Unlocking the Past

by Unlocking the Past (retail) (epub)

  And now, when her daughter had reached the age when she might reasonably be expected to marry someone of note, Gloria had once more seen her hopes deflated. Helen had brought home one of the Griffithses. It was more than a loving mother could stand.

  * * *

  Helen knew there would be trouble when the two sets of parents met and had warned Ernie not to be worried by her mother’s behaviour. Ernie and she had been able to laugh at Gloria’s condescending attitude once they were free from the house. But this was different. She could hardly warn Ernie’s parents to ignore her mother’s little digs!

  The event was worse than Helen had expected. She and Ernie shared looks of embarrassment as Gloria altered her voice, quirked her little finger and performed in what she considered to be a well-bred, mannerly way. She talked with a clipped politeness and condescendingly helped them understand the correct way to hold their knives by reminding her daughter. “Remember, dear, not like a pen,” and that was embarrassing enough. But her father joined in too.

  Wilfred had been primed. That much was obvious to his anxious daughter. He didn’t hide the fact that he was unhappy about his daughter marrying into the Griffiths family, although he got on exceptionally well with Ernie.

  He was normally such a quiet, inoffensive man, but goaded on by looks from Gloria, he insisting on discussing why Frank had been arrested, and brought up more than once the suspicious fact of Basil working for the place that had been robbed, although Janet and Hywel, with voices getting louder with each telling, explained that their sons were not, and never had been, under arrest for the crime.

  “Frank was only helping with enquiries as he had been at the scene previous to the robbery,” Janet said with the light of battle in her eyes.

  “And our Basil was knocked out before he even knew a robbery was taking place!” Hywel said. “How many more times have I got to tell you? You must be twp if you don’t understand what I’m saying. Innocent they are, the pair of them and I’ll fight anyone who thinks different!”

  Hywel was boiling with rage but the imploring glances from both Janet and Helen persuaded him to hold back from attack. “Like a bad-tempered bull-dog on a frayed lead,” was how Janet described it later. So he managed to keep his temper reasonably intact, ignoring Gloria’s attempts to remind them again via a reminder to her daughter, of the “mannerly” way of using a fork. “Index finger above the prongs, dear.”

  He swallowed anger with each mouthful, as the constant gibes came fast and furious. According to Gloria, the Griffithses were honoured to be invited, not everyone was as understanding about a family known to the police. Janet saw her husband’s face getting redder and redder and knew the end was near. It happened as Gloria began to serve pudding, which Gloria insisted was called dessert. He threw a dish of blancmange over Wilfred and told Gloria she was lucky he was “mannerly” enough to hold onto the dish.

  Gloria left the room and was followed by Wilfred and, as the door closed behind them, the unrepentant Hywel burst into laughter and was joined by Janet and Ernie and Helen. Life with the Griffithses was not going to be easy, Helen thought, and neither would it be dull.

  “I was only trying to help,” Gloria’s voice wailed through the door, and Helen began to rise.

  “I’d better go and see that they’re all right,” she said.

  Hywel held her back and pointed to the table’s centre-piece.

  “What about a piece of your cake, Helen?” he whispered. “Better than lumpy blancmange. Now, quick, before they come back and chuck us out.”

  Ernie stayed back when his parents left and in the private darkness of the porch, while Wilfred and Gloria called for their daughter to, “Come in now, this minute”, Ernie proposed and Helen accepted.

  “Best we wait a while before telling our mams and dads,” a happy Ernie suggested. “At least till the blancmange is dry.”

  * * *

  Another couple who were seeing each other very often as the summer wore on, was Rhiannon Lewis and Charlie Bevan. Although they hadn’t walked out together, Rhiannon’s father had seen to that. He had forbidden his daughter to talk to Charlie, insisting that he was a jailbird and a convicted thief. No amount of argument would convince Lewis that Charlie would or could change. Until Dora stepped in.

