He had an occasional letter from his mother and he visited the grey-stone terraced house in Cardiff a few times, so, when Cecily or Ada asked, he could truthfully say, ‘Fine, thank you, Miss, they’re all fine.’
Accustomed to their own mother’s absence, Cecily and Ada continued with the routine of the shop. Owen Owen worked at the docks when there was work. Sometimes the place was busy with ships alongside each other almost filling the docks but it was more and more the norm for there to be no work and he would spend days just hanging around, between going down to the docks office twice a day to ‘blob’ the local name for adding their name to the list of men available for work. Men were grateful for even a few hours’ work. Women begged to have food ‘on the book’, promising to pay when their men earned a few shillings.
It seemed to Ada, during those weeks when winter exacerbated the scarcity of jobs, that Cecily was constantly watching the door for Danny Preston to appear. Her sister’s eyes looked up every time someone walked in and even when the shop was closed for the night she was still reluctant to move away from the sound of the shop’s doorbell.
In the evening, after preparing and eating a meal, and spending time getting ready for the following day, they usually went out. To the pictures or a dance, where again Cecily’s attention was on the door, or searching the crowd for a sight of Danny’s dark head. Gareth Price-Jones they did see, and each girl thought he had called to see her.
It was Cecily Gareth wanted to invite out but, because he was embarrassed by her forthrightness and confident manner, it was Ada he looked at when he was talking. He closed his barber’s shop earlier than Owen’s and he developed the habit of calling once or twice each week to buy some fruit to take home to his mam. He didn’t tell Mam he bought it from the Owen girls, she did go on so about the unsuitability of a match with Cecily or Ada – more so since their mother had gone off with another man. So, she presumed he had bought it at Waldo Watkins’ on the main road.
Clutching the bag of fruit, he would hang around trying to think of interesting stories to make the girls laugh, while they, anxious to close the shop, laughed at his jokes and made him feel a great wit. He was always reluctant to leave but never managed to invite either of them out. He intended to. Every evening he planned what he would say but when the moment came and he had to speak or leave, he always left.
Each morning the girls were up early to attend to their chores while their father set about the tasks he habitually performed. Fitting the work around his hours on the docks it was he who went to the wholesaler to fetch the sacks of potatoes and the greens and carrots and whatever else the girls needed. He brought boxes of fresh fish from the market and prepared it for sale, and efficiently boned the sides of bacon and the occasional ham. The bones were put in a bowl and offered for sale to make soup and were quickly sold. The work was done efficiently and he helped to clear the mess of the day’s preparations but he showed no joy in anything he did. He dealt with the work like an automaton, without satisfaction or pleasure.
He’d had two sons, both of whom had died at sea during the 1914-18 war. Their widows were constant visitors to the shop and they worried about the man’s health and state of mind as did his daughters. Victor’s wife, Dorothy, was the most dominant of his daughters-in-law and she frequently bustled in criticizing Cecily and Ada, and presuming that, as the widow of the oldest son and having a son, Owen Owen, named for his grandfather, that she should have priority when there was ever a slight hint of the other daughter-in-law being favoured. Rhonwen, the widow of the younger son, John, was gentle and inclined to praise the sisters and assure them they were doing everything they could to help their father back to happiness. Rhonwen was Owen’s favourite, as his son John had been.
Ada and Cecily discussed their father’s health several times with the doctor but they had been told there was no cure for a broken heart. Their mother, leaving as she had, had ruined the man’s life completely.
‘Coming to the dance tomorrow night?’ Gareth asked one Friday evening when he called for his usual bag of fruit. ‘I – I was wondering, like, if you’d fancy a trip to Cardiff instead and see what’s on at the Variety? Good shows they have there.’ He had chosen a moment when Ada was out, collecting Myfanwy from family friends, Beryl and Bertie Richards, where she was having tea with their son Edwin.
Cecily was so surprised that she stared at him for a long moment and Gareth blushed and stammered out an excuse for her.
