One Blue Moon (9 page)

‘You know me, your friendly neighbourhood benefactor,’ he sipped his tea and winked slyly at Maud. ‘Not bad,’ he pointed to his cup. ‘A few more lessons and it might even be passable.’

‘I’m grateful, Ronnie, but don’t push your luck.’ Diana glared at him.

‘As soon as the restaurant gets going, you can have Alma’s old job in the café if you want it. Saturday nights, Sundays and four nights in the week. Alma has Wednesday off but I might be able to sort out another one if you prefer it.’

‘Mam will never stand for anyone in this house working a Sunday,’ Maud warned.

‘It wouldn’t be for long,’ Ronnie interrupted. ‘As soon as the new place gets going, we may be able to offer you full time in the day. We’re going to need a lot of waitresses. I talked it over with Papa. He said someone lively like you might suit us. Full time, six days a week, eight until six pays nine shillings plus tips, but just so there’s no misunderstanding, it’s hard work. Tina’ll confirm that. She’s not only the worst waitress I’ve ever had to cope with, she also loathes the job more than most.’

He was talking to Diana but he couldn’t get his eyes – or his mind – off Maud.

‘There’s nothing for me, is there Ronnie?’ Maud asked somewhat poignantly.

‘There might be when you’re better,’ he said with more diplomacy than usual.

‘I’m fine now, really. It was just the shock of losing my job on Friday, and then the journey home.’

‘That’s not what Trevor told me this morning when I asked after you in church.’

An awkward silence fell over the room. Ronnie didn’t have to say any more. Maud knew just what a liability people with tuberculosis were, especially in places that sold food.

‘We’re back, and we’re starving.’ The door to the washhouse slammed opened and shut, and William, closely followed by Haydn, walked through to the kitchen.

‘Good God, look what the wind’s blown in. What’s up, Ronnie? Lose your way into town?’ Will asked.

‘He’s opening a new café,’ Diana explained, ‘and when he does there might be a job there for me.’

‘It’ll beat working for that creep in the shoe shop.’ William picked up the teapot and two cups and poured tea for himself and Haydn. ‘Better make some more, Di. Uncle Evan, Eddie and Charlie will be in as soon as they’ve cleaned the rabbits and bedded the dog down.’

‘How many did you get?’ Maud asked.

‘Would you believe four? Genius, that’s what I am. Led them straight to the burrow. Up the top, close to the glass tower.’ He referred to the remains of a folly that the industrialist Crawshay had built on the summit of the Graig mountain for no good, practical or particular reason.

‘Eddie got a fight arranged soon?’ Ronnie asked.

‘Looking to make some money to set up the new café?’ William laughed.

‘Not that way.’

‘Eddie’s always a sure thing,’ Haydn asserted defensively.

‘Touch wood!’ Maud demanded urgently. ‘You know you should never say anything like that.’

‘Superstitions!’ Ronnie scoffed. ‘The Welsh are worse than the Italians. Well I’d be better off. Tony’ll be screaming for me as it is. Father O’Kelly’s been giving me a hard time lately. Tony opened up so I could go to mass. See you down the café later?’

William looked at Haydn, who seemed to be slumped deep in his own thoughts, just as he had been all morning. When Haydn didn’t respond, he followed Ronnie to the door.

‘I’ll see you out,’ he offered.

‘Bye.’ Ronnie smiled at everyone and took his leave, but as he walked through the door his backward glance was for Maud. She was so thin it was difficult to see where the patched cushions of the chair began and she ended. She was a child, and because of her sickness hardly a beautiful one. He told himself that it was the look of death in her eyes that disturbed him. Nothing more.

Every family in Pontypridd, no matter how poor, tried to organise themselves a Sunday dinner. Since the pits had closed it was very often the only hot meal of the week, and after the last slices of bread had mopped the final vestiges of gravy from thick earthenware plates, and the remaining crumbs of pudding had been licked from spoons slippery with watery custard, a quiet peace settled over the terraces that clung to the hillsides. Graig Avenue was no exception.

When Elizabeth rose to clear the table, Diana steeled herself for yet another rebuff, and suggested she do it for her. Before Elizabeth had the chance to either accept or reject Diana’s offer, William left his chair and began to ferry the dirty plates into the washhouse. His helpfulness wasn’t born out of any finer feelings for his aunt, but from a desire to get her out of the kitchen, and out of the way, as quickly as possible. He knew her Sunday routine well. As soon as the table was cleared and the plates, pots, pans and stove washed and scoured, she liked to ‘retire’ to the front parlour to read her Bible. Winter or summer, the temperature of the room made no difference. She sat stiffly upright on one of the slippery, Rexine-covered chairs in front of the cold, screened-off fireplace, slowly turning the pages of the heavy, leather-bound Bible that had been treasured by her family for four generations. If Evan made tea, which he sometimes did late in the afternoon, she always refused a cup with a glare that suggested it was sacrilege even to suggest carrying boiling liquid into the hallowed ‘best room’.

