Goodbye to Dreams (22 page)

Danny laughed. ‘Why bother? You’ve got your woman, haven’t you?’

‘Shamed I am, by the limp. I try to walk proper but it pulls on the wrong muscles, see, and it’s too much. I’ll have to go slow from here.’

‘Go on, then. Don’t let us stop you.’ Danny laughed again. ‘Unless you want a piggy back?’

‘That was unkind,’ Willie said as the small man, limping painfully, hobbled across the uneven grass.

‘Can’t stand the man, with his rat’s face and his whining voice.’ Danny kicked a tuft of grass and walked on. ‘And I don’t trust him either,’ he called back. Willie glared his disapproval at the broad back and followed.

A few weeks later, Danny and Willie had repaired the barn, installed a large lathe and painted a sign advertising their business as Makers of Fine Furniture. Danny left Foxhole Street, telling Jessie via her mother that she could stay there if she wished and he would pay the rent. Willie’s quiet
criticism
had made him feel guilty enough to make the gesture. He had been wrong to marry her while loving Cecily. He found himself a room with meals and laundry included in a house near Gladys Davies, who had looked after Willie so well.

S
INCE
A
DA’S MARRIAGE
, the sisters had agreed that, with Willie’s help, they would each have an afternoon off every week. Ada imagined she would find plenty to do in her new home, sewing, cleaning and cooking. Cecily looked forward to getting out on her own and enjoying a few hours of complete freedom. Neither achieved what they hoped.

Ada was living ‘through and through’ in her mother-in-law’s house, not having rooms of her own but sharing as one of the family. Only the bedroom was hers and Phil’s and even that was cleaned and cared for by Mrs Spencer and was not the private place she had presumed it would be. Mrs Spencer would walk in while they were in there, talking non-stop, or asking for a piece to be read to her from the newspaper before she went visiting, so she could continue with the illusion she could read.

The house was run efficiently. Mrs Spencer was always up early and most of the dusting and polishing and even the scrubbing of the back kitchen floor was done long before Ada and Phil rose, to eat the breakfast waiting for them. It was like living in a hotel, with even the simple tasks of clearing the table or washing the dishes denied her.

They would eat their food and before they had finished the second cup of tea they both indulged in, the rest of the dishes would be washed and back on their correct shelves. When they left for the shop, Mrs Spencer would be sitting near the immaculately clean fireplace, sewing or knitting, the house as neat as it could be.

The one thing her mother-in-law wouldn’t allow was for Ada to carry water up to her bedroom so she could wash in private. She didn’t actually complain, but would always bring the offending bowl down the moment Ada had finished, tutting in mild disapproval. Even when Ada took it up as she went to bed, Mrs Spencer would come into the bedroom and take it back down. Ada thought longingly of the bathroom she had enjoyed in the rooms behind the shop. Eventually she accepted the rule and washed in the back kitchen.

So Ada’s half day was spent sitting with her mother-in-law discussing the
local gossip, of which the lady was an expert. She rarely saw Phil on these afternoons. He spent them travelling around the town collecting his debts. Gradually she began to forget her hours off and stayed on at the shop. She used Willie as an excuse.

‘Go on, Willie, you have a few hours off, there’s nothing important for me at home and I know you can use the time.’

After a few weeks it was usual for Cecily to take a half day but for Ada to work the full week. She was pleased to be working the extra hours; it brought her close to the amount of time Cecily worked and made her feel less of an assistant to her sister’s role of manager.

Cecily didn’t ask her sister why, but guessed the reason from the few remarks Ada made about the efficiency of her mother-in-law and the joy the woman found in spoiling her son’s wife. Cecily knew how much Ada had been looking forward to showing her own skills in looking after a home and husband, and the dismay was written on her face when she said how wonderful it was to be so cared for. It was a symptom of the growing gap between them that neither could fully discuss their thoughts.

Cecily used her half day to meet Danny. Ada said nothing about this for several weeks but finally warned, ‘People love to talk and several of our customers have seen you and Danny Preston meeting outside the town. D’you want to end up in court? Imagine the delight Dorothy would have telling Jessie she has grounds for divorce.’

On her next half day, Cecily didn’t meet Danny as arranged but went instead over to Peter Marshall’s garage. Wind was gusting, threatening to steal her hat, and the day was gloomy. She filled the car with petrol, then began talking about her dilemma. It was he who started the conversation with a gentle, ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Danny!’ she said succinctly.

‘You’re meeting him and he’s a married man.’ There was the slightest hint of censure in his voice.