  “Don’t you know that forbidden fruit is always the most coveted?” she said, when she overheard him warning Charlie off one evening. “Besides, what’s it to do with you, Lewis Lewis? You walked out of this house to live in sin with Nia Martin, so what we do is not your concern any more.”

  But Rhiannon still looked up and down the street in case he was near before running across and knocking on Charlie’s door. On the day she heard that someone had been arrested for the robbery of the warehouse, she went across to let Charlie know.

  “They won’t be bothering you again,” she said.

  “Till next time,” he said sadly. “I don’t blame them, mind, once a thief always a thief. That’s what most people believe.”

  “I don’t. I know you’re trying to make a success of your life.”

  “Thanks, Rhiannon. You don’t know what a help that is, to know you trust me, to know you care.”

  The word “care” seemed intimate and suggested a closeness that didn’t really exist and it made her blush. She started to walk away but he held her arm and said,

  “I’d be so proud if you really cared about me, like I care for you.”

  “Of course I care. You’re a good man and I know you’ll do well.”

  “That sounds real boring. ‘A good man’. I want you to think of me as something more than that. I like you a lot, Rhiannon, and I enjoy the time I spend with you. D’you think you could come out with me some time? For a walk perhaps? Or to the Gomer Hall dance?”

  “I don’t think Dad would be pleased,” she said, hesitantly.

  “Good, I wasn’t thinking of asking your Dad.”

  She smiled and said, “All right, I’ll go for a walk with you and Gwyn on Sunday morning. Later, perhaps we can try the dance class. I haven’t been since I stopped going with Jimmy Herbert.”

  One Sunday afternoon they took a very excited Polly to the crowded beach. Families were making the most of a sunny weekend and had come in their droves to enjoy a day out on the sands. The puppy smashed his way through sandcastles and picnics and headed for the waves, gambolling through them to the consternation of some and the amusement of others. Most people presumed they were a family and for Rhiannon, her outings with Charlie and Gwyn and the pup were beginning to feel like it too.

  They began to go out most evenings. After a week or two, when most people had seen them together and stopped criticising her choice of companion, they began going to the dance class where they met Viv and Joan, Jack and Victoria and many others. Dora willingly looked after Gwyn, for whom it was a luxury to have someone care enough to stop him wandering the streets as he had done before his father was released from prison.

  Charlie, with his easy-going manner, and with Rhiannon beside him, soon became an accepted member of the crowd. Then they began to join the crowd on Sundays for cycle rides, their walks and the rides including Gwyn. Their friendship rapidly flowered into something Dora suspected was love.

  * * *

  Lewis Lewis was angry; and hurt because his daughter refused to obey him any more, and he complained to Nia Martin one Sunday morning as they worked in their large garden.

  “She’s your little girl no longer, Lewis, love,” Nia smiled as she pruned back a straggling forsythia bush. “She’s grown up and doesn’t need your advice any more.”

  “If I’d been at home she wouldn’t even be talking to that Charlie Bevan. I wouldn’t have allowed it even if she is grown up. But I suppose by living here with you I’ve lost the right to say my piece.”

  “Any regrets?” Nia asked.

  “None.” He smiled at her affectionately. “This is the happiest part of my life and I wouldn’t change a thing.”

  “I know
you still miss being a part of the family and occasionally feel the loss, don’t be afraid to say it.”

  “All right, I do find it strange to think that Viv is getting married in a few weeks and I don’t have a part in the build-up like I did when Lewis-boy was marrying Eleri. But I couldn’t be happier, you must know that.”

  “I know it.” She kissed him on the cheek and handed him an armful of branches. “Shall we have a bonfire this evening?”

  “For heaven’s sake stop cutting then, or we’ll set the road alight!”

  “I do love an excuse to stay outside.” She looked up at the oldest tree in the garden, an ancient ash. “We’ll have to do something about this tree soon. Several branches look dead and next winter will see an end to it I think.”

