‘The blackout,’ she warned as he laid his hand on the curtain.
‘I forgot.’
Sticking her needles into the wool, she left it on the chair and joined him. ‘Feodor,’ she murmured. He liked to hear the sound of his Russian name, and she was the only one who used it. The rest of Pontypridd, even old friends like Evan Powell and his nephew William who worked for them, called him Charlie, as she had quite deliberately done since their argument last night. ‘Don’t let this alien business upset you. People aren’t boycotting the shop, trade is as good as it ever was. Everyone in the town thinks of you as one of us –’
‘But I’m not one of you,’ he burst in harshly. ‘I am one of the same breed who marched into Poland.’
‘No,’ she countered firmly. ‘You’re my husband. You took on my nationality when you married me. This is your home now.’
‘A home I cannot leave between ten-thirty at night and six in the morning.’ He walked away from the window and went to the fire, kicking down the coals with the heel of his boot.
‘What difference does that make?’ she asked practically. ‘We’re up too early to go out late at night.’
‘Before this, I could have if I’d wanted to,’ he retorted testily. ‘This country gets more like Russia every day.’
‘Only because we’re at war.’ She picked up her knitting and stowed it in the brass slipper box next to her chair. He had told her a little – a very little – of his past in Russia: just enough for her to guess at what he had suffered there. She knew that he had lost everything to the Communist regime. Home, family, wife and unborn child, and her greatest fear since he’d told her of his wife’s existence was that one day he’d go back to try to find her. The remote possibility had loomed a more likely spectre since the outbreak of war. Her geography was shaky, but she knew that Britain was separated from France by the English Channel, and there was no strip of water to divide France from Russia. But when she had tried to confide her fears to Feodor last night, he had laughed and tried to tell her just how great a distance separated France from Russia. She hadn’t wanted to listen. The continent was the continent, and her husband had another wife there, and if that wife was alive she would undoubtedly want him back. Because anyone who had known and lived with Charlie simply couldn’t help loving him.
‘You tried, darling,’ she consoled, trying not to allow her relief to show. ‘If they don’t want you, there’s nothing you can do about it.’
There was an abstracted look in his eyes. ‘They didn’t say they didn’t want me, only that they wanted to interview me again. In Cardiff, on Monday.’
‘But why?’
‘They wouldn’t say.’
‘Is it something to do with Russia invading Poland along with Germany? Could they be secret allies?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Everyone is saying that it’s better for the Poles to be living under the red flag of Communism than under the heel of the jackboot.’
For the first time in two days a glimmer of a smile crossed his face. ‘Who’s been telling you that?’
‘Evan.’
‘Ah, the Red Miners’ brigade.’ He wrapped a heavily muscled arm around her waist. ‘They ought to be careful what they ask for. If they are ever forced to live under the red flag, they’ll discover the reality of Communism is very different from the ideology.’ He looked down at her. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been angry with you yesterday. But joining the Guards is important to me.’
‘Because you feel the need to be more Welsh than the Welsh?’
‘You understand me so well. I’m sorry I can’t be a better husband.’
‘You’re a perfect husband, which is why I don’t want to lose you.’
‘You won’t.’
‘I might if you join the army.’
‘I have too much to live for to get in the way of any bullets.’
‘Feodor …’
‘Enough talk, let’s go to bed.’ He hooked the guard in front of the fire and opened the door. She glanced around the living room before she switched off the light. She had a great deal to be grateful for. Feodor had spared no expense on the flat above the shop. The living room was comfortable and carpeted, and there was even a tiled bathroom with hot water on tap, fed from the range in the kitchen. Her mother, who was frail and blind, lived with them and Charlie had taken special care with her room, furnishing it with padded, upholstered furniture so she wouldn’t hurt herself even if she did get the odd knock, taking it for granted that his wife’s mother was a part of their small family, never once complaining about her presence or about having to shoulder the responsibility of another mouth to feed.
