the next few weeks.’
Maldwyn picked up the phone and as always, she marvelled at the efficient way he forgot everything else and attended to the order. Whatever happened, he had never neglected his work, in fact he did much more than he was paid for.
* * *
Shirley Downs came home to find the Castle family in mourning. She had been away for four nights having again given in to Ken’s pleading, and had heard nothing about the tragedy. Wilf had not been a relation for very long. Her mother, Hetty, had married Bleddyn Castle the previous year and the fact that Wilf had been married to Bleddyn’s brother’s wife’s sister, was too tenuous a connection for her to feel a great sadness.
She wrote to tell Freddy Clements and also told him a little more about her latest brief encounter with the man she now knew as Andy, making light of the man’s attractiveness and youth. A serving soldier did not like being reminded of those safe at home, making money.
* * *
In a distant town. Andy, who now called himself Kenneth Durham, was taking out some home-made forms purporting to give him permission to collect items for distribution among families who were being rehoused after being made homeless by the bombing. A borrowed handcart was all he had by way of transport and that was worrying. There was no chance of a fast getaway, even leaving all his stock he might be caught. He’d discovered a shed in the large garden of an empty house, in which to store the goods and provide a place to sleep. He looked around him, the cart was loaded with all he could manage and the shed was filled with stuff he had brought ready for the next market town. He would need to steal a van to get the stuff to a market — the last one, having become too well known, had been abandoned in an old quarry.
* * *
At the funeral, Maude and Myrtle comforted Audrey. Marged’s briskness hid her grief as she concentrated on making sure the arrangements went well. While Huw was carrying in extra chairs for the people who were arriving at the house, she was talking in low tones to Hetty and Bleddyn discussing the end of the season, ‘By the time the next one starts, Audrey will be recovered and back into her usual routine,’ she sighed. ‘Thank goodness. This year has been very hard for us all. It will be good for Audrey to get back to normal, won’t it?’
Overhearing, Audrey thought differently. ‘Don’t think you can count on me coming back now I’m widowed. I’m not suddenly helpless, unable to decide what to do with the rest of my life.’
‘Oh, Audrey, I was just saying–’
‘I heard you and you can forget me helping next year or the year after that. I have other plans.’
‘What plans? Surely you aren’t going to keep up this resentment? You promised our mam that you’d always be a part of the family business. And with the boys away it’s even more urgent for us all to do what we can.’
‘I’ll be busy,’ Audrey snapped.
‘Doing what, for heaven’s sake?’
Huw came in struggling with a pile of chairs and shouted for them to stop. ‘We’re in mourning. This is a day for remembering Wilf and you two can’t stop rowing? You should be ashamed of yourselves.’
‘Yes, tell your wife to leave me alone, why don’t you?’ Audrey sobbed as she ran from the room.
Eight
Audrey and Wilf had discussed what she would do after Wilf’s death many times in the weeks since they had learned about his serious illness, but now the time had come Audrey was at a loss. Half thought out ideas, plus doubts about her ability to carry them out filled her mind with confusion. To those who knew her, she appeared vague and occasionally Maude and Myrtle would worry. Grief did strange things to people, and her vaca
nt expression and the moments when she appeared not to hear them were frightening. They declined to speak to Marged about it in case they offended Audrey or made her worse.
For Audrey, the days running up to the funeral and the service itself were a blur and in the week since the final goodbye, she hadn’t left the house apart from her determined search for the red kite. All the brave words had come to nothing, she didn’t know how to cope without him. They had been married for less than two years, but had been loving friends since they were at school, neither wanting anyone else, even though Audrey’s mother had forbidden them to marry.
She knew Wilf had left a will but she was in no mood to care. Coaxed by their solicitor, she sat while he went over the carefully worded sentences, her mind drifting. She wasn’t interested in the contents. She knew there was enough money for her to live comfortably. She knew that, so she didn’t listen to the droning voice as it read the two page document. Her needs were simple enough and she had no great ambitions to surround herself with luxuries even if she could get them.
‘Do you have any questions, Mrs Thomas?’ he asked and coming to her senses she smiled and said no, there were no questions.
‘None?’ he asked with a frown. ‘You aren’t curious?’
‘Thank you for your help. If you’ll send me a bill for your services I’ll pop in sometime and pay it,’ she said, hurrying from the room.
His perplexed question: ‘But, Mrs Thomas?’ went unheeded.
It wasn’t until she reached home and looked at the document carefully that she realized that there was no money. That was a huge shock and she stared at the walls for an age, wondering how Wilf could have spent such a large sum. The shocking thought occurred to her that although they had been together, as friends, for most of their lives, perhaps she hadn’t known him at all. That thought upset her more than anything that had happened since his death. She became more withdrawn than ever.
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