It was difficult to get away. Ada felt she had been caught in a hurricane. Both Phil and his mother talked fast and continuously. When they came out, Willie clutching half of a loaf-cake Mrs Spencer had insisted on giving him, and Ada carrying the sheaf of neatly printed lists, Ada was reeling, but both were full of laughter.
‘Take me home, Willie,’ Ada said with a chuckle. ‘I’m exhausted.’
‘We must hurry, or we’ll be late for Van.’ He looked at Owen Owen’s watch, which he had been allowed to keep. He needed a watch with so many things to remember and him not always within the sound of the town clock.
‘Unless the horse wants to take the gate with him, we should do it with minutes to spare.’ He clicked to the horse and they hurried on their way, still smiling after the visit.
Chapter Six
DOROTHY DID NOT give her permission for Annette to work in the shop. She wrote a note explaining that when her daughter decided to take a job it would be a family decision and discussed fully by herself, Annette and Owen, who, young as he was, was the head of the family. The sisters were the least surprised and Willie the most disappointed.
A few days after the note was shown to him, Willie saw Annette crossing the main road, having done her mother’s shopping not at Owen’s shop but at Waldo Watkins’ more expensive store. He pulled up the horse, ignoring the abuse he received from other road users, and offered her a lift. She glanced nervously around her before climbing up to sit beside Willie, placing her basket at her feet.
‘You’ll have to hold my arm as we turn the corner in case you fall,’ he teased. She waited until they had left the busy main thoroughfare and put an arm tentatively on the rough sleeve of his jacket. ‘Shame on your mother for not letting you work with your aunties,’ he said.
‘It would have been nice, Willie, you teaching me things.’
‘There’s a lot I’d like to teach you, Miss Annette.’ He laughed, his dark eyes shining in the bronzed face. ‘Look, what about coming with me now, over to the beach?’ He gestured back to the cargo of boxes, each labelled with the customer’s name and containing the account. ‘Got some money to collect. I need some protection I do.’
‘I can’t!’ She was shocked at the idea. ‘I’ve got to get the meal ready for six and it’s already late.’
‘Tell your mam the gas went out and you couldn’t find a shilling.’
He was looking down at her and, warming in the glow of his dark eyes, she relented. ‘All right, but what will I say if Mam finds out?’
‘Tell her you were kidnapped.’ He clicked to the horse to move faster and they trotted along the road to the beach, arm in arm, enjoying the freedom and the fresh warm sun of early summer.
The sky was deliciously blue and small flat-bottomed cumulus clouds were throwing an occasional shadow on a calm sea. The golden sand was sea washed and clean, ready for the season about to swell into full holiday mood. A few people could be seen braving the chilly water, paddling along the cream-curled edge of the waves.
‘Better than being home cooking for your mam, eh?’
‘D’you think we have time for a cup of tea? It’ll be a real outing then,’ she suggested.
‘Come and meet Mr Marshall.’ Turning the horse around near the cricket ground, he headed for the green painted stall.
They sat and sipped the tea Peter Marshall made and ate a freshly cooked scone. Annette’s eyes shone with happiness as she sat close to Willie and watched passers-by. For a while she was one of the early summer visitors, admiring the friendly town for the first time, pointing to the island far out in the channel that had once been a fever hospital and was now inhabited only by sea birds. She saw the sandy bay as though for the first time, the figure of eight in the fairground, high about the rest, the promenade and the cafe jutting out precariously from the cliffs, where trays for the sands could be hired complete with cups and saucers, a filled teapot and food.
‘Nice people, nice town,’ she said, adding to the illusion of being a first-time visitor. It was the first time, seeing it with Willie.
‘What do you say we do this every week?’ Willie asked as they prepared to leave the cafe and finish his deliveries. ‘I could meet you at the end of town. I have a watch,’ he added proudly. ‘Belonged to your grandfather it did.’
And so it was arranged. Every Monday afternoon, Willie would load the cart and set off on the afternoon’s deliveries. Annette would be waiting with her basket of groceries and they would call at Peter Marshall’s stall to take tea in the open air, breathing in the sweet sea breezes and nurturing their growing friendship.