When William had first moved into his uncle’s house he found it peculiar to think that on the one traditional day of rest, his aunt actually preferred the cold, sterile atmosphere of the parlour to the warmth and companionship of the back kitchen. But then there was no accounting for tastes, especially his aunt’s. His mother had never had the luxury of a front parlour, at least not within his memory. Megan had been forced to let out the room to lodgers to make ends meet. Perhaps if she’d had one, she might have sat there.

‘Seems we have two skivvies to help you now, Elizabeth,’ Evan commented as William returned for more dishes.

‘Just as well, given the increased workload in this house.’ She turned to examine the stove.

‘I’ll clean that for you,’ Diana offered.

‘Just be sure you do it properly. Any food left on the hotplates smells the whole house out.’

‘I know, we had a stove exactly like it at home,’ Diana said in an injured tone.

‘What are you going to do, Snookems?’ Evan asked Maud, in an attempt to divert his wife’s attention from his niece.

‘Go dancing,’ she suggested mischievously.

He looked at her plate: she’d scarcely touched her meal. Elizabeth, with her customary caution and inbred loathing of waste, had only dished out small portions of meat, stuffing and vegetables on to Maud’s plate, consoling herself with the thought that there was always the extra she’d allowed for Monday’s fry-up waiting in the pantry if Maud wanted more. But a good half of the meagre portion remained untouched, ineffectually hidden beneath the knife and fork.

‘You’re not going to have the energy to go dancing on what you’ve just eaten, love,’ Evan reprimanded her mildly.

‘No one in this family will go dancing on a Sunday while I have breath in my body!’ Elizabeth exclaimed, taking their conversation literally.

‘I was joking, Mam,’ Maud protested wearily, exhaustion getting the better of her.

‘Why don’t you sit next to the fire for a bit?’ Charlie suggested in his quaint accent. Three years in Wales had left his harsh Russian consonants untouched, while lending the thick, Slavic speech the singsong lilt of the valleys. ‘Your father’s promised me a game of chess, and you can help me beat him.’

‘I never was a good player,’ Maud said dully, watching William, Diana, Haydn and Eddie rush around. Saturday nights and Sundays were special in Pontypridd. Nearly all the girls and boys their age dressed up in whatever finery they could beg, borrow or steal, and walked in groups from one end of the town to the other. Crowds passed, the boys catcalling the girls they fancied, the girls returning the smiles of any boys they didn’t want to openly discourage, and occasionally, very occasionally, the two very separate groups stopped to talk, but the real talking usually came later when everyone, even the ones without money, went to Ronconi’s. The ‘Bunny Run’ they called it, and at that moment Maud would have given a month of whatever was left of her life to join them.

She watched William rattle the change in his pocket and wink at Haydn. Suddenly she felt angry and restless. Angry because she was going to be left behind, stuck at home while they were all going to town and the café to have a good time. And restless because she knew that even if her mother allowed her to go, she wouldn’t be able to manage the walk down, let alone back up the hill. And probably couldn’t for some time.

‘If you’re tired, Sis, I’ll help you upstairs.’ Stung by the look of sheer misery on Maud’s face, Haydn held out his arm.

‘You will not,’ Elizabeth said sharply. She had never allowed the boys to enter the girls’ bedroom, and had no intention of changing her notions of propriety now, just because Maud was ill.

‘It’s all right Elizabeth, I’ll take her.’ Evan rose from his chair.

‘I don’t want to go to bed,’ Maud protested petulantly.

‘If you rest now, you’ll feel better later on. You can always get up for the evening,’ Evan said patiently.

‘Gina and Tina want to come and see you,’ Diana interrupted. ‘If it’s all right with you, Aunt Elizabeth, I’ll ask them to call in on their way back from the café this afternoon.’

‘You going down the café with the boys, Diana?’ Elizabeth demanded coldly.

‘For a little while,’ Diana murmured mildly, reining in her temper. ‘Ronnie called earlier and mentioned that he and his father would be looking for more waitresses soon. They’re opening a new place, and I thought I’d like to find out a bit more about what jobs they’ll have on offer.’

‘Ronnie called in when you two girls were alone in the house?’