‘No, no, of course not. I expect you’re too tired to travel all that way and on a Friday too. I’ll ask again sometime.’ He began to back out of the shop, clutching his bag of fruit like a shield.
‘Gareth, I’d love to come,’ she said at last. Smiling, she added, ‘Thank you for asking me.’
When Ada and Myfanwy returned, Cecily said in a dazed voice, ‘He’s done it. Gareth has actually invited me out.’
Ada felt the bitter taste of jealousy and for the first time ever found it hard to wish her sister well. ‘There’s nice,’ she said with a stiff smile.
Cecily noticed nothing wrong. She ran upstairs and began pulling clothes out of the big wardrobe. ‘Van, Van lovey, come and help me choose.’ Myfanwy went into the big bedroom shared by Cecily and Ada and watched as Cecily tried on dress after dress, coat after coat, until between them they had decided on the outfit for the theatre visit with Gareth.
‘Are you going to marry him, Auntie Cecily?’ Van asked, her head on one side, hair streaming down in a golden curtain. ‘If you do, can I be bridesmaid and wear a blue dress?’
Cecily laughed. ‘Too early to say, Van, lovey. But when I do marry and whoever I marry, you’ll be my beautiful bridesmaid and have the loveliest dress we can find, I promise.’ She hugged the serious-faced girl and they continued selecting, discussing shoes and hats and gloves before declaring themselves satisfied.
Cecily was excited at the prospect of being taken out by Gareth. She still found her dreams disturbed by thoughts of Danny but forced herself to remember that, by now, he would be married to Jessie and living in bliss in Foxhole Street. Better second best than living an empty dream, she thought. Then guilt flooded her face with colour at the idea of considering Gareth in that way. She made a silent promise that should he ask her to be his wife, she would be a good one and push all thoughts of Danny and what might have been out of her mind for ever. She almost believed she could.
It wasn’t that she didn’t find Gareth attractive or feel the beginnings of love for him, but she had to admit that the way he allowed his mother to manipulate him caused her concern. If their incipient romance ever blossomed, she would persuade Gareth their best chance lay in putting distance between themselves and Mrs Price-Jones – as long as they didn’t go to live in Foxhole Street!
Ada was quiet that evening. She was hurt, having convinced herself that it was she whom Gareth had wanted to take out. Perhaps Cecily had pushed him into inviting her; she could be very forward at times. That had been the trouble between her and Danny Preston. Men didn’t really like forward women.
The following evening, Ada had arranged to go to the dance with Beryl and Bertie Richards, whose son, Edwin, was a friend of Myfanwy. The Richards lived in a big house that needed three servants to keep it the way Beryl Richards liked it. They had a car and would call for Ada at eight o’clock. Gareth was calling for Cecily at half past six.
Both sisters spent some time away from the shop getting ready, pressing clothes, shining shoes and brushing suede gloves. Willie stood in at the shop between their various appearances although he wasn’t confident at serving; he just kept an eye on anyone likely to help themselves and run for it.
Ada was convinced that without Cecily she would stand a better chance of finding partners. Cecily thought that a few hours alone with Gareth would show her how much happier he’d make her than Danny ever could with his touchiness and unreasonable jealousy.
At four o’clock they began to look out for their father. There was a grain boat in the
dock and he had been working on her since early that morning. It was surprising he had not yet returned.
‘I hope he hasn’t gone off drinking,’ Ada whispered. ‘He can shift for himself so far as his meal goes if it’s spoilt, but we can’t leave him in charge of Van if he isn’t sober.’
‘I’ll stay if he doesn’t come in time,’ Cecily said at once. ‘You go with Beryl and Bertie.’ It might not be a bad thing if she and Gareth stayed home to talk.
‘No, it’s my turn to wait. You missed the Boxing Day party because Dadda was going out, remember?’ They both cared for Van equally. There was never any question of her being one sister’s responsibility over the other.
‘It’s a sailing ship he’s working on, isn’t it? Perhaps we can go for a walk on Sunday, take Myfanwy to have a look at her.’
‘Yes, yes, yes, please!’ Van frowned with the intensity of her pleading. ‘I think sailing ships are beautiful.’
