Winners and Losers

by Catrin Collier

  ‘Because my father threw me out and I had nowhere else to go.’ She leaned towards him. He grabbed his clothes and retreated. ‘I prefer to have you in my bed,’ she purred

  ‘What girl wouldn’t?’ Joey gave her the full benefit of the smile he practised every night in front of his dressing-table mirror.

  ‘I’m serious, Joey. I’ve fallen in love with you.’

  ‘No, you haven’t.’ He pulled on his drawers, heaved his trousers over them and turned to look at her as he buttoned his flies and buckled his belt.

  ‘How do you know what I feel?’ she demanded crossly.

  ‘Men talk, Jane, especially after they’ve had a few pints in the Pandy, and the milkman and the insurance man can still afford to buy beer.’

  ‘They haven’t been here in months except to deliver milk and pick up the penny a week Emlyn pays to cover his funeral costs. Well, they wouldn’t, would they?’ she argued. ‘Not when you’re here practically every night. But all you ever want to do is go to bed for an hour or two before clearing off to visit some other girl.’

  ‘I swear, Jane,’ Joey crossed his fingers behind his back as he hauled his braces over his shoulders, ‘I have no other girl.’

  ‘Maybe you haven’t visited another one today, Joey Evans. But I hear gossip too.’ She knelt on the bed and despite the freezing temperature, allowed the sheet to fall below her knees. ‘I never should have married an old man.’

  ‘You told Emlyn he had to marry you because you were pregnant,’ Joey reminded her with more honesty than tact.

  ‘It wasn’t my fault I lost the baby a week after we married. And afterwards, instead of giving me sympathy, he accused me of lying to him just to get him to marry me.’

  ‘Didn’t you?’

  ‘No!’ She grabbed the sleeve of Joey’s shirt, pulled him towards her and clamped his hands over her naked breasts. ‘Your father owns this house. I could stop Emlyn from coming back.’

  ‘Not when his name is on the rent book, you can’t.’ Joey evaded her clutches, grabbed the candle and lifted it to the floor to look for his boots. ‘He’s a good tenant. He always paid on the nail until the strike.’

  ‘But I want to live with you,’ she repeated petulantly.

  ‘How about as a lodger?’ he joked. ‘Then you can switch from Emlyn’s bed to mine halfway through the night. Better still, you’ve enough spare rooms; you could ask the milkman and insurance man to move in as well. That would give you a real choice.’

  ‘That’s not funny, Joey.’

  ‘Neither is your nagging.’ He found his boots and sat on the dressing-table stool to lace them on.

  ‘I’ve written to Emlyn to tell him that he can’t come back here.’

  ‘You’ve what!’

  Even in the dim light of the flickering candle, she saw Joey’s eyes round in horror. ‘I know you go to the Catholic church and all that, but we wouldn’t be the only couple in the Rhondda to live in sin. I don’t care what people or the chapel say -’

  ‘Did you really write to Emlyn?’ he broke in, hoping she was lying.

  ‘Yes.’ She stared at him defiantly.

  ‘And said what?’

  ‘That I love you.’

  ‘Are you insane!’

  ‘You were so peculiar the last time I saw you. I thought you needed a push.’

  ‘What the hell do you mean?’

  ‘A push in the right direction. You know you want to settle down with me,’ she purred seductively.

  ‘If I was ready to settle down, and I’m not,’ he added heatedly, ‘I’d sooner settle down with old Mrs Johns. She may never see ninety again but she knows how to cook and her house is clean, which is more than can be said for you and this place.’ He loosened the laces on one of his boots and pushed his foot into it only to discover that he’d put his left boot on his right foot.

  ‘That’s a horrid thing to say. If I thought for one minute that you meant it -’

  ‘I do! And if you’ve really written to Emlyn about me, you’ve done something even more horrid –and stupid.’

  She left the bed and walked naked, goose-bumped and shivering towards him. ‘If you don’t love me why do you visit me every night?’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Jane, I’m nineteen, I want a bit of fun ...’ He wrenched off his boot and thrust it on the other foot.

  ‘And I’m seventeen. That’s what makes us so perfect for one another.’

  ‘Have you posted that letter?’ he challenged.

  ‘There’s no need to shout and, yes, I have posted it.’

  ‘You serious?’

