Forgetting the shopping she needed, Sally turned round and ran into the house, her face pale with shock. “Ryan, Joan thinks she might be expecting!” she gasped and realised too late that Jack was standing in the corner.
* * *
Jack ran to Sophie Street, remembered Viv would be at work, ran to the shop and up the stairs to his office. He banged on the door and when Viv answered it aimed a punch to his chin. Viv dodged it with ease and demanded to know what was the matter. Jack was weakened by his running but his anger was in good health and in between ragged breaths he called Viv a list of names that broke records for unrepeated length.
“Joan’s been to the doctor to ask for a pregnancy test and you’re the only one she’s been seeing,”
Jack gasped out, still trying to hit the smaller and quicker Viv.
Without trying to convince him otherwise, Viv gathered his overcoat and led Jack down to the shop. Calling for his assistant to watch the shop for a while, he led Jack to the yard, where Joan, huddled in thick jumpers and a coat belonging to her grandfather, was marking the paint tins they were to sell cheaply in the forthcoming January sale.
The truth was soon revealed and Sally and Ryan and the others discussed the best way of helping Megan, who refused to say a word. Sobered by the thought of Megan’s predicament, Jack offered profuse apologies both to Joan and Viv. They arranged to meet Megan that evening and assure her of their support.
Then Jack asked for some of the old paint Joan was marking down, to do up Mrs Jones’s house.
“Bloody cheek,” Viv growled. “You come in here, sling unconfirmed rumours at me, try to knock me into the middle of next week, then scrounge some bargains. Damn it all, Jack, you’ll be asking me to paint the walls for you next.”
“Well, if you’re free this weekend…” Jack said before moving out of reach.
Chapter Fourteen
Rhiannon hated the period after Christmas. The need for sweets dwindled as most families still had chocolates and sweets given as presents, so the shop was quiet. This year, besides the lack of business making the days drag, it was made worse by the end of her unofficial engagement to Barry. He still lived above the shop and his constant comings and goings were an embarrassment. She still had a sense of loss and when he came into the shop she tried to hide her face for fear he would see the regret and yearning.
In a purely selfish way she was glad every time she saw him staggering up the stairs, reminding her he was still living apart from Caroline. She didn’t doubt they would one day be together, seeing them over Christmas, sharing their love for Joseph, had made that clear, but she hoped it wouldn’t happen until she had accepted the end of her hopes of becoming Mrs Barry Martin.
At five-thirty she closed the shop, not waiting for the stragglers as she usually did, but hurrying out, away from the possibility of seeing Barry and Caroline together. As she closed the shop door she glanced at the window and saw that one of the pyramid display of toffee tins was missing. She frowned and replaced it. That was the second time this week she had noticed something missing. Over the past weeks several bars of chocolate had gone, and she was certain that a seven-pound jar half filled with winter mixture had not been sold. There was a thief among her customers, but how was she to find out who, and, what would she do when she had?
It was a mild, tranquil night, the icy wind that had tormented them all day had dropped and the cool air was a mere caress. She stopped, with her key in her hand and walked back down the road to the corner from where she could look between the houses, to the lights just visible in the docks and on the sea.
“Dreamin’ again, young Rhiannon?” a voice called and Rhiannon stepped across the road to speak to old Maggie Wilpin.
“Lovely clear night, Maggie,” she said.
“When you’re as old as me they’re all beautiful,” Maggie grunted.
“Isn’t it time you went inside?” Rhiannon coaxed. “You must be cold sitting still with only an old coat around you.”
Maggie grunted again and Rhiannon asked her why she sat there so late into the night.
“The nights are long, and if I stay here for part of them I can cope with the darkness better. Besides, I’m waiting.”
“Waiting?”
“Waiting for Gwyn’s dad Charlie to come home. He said he’ll be home in January.”
“Couldn’t you wait inside? Gwyn would be glad of your company, wouldn’t he?”