There was still no sign of Owen when seven o’clock came. Gareth had called and stood nervously waiting near the shop door. Cecily realized it was too late for their planned theatre trip. ‘I can’t go, Gareth. I’m sorry but Dadda isn’t back and we’re getting a bit worried.’ She looked for disappointment on Gareth’s face but saw only relief.
‘Sorry I am, too, but perhaps it’s just as well. Mam isn’t too good and I’d be worried about her too. Fine pair we’d be up in Cardiff wishing we were home, isn’t it?’ He hurried off, refusing Cecily’s invitation to stay. Like a scared rabbit, Cecily thought irritably, covering her disappointment with anger. If there is a problem, he won’t be the one to help.
Ada explained to Bertie when he called at a quarter to eight, filling the darkened shop with his large and prosperous presence and insisting they stopped worrying, saying Owen would turn up unharmed and feeling sheepish any moment now.
‘I can’t leave Cecily in case there is something wrong,’ Ada explained. ‘We always face things together, even a father a bit worse for wear. Apologize to Beryl for me, will you? I hope you both have a lovely time.’
Behind her, Van clapped her hands in delight. ‘Good, now we can play Ludo!’
‘You can play climbing the wooden hill!’ Ada said and, protesting, the little girl was put to bed and the sisters watched the hands of the clock move around to nine o’clock.
‘Perhaps it’s a quick turnaround for the ship,’ Ada suggested. ‘They might be hoping to reload her and get her off fast. One of the men working on her said they’re in a hurry to get over to Avonmouth as a storm is brewing in the channel. They want to get her across before it comes.’
‘Unusual for Dadda to work overtime and not let us know. He’ll be very tired. He isn’t well, is he? Dear sister-in-law Dorothy was right about that.’
The rabbit stew had dried up and Cecily put it on one side. ‘I expect he’ll have fish and chips when he gets home. They’ll be open until eleven o’clock. He surely won’t be later than that?’
Ten o’clock passed, then eleven.
‘I’m going round to see Sam Small the foreman. He’ll know what’s happening. Never known him to work this long before, not on an early shift. And not without a message.’ Ada slipped on her coat and Cecily went with her to the door. Ada ran back a few minutes later.
‘The men in Dadda’s gang finished long ago. Sam doesn’t know where he can be.’
‘Drinking? Not at this time. We’d best go to the police. I’ll stay here and if I see anyone to ask, I’ll send them to the club in case he’s there and too legless to walk home.’
Cecily stood in the shop porch tearful and afraid. People passed whom she knew and were sent first to her sisters-in-law, Dorothy and Rhonwen, then their mother’s brother, Uncle Ben Prothero. She wished that by some miracle Danny would appear and was angry with Gareth for not waiting. She needed someone. She was frightened by the prospect of dealing with an accident or worse with only Ada to support her. She was always looked upon as the stronger one but right now she felt as weak and helpless as a baby.
Lights had gone out in the Greek restaurant down the road and the fish and chip shop opposite. The cinema up near the main road had closed its doors and few lights showed anywhere and still he hadn’t appeared.
Couples drifted past, sailors with girls, hugging each other and walking an erratic path, sometimes on the pavement, sometimes on the road, stumbling, laughing, oblivious to her and her fears.
Most of the night had gone before the sisters moved indoors. They were stiff with cold but they moved only to make tea for the policemen and others helping in the search. No one remembered seeing him after the men of the grain boat changed shifts. He had not been to any of his usual pubs and clubs.
At eight o’clock the shop opened as usual, with Willie stepping in to do the things usually managed by Owen. People flocked in asking for news and offering help. It was ten o’clock before there was anything to tell. Owen had been found in one of the holds of the ship, drowned in the grain. Apparently, he had fallen and been covered without anyone seeing him or hearing his brief cry.
The next forty-eight hours were a blur. Cecily or Ada took Van to school as usual, although Dorothy, the eldest of their sisters-in-law and the most outspoken, protested, insisting she should stay home.