‘We were here,’ Haydn broke in not entirely truthfully. ‘He wanted to talk to Eddie about some haulage work,’ he added, straying into the realms of fiction.

‘Then it’s a pity you didn’t think to discuss whatever jobs he has on offer with him while he was here, Diana,’ Elizabeth sniffed.

‘Diana was busy cooking the dinner at the time. Besides, the boys commandeered most of his attention,’ Maud snapped.

‘Come on, Snookems, up the wooden hill.’ Evan scooped her into his strong arms. ‘A couple of hours’ sleep now will do you the world of good. Set you up for when Diana brings the girls back.’ He looked at his wife as he helped Maud out of the room, daring her to say anything more.

Chapter Nine

Charlie set up his chessboard on the side of the table closest to the stove, amusing himself by making a few practice moves while he waited patiently for Evan to return from upstairs. The boys and Diana rushed round him as they scurried between the kitchen and washhouse, spending as much time on sprucing themselves up as on clearing the dishes.

‘You coming down the caff later, Charlie?’ William asked, bending his knees so he could see enough of himself to Vaseline and brush back his hair in the low-hung minor on the back wall.

‘Perhaps,’ Charlie replied impassively.

William knew better than to push. Charlie was always polite. Pleasant and helpful when he could be, but eighteen months of living with him, six months in the same room, had taught him that when it came to making plans, Charlie was a law unto himself.

Dishes washed in record time, Diana raced upstairs to the cell that had now become her bedroom. Her uncle had brought a bed, bedclothes, pillows and a chest of drawers from Bonvilston Road. No rug, no pictures, no toilet set and no personal knick-knacks. In the absence of a wardrobe she’d folded her clothes into the drawers. Opening them one after another she dug out a thick, navy-blue, home-knitted sweater that William had grown out of, and pulled it on over her blouse. Tiptoeing out on to the landing she stood silently and listened. She heard the creak of damp, rusting springs as Elizabeth settled on a chair in the front parlour. Picking up her handbag, she crept quietly across to Maud’s bedroom and lifted the latch slowly, starting at the loud scraping click the iron bar made when it finally left its rest.

‘Who’s there?’ Maud called out.

‘Ssh, it’s only me.’ Diana stole in, pushing the door to behind her. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Fed up and tired,’ Maud said irritably.

‘You might be well enough to come with us next week.’

‘I doubt it.’

Diana stood in front of the bed feeling impotent and entirely useless.

‘The mirror’s over there.’ Maud nodded at the dressing table where a shawl lay draped over the top, concealing the glass.

‘How did you know what I was after?’ Diana asked sheepishly as she lifted the shawl.

‘Your hair looks a mess,’ Maud smiled, relenting a little. After all it was hardly Diana’s fault that she was ill, ‘You will bring Gina and Tina back with you, won’t you?’ she pleaded.

‘Even if I have to twist their arms. What time does your mother go to evening service in chapel?’

‘It starts at six, but she generally leaves about a quarter-past five to see if she can help the deacons’ wives with anything that needs doing.’

‘And what time is she back?’

‘Never much before half-past eight. After Aunt Hetty died she took over making my uncle’s Sunday supper.’

‘I’ll see if I can get the girls to come about half-past five then. We’ll wake you if you’re not up. Promise. Sleep tight, don’t let the bugs bite,’ Diana whispered as she left the room.

Irritation almost abated by the thought of having something to look forward to, Maud snuggled down as she heard the latch drop. The old mattress was soft, the room comfortingly familiar and wonderfully warm from the fire Eddie had banked up with small coals that morning. She listened to the rain patter on the slates that covered the top of the downstairs bays, below her window. The light was grey, dull where it crept through the partly closed red plush curtains. Flickering firelight glowed dimly, its reflection shining in the polished mahogany panels of the wardrobe and dressing table. She plucked at the itchy, scratchy, Welsh flannel blanket with thin fingers, covering herself to the chin with the soft flannelette beneath it.

Downstairs she heard the raised voices of Haydn, Eddie and William as they walked along the passage and slammed the front door behind them. She didn’t doubt Diana was with them. Closing her eyes, she allowed her body to relax. It was good to be home, even if she was ill.

The thought of her illness held sway for a moment, carrying with it a chill, icy portent of nothingness, and death. The conception of oblivion worried her more than the imminent prospect of pain. She thrashed desperately in the bed. She had to think of something else, and quickly. And not her own funeral! What about the last film she’d seen in Cardiff with Diana?
Camille?
No, that was no good.
It Happened One Night.
That was better: she would try to imagine what it would be like to share a bedroom with Clark Gable. Pleased with herself for conjuring up the diversion, she fantasised about what Clark Gable’s lovemaking was
really
like!