  ‘You obviously aren’t,’ she said irritably.

  ‘I told you from the beginning that we should enjoy what we had. Jane, it was fun -’

  ‘Fun! Fun! Fun! That’s all you can say, Joey Evans. Fun for who, that’s what I want to know? You knew I wasn’t happy with Emlyn. That I was looking for someone else. And now I could be having your baby -’

  ‘Oh no, you don’t pull that one. Not on me.’

  ‘In fact, I know that I am carrying your baby.’ She smiled jubilantly.

  ‘It could be anyone’s. The milkman and the insurance man are good blokes, they wouldn’t stand back and say nothing if you took me to court to claim maintenance for a bastard that wasn’t even mine.’ Joey froze at the thought of the scandal Jane’s accusation would precipitate, the lectures he’d have to suffer from his father – and Lloyd. Quite apart from the five shillings a week the magistrate would order him to pay towards the upkeep of the child until it was at least twelve, what chance would he or she have in life with Jane for a mother? His son or daughter ... his blood ran cold at the thought.

  ‘You would and all, wouldn’t you, Joey Evans? You’d deny any of this happened in court. You, horrible, evil ... swine.’ Realizing from the expression on his face that she’d gone too far to get him back, Jane picked up a pair of pink glass candlesticks from the dressing table and flung them at his head. Joey ducked but not far enough. One of them caught his cheek.

  Without stopping to fasten his shirt buttons or tie the laces on his boot, he grabbed his second boot, the rest of his clothes and ran out of the door. And, for the first time since he’d started sneaking into Jane Edwards’ house and bedroom, he raced straight down the stairs, through the front door and into the street.

  News of Alun Richards’ attack on Megan reached the County Club before it closed. Billy Evans stayed only as long as it took him to verify the details before going home. He was discussing the incident with Victor and Lloyd when Joey burst into the house, carrying one boot and half his clothes. He dropped them by the kitchen door and ran to the tap.

  ‘Someone’s husband finally catch up with you, little brother?’ Lloyd asked.

  ‘Can’t you see I’m hurt!’ Blood oozed between the fingers Joey had clamped over his face and dripped on to his unbuttoned shirt.

  ‘And how exactly did you get hurt?’ Billy wondered just how much more trouble his family could get into in one night.

  ‘Bloody women!’ Joey turned on the tap and threw the tea towel under it.

  ‘A woman, not a husband,’ Lloyd taunted. ‘My, my, could it be that you’re losing your Don Juan touch?’

  ‘How bad is it?’ Billy Evans went to Joey and prised his fingers from his face.

  ‘Not bad.’ Joey pulled away from his father.

  ‘Bad enough,’ Billy pronounced. ‘Take a look at this, Victor and see if it needs a stitch.’

  ‘I had enough of Victor’s horse doctoring after the riot.’ Joey dabbed the wet tea towel on his face, pulled it away and studied the bloodstain.

  ‘It’s more bruise than cut.’ Victor opened the wound and made it bleed even more.

  ‘That hurt,’ Joey growled.

  ‘You can’t say we didn’t warn you that your philandering would lead to trouble,’ Lloyd lectured, unable to resist an ‘I told you so’.

  ‘Spare me the sermon.’ Suddenly faint, Joey pulled his chair from under th
e table and fell on to it.

  Victor filled the tin bowl with cold water, threw in the tea towel and sat next to him. ‘Let me take a closer look?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Joey, be sensible. If that cut gets infected you could end up looking like the monster in that illustrated Frankenstein book you keep reading.’

  His father’s threat was enough. Mindful of his good looks, Joey sat quietly while Victor washed and examined the wound.

  ‘Well, it can’t be Emlyn Edwards because he’s inside, so was it Jane?’ Lloyd knelt on the hearthrug, lifted a pile of sticks and papers from the alcove cupboard, pulled the coalscuttle towards him and began building a fire for the morning.

  ‘Mind your own business.’

  ‘A man would have done more damage, given that you were only half dressed. He also would have kicked you out before you had time to gather your clothes.’ Billy took the cloth from Victor and looked Joey in the eye. ‘Are you going to tell us what happened? Or do we have to wait for Betty Morgan or one of the other neighbours to enlighten us.’

  Joey saw that his father wasn’t going to leave him alone until he gave him an explanation. ‘If you must know, I was hit by a candlestick.’

