Holidays at Home Omnibus

by Wait Till Summer; Swingboats On the Sand; Waiting for Yesterday; Day Trippers; Unwise Promises; Street Parties (retail) (epub)

  ‘Thanks for being his friend,’ Reggie said. ‘I don’t think he has many of them.’

  ‘Oh, it wasn’t as strong as friendship. Just curiosity and something to fill my letters to Freddy,’ she said to reinforce her point.

  * * *

  When Audrey went to the house that had been her home in Sidney Street, she found her sister there.

  ‘Hello, Audrey,’ Marged said. ‘I’m just looking through the tablecloths and tea towels, seeing if there’s any mending to be done. Better do it now than have to rush nearer the start of the season.’

  ‘There’s months yet, Marged. It isn’t even February.’

  ‘Only weeks away and you know how quick the weeks pass once Christmas is over.’ They spoke formally and it crossed Marged’s mind that they would be more relaxed talking to strangers in a bus queue.

  ‘February will be a busy month for me,’ Audrey said, helping her sister to check the linen.

  ‘Oh?’ Marged was bursting with curiosity but managed not to show it.

  ‘Keith and I are getting married on the twelfth. We’d like you and Huw to come.’

  ‘Marrying him? Audrey, what are you thinking of? You hardly know the man!’

  ‘I know him well enough to want to share the rest of my life with him.’

  ‘You know he has two sons? Have you met them?’

  ‘Not yet. But I will.’

  ‘And a wife who divorced him?’

  ‘Oh Marged, don’t start raking up every little thing. I’m marrying him and if you want to come to the wedding you’ll be welcome, if not, well, it won’t spoil our day.’

  Forcing herself to speak calmly. Marged pleaded. ‘At least wait. What’s the rush?’

  ‘Last time I waited thirty years.’

  ‘I might have known you’d bring that up! Mam stopped you marrying Wilf because he’d taken advantage of you. She thought it was for the best.’

  ‘Whatever. This time I don’t intend to waste any time.’

  ‘Waste time? You haven’t forgotten that a week ago it was your anniversary? You and Wilf would have been married for three years. The poor man hasn’t been dead a year. Show some respect.’

  ‘The twelfth it is.’ Audrey replied calmly. ‘Will you let me know whether you and Huw will be coming? We thought we’d have the reception at the Seaview Hotel.’

  ‘You don’t want me to do it then.’

  ‘Just come if you want to wish me well.’

  ‘Of course I do, you know I do. The wedding will be a small one I suppose, like when you married Wilf?’

  ‘Not this time. Not a white wedding, of course, but quite grand in its way. One for the town to remember.’

  ‘We’ll be there,’ Marged promised.

  * * *

  There had been several falls of snow during January and when Audrey woke on her wedding morning, she knew immediately there had been another. The light from outside was weird, the clouds, when she looked out of her bedroom window, were dark and with that odd purple-greyness that came with the startling brightness of the snow. She got out of bed and wondered how people would get to the ceremony. Smart dresses and wellington boots probably. She smiled happily — it was going to be a white wedding after all.

  The pavement outside the register office was crowded with well-wishers and the curious. Audrey smiled and accepted the good wishes as she passed through the throng for the brief ceremony that would change her name to Mrs Keith Kent. In spite of the snow that lay on the ground and was still falling at intervals, they walked in procession to the hotel. A generous spread awaited them and twenty people sat down for the wedding breakfast and an imitation wedding cake.

  At three o’clock, Audrey and Keith had arranged to leave in a taxi for the station to go away for a long weekend, while the café remained open with Maude, Myrtle and the promise of help from Hetty.

  At the reception Keith was uneasy with the guests, and a concerned Audrey asked if he had one of his headaches coming on.

  ‘I’ll be all right, love,’ he said. ‘It’s often brought on by stressful situations.’

  ‘Stressful? I’m so sorry, Keith. I asked for your approval before arranging anything, you should have told me if you wanted a different kind of day. It could have been anything you wanted it to be.’

  ‘I wanted what you wanted, Audrey. I always want you to have what you desire.’

