Gull Island (37 page)

‘We won’t argue that point now, although I can never think of Barbara that way.’ He put down the parcel he carried and took her in his arms. ‘Rosita, you have to start trusting people or your life will be as barren as—’ He almost said the fields of Passchendaele, a thought never far from his mind. ‘Or your life will be barren of happiness and love.’

‘Love makes you vulnerable.’

‘Life without it is a sham. See your mother. Start picking up pieces instead of throwing them away.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Then talk to Richard. Ask yourself who would be the most likely to lie. Richard or Hattie?’ He handed her the gaily wrapped parcel. ‘Open it.’

She did and found a beautiful cut-glass bowl. The light shone on it and it glistened in myriad rainbows.

‘Many facets, all fascinating,’ he said quietly. ‘Like relationships.’ He hugged her. ‘Be careful not to waste too many more years in resentment, Rosita. Time has a terrifying ability to speed along without us being aware of it. Talk to Richard.’ As he left the flat he added, ‘Then talk to your mother.’

Richard’s reaction to the news was to lock himself away from everyone and lose himself in work. He went out chasing new contracts, advertising for extra workmen and interviewing office staff. Then, when he learned that Idris couldn’t account for
£
300 paid to him by a customer, he sacked him.

His mother thought it was unfairly done, as Idris insisted the money had been taken from his pocket while he fixed a puncture. But Richard refused to listen to him. There was sadistic satisfaction in telling Idris he was useless and a liability.

‘Fine one to talk,’ Idris complained to Monty when he went to collect his things. ‘Him of all people. How d’you think he got started? Stealing! That’s how. Wanted by the police he was, and probably still is!’

He watched the expression on Monty’s face, hoping for anger and shock, but Monty nodded and said, ‘I know all that, Idris. You can’t harm him by spreading that old story. He went to the police years ago and they
had nothing on him. They were suspicious at the time though because someone—’ He looked pointedly at Idris ‘—someone reported him and set the police thinking he was guilty. I wonder who that was, Idris? Know anything, do you?’

Idris shrugged and smiled amiably, his innocence an almost convincing act. ‘I didn’t take the money. I put my jacket on the ground and as usual, a crowd gathered – you know what it’s like.’

‘Perhaps, but I don’t think the
£
300 was the reason Richard asked you to go, do you?’

‘No, he’s been looking for something to whip me with for months. Never wanted me working for him in the first place.’

‘Can you blame him? You’re a lazy bugger, Idris. He’s been overpaying you and you’ve done as little as possible to earn it.’

‘Yes, I suppose I am lazy. I’m fun as well, mind.’ Idris smiled and the wicked amusement in the startlingly blue eyes showed once again how his charm could work wonders.

‘Here’s the address of a friend of mine,’ Monty said. ‘A builder who’s looking for a man to run the stores. It might suit you, no hard work, a bit boring perhaps, but you’ll find ways of dealing with that, won’t you?’

‘Thanks. I’ll get round the boredom. Any good-looking office girls there? With spectacles and long legs?’

‘Don’t start before you even see the place,’ Monty groaned.

Monty told Richard what he’d done and Richard shrugged. ‘It’s up to you. He’s my brother but I don’t think I’d recommend him to anyone I wanted to stay friends with.’

‘I did it because you were unfair. You’ve no proof he took the money.’ Richard looked at him with a raised eyebrow. ‘All right,’ Monty admitted. ‘I did it for Kate. She needs the wages he brings in.’

‘I was glad of an excuse. I wanted him out of here. I can’t look at him without wanting to hit him.’

Idris took the paper with the name and address and when he was
interviewed
he was given the job. Then the following day a letter arrived telling him he would not, after all, be needed.

‘It’s Richard’s doing! He’s pushed his nose in and got me sacked before I even started!’ he told his mother. ‘I’ll get him for this!’

‘Idris, love, Richard wouldn’t do that.’

‘Wouldn’t he just! And what’s he been saying to my Kate? Kicked me out she has.’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘Put some clothes in a suitcase and changed the locks on the doors, that’s
what she’s done. My case is outside, Mam. I can stay for a few days, until I talk her round, can’t I?’

Idris spent days just lolling around being spoilt by his mother and trying to think of the best way to pay his brother back. In his mind he twisted the facts around in a confusion of truth, daydreams and wild imaginings so that the trouble with Kate, the loss of the job and home, the baby carried by Hattie, were all due to Richard’s interference. Richard and that snooty bitch Rosita. It had all been fine until she had come back into their lives.

After the shop she managed had closed in the evenings, Kate usually went straight home. One morning in late July, when the weather outside was heavy with the threat of thunder, she closed the door and went to see Rosita.