She was happy, and not only because life was comfortable for her and her mother for the first time in their lives. Charlie’s shop, the flat and their high standard of living were only the trimmings. She could survive without them. But Charlie was the bedrock of her existence, and she would sooner not live at all than without him.
As she lay awake in the blacked-out bedroom, her hand resting on Charlie’s chest, monitoring the quiet, measured beat of his heart, she was struck by a paralysing panic attack. It carried the same spine-chilling dread as the fear of death she’d experienced as a child, when she’d first discovered that she too was mortal and would one day lie in a grave like her father. She simply couldn’t, and didn’t want to, imagine a life where Charlie wouldn’t sleep beside her each and every night.
‘The war won’t last for ever. If they let me go, I’ll be back.’
She recovered enough to tighten her hold on him, but her blood continued to run cold at the thought of the interview on Monday. An interview conducted by men who didn’t know – or care – what Charlie meant to her.
‘I promise you, Alma, no matter what, if they let me go, I’ll be back.’
As he moved towards her, kissed her lips, her hair, her breasts, she tried to immerse herself in the sweet familiarity of his lovemaking and quell the logic that led her to question the value of such a promise from any man who actually wanted to go to war.
Chapter Two
‘Sometimes I feel as though I spend my whole life grubbing about in the dark,’ William complained to Diana as they left their uncle’s house in Graig Avenue to go to work.
‘The army will change all that. You’ll be living under canvas, answering bugle calls come rain or shine, drilling from dawn to dusk, and then, while you tend to your blistered feet after lights out, you’ll no doubt start moaning that you never see the stars.’
He knew from the tone of her voice that she was annoyed with him. ‘I did tell you that I was thinking of joining up.’
‘Thinking is one thing, doing quite another. You could have mentioned that you were going to the recruiting office yesterday morning.’
‘We sort of decided on the spur of the moment.’
‘No doubt late the night before after a few pints. And when you sobered up, none of you were brave enough to risk looking foolish in front of the others. Some soldiers you’ll make,’ she sneered.
‘It wasn’t like that,’ William remonstrated, irritated because she’d guessed too close to the truth for comfort.
‘Well, as Mam used to say, what’s done is done. There’s no use in crying over spilt milk, or in your case signed papers. Just you take care of yourself, that’s all.’ She clutched William’s arm as she stumbled over a stone in the unmade road. She and her brother had fought like cat and dog since cradle days, but they had learned to depend on one another, all the more since their mother had been sentenced to ten years’ hard labour for receiving and selling stolen goods.
‘I will.’ He cleared his throat awkwardly. ‘And seeing as how you’re whining that I didn’t tell you about going to the recruiting office, I suppose you’d better know that I’m thinking of asking Tina to get engaged.’
‘To you?’
‘Of course to me …’ his voice tailed as he realised she was baiting him.
‘Have you
asked her?’
‘Last night.’
‘And what did she say?’
‘That she’d rather get married.’
‘Can’t say I blame her. An engagement’s neither one thing nor the other. But then Tony’s asked me to marry him.’ She dropped the information casually, preparing him for an announcement that she hoped Tony would make tomorrow.
A sleepless night spent reading old nursing textbooks that had belonged to her cousin Bethan had given her a newfound confidence, and that coupled with Tony’s proposal had convinced her that feeling the way they did about one another was enough to make anything possible.
‘You? You’re a baby. You’re only …’
‘Eighteen, and old enough to know my own mind.’
‘What did you tell him?’
‘That I’d think about it.’
‘As you’re under twenty-one you’ll need Mam’s or Uncle Evan’s permission, and I’ll do all I can to persuade them not to give it,’ he asserted pompously, wondering if his mother’s permission would count because she was a prisoner.
‘Mam married Dad when she was eighteen. She won’t stand in my way.’
‘That was different. Dad had a job. He was steadier than Tony’ll ever be, and he wasn’t about to go off to war.’
‘He volunteered when war broke out.’
