* * *
Jack left school as the last pupils drifted homeward and, taking his cycle from the staff shed, rode through the town past the brightly lit shops with their Christmas displays, until, leaving the town behind, he travelled along the empty stretch towards the beach. It was the Pleasure Beach in the summer but now, as winter slowly crept in, he saw it as a silently waiting, shrouded giant.
A mother and a group of children stood near the edge of the tide in the Old Harbour busily throwing stones into the water. He wondered, not for the first time, what it was about water that made people of all ages do just that. And why he was tempted to dismount and join them.
He left the bicycle near the fish pond and walked along the prom to the slope leading to the sands. The wind seemed stronger here and from the look of the empty bay had driven even the most hardy of walkers back to their homes. The sky was already darkening with the approach of evening as if a watering can had poured a fine mist, emptying it over the day to end its business and forcing everything to slow down and take on the mantle of the night.
The sea was barely seen, but by concentrating he could make out the slight difference in the shades of grey as it moved in and out, its white frilly edges becoming clearer as he stared. Their regular in and out began making him restless, an irritability coming and going in his stomach with the ebb and flow.
Jack was normally a man at ease with the world. He loved his job, he had a few good friends, a casual but pleasant social life and books to tax him intellectually. Women were only a vague need to be fulfilled one day, so he had no thought to complain at being permanently placed in the role of chaperone to his cousins, the Weston Girls. He desired nothing that was even remotely out of his reach, expected little to change in his humdrum life. Yet of late, something was disturbing his contentment and he couldn’t quite understand what it was. He only knew that he was poised, waiting for something to happen, something he couldn’t begin to describe.
Coldness settled, dropping down from the clouds of night and making him shiver. He ran to where he had left the bicycle and rode slowly home. As he turned into the front garden of forty-four Trellis Street he changed his mind and instead of going in, he walked on and around the corner into Goldings Street and knocked on the door of Victoria Jones. Too late he realised that she would still be working at his grandmother’s house.
Victoria’s mother opened the door and smilingly invited him in. He was startled by Mrs Jones’s appearance. Used to seeing a shabby, exhausted-looking woman, he now saw a mother-to-be glowing with health and with a relaxed expression in her clear blue eyes. Her dress wasn’t new but freshly ironed and it was as if she had been replaced with a better cared-for twin, he thought foolishly.
“Victoria isn’t home yet, but if you’d like to wait? We could have a cup of tea, if you don’t mind the lack of saucers?”
“No, I won’t disturb you, you’re probably about to eat.”
Mrs Jones laughed and shook her head. “Not on Fridays. We have to wait for Victoria to bring home fish and chips.” She waved an arm to point out the pile of chipped and damaged plates warming on the brass fender, the top one bearing the legend, ‘Property of The Great Western Railway’. “It’s our regular weekly treat. It’s pay day,” she added when he didn’t seem to understand.
“Oh, I see,” he said as a bubble of laughter began to rise. “I was just thinking that perhaps my father is at this moment cooking them!”
Embarrassed at first, Mrs Jones soon joined in his laughter at the incongruity of the situation.
“I like Fridays,” he said as he sipped his tea from a cracked cup once belonging to an hotel. “There’s a smell of freedom about Fridays.” He gave a mock frown. “Not that there isn’t work to do at weekends. On Saturday morning I sometimes have to help with the school football team and there’s always something to prepare for class for the following week.”
“My father was a teacher,” Mrs Jones said surprising him again. “He taught piano, but he died of consumption when he was only twenty-two, so I don’t remember him. I’ve often wondered if I might have been talented that way. No chance of ever finding out.” She didn’t complain, just stated the facts.
He looked at her as she sat near him, a small woman, who wore a gentle expression that belied her turbulent past.
“I know this might be impertinent, Mrs Jones, but you really can’t be so advanced in years that you can consider all hope for the future is gone.”
“I have all these children to care for, and if you think there’s time for music in that future you must be crazy. Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude!”
Jack laughed, throwing back his head and enjoying the relaxed sensation and the humour which still had an edge from the idea of his father cooking Victoria’s supper. “It’s me who should apologise! Can you imagine, I was thinking you had plenty of room for a piano against that wall and plenty of people prepared to have lessons. How simple other people’s problems are, aren’t they?”
Victoria came in an hour later with a steaming newspaper-wrapped parcel, and found Jack on all fours giving rides to the two smallest children, with the other three laughing at their shrieks of delight.
“I called to see how you were,” Jack explained hurriedly brushing his knees and straightening his tie, “but I’ll leave you to enjoy your meal and call again.”
“Called to see how I am?” Victoria frowned after the door had closed behind him. “When he can see me any time he visits his grandmother?”
Jack walked slowly home, still reluctant to go inside. The restlessness had returned and he found himself wishing he could have stayed and shared their fish and chip supper on cracked china and bent cutlery that could only be described as eclectic. As he opened the door of number forty-four and called to tell his mother he was home, he wondered if Basil Griffiths knew of a piano going cheap.