  ‘There are some Aspros in my handbag, go and take a couple. I know they don’t really help, but it’s all I can suggest. It won’t be long now. Everyone’s leaving early because of the weather, so we’ll soon be on our way and then you’ll relax.’

  Clutching the strip of tablets he left the room as the last of the guests were leaving; some intending to wait at the railway station to wave them on their way, others to make their way home before the snow and the approaching night’s freezing temperatures made it impossible to travel.

  When the waitresses cleared the tables and the imitation wedding cake was packed away to be used for photographs at another wedding, Marged and Huw, Bleddyn and Hetty waited with the happy bride for Keith to return. Maude and Myrtle had gone to take over the café from friends who were filling in for the afternoon, and everyone else had gone.

  Minutes passed and Huw went to find Keith but came back looking worried. ‘He isn’t here,’ he said. ‘I’ve searched the place and asked the staff to look too. There isn’t a sign of him.’

  Audrey smiled. ‘He’s cooking up a surprise, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Of course he is,’ Marged said with a forced smile.

  ‘We’ll wait with you,’ Hetty said. ‘We don’t want to miss this, do we Bleddyn?’

  The hotel offered tea while they waited but Audrey refused. This was ridiculous, there wouldn’t be time to drink tea. As soon as Keith came back they would be on their way home. When an uncomfortable hour had passed, Huw ordered a taxi, and they went back to the flat.

  The café was open and Maude and Myrtle had changed out of their smart clothes and were busy keeping the customers fed. They hadn’t seen Keith and were alarmed at the news of his disappearance.

  While Audrey stood being comforted by Marged and Hetty, the men went to look in the flat. There was no sign of his having been there.

  ‘What about the cellar?’ Myrtle suggested.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, what would he be doing down there?’ Marged asked.

  ‘No reason. but it’s the only place you haven’t looked.’

  Without a word Bleddyn and Huw went down to the room where the laundry was done and the stores were kept. The door to the garden was open and lying on the floor was Keith. Behind them, Myrtle watched as they leaned over him to check on his condition. Audrey pushed her aside to look down at the prostrate man.

  ‘Had another migraine and fallen, has he?’ she whispered, her hands over her mouth in horror.

  Marged instinctively reached out and hugged her sister, and for once, Audrey didn’t push her away.

  ‘Migraine, my arse,’ Bleddyn said. ‘He’s drunk!’

  Twelve

  Bleddyn and Huw carried Keith upstairs without a word to Audrey, who was hovering around them sobbing but trying not to. She helped them put him into the bed he had recently used, unable to consider having him in her own bed, at least until he was recovered enough to know where he was. Marged hugged her and managed not to say anything and Maude and Myrtle ran the café and smiled as though nothing untoward was happening.

  The guests who had walked to the railway station hoping to see them off on their honeymoon waited in vain. No one thought to let them know.

  ‘In fact,’ Huw muttered, ‘the fewer who know the better. Audrey will have enough to worry about with having to face us.’

  ‘We could just say the honeymoon was cancelled because of the weather,’ Bleddyn suggested. ‘No one would find that hard to believe.’

  While Keith slept and Audrey sat watching him, Marged helped in the café and Huw washed dishes. Bleddyn and Hetty went home. W
hen the café closed at nine, Marged and Huw left, and Maude and Myrtle took their time finishing off the clearing up.

  ‘What shall we do?’ Maude whispered. ‘I don’t want to go upstairs and talk to Auntie Audrey, I wouldn’t know what to say.’

  ‘We could go to Auntie Marged’s I suppose, but we’ll have to face Audrey some time, won’t we?‘

  ‘Best we don’t go up just yet. We could stay and wash the front of the counters and set the tables ready for Monday morning, that’ll keep us down here a while longer.’

  They worked quickly, anxiety giving them a need for speed, and as they dealt with the cleaning, they changed their minds every few minutes about whether to go or stay.

  ‘It’ll be best we go and give her time on her own,’ Maude would decide.

  Myrtle would agree, but then frown and say, ‘What if she’s lonely and needs someone to talk to?’