‘Plenty of time for grieving,’ Cecily insisted. ‘We don’t want her hearing displays of hysterics and getting frightened and upset. Ada and I have spoken to the teachers and they agree it’s best for her to be kept out of the worst of it.’
‘Talking to her about it we are, mind,’ Ada added. ‘Talking as much as she wants, but seeing Uncle Ben’s new wife wailing and driving us all demented won’t help her to accept the loss, now will it? Best she’s out of it. The shop is full with tearful friends and relations from the moment we open. And,’ she added later to Cecily, ‘as we might have guessed, Dorothy was the loudest and the most irritating!’
Dorothy, the widow of their eldest brother, presumed she was heir to the property. Her son Owen Owen, named for his grandfather – as she reminded them frequently over the days following their father’s death – was automatically the one to inherit his grandfather’s money and business.
‘My dear husband, God rest his soul, was the first born and my Owen-Owen-named-for-his-grandfather will of course take over the shop.’
‘Owen is thirteen, Dorothy. How d’you expect him to manage a business? Shut the shop while he goes to school, will he?’ Ada asked sarcastically.
‘I’ll support him and keep it going for him until he finishes school, of course. And,’ she added grandly, ‘you can both stay until you find somewhere to live.’
Cecily and Ada looked at each other and shrugged. Dorothy was unstoppable.
Cecily raised a hand to stop the flow of words. ‘If you’ve had your twopennorth, Dorothy, will you please go. Ada and I are worn out and we need some rest.’
The sisters stood together when the crowded room emptied. Coats and hats, which had been thrown across the shop counters, were shrugged on and the murmur of Dorothy’s voice carried to them comments about their stubbornness to see the obvious and how simple it really was.
‘We were wise not to tell them Dadda made a will,’ Cecily whispered. ‘They’d have been here all night!’
They went in together to see that Van was safely tucked in for the night and found the little girl crying. ‘Will we be moving from here?’ she asked tearfully. ‘Will all our furniture go on the back of a cart and—’
‘No, lovey, there’ll be no shifting us, I promise that,’ Ada assured her.
‘Yes, Myfanwy Owen,’ Cecily added. ‘Belong here we do, the three of us. It’s our home so don’t you worry about a thing.’
‘But Auntie Dorothy said—’
‘Don’t mention Auntie Dorothy or I’ll be saying a swear!’ Ada said and the little girl giggled.
There was little sleep for either of the sisters that night, each silently grieving for the father they had loved and twinned with that grief was a lo
nging for their mother to walk back into their lives. Cecily determined once more to try and find her. If she knew about Dadda’s death, surely she would come and see them, share their loss and perhaps accept a place in their lives once more?
The need for her mother was a childlike craving to be cuddled and comforted and in her memory Cecily felt the caring arms squeeze her shoulders and the soft cheek pressed against her own. She could almost hear the soothing voice that had gentled away a thousand hurts in her childhood. The child in her longed to dissolve her distress in tears but she determinedly held them back. She had to be strong. Ada and Myfanwy would depend on her, especially during the next few days.
Beside her, Ada lay thinking her own private thoughts that were similar to those of her sister. Neither girl spoke her thoughts aloud, each hoping the other was getting some badly needed sleep.
In the room nearby, Van was also awake, wondering what she had done for God to punish her so. Gran was a faded memory suffused by time into an angelic figure, always smiling and always there to talk to and to read to her and join in her games. But she was gone, and now Granddad had been taken from her. What if the aunties went too? The thought made her heart beat in fright and tears squeezed under her eyelids and moistened the pillow. In all her memory there had only been Gran and Granddad and the aunties. No Mam or Dad, like most of her friends.
She decided she would be very good and make sure she did nothing more to justify further punishment. To be completely alone – or having to live with Auntie Dorothy! – was the very worst thing. She jumped out of bed and tiptoed to the aunties’ room. Climbing onto the pillows she slithered down in between Cecily and Ada and felt arms wrap around her and make her feel safe.
Goodbye to Dreams Page 4