“He’s out with his friends. Won’t be home till eight, then he goes straight to bed. Hardly worth lighting the fire these days.”
“You do have a fire, don’t you?”
“Yes, I need it to cook on since the cooker clunked out on me. Gwyn’s dad’ll sort it when he’s home.”
Charlie Bevan was the husband of Maggie’s granddaughter Morfedd, who had left home when Charlie had been called up. Morfedd had since divorced him and Maggie had taken them in, her granddaughter’s husband and his small son. She was tired. How much longer would she have to wait for Charlie?
When Rhiannon reached home she asked her mother if they could buy some coal for Maggie. “I don’t think she lights a fire unless she has to. Gwyn spends most of his time out of the house and she doesn’t think it’s worth lighting it for herself.”
“Ask Viv when he comes home. He’ll go and see if he can persuade her,” Dora said. She had been making soups, experimenting with the idea of offering light lunches as well as the snacks for which the Rose Tree Café was well known. Taking the saucepanful of creamy tomato, made with the help of Janet Griffiths’s offering of cream, she said, “Here, Rhiannon, love, take her a bowl of this. Old Maggie likes my soups. And my hot pasties.”
“How many times this week have you given her food, Mam?”
“No matter.”
* * *
Joan and Megan’s mother told the twins she wanted to see them, together and at once. She knew that it was the day on which the results of Megan’s test would be known. She had said nothing to her sister. Time for that if the predicament were confirmed. She doubted whether she would ever be able to tell her mother. She’d have to emigrate first! The subject to be discussed, she told her daughters, was Megan’s visit to the doctor. “It’s all right, Mummy,” Megan said at once. “I’ve had the results and there isn’t going to be a baby. I – I was mistaken. Worry, the doctor said it might have been.”
“Oh, so we can forget it can we? Pretend it didn’t happen?” Sally said quietly.
“That’s best, isn’t it?” Megan said, unaware of the cold anger in her mother’s eyes.
“Are you now going to tell me who he is?” Sally’s voice grew only slightly louder but Megan stared at her in surprise. Unlike Auntie Sian, her mother rarely raised her voice.
“I don’t know.”
“What? How many men have you been with?”
As her mother looked about to collapse into tears, Joan said, “It’s all right Mummy. Remember when someone attacked her in the lane? Megan’s been afraid ever since, that the man might have left her pregnant.”
“You mean he – actually—?”
Pulling her mother to one side Joan said, “I don’t think he did – that – he didn’t do – you know what. But Megan was in such a state and she’s very ignorant about what creates a baby.”
Sally’s shoulders relaxed and she stared at her daughter with relief showing on her face. “Poor love,” she soothed. “Why didn’t you come to me?” Then she turned to her other daughter and said firmly, “And I hope you are ignorant of what’s needed too!”
“Oh, I am, Mummy. I just read more, that’s all.” Joan grinned and was relieved when her mother smiled too.
When they were alone, Joan said angrily, “And that’s the last time I get you out of a mess like that, Megan. I haven’t forgiven you for using my name yet!”
“Sorry Joan, but I was so frightened I didn’t know what I was doing.”
“D’you mean on the visit to the doctors? Or when you and Terry Jenkins went
further than you intended?”
“What are you talking about?” Megan gasped. “It was that man in the lane!”
“And I’m a chimney sweep with gold teeth!” Joan snapped. “You can at least be honest with me, after I’ve squared it with Mummy.”
“All right. It was Terry, but I was afraid they’d make me marry him and I didn’t think I loved him enough for that.”
“Didn’t think?” Joan queried. “What about now? Aren’t you sure any more?”
“It’s funny, but in a way I was disappointed, about not having a baby. It was as if the decision about what to do with my life had been made for me. Now it’s all in the melting pot again and I have to make some plans for the future.”
“You’re bored, Megan. Get yourself a job. The Weston Women are no longer able to live a life of idleness, and I for one am glad.”