  “Don’t try and do it yourself, Nia. We’ll make that a job for me, and Barry when he comes. Right?”

  “If you say so, although I can use a saw, you know.”

  “You can, but please don’t.”

  “Come on, let’s get the bonfire built.”

  * * *

  Dora was very busy. She didn’t spend a lot of time worrying about her daughter, trusting Rhiannon’s good sense and hoping she wouldn’t be let down by the appealingly gentle Charlie. Apart from the usual warnings, about ‘giving in’, she allowed her to live her life without too much interference.

  Beside the café which she ran with Sian Heath­-Weston, she and Sian were using every spare moment deciding on the buffet menu for Joan and Viv’s August wedding. Sian had made the cake, thankful that with rationing finally abandoned, she could follow a pre-war recipe and not struggle with replacements for the best ingredients. It was already covered with almond marzipan and awaited the final coats of icing before she somewhat nervously began the decoration.

  Dora had practised a few of the most intricate designs on plates and dishes and Sian had done the same. Between them they felt moderately confident of achieving something of which Gladys would approve.

  Gomer Hall, where the dances were held, was not a glamorous place, ‘functional rather than ornate’, was how Sian described it, but it had an adequate kitchen and there were enough trestle tables and chairs to easily accommodate the number of guests. Most families had a special tablecloth, stored in blue tissue and brought out only for special occasions. Begging and pleading didn’t suit Dora’s personality but as it was for her son’s wedding she swallowed her pride and did so, asking everyone she knew to lend her one, and had managed to acquire fifteen white, starched cloths that would be the foundation of the table decoration.

  Although rationing was no longer in force, there were many things still not easily available and cake decorations was one item they found difficulty obtaining. More scrounging, this time on the part of Sian, produced a pre-war bride and groom for the top of the cake, and Dora developed her newly found skills in making roses from icing, coloured a garish pink with cochineal.

  Once the cake was ready to be iced, Sian came to seven Sophie Street and they told everyone to stay away until the job was finished. Shutting themselves in the kitchen, they began. Trying out each stage of the work before applying it to the cake, they worked in almost complete silence, following the plan they had drawn and each one concentrating on her section of the pattern. Getting the right consistency for the various designs was the hardest. Firm enough to loop without dropping in some sections, and soft enough to make the tiny flowers in another, they often felt despair approaching, but each was encouraged by the other until they recovered from the disappointments, scraped the area clear and began again.

  When it was finished, they hugged each other and laughed in relief. It was finished, their first wedding cake and it was perfect. White cake, pink roses, and leaves and stems that were white with a tinge of pink.

  “It isn’t moving from this spot until the wedding,” Dora announced. “If that mother of yours wants to see it she can come here, right?”

  “Right!” Sian laughed. “And we’ll warn her not to breathe, shall we?”

  They arranged for Gladys and Arfon to come that evening to admire their handiwork and they arrived at seven-thirty, with Sally and Ryan and Joan and Viv.

  “What the ’ell are vol-au-vents?” Viv demanded when he looked at the list of food Dora was planning to produce.

  “Stop behaving like a lout and pretending to be as ignorant as the hoi polloi, and tell your mother how thrilled we are with what she is doing for us,” Joan demanded.

  “Thank you, Joan,” Dora smiled, “time someone reminded him about his manners. Now if you promise not to touch, come and look at the cake.”

  Standing beside Sian now, and listening to the ooh’s and ahh’s, Dora couldn’t help wondering at the remarkable changes that had taken place in the Lewis household in the past months. Entertaining people like the Westons in her small kitchen would have been unheard of a year ago. And now she was soon to be related to them. Her son was marrying the daughter of Sally and Ryan Fowler­ Weston, and she was running her own business, in partnership with Sally’s twin sister, Sian. And most remarkable of all, their formidable mother Gladys, was actually congratulating her on her skill.