  The two sides of the discussion were repeated in different words for all the time they were working, finding extra things to do to avoid making that final decision. When there was no reason for them to stay in the café any longer, Maude crept upstairs and seeing Audrey like a statue, watching the sleeping Keith, she tip-toed back down and, writing a note to tell Audrey where they had gone, they let themselves out quietly and hurried through the dark, snow-covered streets to Sidney Street to see Marged and Huw.

  When Keith woke and looked around him, Audrey saw his face change as realization of what had happened reached his brain.

  ‘Don’t say you’re sorry, Keith,’ Audrey admonished in a whisper. ‘Sorry isn’t enough.’

  ‘I’m no good with a lot of strangers.’

  ‘I gathered that much.’

  ‘I took a drink of whisky to help me over a difficult few hours, that’s all. I’m not family, they’re all strangers. I’m hopeless with strangers.’

  ‘So you said.’

  ‘It won’t happen again.’

  Ignoring the promise, Audrey asked, ‘Would you like something to eat? It might help make you feel better.’

  ‘A slice of toast?’

  She went to the kitchen and when she came back with the toast he was once more fast asleep. As she adjusted the covers more neatly around him, she found gripped firmly in his hands a quarter bottle of whisky which was empty.

  Audrey ate the toast, watching the man she had married who was sweating slightly, and rosy-cheeked, lying peacefully in his bed, while hers was cold and empty and for the foreseeable future was likely to remain that way. It was after midnight when she heard Maude and Myrtle come in, stamping the snow from their boots, calling goodnight to Huw who had presumably walked them back, and giggling as they tip-toed up the stairs, but she stayed in her room. She wasn’t ready to do the cheerful, in control, capable Auntie Audrey act just yet. When everything was quiet, she went to bed.

  Snow continued to fall throughout the night. She woke very early, to a silent world. She reached over and opened the curtains and the room was filled with that strange light that attends the presence of snow. She had no idea of the time as the morning activities were muted by the insulating effect of the snow. Sunday morning sounds slowly began to make pictures in her mind, of ordinary people starting their ordinary days. Dogs barking, doors grating as they opened, and slamming shut. The sound of shovels, scraping as they removed the snow from paths to allow access to lavatories in the yards and to gather fuel from the coal sheds. The scraping was followed by the rattle as the coal fell into coal buckets, a rhythmical scrape and clatter, scrape and clatter. She thought vaguely that she would soon have to do the same.

  She slid out of bed and sat looking out of the window as the day slowly began. Across the road, at the side of the radio repair shop, she saw a shrouded figure in the yard looking for sticks, the man wearing a sack around his shoulders to protect him from the gentle flakes. He chopped a bundle and took them inside. Women off to their cleaning jobs walked along the pavement with socks over their shoes to prevent them falling. The paperboy went past, whistling cheerfully, dragging his load on a sled behind him, a dog following, jumping playfully through the deep snow and stopping occasionally to cock his leg.

  She was so engrossed in watching others, forcing thoughts of her wedding day away, she only gradually became aware of sounds within the house. Someone was moving about. Her heart began to race. It must be Keith. What would she say to him?

  She heard a kettle being filled, then the rattle of china. Still, she waited. Her thoughts wouldn’t gel, she felt a swelling of self-pity and when Myrtle knocked and came in with just one cup, making it clear she knew Audrey was alone, she couldn’t speak at all.

  ‘I’ll put it down on the table, shall I, Auntie Audrey?’ Myrtle said, kissing her.

  Audrey could only nod. Ten minutes later, she forced herself to rise and go into the small room where Keith had slept. She hesitated before knocking on the door and going in. The covers were thrown back and the bed was empty, and it was then that the tears came.

  Maude and Myrtle promised to find him and at first Audrey told them not to bother. Hurt, humiliated, she felt the onus was on Keith. He was the one who had gone away and it was up to him to decide when to return. ‘How could he do this to me?’ she asked again and again, and after repeating the usual platitudes a dozen times, Maude and Myrtle could offer no answer. They could only hug her and promise to help in any way they could.

  ‘What shall we do?’ Marged asked Huw, on that Sunday morning, when Maude had come to tell them Keith was again missing. ‘Nothing until we’re asked,’ Huw replied.

  ‘I think I should go to the café tomorrow morning and do what I can there,’ Marged offered.