Her imagination was strong enough to drive the spectre of death temporarily from her mind. And for that she was grateful. She didn’t want to think about her own end. Not yet. Not until she was old and miserable – like her mother.

Jenny Griffiths prowled restlessly from behind the counter of the shop to the storeroom door and back. She looked out of the shop window, peering over the display of cheap farthing sweets and tins. Wanting a better view she went to the front door and pressed her nose against the dusty glass panel, staring disconsolately at the rain falling into the empty street. The hands of the clock above the counter pointed to a quarter-past three. Usually Haydn was in Ronnie’s café by now, and until now he’d
always
called for her on his way down the hill. She’d eaten her Sunday dinner in record time, gulping it down so she could return to the shop. Even her mother had noticed her uncharacteristic haste, threatening her with a tablespoonful of bicarbonate of soda to counteract indigestion.

What if –
what if
– he was already there? She’d been behind the counter since a quarter to two so he couldn’t have passed her, not if he’d stayed at home to eat his own dinner. But then he could have avoided the hill altogether by walking along Leyshon Street and down the steps at the end into Graig Street. That’s if he really didn’t want to see her.

‘Come to take over so you can go down the café, love,’ her father said as he opened the door between the shop and the stairs, knocking her into the glass. ‘That’s a funny place to stand,’ he commented, setting down the
News of the World
he was carrying on the counter. ‘Haydn late, is he?’

‘He’s not coming, Dad.’

‘You two haven’t had a spat, have you?’

‘No,’ she lied quickly.

‘There’s not a blue moon tonight, is there?’

‘He’s staying home. Maud came back yesterday.’

‘So I heard.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Mrs Richards came in yesterday and told me. My heart goes out to Evan Powell. You do know Maud’s not expected to last long don’t you?’

‘Says who?’ Jenny demanded, her blood running cold.

‘Everyone, love. Come on, I don’t have to tell you what a killer consumption is.’

Jenny lowered her head so he wouldn’t see the tears, or the fear in her eyes. Five of her schoolfriends had died of it before they’d even tried their school-leaving exam.

‘That doesn’t mean they can’t do anything for Maud,’ she said defiantly.

‘No, it doesn’t. Look, why don’t you go on up and see her? Take her a couple of bars of chocolate, and one of those fruit cakes we had in from Hopkin Morgan yesterday.’

‘I don’t know, Dad,’ she murmured doubtfully.

‘Go on, love. If you can’t call there, no one can. You’re practically family.’

‘I’ll think about it.’ She opened the door between the shop and their living quarters. Harry watched her go and wisely said nothing. Lovers’ spats, quick to blow up, and just as quick to blow over if his experience with Megan was anything to go by. He gritted his teeth as he visualised Megan. Her absence from his daily life had left an aching void that nothing and no one could fill. And as he couldn’t count himself as family he didn’t even have visiting rights to see her in prison. He had to rely on William’s generosity; but the lad was good enough, allowing him every other monthly visit.

He sat and stared at the blank wall that faced the counter, reliving the past, seeing once again each and every nuance of expression flit across Megan’s face. Her quiet, knowing smile, her frowns of annoyance, beams of joy, the slight puckering of the top lip that meant she was bored. She never could keep any emotion from him. What wouldn’t he give for one of her hugs right now. Right this minute.

‘Wet enough for you?’ Tina asked Trevor as he walked into the café with an expression on his face that matched the weather.

‘Just about. Is Ronnie in the back?’

‘Where else on a Sunday afternoon. Laura with you?’

‘No.’

‘It was a bad row you had then?’

Trevor stopped dead in his tracks.

‘How do you know we quarrelled?’ he demanded.

‘Because it’s a wet Sunday afternoon and you’re here, not tucked up at home with her. Take your coat off, and go and sit in front of the fire in the back,’ she ordered, mothering him with the authority of her status as eldest sister-in-law. ‘I’ll bring you a hot Oxo.’

‘I’d prefer coffee.’

‘Oxo is better for you.’

‘Who’s the doctor here?’

‘Doctors know nothing. Here, dry yourself on this.’ She handed him a rough glass towel so he could dry his face. Pushing him into the back, she carried his coat into the kitchen and hung it next to the stove.