‘Kate! What a nice surprise.’ Rosita smiled as she opened the door of the flat. ‘Stay for something to eat?’

‘No. I’d better get back. I only wanted to tell you I might not be able to get in tomorrow.’

‘Is anything the matter?’ Rosita’s thoughts immediately went to Idris. What trouble was he causing now?

‘I feel rather ill. I’m aching in every joint and my head feels fit to burst.’

‘A few of my customers are ill with a summer flu, I hope you haven’t got that. Look, leave it to me, I’ll find someone to come in. Just have a couple of days in bed and rest quietly.’

‘Thanks. I’m sorry to let you down. I know how awkward it is when one of us is off.’

‘That’s my worry, not yours. Come on, I’ll drive you home.’

When she had finished the routine jobs she did every evening, Rosita sat and thought about Kate’s words. She was vulnerable with just the minimum staff and three shops and a kiosk to run. If someone was ill there were a few people who would step in, but the whole thing was dangerously fragile. And what about herself? How long did she want to go on working twelve hours at the school shop, only to come up to more work?

She took her thoughts to bed and with a notebook on her knees began to work out the finances of a complete change to the running of her
businesses
. Not the least of her priorities was the thought that if she and Richard ever got back together, she had to make herself free to spend time with him.

Since the announcement by Hattie that Richard was the father of her unborn child, she and Richard had hardly met. When they did come face to face, usually at his mother’s home, they spoke like strangers, neither giving or taking an inch. After several embarrassing and upsetting
confrontations, Rosita avoided calling on Mrs Carey when it was likely that he’d be there.

Idris was pleasant when they met and treated her to a friendly welcome. He even went back to the school shop to repair plaster around a window after Rosita mentioned it to Mrs Carey – a job he had attempted twice before. For Auntie Molly Carey’s sake, she responded to him in the same manner. She didn’t want to risk upsetting Mrs Carey, the only one in her life, beside Luke, she felt able to love.

It had been several weeks before she felt able to ask the whereabouts of Hattie.

‘Given up her job and gone to stay with your mam,’ Mrs Carey told her. ‘Best for her to be miles away, after what she did to us.’

‘Her and Richard,’ Rosita reminded her.

‘Well, yes indeed. And there’s my poor Idris. He’s in the wrong too, mind, but there, she must have led him on, her staying in that house when we were away, not going to Weston like she told us. Wicked girl she is.’

‘Hattie stayed with Idris all that week?’ Rosita was startled at the
casually
stated remark.

‘Like I said, she’s a wicked girl. Cancelled her holiday and stayed there with Idris and him not strong against temptation, being a man an’ all.’

‘Yet Hattie said Richard was … responsible. Can she have been lying?’

‘I think we’ll have salad tonight, too hot for anything more. Or shall we be lazy and go for some fish and chips? Stay and eat with us,
fach
. Richard and Idris will be back soon. Idris went for a job today. In Cardiff it is. I hope he doesn’t get it, mind – better off staying in your home town I always think.’ Mrs Carey’s chatter showed her determination not to discuss Idris and Hattie any further.

Idris and Hattie alone in the house while Kate and the children were in London? For a whole week? It was impossible to believe that Idris was not responsible for Hattie’s condition. The scene she had witnessed was hardly mild flirting. And Richard had hinted at knowing something too. Shame for her instant rejection of Richard flooded through her, chasing other thoughts trying to escape. Somehow she had to face Richard, and say she was sorry, and ask him for another chance.

She put off the meeting, wondering whether to write or phone, or simply go and see him at work. Days passed and to avoid making a decision she worked on the new set-up for her business. Kate was still off work and having a temporary manager in the Station Row shop meant extra hours each evening dealing with the accounts and the ordering and the thousand things Kate did so efficiently.

Then Betty Sweeny in The Kiosk rang to say she was ill and unable to
work. Trying the usual people who helped on occasions, she failed to find someone to take over. In desperation she rang Richard. She wished she had spoken to him earlier instead of contacting him to ask for help. Why had she delayed?

‘What is it, Rosita?’ His voice gave no hint of pleasure at her call.

Making her voice as formal as possible, fighting back the longing to see him, she said coolly, ‘Several of my staff are ill with this summer flu and I wondered if you can think of anyone who might help.’

‘Oh, business, is it? I’ll put you on to Monty.’ Without further word he passed the phone to his friend.

‘Monty, I’m sorry to worry you with this, but I have a problem trying to find someone to open the kiosk tomorrow. You don’t know anyone who might help, do you?’

‘Let me have a think,’ he said.

‘There’s a part-timer who will help but I desperately need someone for the afternoons.’