‘After Ada’s wedding he stayed and for a while we met almost daily. He’d come after Van was asleep. Then I told him goodbye, urged him to try and repair his marriage. We didn’t meet for several weeks and I believed he and Jessie were back together and all was well.’

‘And then?’

‘It happened by accident really. I came to see you on my half day several times, remember?’

‘I remember very well.’

‘One day Danny was waiting at the corner of the road and he got into the car. We drove to the marsh and sat there in the weak sunshine and
watched the marsh birds. It was so good, just sitting and talking and sharing the pleasures of that lovely place.’

‘Then you stopped coming to see me.’

‘We met every week and I’d count the days. I know I’m a fool. He and I could never settle down in harmony. It only takes a suspicion that I’m being over-friendly with another man for him to start on again about my flirting ways and my desire for the attention of men. Then we’ll be shouting at each other and storming off in opposite directions swearing never to speak to each other again. He’ll never change. Most of the time it’s wonderful, then a kind word or a smile from a stranger and the wrong response from me and anger explodes.’

They were sitting in Peter’s shabby office and he suggested she might like to go somewhere more comfortable. He hesitated at first, afraid any distraction would discourage her from confiding to him her concerns. He wanted to be the one she could trust.

They drove to a small beach about four miles away and stayed in the car, watching the sea, dark, pulsing, powerful, being pushed by the incoming tide and a strong wind. Clouds raced across the sky which was darkening by the minute, giving the place a menacing aura.

‘Danny doesn’t object to you coming to see me?’ Peter asked.

‘Of course not. You’re a friend of long standing, like Waldo and Bertie. Even he couldn’t see you as a threat. Thank goodness I have a few good friends who don’t cause rows.’ She was looking out at the approaching storm and missed the frown and hurt expression which made his face as grey as the rest of the afternoon.

‘I look forward very much to your visits,’ he said.

‘Why don’t you come to lunch on Sunday?’ she asked on impulse. ‘Van will love to see you, and Beryl and Bertie will be there. Waldo and Melanie too. Please come.’

‘Thank you. I’d love to.’ Momentarily the frown left his face. ‘Will Danny be there?’

‘No!’

‘But you will go on meeting, and people will talk and that could lead you into trouble you’ll find it hard to take. Being the other woman and facing a divorce court isn’t fun, Cecily.’

She didn’t reply but looked down at her hands fingering the lacy gloves she had worn and which now lay like two exotic insects resting in the contours of her lap.

‘Is it a special occasion, this lunch?’ he asked.

‘Well – yes. It’s my birthday and I’m thirty.’

‘And I’m thirty-seven.’

They were silent for a while, looking across at the pulsating sea where clouds blotted out the horizon, but nearby visibility had improved and they were able to see a pilot boat which engaged their interest, guiding a cargo boat into the docks entrance, bobbing about like a toy.

‘Come on, let’s go back to the beach and get some tea and sticky buns.’ Peter started the car and drove back along the quiet roads to the cafe.

Although rain threatened, the beach was full of late summer visitors. The gentle murmur of their chatter was interrupted occasionally by the tannoy, reporting a child found and wanting his mam, or shouting at boys for misbehaving in the sands and disturbing others.

Red-skinned bathers walked up from the sand to find cool drinks or an ice cream, and some, who during their short stay had become regulars at the green-painted stall, would chat to the girl selling teas as if she were an old friend.

The clatter of dishes told of the success of the day despite the doubtful weather as picnickers returned trays to regain their deposits or order fresh supplies. Peter left her occasionally to help the girl to clear the counter. She watched him with real affection. Such a kindly man.

Wasps were a constant hazard and they saw several children hurried along by anxious parents to the First Aid hut on the parade, to return later, still with mouths pouting in dismay but soothed and comforted. Cecily looked at Peter and they shared a look, telling each other how they felt for the injured child.

The wind had dropped as the storm had raced past and the moist heat drew smells from the wet sand and warm paving. The seas, still rough and now high on the beach, brought the smell of seaweed and Cecily tasted the salt on her lips. At each side of the bay, the tide smashed over the rocky headlands throwing plumes of white spray high in the air. The plumes were a dazzling fluorescent white in contrast to the grey rocks, sea and sky.

Cecily felt close to Peter, as if they were separate from the hubbub going on around them, invisible and unheard. She looked at him with genuine affection and touched his arm as a gesture of it. He patted her hand and held it there.