* * *
On New Year’s Eve there was a dance. Viv was going and he asked Rhiannon to go with him. “Jack will be there, and Eleri and Basil are going. The length of him! Can you just imagine what he’ll look like dancing with plump little Eleri? That’ll be a sight to see, all curled up like a pug dog’s tail, he’ll be.”
She shrugged noncommittally but decided later that she would. She didn’t want Barry to think that she was stuck indoors pining for him. Although Barry wouldn’t be there. He didn’t like dancing.
When she walked into the dancehall the first couple she saw was Barry and Caroline, partnered in a waltz. Barry obviously didn’t object to dancing when Caroline was his partner! Oh why hadn’t she asked Jimmy? He would have come with her and now she was faced with either dignified retreat, or having to sit and hope someone beside Viv would ask her to dance. At New Year there wouldn’t be many there who hadn’t come with a partner. She looked hopefully for Jack and had another surprise. Jack was dancing with Victoria Jones!
She spent a lot of that evening in the cloakroom or dancing with her brother. Basil asked her for a dance and in his usual bumbling way he shuffled her around the floor and demanded to know why she was alone.
“What’s happened to that Jimmy?” he asked. “Nice enough bloke, mind, better than hankering after Barry. Can’t make up his mind, that’s his trouble. That baby it is, you know. That little Joseph has the fault for Barry spending so much time at our place with our Caroline.”
Eleri heard the end of his comments as he escorted Rhiannon back to her seat.
“Oh shut up, Basil, love,” she sighed. But they looked at each other and smiled. Rhiannon sighed too, for the dream of someone looking at her as Basil looked at Eleri.
* * *
Barry and Caroline left before Auld Lang Syne, and he was silent as they drove back to the Griffithses’ cottage beyond the town.
“Is something wrong, Barry?” Caroline asked. “Is it because Rhiannon was there and you weren’t able to take her home? I could have come with Basil. He’d have seen me safe. He still would if we turned around and went back.”
“You want to know what’s wrong?” he asked and he answered for himself. “Everything’s wrong.”
“Tell me.”
After a few false starts he blurted it out. “I want to be married to you. Properly married. I want to share the fun of bringing up Joseph, you and me together. Now, what d’you say to that then?”
“Oh Barry. It’s what I want too.”
* * *
After a benign start, winter was soon gripping the country in a bitterly cold hand. Ice and snow caused problems in many ways: people falling and hurting themselves, transport delaying the arrival of goods, farmers being unable to lift crops. Many and varied businesses were hit as people stayed in rather than face the discomfort of the icy pavements and the keen wind. Even the January sales failed to coax the usual numbers of people out to hunt for bargains.
Viv managed to sell most of his surplus and damaged stock, the best going to Jack to decorate the small house on Goldings Street. Jack did most of the work, helped on occasions by Basil and Eleri, and Viv.
“Selling it to you at rock bottom prices then having to hang the stuff. Talk about cheek,” Viv moaned as he put the last piece of wallpaper in place in Mrs Jones’s bedroom.
“Stop moaning. You’ll be glad of my tuition when you have a place of your own,” Jack said. “That is if anyone would have you!”
“Hark who’s talking! An old man like you. I’ve given up waiting for an invitation to your wedding, boy!” The banter continued but Viv’s heart was heavy. The prospect of his marrying were slight. He loved Joan but how could he expect her to marry him and accept the little he could offer? The Westons may be broke, but they were still the Westons, and subject to the ambitions and attitudes of people with money.
* * *
Viv’s words also had their effect on Jack. The following morning when it was time for Victoria to leave Goldings Street and go to start her day’s work for his grandmother, Jack was waiting for her at the corner of Goldings Street and Trellis Street. It was too early to call. With all those little Joneses to get up, get dressed and breakfasted, he would have been in the way.
He no longer worried about his parents or anyone else seeing them together. Today he was going to propose. He waited until the front door opened then ran down to greet her.