‘I think I have an idea.’ He asked how she was, whether her ankle was now sound and warned her to be careful not to catch the flu, then rang off. She replaced the phone with a feeling of dread. Richard would never forgive her, not now. She couldn’t remember a word of what Monty had said.

A young woman phoned an hour later and explained that she was a neighbour of Monty’s and she had worked in a newsagents before. They met, liked each other and, with Monty’s recommendation too, she
thankfully
accepted her help. The phone rang again, this time from someone else saying she had the flu and she too would be unable to get to work.

Running between one shop and another to deal with the busy periods and help the inexperienced staff, she somehow survived the next ten days. By that time, she had also made her preparations to ensure that such a
situation
never happened again.

The money from her grandmother, Mrs Stock, was a safety net and she silently thanked the proud old lady for her generosity. What a pity she hadn’t been kind until after her death. A little friendliness earlier would have meant a more contented and fulfilled end to her days. Why didn’t I break down the old lady’s barrier of pride while I had the chance to give something in return? she grieved. But the money had been a wonderful gift, giving her the chance to put right the weaknesses in her widely expanding business.

When Kate returned to work in August, the middle of the busy holiday period, Rosita asked her if she would accept overall responsibility for the shops. ‘Each of the shops will have a manager, and you will oversee the
whole chain,’ she explained. ‘And by the end of the year there might be another. I have my eye on a small kiosk that’s worth considering. Will you come with me when I go and look at it?’

They discussed the plan and agreed that two part-time assistants for each shop, plus a couple of casuals, would give them some overlap should illness again disrupt the businesses.

‘As soon as everything is running satisfactorily, perhaps I’ll take a holiday,’ Rosita said. With Richard if I can persuade him, she added silently. But where to start? If they weren’t speaking, how could he be persuaded to try again? Why had her first call after weeks of silence been to ask for his help? It would make convincing him that much harder.

C
IGARETTES WENT UP
by one penny on a packet of twenty in August and although the price of matches didn’t alter, the number of matches in a box was reduced. As usual there were the regular grumbles about depriving the working man of his pleasures, but the complaints faded and the increases were soon forgotten.

Although they moaned at first, none refused to buy, Rosita thought wryly. Men, and an increasing number of women, would always find the money for what they wanted. She was different; spending as little as possible and sinking every penny back into the growing business was such a habit, she wondered with some sadness if she was still capable of enjoying herself like most people.

There was certainly more money circulating now, she noticed. Luxuries were being snapped up more quickly and her stock took advantage of the fact that things like fountain pens and lighters, that had been impossible to find during the war years, were being offered by enthusiastic reps.

How fortunate she had been to start in business just as the gloom and austerity of wartime was beginning to ease – even if she couldn’t take advantage of the foreign holidays and better clothes that were coming into the shops. Since clothes rationing had ended in 1949, people were becoming more fashion-conscious and, although always smartly dressed, she felt she was being left behind.

Sweets were still rationed, but other shortages were easing. Newsprint scarcity had kept newspapers limited to a few pages through the war and the forties, but now papers and magazines were thicker and new
periodicals
appeared at intervals. The new comic, the all-colour
TV Comic
, which cost fourpence, quickly became a favourite, with Muffin the Mule, Mr Pastry, and Prudence Kitten.

Television was the new craze and while people were still complaining about lack of money, more and more houses were sprouting the large H aerials on their roof. Perhaps soon she would be able to ease restrictions on herself and treat herself as a reward for her endeavours. A holiday,
perhaps? She sighed and went to straighten the magazines on the counter. Perhaps. But not yet.

Christmas seemed to come earlier each year and by the end of September some shops were already starting to show small, almost apologetic displays of cards. Rosita was negotiating to take over her second kiosk. It too was near a school, this time in Beach Street not far from the Careys’. There was a public house close by and a fairly large bus stop. Like the others it was run down but she could see the potential, once she had put her mark of excellence on it. There was something else: now her sisters knew who she was, there was no reason not to put her name on the shops. Over each of the premises would be the name:

She decided to start the Christmas activities as a celebration of opening the new shop. If she were to compete for the extra business that the gift-buying season brought, she couldn’t drag too far behind the rest. There was no point in waiting until many of the customers had found what they wanted elsewhere. But it would add to the excitement if she waited until at least the beginning of November, when the new kiosk would open. Besides, it seemed unfair to the children to start the excitement too soon.

The schools returning after the autumn half-term was the signal for the rush to begin and on one hectic Sunday, Rosita and Kate went around the shops and the two kiosks and decorated the windows with tinsel and cotton wool and put the Christmas stock on display.