‘And he didn’t come back, which is all the more reason for you not to marry Tony now. Do you want to be left with a pathetic widow’s pension and a couple of kids like Mam was?’
‘I wouldn’t mind if I had what Mam and Dad had first,’ she hit back defiantly.
‘What do you know about what they had? You weren’t even born when he was killed.’
‘I know plenty. Mam used to talk to me about him. They loved one another very much.’
‘So now you’re an expert on love!’
‘More of one than you, by the look of it.’
‘Diana, this isn’t a joking matter.’
‘Who’s joking? We’ve planned it all very carefully. Tony wants us to get engaged now, so I can take instruction while he’s training, that way we can get married on his embarkation leave.’
‘You’re turning Catholic?’
‘Don’t sound so shocked. Turning Catholic won’t transform me into a saint.’
‘A saint! You’re a tenth-rate Baptist, and I don’t doubt you’ll make a tenth-rate Catholic.’
‘This coming from the most religious man on the Graig.’
‘Has Tony told his father and mother about you? Because if he hasn’t, I warn you now, they’re not going to like the idea. They gave Trevor Lewis a hard time when he married Laura and they played hell with Ronnie when he wanted to marry Maud …’
‘And they’re going to be overjoyed at the thought of you marrying Tina?’
‘I told you, nothing’s settled. She hasn’t given me an answer – yet.’
‘And I haven’t given Tony an answer – yet,’ she echoed, crossing her fingers behind her back.
‘Bloody women. You’re all the same. Can’t make up your mind what dress to wear, let alone what man to marry.’
‘Language!’
‘Women are enough to drive a man to drink, let alone swearing.’
‘That’s because men never grow up. All you’re good for is starting stupid wars.’
‘Two minutes ago you wanted to marry a man.’
‘I said I was thinking about it.’ Tossing her head high she walked ahead of him, only to trip over a cat that squealed and scratched her legs, tearing a hole in her stocking. ‘Damn!’
‘Now who’s swearing?’ When she didn’t answer him, he tried coaxing her out of her temper. ‘Come on Di, you could say something.’
‘Like what?’
‘How about, “I hope it works out for you and Tina.”’
‘After what you’ve just said about my marrying Tony. No fear. Besides, I’m thinking of Tina. She’s a good friend, I’m not at all sure she deserves a half-baked twit like you.’
‘I am not half-baked.’
‘No? Only a half-baked twit would play around with Vera Collins.’
‘Isn’t anyone around here ever going to forget that?’
‘… And then to go and join the Guards without saying a word.’
‘Like Tony?’
‘Sometimes he can be half-baked too.’
She paused outside the sweet shop she managed for Wyn Rees. As Wyn’s father also owned the sweet shop next to the New Theatre, the family was considered well-off by Pontypridd standards. Well-off would have been enough to set them apart on its own, but as Wyn was also saddled with the reputation of being ‘a queer’ he was treated as an outcast by most of the males in the town, William included.
‘Boss is in early.’ William nodded to the shadow of a van parked outside the shop.
‘Oh no, I must be late.’
‘See you tonight, sis.’ William carried on swiftly down the hill, crashing into another pedestrian in his eagerness to escape a possible meeting with Diana’s boss.
Diana negotiated the blackout curtain to find Wyn piling boxes from the shop floor into the back storeroom.
‘It’s an offence to hoard sweets, even for a retailer,’ she smiled.
‘I’m checking stock levels against the ration cards that have been registered with us.’
‘Are you going to be able to keep the two shops going?’ she asked, her heart skipping a beat at the thought of losing her job. For all the talk of a shortage of manpower and the conscription of men, there was still an unemployment problem in Pontypridd. And well-paid jobs, like working for a considerate boss like Wyn Rees, were scarcer than diamond tiaras in the valleys.
‘To tell you the truth I don’t know.’ He heaved the last of the boxes into place. ‘I came here early so I could talk to you. You’re a first-class worker, Diana.’