  ‘A flying candlestick,’ Lloyd whistled. ‘Is this a variation on the Arabian Nights flying carpet?’

  Billy held up his hand to silence Lloyd. ‘And who threw the candlestick?’

  ‘Someone I thought I knew but didn’t,’ Joey muttered belligerently.

  ‘Was it an upstairs or a downstairs candlestick?’

  ‘I’ve said all I’m going to.’ Unable to meet his father’s eye, Joey took the tea towel from Victor.

  ‘What would you say if I told you that it was an upstairs candlestick and Jane Edwards threw it?’ Mr Evans took his place at the head of the table.

  Joey’s first instinct was to try to bluff it out then he remembered Betty Morgan. Nothing that went on in the street escaped her notice, and the chances were Ned Morgan had already mentioned his wife’s suspicions to his father. ‘She wanted me to move in with her. When I refused she threw the candlestick at me.’

  ‘Did she say whether or not she expected her husband to join the two of you when he is released from prison?’ Billy enquired frostily.

  ‘Ow!’ Joey glared at Victor who was dabbing iodine on to his cut.

  ‘Your love life is too complicated for me, Joey.’ Lloyd left the hearth and washed his hands and face at the sink. ‘I’m going to bed. Goodnight.’ He dried his hands in the kitchen towel and left the room.

  Victor gently touched Joey’s cut. ‘You may have a slight scar but it will fade. You definitely don’t need a stitch.’ He tossed the cloth back into the bowl and carried it over to the sink.

  ‘I’ll clear that up,’ Billy offered. ‘Go on up with Lloyd.’

  Victor looked from his father to Joey. Sensing that Joey was in for the talking to of his life, he nodded. ‘I could do with a good night’s sleep. See you in the morning.’

  Billy sat back in his easy chair after Lloyd closed the door.

  ‘Before you say anything, I’ve learned my lesson.’ Joey went to the sink and emptied the bowl down the drain.

  ‘Have you?’ Billy enquired cynically.

  ‘I have,’ Joey reiterated. ‘From now on it’s only nice girls for me.’

  ‘I hate to disillusion you, Joey, but there isn’t a respectable man within a fifty-mile radius of Pandy who’ll allow you over his doorstep, much less near his daughter. You’ve earned yourself quite a reputation, boy.’

  Joey reached for the soda crystals to disinfect the bowl. ‘Jane tonight –it got really nasty.’

  ‘I was sorry when I heard that you’d taken up with her. She’s a devious young lady. No one thought she’d get Emlyn to believe her lies enough to take her as his wife, but there’s none so foolish or gullible as an old fool.’ He rose from his chair. ‘Not that you’ve asked my advice, but if you did, I’d warn you to be wary. You might think, after what she did to you tonight, that you’ve finished with her. But she might not have finished with you.’

  Megan discovered that when it came to lodging houses, the designated day of rest wasn’t that different from the other days of the week for all that Joyce had said it was the day with the lightest load of housework. Although there were no beds to strip, the fires still had to be laid downstairs before six o’clock, the three sittings of breakfast prepared and served, the vegetables cleaned and the Sunday dinner cooked. And they still had to make the lodgers’ beds and tidy their rooms at intervals throughout the day to suit the officers’ shifts.

  Sergeant Martin came down for the last breakfast at eight o’clock. When Megan saw him walking into the dining room, she went into the kitchen and persuaded Lena to wait on the table while she helped Mrs Palmer with the washing-up. At ten o’clock the sergeant left to patrol the town. Shortly afterwards she and Lena started cleaning the bedrooms, leaving Mrs Palmer to cook the Sunday dinner.

  Tidy and scrupulously clean by nature, Megan found it difficult to ignore mess. But following Mrs Palmer’s stern advice, after she’d spent too much precious time on the daily bed-making, as opposed to the thorough clean every bedroom received once a week, she’d learned to concentrate on the beds and washstands. So, she and Lena made beds, emptied slop buckets, and did the minimal cleaning of toilet ware. The sergeant’s room, as usual, took the least time, and the room next to it, an hour just to clear the beds so they could make them.