A letter arrived for Rosita among the post at the Station Row shop and, recognizing her mother’s writing, Rosita gave it a cursory glance, saw it was congratulations on opening her new premises, then threw it in the bin. Clearing up later, she took the note out of the rubbish and smoothed it out. She would take it to show Auntie Molly Carey. The letter was an excuse to call and Richard might be there.

Since her refusal to listen when he tried to explain about Hattie and himself, they had hardly exchanged a dozen words. When they met, he immediately muttered some excuse and left. Christmas Day would bring another birthday and the reminder that she was approaching an age when most people accepted the fact that, for them, marriage and motherhood were fading from the scene, distressed her.

She had chosen a career and in doing so had given up all the chances of having fun that most young people enjoyed. Every penny had been
scrupulously
 
put back into the business. Now she was well on the way to making a real success of it all, but there was a risk – which she had ignored. Renting the second kiosk, when she hadn’t fully recovered from the previous purchase, had not been wise.

She had gone against the advice of her accountant by increasing her business so fast. She was severely stretched financially. But with the economy buoyant she felt the risk was justified. A few more years and she would be safe from the dread of poverty. Poverty in old age was still her greatest fear, despite a Health Service and an old age pension.

Starting to build a business, she had put aside marriage as less
important
. Richard Carey had been her only dream and he was gone from her life with only a few memory snapshots to comfort her. Time had passed so quickly and she had found herself at the age when the time for finding love had gone, almost without realizing it. The decision had been her own; there was no one in the background whom she could blame. Like her friend, Miss Grainger, she would travel the rest of her life alone on a lonely road. She hoped she would be as content.

It was in this mood of melancholy that she went to see Mrs Carey bearing the letter from her mother. Richard wasn’t there. In fact, Mrs Carey was alone and trying to fix some decorations into the ceiling by balancing dangerously on a stool.

‘Auntie Molly Carey!’ Rosita scolded. ‘Come down now this minute and leave this to me. You don’t want a broken leg for Christmas, do you?’

‘I wanted it to be a surprise when Richard and Idris come in.’ Mrs Carey smiled at her. ‘But glad I’ll be to sit and watch a young woman do it for me.’

‘Not so young,’ Rosita said lightly, stabbed by her recent thoughts.

They had the inevitable cup of tea before they recommenced the
decorating
and as they finished their second cup, Rosita handed Mrs Carey the letter.

‘She wasn’t as terrible as you think, you know,’ Mrs Carey said as she refolded the single page. ‘Seventeen, that’s all she was. Half your age. Imagine, finding yourself alone and with a baby coming, a father who refused to mention her name and a mother too afraid to disagree with him. Her mam tried to help, mind. She sent money around whenever she could, a few shillings now and then. Without Barbara knowing, of course. He wouldn’t have let her do even that. I kept it in a tea tin with a picture of George V and Queen Mary on the front. I was meaning to give it to her when she found a place of her own, but …’

Suddenly making up her mind, she told Rosita how Richard had found it and, believing it belonged to the people who had taken their rooms, spent
it on wood and stuff to make the house comfortable. ‘Barbara’s mam did what she could, see. It was her father who was stubborn. Wouldn’t let her mam come and see how she was coping, or even see you when you were born. On her own, Barbara was, and her only seventeen. Uncle Henry Carey and I did what we could, though it was little enough.’

She looked at Rosita, and the quiet concentration on the young woman’s face encouraged her to go on. ‘D’you know, she didn’t even realize she was expecting. And when her mam told her she had no idea how it had happened. There’s daft it seems now, but it was true of many young girls at that time – 1917 it was, with the war taking so many young men.’

Mrs Carey had tried to talk about Barbara many times but Rosita had closed her mind to any plea for understanding. Resolutely she had reminded herself that she had been abandoned to the children’s home because her mother had chosen that farmer Graham Prothero instead of her. For the first time, she began to think of her mother as a frightened young girl. She waited for Mrs Carey to talk some more.

‘Her mam would have helped, mind. As I said, it was her father, see. Shamed he was and couldn’t see further than that. Embarrassed at his mates knowing and know they did, of course – there was no keeping secrets around where we lived. Neighbours knew the ins and outs of everything then. Yes, things would have been very different for young Barbara Jones if it hadn’t been for her father.’

‘Fathers!’ Rosita said disparagingly. ‘What trouble they cause. Mam’s father turning her away when she needed help, me with a stepfather who beat me.’ She thought of Luke then and added, ‘And there’s Luke. His father bullied him because he was afraid Luke was – you know, preferred boys to girls.’