‘You didn’t come in early just to tell me that.’ She unpinned her hat and carried it together with her coat into the back room.
‘I couldn’t have managed these last couple of years without you. You’ve kept this shop going, you’ve never complained, not even when I’ve asked you to man the theatre shop late at night after you’ve put in a full day here. You’ve always been there ready to take over when Dad’s been too much for my sister to manage by herself…’
‘Are you trying to tell me that you’re closing this shop?’
He stood up and leaned against the counter. ‘I don’t want to, but I can’t keep both shops going at the new, reduced stock levels now that sugar rationing’s begun to hit trade,’ he confessed.
She sank down on the chair in front of the counter. ‘How much notice are you giving me?’
‘None at the moment. But the way things are it can only be a matter of time. Diana, I’m sorry, I’ll do all I can to keep you on, you know that, but I can’t guarantee you’ll be here six months from now.’
‘I’m sorry. You’re trying to be fair with me, and I’m behaving like a spoilt brat. It’s just that this is the best job I’ve ever had. I can’t imagine working anywhere else.’
‘We might all be working somewhere else, whether we want to or not, by the time this war is finished.’
‘You’ve had your registration papers?’
‘Yesterday.’
‘Will and the two Ronconi boys have joined the Welsh Guards.’
‘If it wasn’t for Dad and my sister, Myrtle, I’d have been tempted to do the same thing.’
‘How is your father?’ she asked, remembering her manners.
‘Dr Evans told us he’ll not see summer out this year, but then he said the same thing this time last year. And when I look at Dad lying in bed with Myrtle fluttering around him, wearing herself out, I think he’ll outlast me and my sister. I wish I could do more to help her. She never has a moment to herself.’
‘It must be quite a strain.’ Diana felt sorry for Wyn’s spinster sister. Ten years older than Wyn, and undeniably plain, she had sacrificed whatever life she mig
ht have had to care for her father and brother when her mother had died. ‘If there’s anything I can do to help either of you, you know where to come.’
‘Thanks, Diana. And as soon as I make a definite decision on the future of the shops, I’ll let you know what’s happening. If they can be kept open I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather entrust the running to, than you. But with all the men going away I’ve a feeling there may be jobs on offer at a higher rate than I can pay, and I don’t want you to miss out. So if you get a chance of anything better …’
‘Than this?’ she laughed. ‘I’ll see a flying pig first.’
Wyn had upped her wages from twelve and six to a pound a week since she’d started working for him. There weren’t many other shop assistants in Pontypridd earning that kind of money.
‘I’ve got work to do. We’ll talk again soon.’ He was reluctant to leave. Diana was the only one, apart from his sister, he confided in, and the one person he counted on as a disinterested friend. Desperate to keep that friendship, he was concerned about imposing on her good nature. ‘Perhaps we could meet for tea in the New Inn on Sunday? I’ve heard that they’re still serving cakes there.’
‘I’d like to, but I’m not sure what I’ll be doing.’ Wyn knew her secret; and she had a great deal more than just her job to be grateful to him for. He had proved himself a true friend when she had been most in need of one, and that had led to her seeing the man behind the ‘fairy’ and ‘queer’ gibes. To her, he was an essentially good, kind man, and boss, and it bothered her that William and her cousins had joined the rest of the men in the town in shunning and ridiculing him. She’d even quarrelled with William over Wyn, telling him in no uncertain terms that she was old enough to choose her own friends, and meet with whom she pleased.
‘I’ll see you some time.’
‘It’s just that –’ the secret he was a party to brought a flush of colour to her cheeks – ‘Tony Ronconi’s asked me to marry him.’
‘And you’re going to?’
‘I don’t know. I’ll have to tell him everything.’ She forced herself to look into Wyn’s eyes. ‘Everything,’ she reiterated, ‘about me and that night. Then it will be up to him.’
Pontypridd 05 - Such Sweet Sorrow Page 3