  Impatient to move on to the next floor, Megan grew irritable with Lena, as the girl seemed even more dreamlike than usual. The more she tried to hurry her, the slower Lena became. Minutes ticked by relentlessly, as Lena tucked in the sheets and blankets on her side of the beds at half Megan’s pace. When they finally finished, they hauled the slop buckets downstairs and while Megan emptied them down the ty bach, Lena filled the big jugs they used to carry water.

  Mrs Palmer was laying the dinner table for the first sitting when they went up to make the beds on the second floor. Megan waited until Lena was busy cleaning a particularly filthy washstand in an eight-bedded room, before making the excuse that she needed a clean handkerchief. She raced up to the top floor without giving Lena a chance to remind her of Mrs Palmer’s rule that they were never to be left alone in any of the lodgers’ bedrooms. Exchanging her handkerchief for another, she picked up the chocolates she had hidden in one of her drawers. Creeping down the narrow staircase, she held her breath as she stole past the open door of the bedroom Lena was working in.

  She reached the first floor landing and mentally counted off a full sixty seconds. Only when she was certain that no one was watching her, she dived into the sergeant’s room, left the chocolates on his bedside table, backed out of the door, closing it as she did so; and stopped dead when she sensed someone standing behind her.

  Hands clamped tightly around her waist, and she froze. ‘Miss Williams, you’ve cleaned my room, I presume.’

  Colour flooded into her cheeks. She turned her head to see the sergeant standing behind her.

  ‘Why the guilty look, Miss Williams? You were cleaning my room, weren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Please, let me go?’

  He released her and opened the door of his room. As he looked inside, she darted up the stairs, running breathlessly towards the room where she’d left Lena working. The door was open but it was empty, the beds still unmade. She heard a noise in the room next door and wondered why Lena had moved on without finishing the room or waiting for her. She turned the knob, opened the door and stood transfixed.

  Lena was lying on her back on top of a rumpled bed, her apron, skirt and petticoats pushed to her waist, her bodice unbuttoned, her drawers pulled down to her feet. Constable Wainwright was on top of her, one hand between her legs, the other beneath her bust shaper.

  ‘Megan!’ Lena struggled to sit up.

  Constable Wainwright gave Megan a look that sent a chill down her spine.

  Megan blurted out the
first thing that came into her head. ‘I shouldn’t have left Lena alone.’

  Constable Wainwright left the bed, buttoned his flies, straightened his uniform and walked towards her without a backwards glance at Lena who was struggling into her drawers. ‘One word to anyone about what you’ve just seen, and you’ll be sorry.’

  ‘Sir.’ Megan lowered her eyes and bobbed a curtsy.

  ‘And so will your young man and his family. They could be put away for a long time. So long, the warder will throwaway the keys. Now, we don’t want that. Or Lena losing her job here, do we?’

  Megan shook her head.

  ‘We understand one another.’

  ‘Sir.’ She stepped aside so he could walk past her, but as he did so he briefly cupped her breast.

  ‘Sir!’ she protested angrily.

  ‘Shipton’s right. All you women are the same, begging for a man to give it to you.’

  Laughing he left the room and ran down the stairs.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘I’m sorry I can’t give you any more time off this evening, Megan.’ Joyce wrapped the ham sandwiches she’d cut for the officers’ supper in scalded cloths and set them on plates in the pantry. ‘But with this being Lena’s afternoon off, I’ll need you back here at eight o’clock sharp to help serve first supper.’

  ‘I’ll return as soon as chapel is finished, Mrs Palmer.’ Megan’s hands trembled as she jabbed her hatpin into her black Sunday winter hat and straightened the lace collar on the brown wool dress she’d had made for church three years before. Despite the pressing with a cloth soaked in vinegar, it was shiny in places. She fingered the material anxiously. If it should go into holes it would be months before she’d be able to replace it, but the chapel elders had given her a warning when she had worn her only other good winter dress to a service because it was a colourful, and in their opinion, highly unsuitable green.

  ‘That’ll be your young man.’ Joyce opened the door. ‘My, oh my, your young man and his brother. Does Father Kelly know that he’s lost you both to chapel?’ she enquired.

  ‘It’s by nature of a family outing, Mrs Palmer.’ Joey’s experience with Jane didn’t prevent him from removing his cap and giving Mrs Palmer an appealing smile. Flirting with women, young, middle-aged or old, had become a habit he could no more relinquish than he could stop breathing.