Peter Marshall took pleasure in their company and often sat with them for a few moments and asked about Cecily and Ada. ‘I don’t see them often now the season’s begun,’ he explained. ‘They’re too busy I expect.’
‘Are you here every day then?’ Annette asked.
He didn’t explain how frequently he stayed in the hope of a visit from the Misses Owen. ‘Not every day. I have a garage to run. This little cafe is an excuse to escape and let the petrol and oil fumes blow away.’
‘A garage?’ Willie’s eyes lit up. ‘Love to drive a car, I would.’
‘It wouldn’t take me long to teach you. So don’t forget, if you can persuade the sisters they need a car, come and see me, all right?’
Bertie owned a number of houses in the town and several blocks of cottages in the old part of the town. He paid collectors to call each week for the rents, but during the first week of June both were taken ill. Knowing the risk that missing a week caused some to slip into arrears, he decided he’d better do the rounds himself. It was a good idea to show himself to his tenants occasionally so he could see how well his properties were being cared for.
He drove his Ford car down to the village and parked it near the stream, intending to walk to the various houses he owned. His first call was at Phil Spencer’s and as usual he was there longer than he’d intended, being offered cakes and tea and becoming involved in a two-way blast of conversation between Phil and his mother.
His next call was at the thatched, white-painted cottage of Gladys Davies, who did washing and maintained the fire for Willie Morgan. He didn’t intend to do more than hold out his hand for the book and money, but once again he was delayed.
‘I’ve got Willie’s rent here too.’ Mrs Davies handed him both books.
‘Thank you. Mrs Morgan out, is she?’
‘Out? She’s gone. She took the daughters and went to live in Cardiff.’
‘You mean she just left Willie here?’ Bertie frowned.
‘Indeed, gone this ages. She married, so I heard, a—’ She wrinkled her face in concentration. ‘Derek Camborne. Yes, a railwayman she told me.’
When he had asked a few more questions, Bertie went on to finish his round but he determined to see Willie and make sure everything was all right with the boy. He’d been good to the sisters, loyal, and not afraid to work extra hours when necessary.
Returning to the car he stopped for another look at Willie’s house. The door had been recently repaired and when he checked his book there was no record of a complaint or a request for the work to be done. The boy must have dealt with it himself. Neatly too. The thatch was patched where the straw was beginning to rot but that was not satisfactory and he made a note to get it fixed. He went closer and saw that the windows were shining clean and the wood newly painted. His estimation of Willie increased. ‘A tidy lad,’ he muttered to himself. ‘A boy worth encouraging.’
His opportunity to talk to Willie came on the following Saturday when Willie brought Van to stay with them while the sisters went dancing. Willie carried the little leather suitcase that Van used on her regular visits to the large, richly furnished house with its view over the distant sea. Willie usually left her at the door, in the care of Gaynor, but this Saturday Bertie told the servant to invite him in.
‘Come in, boy, I want a word.’
‘Will it take long, sir?’ Willie asked politely.
‘I have to get home sharpish as I’m back at eleven to see Miss Cecily and Miss Ada home from the dance.’
‘Still do that, do you?’ Bertie was surprised. ‘I thought, with Gareth keeping company with Cecily, he’d walk the ladies home.’
‘No, sir, that’s my responsibility.’
‘Well, I won’t keep you long.’ He ushered the boy into the drawing room and Willie felt uncomfortable, aware of his dirty clothes.
‘Sorry, Mr Richards, I’d have changed if I’d known. It’s the stable work, see.’
‘I should have invited you round the back, I suppose – Beryl’s always on.’ He smiled. ‘Well, you’re here now. It’s about your house.’
‘Nothing wrong, is there? I mean I pay my rent regular.’
‘You’re doing work on it.’
‘Not as much as I’d like, but the long hours and—’
‘Why don’t you buy it?’
Willie looked at the large man, chewing on his fat cigar, in utter disbelief. ‘I couldn’t afford to buy a house.’