‘Luke was happy for a long time with Martine, so he couldn’t have been harmed that much, mind,’ Mrs Carey defended. ‘He knew you had to forgive and accept that we aren’t all perfect. Best not to dwell on the failings of your parents but get on with making your own mistakes! We all make them.’

‘Luke was told to get out and never contact the family again. His father said that and Luke was only twenty. Told him he was all sorts of awful things. Luke was so miserable to be pushed away as though he were a leper, because of some fantasy in his father’s nasty mind. Mam, me, and Luke. What is it about fathers?’

‘I suppose my Henry was far from perfect.’

‘No, not Uncle Henry Carey. He was a lovely dad.’

‘Weak, mind. But there, it was him being weak that made Richard strong and so determined to succeed.’

‘And Idris?’ Rosita dared to ask. ‘Can he use his father as an excuse?’

‘Oh, well, it was different with Idris,
fach
. Never had a chance he didn’t. He’d have been better placed if his father hadn’t been so hard on him.’

Rosita smiled and watched the old lady’s wrinkled face frown in defence of her golden-haired favourite. Rules or generalities, Idris was always the exception. She smiled again as she tried to imagine Uncle Henry Carey being hard on anyone.

‘You ought to go and see your mam, Rosita,’ Mrs Carey said as they began on the decorations.

‘One day.’ Then, deliberately changing the subject, Rosita pretended to slip and laughed in alarm. Soon they were laughing at idiotic things, the laughter genuine.

With the ceiling hung with glittering showers and the walls bedecked with swoops of brightly coloured garlands and cheerful banners, Mrs Carey started on the Christmas tree.

‘I’d better give up,’ Rosita said as, still laughing, they looked at the crooked shape of the final banner. ‘It looks as though the room was
decorated
by a drunkard!’

‘I quite agree,’ said a voice and Richard came into the room. His face was rosy with the cold frosty weather and he wore an overcoat, a trilby, leather gloves and a woollen scarf. A smile, and the outdoor freshness, made him even more attractive than usual. A shiver of longing trailed through Rosita’s body, aching desire in its wake. She tried to catch his eye, persuade him to at least share a smile.

But his smile faded and he asked, ‘Why didn’t you leave it for me to do?’

‘You don’t like it?’ With dismay making the laughter fall like a stone, Rosita thought, here we go again, our first words and a threat of argument.

‘It’s all right, but you’re pretty thoughtless, Rosita. I don’t think Mam should be climbing about on chairs at her age.’

Wordless with anger, Rosita hugged and kissed Mrs Carey and reached for her coat. ‘I’ll see you soon,’ she said, opening the door to leave.

‘You will come for Christmas dinner, won’t you?’ Mrs Carey pleaded.

Running out of the door, Rosita didn’t reply. She’d rather have a cheese sandwich in her own flat than watch Richard’s disapproving face over a table filled with goodies!

The cold air hit her like a thousand knives as she went outside and she tightened her coat and ran to where she had left the car. She heard footsteps behind her and knew it was Richard. She turned to face him, prepared for further disapproval. ‘I wouldn’t let your mother do anything dangerous!’ she snapped. To her consternation he was smiling.

‘Rosita, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I was so unreasonable. I know how
much you love Mam. It’s just that the moment we meet I’m on the
defensive
. Please, can we go somewhere and talk?’

She nodded and, getting into the car, she drove them to where a gaily lit café window offered warmth and a table to share.

‘I want to talk about Hattie’s baby,’ he said when they had a pot of tea and toasted teacakes in front of them.

‘No, I …’

‘Please, Rosita, listen to me or we’ll never get things straight between us.’ He held out his teacake and she took a bite. ‘The truth is, the baby could be mine. I’m not perfect and there was an occasion … I haven’t led a
blameless
life. I’m nearing forty, for God’s sake! But I believe that as Hattie had been having an affair with Idris for several months and I – well, I was careful, the chances are that the baby is Idris’s and not mine.’

Her eyes widened as she prepared to speak but he offered the cake again to prevent her saying anything and she took a huge bite, and chewed it elegantly as he went on.

‘Perhaps it doesn’t make any difference. The baby being mine or not, if you know I was involved with her. I can’t blame you if you feel that way. The sad thing is, I don’t even like her. It was when you and I seemed to be getting nowhere and, well, I was glad of the pretence of someone caring, I suppose. Sex can make you forget, for a while at least.’

He had been looking through the steamy window as he spoke and now he turned to her. She had opened her mouth a little for a further bite but couldn’t hide the incipient, hopeful smile. She had thought this
conversation
through many times in her head and knew that, whatever he said, however he explained, she wanted to forgive him. She loved him, wanted him, no matter what his faults were. If it was pride versus loneliness there was no contest.