Ronnie, Haydn, William, Eddie, Tony, Angelo, Glan Richards and an assortment of boys from the Graig were sitting at two tables pulled close to the fire. They were playing brag. Small piles of farthings and halfpennies were heaped in front of them. They all knew they risked a fine or, on a magistrate’s off day, a couple of weeks’ imprisonment for playing cards for money in a public place, but with Tina, Gina, Alma and Diana watching the front they felt safe enough. Or at least, a whole lot more comfortable and safe than they would have done playing in the rain on a street corner, which was the only alternative to the café on a Sunday.

‘Seat, brother-in-law.’ Ronnie pushed a spare chair towards Trevor. Rubbing his hair with the towel, Trevor joined him. Tina breezed in carrying Trevor’s Oxo and slapped it down in front of him.

‘Better be kind to him,’ she said in a loud voice to no one in particular. ‘Laura’s thrown him out.’

‘Dear sister performing true to form then?’ Ronnie queried as he laid out his cards. ‘Well you can’t say I didn’t warn you what she was like before the wedding.’

Acutely embarrassed, Trevor remained silent.

‘Anything else?’ Tina demanded.

‘This will do fine, thank you.’ Trevor picked up the cup. It was boiling hot, just what he needed to thaw out his white and frozen fingers.

William managed to catch Tina’s eye, as he scooped the winning hand. Shovelling the pile of copper from the table into his trouser pocket, he glanced around. ‘Anyone want anything?’ he asked as he left his chair.

‘I’ll have a glass of lemonade,’ Glan said. William followed Tina out through the door.

‘What time are you leaving tonight?’ he whispered as he leant over the counter.

‘Five. Gina and I are going up to see Maud with Diana.’

‘And when are you going to see me?’ he demanded.

‘You know it’s difficult.’

‘Difficult? It’s downright bloody impossible!’

‘Ssh, Ronnie might hear.’

‘What if he does?’ he demanded belligerently. ‘He can’t lock you up for ever.’

‘Only till I’m twenty-one,’ she said mournfully.

‘Look, how about the pictures tomorrow night? White Palace. Six o’clock.’

‘Tina, the back tables need clearing and wiping down.’ Ronnie appeared in the archway between the back and front rooms.

‘I’ll be there as soon as I’ve poured out Glan’s lemonade,’ she shouted irritably.

‘Alma or Gina can do that.’ He smiled at William. ‘Everything all right?’ he asked coldly.

‘Fine, Ronnie, what more could a man want than you supply here?’ William grinned cheekily. ‘Good food, good drink, good surroundings, a warm stove, and –’ he winked at Tina, much to Ronnie’s annoyance, ‘– beautiful waitresses.’

‘Just as long as you remember that the waitresses aren’t what’s on offer here,’ Ronnie said sharply.

‘As if I’d ever think that.’ William picked up the lemonade that Tina had just poured for Glan. ‘Cheers mate!’ He raised the glass to Ronnie as he returned to the back room.

‘It must be catching then,’ Gina whispered to Tina as Ronnie followed William.

‘What?’ Tina demanded angrily.

‘Rows. You told Diana about Jenny Griffiths?’

‘What about Jenny Griffiths?’ Diana enquired lazily from the corner next to the stove where she was studying magazine fashion plates with Alma.

‘She was in her Dad’s shop when Tina and I walked down the hill. We saw her through the window, so we called in and asked her to come down with us, but she wouldn’t.’

‘So?’ Diana waited for more.

‘So she must have had a row with your Haydn,’ Gina crowed.

‘Perhaps they just wanted to give one another a day off, for a change,’ Diana suggested disinterestedly.

‘You think so?’ Gina pressed.

‘I think it’s their business,’ Diana replied evenly.

The bell clanged and the café door opened again. Wyn Rees stood on the outside doormat, his coat clinging to his legs like a second, slippery skin. The torrential downpour that was flooding Taff Street had soaked it as thoroughly as if it had just been pulled out of the washtub. He eased the coat off his back, shook himself and finally stepped inside, sliming the floor with a layer of mud from his boots as he did so.

‘You’re well and truly dripping, and filthy with it,’ Tina complained as he lifted off his hat, inadvertently pouring the water that had collected in the brim over the mud on the floor.

‘I’m afraid I am.’ He shrugged his well-muscled shoulders out of his damp jacket, exposing his fancy Sunday waistcoat and best trousers. ‘All right if I hang my jacket and coat here?’ he asked, holding them poised next to the rack.

‘Don’t see what else you can do with them. Just keep them as far away from the others as you can.’

‘Wyn?’ Diana left the back corner and the fashion plates, and walked to the counter. ‘Never seen you in here on a Sunday before.’

‘I don’t usually come,’ Wyn admitted diffidently.