  ‘Only if you promise to say nothing,’ Huw warned. ‘This is Audrey’s mess and only she can solve it. Even offering help will only make her feel worse. This is a time for silent sympathy.

  All through that Sunday, Audrey’s anxiety grew and finally she asked the girls to help her search for him.

  ‘There can’t be many places where he could go. Perhaps he’s gone back to The Dingle?’

  ‘We’ll go there,’ Myrtle said. ‘You go back to other places where he’s stayed, and it wouldn’t hurt to tell the police,’ she added trying to sound casual. ‘He might have got himself arrested or something.’

  A shiver went through Audrey, the ‘or something’ hung in the air, an augury of disaster. He could be dead, or dying, alone and with no possibility of help, finding himself with nowhere to go was serious in such weather.

  ‘You make sure you two stay together, mind. No wandering off. It isn’t safe to be out there alone in this weather. Whatever happens today, I don’t want any harm to come to you two.’

  Maude and Myrtle wrapped up warmly and, carrying a blanket although not quite sure why, they set off. ‘I hope we aren’t the ones to find him, mind,’ Maude said. ‘What can we say to him if we do? Come home, Auntie Audrey wants a little chat? He clearly doesn’t want to come home or that’s where he’d be.’

  ‘We can reassure him I suppose, tell him he won’t get a row.’

  ‘Say we need him to help with the café blinds?’

  Myrtle giggled, ‘Tell him his breakfast is on the table?’ she suggested. ‘That would do the trick for me!’

  Their searches were unsuccessful, and by Monday morning they had heard nothing from him. The police told them that no accident or vagrant answering Keith’s description had been reported.

  ‘He isn’t a vagrant!’ Audrey shouted at them. ‘Vagrant indeed! He’s my husband.’

  ‘If he’d been found sleeping rough, or without visible means of finding food and shelter, that’s how he’d have been described, Mrs Thomas, er, Kent. There was no offence intended.’

  * * *

  When Marged reached the corner where the café stood on that Monday morning, she was surprised to see that it was open. Myrtle was attending to customers and Audrey was setting flowers on the tables as though nothing had happened.

  ‘What d’you want me
to do first, Audrey?’ she asked and, with few instructions necessary, the morning continued just like any other. The day was busier than usual and Audrey’s only comment was that the disaster had increased the business more efficiently than a rumour that they were serving fresh cream cakes. There was no sign of Keith.

  * * *

  Monday’s post brought Shirley another letter from Andy Probert and it was the strangest letter she had ever received. It said only that he was well and would be in the military prison for several weeks, then posted to where they thought he would be useful. ‘Somewhere from where I can’t run home like the coward I am, you can be sure of that,’ he added as a postscript. It was written on a piece of newspaper, using the borders and few empty spaces around paragraphs and advertisements. The newspaper was from Leicester and the postmark on the envelope was Scotland. There was no address and Shirley wondered if he had written it and given it to someone else who was being released to post for him. She wasn’t sure how she felt about Andy: pleased he had written to her, thankful he was safe and at the same time worried about the danger for which he was undoubtedly heading. Dangers, she reminded herself that Johnny and Eynon Castle, and Freddy Clements had been facing day after day for years. He had been a cheat, and as he so rightly said, a coward too. But there was something about him that made her wish he was still in St David’s Well and it was possible for him to appear again without warning, and make her smile and feel happier for seeing him.

  Beth Gregory had a letter that same morning from her husband. Peter simply stated that he probably wouldn’t be home for some time but that she wasn’t to worry. She showed it to Peter’s father, who nodded, sucked on his pipe and said, ‘An impossible thing to ask!’

  For the past weeks writing had been scrawled on walls demanding a ‘Second Front Now’. The demands were increasing and appeared over night on railway bridges, factory walls, on shop windows and across the entrance to the school playground. Rumours sped from group to group creating an atmosphere of hope that the end of the war was in sight. Most were secretly afraid that the second front meant taking men and women across the Channel to fight on German-held land and that would mean more deaths and an increase in the visits of the telegram boy on his bicycle bringing tragedy in a small yellow envelope.