* * *
Rhiannon looked up and smiled when Nia Martin entered the shop. As usual, Nia raised a hand and assured her she was not coming to ‘snoop’. “The place is in your very capable hands, Rhiannon. I’ve just called to see how you are and whether there’s anything you need.”
“I need to order more Christmas chocolates and small gifts, unless you think it’s too late? I still have plenty but they are selling fast and I’d hate to miss sales. They promise to deliver within a few days but I’m a bit nervous of placing an order, in case we’re left with something that won’t sell after December the twenty-fifth.”
“Good heavens, Rhiannon, of course you must re-order. If we see some lines sticking we’ll drop the price a little and they will surely sell then. Can I see what you’re ordering and perhaps, if you wish, I can make a few suggestions.”
They were poring over the confectioner’s lists when Barry’s van pulled up outside. He still lived above the shop so Rhiannon was hardly surprised to see him but she hadn’t expected the extra company. Caroline was with him, and her small son Joseph trotted towards the shop door without being told, stepped inside and pointed to his favourite penny chocolate bars.
“There’s no doubt he’s been here before,” Nia laughed. “Did you notice that he went straight for the Cadbury’s penny bars? Caroline thinks that size is quite enough for a child.”
Rhiannon had noticed and wondered when Joseph had become so familiar with the shop. He didn’t come while she was there. Barry must be seeing a lot more of his wife than he told her. She forced herself to return to the ordering.
“We’ll have a dozen of the Lovells beakers then, and some Blue Bird’s six-ounce pictorial tins?” she said to distract Nia from cooing over the little boy.
“Yes, dear, then if you would like to give the order to Jimmy Herbert?”
“Why him?” Barry asked, staring at Rhiannon as if noticing her for the first time. “Why don’t you give the order to your father? He works for the same firm, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, but this is really Jimmy’s patch so we take it in turns,” Rhiannon said, w
ith a glint of trouble in her eye. Reminding him he hadn’t greeted her properly, she said, “Hello, Barry!”
“Rhiannon, I’m sorry. I was watching Joseph. How are you?”
Rhiannon turned away and wondered whether it was jealousy she felt or just pique at being ignored. She wondered also, which category Barry’s remark against Jimmy fitted. Were they jealous or had they drifted too far apart for that to be possible?
Caroline came over with her son in her arms, his face covered in chocolate. “Rhiannon, have you been invited to the Westons’ party? Poor Mrs Weston must be hard up for guests if she’s inviting the dreaded Griffithses, she’s even asked my brothers!”
“Are you going?” Rhiannon asked. “I haven’t made up my mind.”
“If Mam will look after Joseph I might go for an hour, although parties aren’t my thing really.”
“It will do you good to get out and meet people,” Barry said and Caroline laughed.
“I see plenty of people in the wool shop! Although I do admit the conversation might be more varied at the Westons’ party!”
To Rhiannon’s horror, the door opened and her father came in. He said, “Hello Rhiannon, love,” but he was staring at Nia.
“I’ll just pop up to the flat and get a cloth to wipe Joseph’s face, shall I?” Rhiannon said and quickly left the shop.
Knowing her father and Nia Martin were lovers was something she could cope with most of the time, and certainly when she saw them individually, but being in the same room as them, watching the way they looked at each other gave her an uneasy feeling. It was as if she were eavesdropping on strangers, or looking through someone’s window at something that it was not her business to see.
She stood at the bathroom sink and looked at the flannel, letting the tap run, then she heard footsteps and saw that Barry, Caroline and the baby had followed her up.
“Easier to clean him up up here,” Caroline smiled.
“Making it easy for those two to have their intimate talk, you mean,” Rhiannon retorted.
“All right, Rhiannon, Caroline was trying to be diplomatic!” Barry snapped and at once Rhiannon turned to reply but she held back her words. She was on one side of the small bathroom and grouped together on the other were Barry, Caroline and the little boy. She didn’t belong. Barry had clearly decided where he wanted to be.
She pushed past them, shoving Barry as hard as she could as she squeezed through. “You deal with it then. I’m obviously not needed here.” Running down the stairs she was in time to catch the final movement as her father and Nia separated from what had obviously been a kiss. “Oh, I hate this place when it’s crowded!” she shouted and went to stand on the step.
Lewis was the first to leave and then Barry helped Caroline and Joseph into the van and drove off with a briefly muttered ‘cheerio’.
“Sorry, I felt crowded all of a sudden,” she said to Nia who stood near the counter, glancing once more through the order book.
“What if we ask Jimmy Herbert to call before we make the final decision? There might be some special offers.”
It was a perfectly normal remark but in her state of jealousy, or pique, Rhiannon distorted it and said, “You don’t have to try and tell me to forget Barry and find solace with Jimmy. I’d already worked out for myself that Barry is more interested in Caroline.”
“It isn’t Caroline, my dear. It’s the baby who interests Barry,” his mother said quietly. “I believe he’s saddened by how long you and he will have to wait before you can have one of your own.”
Rhiannon believed her. It was little Joseph whom he spoke about and showed such a delight in. He hadn’t changed his mind about divorcing Caroline – his wife in name only she forced herself to remember. She would ring Jimmy and tell him Barry was taking her to the Westons’ party, and they would revive their feelings for each other, set the mood for the holiday and the New Year to come. Meanwhile, she would look for a Christmas present for Joseph, that would please Caroline and Barry as well.