“I want you to put on your warmest coat, Victoria,” he said as she stepped out of her front door. “You and I are going to take the day off.” He silenced her anxious “But—” with assurances that his Grandmother knew all about it and had given her blessing.
He walked with her to forty-four Trellis Street and they set off on the motorbike in freezing cold air into the countryside that glistened with frost. Out through villages huddled between starkly beautiful fields and hills, along lanes in which dead vegetation had been given new life by winter’s glorious touch.
He had no real destination in mind, he was just putting off the moment when he put the question and she would say either Yes, or No. Once said, a No would be so final that he wanted to drive on and on and not hear it.
She wouldn’t say Yes. Why should she? A pretty little thing like her? And so young she had plenty of time to choose someone more suitable. For a moment he almost decided to forget the whole thing, take her on a good day out, treat her to a meal somewhere and return her home with the dreaded words unsaid. He even turned the bike around and began to head for home.
At a crossroads he stopped and hesitated, then he drove to the pebbly beach and stopped near the entrance to the big park. Giving himself no further time to dither, he helped her off and then held her close and, with tension almost closing his throat said, as if he were barking out an order, “Victoria, will you marry me?”
She stared up at him, her eyes bright in her red, chilled face. “Say that again?” she whispered, a smile wrinkling her wind-burned cheeks in a delightful way. He relaxed and smiled too.
“I love you, you silly little thing, you must have known. Will you marry me?”
“What will your mother and grandmother say?”
“Grandmother already knows and as for mother, let’s go and tell her now, shall we? She’ll be at the café.” He kissed her, laughing at how cold their noses were, then took her to Rose Tree Café to tell his mother their news.
At the entrance, he stopped in the porch and said in alarm, “Victoria, you haven’t said Yes!”
“Yes,” she said, but there was doubt in her voice and he waited as she added, “If your mother raises no objections. I won’t want to cause trouble between you and your family.”
“Victoria, that must be the flattest acceptance ever!” He held the door of the café closed and said urgently, “You do love me?”
“I always have,” she said seriously, “but I never dreamed you would ever love me.”
He kissed her gently, playfully, and opened the door of the café and gave his mother a wide smile.
* * *
Dora and Sian had opened the Rose Tree Café on Monday the eleventh of January. Rhiannon had r
eceived a daily report on their progress but she had not yet visited it. On the day Jack proposed to Victoria, Jimmy walked in to Temptations and invited her out to lunch.
“I don’t have time, silly,” she said, “I only close for an hour.”
“An hour’s plenty,” he said. “I want to take you to the new place over by the lake.”
He grinned then and her heart warmed to him. He really was very thoughtful.
“Rose Tree Café, you mean,” she smiled. “Mam’s place.”
“Not new but definitely under new management.”
* * *
The café was hardly full, a few tables were occupied by one or two people brought there, as Dora and Sian had guessed, by the desire to see if the rumours were true and one of the Weston women was working there. The lunchtime menu had never been large, it had been more a place for snacks, and it would take time to spread the news of a better choice.
Because they had so little time, Rhiannon and Jimmy ate tomatoes on toast. Not very tasty tomatoes as they were imported and had ripened unevenly, and with the tops stubbornly hard. But they both cleared their plates and finished off with tea and a cake. “We’ll do better once the rationing is finished,” Dora said apologetically. “If it does ever!”
“Welsh lamb roasted with honey, good warming cawl, lavabread and bacon, and other wholesome recipes that are traditionally Welsh. These will be our speciality,” Sian added. “So, spread the word.” Gwennie Woodlas came through the door in a flurry of crisp skirts and a whiff of perfume. “Meat and two veg and easy on the gravy,” she demanded with a smile.
“Will soup and something on toast do, Gwennie? We aren’t starting the full lunch menu for another couple of weeks.” Dora went off to serve her. If they could please Gwennie Woodlas, then others would follow her lead.
The Weston Girls Page 23