  “Now the cake is done, we ought to concentrate on Jack and Victoria. Their wedding isn’t much more than a month away and so far as we know, nothing has been arranged,” Sian said.

  “Victoria and Jack insist that everything is in the hands of Victoria’ s mother,” Dora explained. “They’ll ask for help if they want it.”

  Gladys sniffed. “I do what I can, dears, but Jack has always been stubborn. In fact all my children are strong-minded. I booked Montague Court for Joan and Viv and they went straightaway and cancelled it. I thought that was bad enough, but Jack and Victoria are worse! I can’t even persuade Victoria to agree a guest list. And as for Jack, Sian dear. You and I both know he has always been stubborn, but surely a wedding has to follow some conventions?”

  “Planning it all themselves aren’t they?” Sally said.

  “You mustn’t mind if they do. Victoria is shy and I don’t think Jack wants her to be unhappy on her wedding day.”

  “Sally’s right,” Sian said. “Jack has made it clear that they want a small ceremony, and as few people there as possible.”

  “Even Jack has to accept that the family is involved.” Gladys’s voice was loud and disapproving and Dora quickly changed the subject.

  “If you’ve all finished breathing over our cake you can sit down and Sian and I will fetch you some tea.”

  “I think she means bring us some tea, dears,” Gladys said in a audible whisper.

  “Any more of that and she can fetch it herself!” Dora hissed towards Sian, her blue eyes blazing.

  * * *

  Barry put his business, including the showroom and workshop, in the hands of an estate agent and told him he wanted a quick sale. Using every moment he could spare between appointments and clearing the flat, he finished decorating the place and making it look as attractive as possible. As a going concern it had to look tempting, if he wanted to get rid of it before Viv and Joan’s wedding.

  At the flat above Temptations, he sorted out the mountain of equipment he had gathered for the photography business he no longer intended to run. Most of it would be included in the sale of the business but there were a few special items he would dispose of separately. A large advertisement in the trade magazine would hopefully see the lot cleared, then he could concentrate on the new stage of his life, a stage that would include Caroline and Joseph as a close part of it.

  Caroline had no idea of what he planned. Barry didn’t want to tell anyone, even his mother, before everything was settled. He had taken Basil’s and Frank’s words to heart and faced up to sharing his life instead of doing what he wanted and leaving Caroline on the periphery of his dreams and plans. Going to the new plastics factory he got himself a job which would start a week after Joan and Viv’s wedding, which was arranged for August 14th.

  * * *

  With only a cou
ple of weeks before Joan and Viv’s wedding, Gladys and Sian, Joan and Megan were at the Lewis’s house liaising with Dora over last-minute changes and discussing what they would each be wearing. It was Saturday evening, and Rhiannon came in after closing the shop, with Charlie beside her.

  “Mam, I’ve just seen Mrs Jones, Victoria’s mother. She said Victoria has disappeared.”

  “What on earth is the child talking about?” Gladys demanded to the others.

  “That’s what she said. And she went around to Jack’s place and Jack’s father told her that Jack has gone away for a few days.”

  “Are you saying that both Jack and Victoria have disappeared?” Sian frowned.

  “Together?” echoed Gladys, in the tone used by Lady Bracknell when she said “A handbag?”

  “Apparently. He didn’t say where he was going, just that he and Victoria needed a break.”

  Dora couldn’t help feeling a bit gleeful at the consternation the couple’s departure had caused. She felt quite lighthearted when, on the following Monday, several members of the family, including Viv and Joan, received postcards with the local postmark of Pendragon Island, telling them the young couple were going on holiday. There was so much consternation about them travelling together before they were married, that for a while no one thought about anything else.

  “They’ll be back for the wedding,” Gladys assured them repeatedly. “Jack is Vivian’s best man.”

  But when the eve of the wedding arrived the only news anyone had of the couple’s whereabouts was another card, posted in Eastbourne, telling them all that they regretted they wouldn’t be back to see Joan and Viv married.