‘Neither could I when I bought my first one, but I bought it just the same.’
‘I don’t understand.’ Willie waited, his face a mask of misery. Was he being thrown out? What chance then for him and Annette?
‘I’ll lend you the money and you’ll be paying me little more than you’re paying me rent.’
‘But, Mr Richards, I don’t know anything about buying houses.’
‘I’ll put that thatch right and a few other things before we see a solicitor.’
‘But why, sir?’
‘You’ve been very good to friends of mine. I want to help you as a sort of thank you. I’ve talked it over with my wife and she agrees. You’re a good man, Willie. Stay with the Owens and continue to look after their interests as you are now and I’ll help you. The re-thatching is the first thing, I’ll get that sorted, then I’ll sell it to you for sixty pound. That seem fair?’
‘Well, yes, but—’
‘Don’t be frightened by the long term. Just see each week as a small step.’
‘Well, yes, but—’
‘I won’t press you, but if you agree, we’ll go together to a bank and let the manager look at what I’m offering, so you are absolutely certain there are no catches.’
‘No need for that, Mr Richards.’
‘I insist.’ Patiently Bertie went over the arrangements – time allowed to pay, the advantages of being a property owner – and Willie began to see it was possible.
A bemused Willie walked back to the shop and brushed out the stable in a dream. He, Willie Morgan, would be a house owner! He’d work on the place and make it as he wanted it. Improve the ceilings which were at present only rotten, torn calico. He’d put a proper floor in the kitchen where there was only stamped earth and a few flagstones. He’d might even buy a rug. Or make one. Gladys Davies was sure to know how. Happy and full of plans, he counted the hours before he would see Annette and tell her his stupendous news. And it was something to discuss with Mam on his next visit to Cardiff.
It was from Bertie that Ada learned that Willie’s family had left him.
‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ Ada asked when he reported for work the following Monday morning. ‘Talk about feeling a fool. Fancy you going through all that and us not knowing.’
‘I didn’t want to bother you. Anyway I managed all right. Gladys Davies is great. Does my washing and sees to the fire, cooks a meal for me now and then, too.’
‘Well, it’s good news Mr Richards is going to help you buy your house. He’s a fine man and you can trust him completely. He told us how impressed he is with you and knows you will benefit from a bit of help, as he did when he was young. Nice way of looking at things, giving something back.’
‘Only if it’s good that you’re giving back, miss.’ Willie’s proposed new status gave him the confidence to speak out. ‘No sense trying to give bad things back – that way everyone gets hurt.’
Ada frowned. ‘Thinking of anyone in particular, Willie?’
‘Can’t say, miss, but there’s someone in your family spitting mad about your father’s will and would pay for watching.’
‘You’ve got a man’s head on your young shoulders, our Willie.’
‘Not so young. I’m seventeen next week.’
When Cecily was told, she too was surprised at not being told. ‘Search up in the stable loft,’ she told him. ‘There’s a lot of odd chairs and the like up there. Take anything you need.’
So Willie loaded up two chairs that needed re-covering and a wooden cabinet plus a few smaller items and took them to his home. He felt buoyant and confident as he placed the pieces in his room and looked about him with pleasure. Next, he would set about making that bed he’d promised himself. He could have bought an iron bedstead cheaply enough but wanted the satisfaction of making one.
He had to hurry then to collect the orders and meet Annette. He told her the news and discussed it with Peter Marshall, who seemed delighted to be included in a celebratory tea party. When he went back to the shop, he asked for a few hours off and went to the wood yard with a list of his needs. To his surprise he met Danny Preston there.
‘Aren’t you the boy from the Owens’ shop?’ Danny asked, walking towards him.
‘That’s right. You’re the man who had his motorbike pinched.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’m going to make a bed.’
‘Done anything like that before?’
‘No, but I’ve watched carpenters and I think I can do it.’
‘I do a bit of woodwork myself,’ Danny told him. ‘I went to sea for a few years and started it as a hobby, so if you want a hand, just ask.’
‘Thanks!’ Willie was surprised. ‘There is the problem of a saw. Which one do I buy?’