* * *
Viv was sitting in the empty building looking down on the shop floor as he thought about his plans for the development of the business. He still hadn’t discussed his ideas with Old Man Arfon, but things were becoming clearer after talking his ideas through with Joan.
He wondered idly what Joan might have achieved if she hadn’t been born to be the pampered pet of her grandmother Gladys Weston. Still outrageous in her dress, choosing colours that to everyone else’s mind clashed, and insisting on fabrics and styles that were unfashionable but which others soon copied, she was frowned upon by some and admired by others, but, as she so frequently told him, she was never ignored. Unable to spend so much at Gwennie Woodlas’s shop, she had found a dressmaker to alter garments of which she had tired, and still managed to look outstandingly and boldly fashionable.
To outward appearances, the shortage of money hadn’t affected her. And he realised with admiration that no matter what her circumstances were, she would always uphold her standards. A remarkable young woman who had the ability to really make her mark but who would probably drift along until she found someone to marry. He felt sick that it could never be him.
He closed the ledgers where he had been checking the outstanding amounts due to suppliers and stood up. Things were beginning to look good. It was time to make a forward step he decided, as he stretched and reached for his coat. Tomorrow was Saturday and Joan would be coming to help with the books. After the shop had closed, they would go together to talk to Old Man Arfon.
* * *
They stood at the door for a moment and crossed their fingers before ringing the bell. The door was opened by Victoria who backed away to allow them to enter. She didn’t have to announce Joan and she knew Viv would refuse to wait for her to tell Mr Weston he had called.
Arfon was at his most pompous having dressed to go to his club where he was chairman of the committee. Tonight he had to give a speech about the Christmas appeal and he had already put his loud voice in the correct mode.
“Joan, my dear,” he bent to kiss his granddaughter’s cheek and Viv ducked as if avoiding the same. “Come in and sit down,” Arfon chuckled. “Now what is it you want to discuss, is there a problem?”
“I want us to make plans to expand,” Viv began and smiled at the old man’s startled expression.
“You don’t think it’s a bit soon, Viv? After all, we’re hardly out of the woods regarding our debts yet. We have to be careful for a while.”
“Careful yes, but afraid to take our chances, no.”
“The sales are good but increasing our stock wouldn’t make that much difference, would it? I mean, we don’t turn people away by failing to give them what they need.
“Carpets. That ought to be our next step. People no longer want the traditional safe colours and ‘practical’ is becoming a dirty word. Plain carpets are available that can be cut and fitted easily by the ordinary man in the street and I think we ought to get a slice of the market. Preferably before too many others do.”
“Can we afford it?”
“Can we afford not to?” Joan said.
“What do you know about business, dear?” Arfon smiled affectionately.
“I know the percentages offered are generous! And with six weeks allowed for payment, and ordering direct from the factory without having to hold stock, and with a range of colours to suit everyone, it’s too good to pass up!” Joan snapped and again Viv chuckled at the surprised expression on the old man’s face.
“You two have been discussing this, haven’t you?”
“For a couple of weeks, Grandfather.”
Viv opened the bag he had brought and placed sheets of papers before Arfon. “Can I leave them with you to look through? Then if we could meet after the weekend to discuss it further?” he asked.
“You’re getting polite all of a sudden aren’t you?” Arfon said gruffly.
“Only because Joan’s here,” Viv grinned. “And I want her there when we talk i
t through. All right?”
“You really think we can do this?”
“With that new decorator’s supplies business up and running and searching for ways to steal our trade we haven’t any choice.”
“Carpets, eh?”
“And furniture later on,” Joan added, “just to let you know we don’t mean to sit back and take it easy.”
“Be careful, Viv. If we go under now we’ll never come up again.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t let you down.”
“—a second time!” Arfon couldn’t resist adding.
“You and Grandfather get on really well don’t you?” Joan said as he walked her to Glebe Lane.
“I’m fond of him. I think he’s a remarkable old man. He was almost battered into the ground by the revelations about his bonfire and your thieving uncle Islwyn, but instead of hiding away embarrassed and humiliated, he tackled the business by taking on the only one who could save it, me, the one who caused the downfall in the first place. On top of that he stands for chairman at his club – and gets elected. Different from your father and your uncle, eh? More guts.”
“Grandmother tried the same strategy but it hasn’t worked.”
“Yet!”
“Perhaps my mother and Auntie Sian are the strong ones. At least they’re doing something. Auntie Sian selling the house to give money to Grandfather, my mother taking in boarders, or Paying Guests as she insists on calling them.”
“And you? Are you willing to take on the challenge of expanding the Wallpaper and Paint and building it into a store where people can furnish their homes under one roof?”
She turned and stared at him, her eyes deep pools glinting slightly in the lamplight. “You can’t be serious, Viv.”
“Never more so. I can’t do it alone, but if you committed yourself to getting this new idea off the ground, well, we can accomplish anything.”
The Weston Girls Page 14