Behind them were the more mundane sounds of lively humanity, deriving the most from the last of the precious days of summer. The
ever-present
smell of fish and chips, the delicious smell of hot bread as a baker’s boy delivered fresh supplies on a shallow board balanced on his shoulder. She soaked up the sights and sounds, aware of Peter’s relaxed company and knowing it was a day to remember.

‘I’m hungry,’ she announced and they sat like thousands of summer
visitors
and ate sandwiches and drank tea, which Peter poured from one of the cafe’s white china pots. The high tide was cooling the air and she was glad of his offer of his jacket.

The roads were filling up when they set off back to the garage to collect her car. It seemed that most of the bathers and picnickers had made the decision to leave at the same time. The car nosed its way through the
jaywalking
families heading for the trains and buses, and approached the edge of the town at little more than a walking pace.

Hot and tetchy children clung to their fathers’ shoulders. ‘Like limpets with legs,’ Peter said with a laugh. ‘Sticky with ice cream and jam and smelling of the sea. A lovely cargo to carry home on a summer’s evening.’

‘You’re very poetic today, Peter.’ He shook his head deprecatingly.

‘How is your sister-in-law Dorothy these days?’ he asked as they finally picked up speed and drove past a small row of shops where shutters were being put up for the night.

‘She still hints regularly that I won’t marry and have children so I should make out a will in favour of Owen-Owen-named-for-his-grandfather.’

‘After what she did to you on the eve of your wedding?’

‘She says she bitterly regrets that. But I don’t,’ she confessed. ‘I was only marrying Gareth to be safe.’

‘Safe? Safe from whom? Danny?’

‘I don’t know. Just – safe.’

‘Perhaps Gareth isn’t finished with the Owen family yet. I’ve seen him out several times with your other sister-in-law, Rhonwen, and her daughter, Marged.’

‘You have?’

‘I see many people when I’m sitting in my tea stall and I’m so often there few notice me.’

She was ashamed. After a niggle of jealousy. ‘That doesn’t mean anything, going out together sometimes. After all, I’ve been with you for hours.’

‘No, us being together doesn’t mean anything, being together and enjoying each other’s company.’

She looked at him, aware of the strangeness in his voice, but he was staring straight ahead. She couldn’t see the greyness in his heart, only the defiant laughter – like the determination of the revellers earlier, to pretend the sun was still shining – showing stiffly on his face.

On Sunday, at Cecily’s birthday luncheon, Bertie and Peter talked business.

‘Young Edwin will be helping in the business before too long,’ Bertie said proudly.

‘I can already read a balance sheet,’ Edwin said.

‘And damned good he is too. Sharp as a nagging woman’s elbow, our Edwin.’

‘I wish I could do something useful,’ Van sighed.

‘Hark at you,’ Cecily said with a smile. ‘All you want to do after school is skip, play whip and top, or torment the boys next door.’

‘Only because you never give me anything interesting to do!’ Van complained. ‘First I’m a nobody and now I’m useless. What a life to be born to. Nobody’s bothered with me since Gran went away.’

‘Aw. Poor thing you,’ Edwin teased.

‘I’m considering taking on an assistant soon,’ Peter told them. ‘The garage is quite busy and I’ve bought the piece of ground around it so I can take in more cars to sell, leaving the workshop free for repairs.’

They discussed this for a while, then Melanie said, ‘Tell them, Waldo. They’ll know soon anyway.’

‘Good news?’ Cecily asked, then she saw from their faces that was not so.

‘We weren’t going to mention it, this being a party,’ Melanie said, looking at Waldo.

‘We were burgled last night,’ Waldo said. ‘Jewellery, money, silver, enough to ruin our pleasure in the lovely home we have built up over the years.’

‘It was such a shock. Sleeping peacefully in our home, while someone came inside and—’ Melanie was dry-eyed but her voice revealed the distress the thief had caused. Waldo looked angry, his cheeks bright red with the emotion he felt.

‘Oh, Melanie, Waldo, I’m so sorry. When will the police catch this man!’ Ada was shocked and upset.

‘Your staff?’ Cecily suggested. ‘Do you trust them?’

‘Completely. I’d never believe them capable of this. The handyman was there early and he found the door wide open and I was already reaching for my dressing gown when Melanie cried out that her jewellery was gone.’ He sighed. ‘A lot of money too, I discovered later. I foolishly keep some at home for emergencies – nearly one hundred pounds.’

‘What can we do?’ Cecily asked, hugging Melanie. ‘Would you like to stay here for a few days? After such an experience you must both feel too upset to sleep there.’

‘No, we won’t be driven out of our home. It’s the jewellery itself, specially chosen for special events. Its value isn’t measured by the cost of replacing it.’