‘One’s no good, you’ll need several.’ Danny laughed when he saw the boy’s face drop. ‘Come on, I’m not busy for the next hour – let’s see what you need and I might be able to lend you a few.’
They spent half an hour poring over the bewildering selection of saws and Willie bought two. Danny went with him as the wood was loaded on the cart borrowed from the sisters, and together they marked out the frame for the bed.
‘Come and see me if you get stuck,’ Danny offered. ‘I’m living in Quarry Street.’
‘But I thought – didn’t you get married then? I thought you moved to Foxhole Street?’
Danny looked away. ‘No. Me and Jessie, we sort of changed our mind. Still with Mam I am. So,’ he said brightly, ‘I work for the post, delivering letters. I’m free after the second round and at your service.’
Willie looked at the powerfully built, black-haired man whose eyes were darker than his own. Was he still fancying Miss Cecily? If so, why didn’t he call? They had become so friendly over the past couple of hours he almost asked, but stopped himself in time. No point risking a snub and spoiling things. He wondered whether he should mention Danny’s help to the sisters but decided against it. Best to let things work out on their own. That way, no trouble could bounce back on you.
He gave Danny a lift back into town before returning to the shop, very much later than he’d intended. It was closed. The girls had taken Van, straight after closing, for a bus ride and a walk on the sands. He took his time with the horses, thinking about his meeting with Danny.
They hadn’t arranged to meet again but he knew they would. There was a big difference in their ages, he seventeen and Danny about ten years older, but they seemed to blend well. He felt a surge of happiness as he thought how his luck was changing. With his family gone he had been lonely, but now life was opening up and with good wages, the opportunity to buy his own house and learn to make furniture to fill it, life stretched excitingly before him.
If only he could win Annette his world would be perfect. Perhaps that was too much to hope for. But still, they met often and in recent days he had learned most clearly that nothing stayed the same. Who knew what the coming mon
ths would bring?
On the rare occasions when the sisters went out together and joined their friends at the dance, Gareth danced with them both, but on one night, instead of rushing out before the last dance was played, he stayed and danced the last waltz with Cecily – a tacit declaration that he would take her home.
Their friends accepted that Cecily and Gareth were courting, albeit a slow process, and thought it a foregone conclusion the couple would eventually marry. The waltz caused heads to turn and people to nod and point fingers as another step was taken towards an announcement.
Ada seemed unaffected but deep down she ached with misery when left to stand among the rest, to watch and wait until the dance ended, then hover while Gareth collected his coat and trilby and joined them at the entrance.
Willie was leaning against his usual lamppost, a cigarette in his cupped hand. It seemed to be the only time he smoked and the sisters wondered if it was more for the slight warmth rather than the need for nicotine. He stood to help them but hesitated when he recognized Gareth.
‘You coming too, Mr Price-Jones?’
‘No. You take Miss Ada, will you? Miss Cecily and I will walk.’
Willie was about to argue; the sisters’ safe return was his duty. Cecily nodded and he shrugged and helped Ada into her seat on the trap.
Back home, Ada went out into the chilly back kitchen and turned up the gas-light which had been left on low. She put the kettle to boil and, as it began to hum, she prepared a tray which Gareth and Cecily might share. Her tasks done, she drooped with melancholy. Why did this have to happen? Life was not far from perfect now she and Cecily ran the shop without interference and she felt heart-aching dismay as Gareth threatened to take not her but Cecily away.
She looked into the ancient, spotted mirror above the sink. What is it that makes me less attractive than Cecily? We are so similar in many ways, yet it was Cecily who had attracted two such desirable men. First Danny, whose wild and casual air had devastated a number of hearts, whose appearance in the dance hall on New Year’s Eve had caused so many heads to turn, so many faces to light up with interest. Women admired his strong features, his tanned skin and most of all the bold, blatant sexuality in his dark eyes. He had been involved with other women before Cecily but he’d never looked at me with even a hint of interest, she thought with a sigh.
Goodbye to Dreams Page 10
