The Lost Days of Summer (20 page)

‘Of course I let you have the day off; I’m not denying it,’ Kath snapped. ‘Now get off up to bed, do, because I’m worn out and you’ll be pretty tired as well. Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight,’ Nell mumbled, making for the stairs. ‘See you in the morning.’

As soon as she reached her own room, Kath got herself ready for bed, blew out the candle and pulled back the blackout curtains. She was growing almost fond of her niece, but she knew that after their conversation she would probably dream tonight of the Swtan longhouse and days long past. In the beginning she had tried to fight the dreams that came because of Nell’s dreaded but still familiar Scouse accent, but she had come to accept that no one, no matter how fiercely determined, could control their thoughts in sleep. And sometimes there were times when she woke with tears on her cheeks but absolutely no recollection of what her dream had been about.

So now she gazed out into the moonlit yard, still reflecting back the heat of midday from its cobbles, and thought about the Swtan. Suppose Nell was right and someone had moved in there once more? Come to that, it might be the gypsy she had mentioned to Nell. Or one of Owain’s vast family, in which case she would be the last person to hear of it.

But I really shouldn’t have attacked the kid because she’s interested in her surroundings, Kath told herself. At first I didn’t care what she thought, but now that I know her better I suppose I want her to understand, to be on my side. It’s just unfortunate that she so often pokes her nose into something I’d rather forget. I suppose it would be a good deal more sensible if I told her how things are – or how they were, perhaps – and then she can decide for herself who was in the wrong and who in the right.

Moodily, she almost wished she had tried to propitiate her husband’s family after his death – would it have been so hard? – but their freely expressed resentment that Owain had left her Ty Hen had been more than she could cope with at the time. Now that she was older and wiser, perhaps she could understand their jealousy and annoyance. But Owain had bitterly resented the way they had treated his bride, just because she was English and spoke no Welsh, and had retaliated by leaving her Ty Hen and the Swtan, and making it very plain in his will that the property was hers and hers alone.

The family had expected her to crawl to them for help, not realising that Owain had found in her a willing pupil, so that when he died after a mere five years of marriage – but what happy years, she reflected now – she was almost as capable of running the farm as he.

She knew there had been a good deal of local disapproval when the family had put it about that Owain had left everything to a green girl, not yet thirty, but it had all been done legally and hard though they had tried – and try they most certainly did – they could not force her to hand over a single acre of land or one brick of the farmhouse.

They should have tried cajolery, or pleading, or perhaps offers of help when times were hard, even a nice ‘would it be possible . . .’ Kath told herself now, but that was not their way. Bludgeoning, ganging up on her at cattle sales, whispering behind their hands: they thought such tactics were bound to work, to drive her back to Liverpool, and had been surprised and indignant when they had not.

She knew now, of course, that her own attitude had not helped, but she had been so intent upon making sure that the farm was run as efficiently as it had been in Owain’s time that she had scarcely heeded the family’s animosity. Not at first. Only after they pointedly ignored her when they met at market, or deliberately outbid her when they saw her hand go up at an auction, did she realise that she had made implacable enemies. And she had been too young – and too proud – to try to put things right.

And now in a way I’m doing it all over again, she told herself ruefully, gazing out through her window at the stars twinkling in the dark sky. If only I’d told Nell why I tend to keep myself to myself, why Owain’s family will have nothing to do with me, then it would be easier for her to appreciate the way things are. I expect her to be on my side, when she has no idea that sides have been taken. Were taken long ago, in fact. Yes, in fairness I’ll explain things the next time Nell and I find ourselves alone.

For a little while longer Kath sat on the wide window seat, gazing out. Then she sighed, pulled the sash down to let in the mild night air, and got into bed. She snuggled down, then sat up crossly, for the night was still warm, and threw off the patchwork quilt and the thin blanket, so that she was covered only by the sheet. The pillow was cool against her hot cheek, the night wind smelled of new-mown grass, and from outside came the sound of a fox barking at the moon. Kath saw in her mind’s eye the fox’s earth, the vixen curled up in the dark with her cubs close and safe. She felt her lids begin to droop and told herself firmly that she would not dream, she would not . . .

She was twenty-six and walking along a path through a beautiful garden, and she was not alone; John Williams had his arm about her waist. He was telling her that he had carved her a love spoon, which was the way the Welsh plighted their troth.

‘But a real ring, an engagement ring, I’ll buy for you . . .’ he was saying earnestly, and when Kath looked at the third finger of her left hand she saw that a beautiful ring sparkled there. She gasped, turned to face him . . . and woke.

She lay very still, staring at the dark ceiling above her head. What a wonderful, lovely dream! And though she had dreamed it, it was more like a memory, for she had recognised the scene. Now that she was awake, she remembered the incident perfectly. It had taken place in Prince’s Park, where a small party of them had gone for a picnic. Kath smiled to herself. It had not taken her lover long to detach her from the others, though Trixie had made a spirited attempt to follow them when they had moved away from the group. In fact she would have done so had not Lou, dear Lou, called her back. Trixie had been sulky, had pointed out in a voice deliberately loud enough to be heard by the departing couple that John was
her
friend, that he had come to the house to see
her
and was not interested – not truly interested – in anyone else.

But Louisa had told her sharply not to make a fool of herself. ‘It’s your birthday quite soon; how do you know they aren’t discussing what they should buy you?’

Kath had risked a quick glance over her shoulder and had seen that Trixie was smiling once more, which had made her smile too, because though Trixie had been eighteen years old and thought herself sophisticated and grown up, she was really just a child still. She had been like a little butterfly, fluttering from one flower to another, spreading her wings for the admiration of all and sundry and believing herself to be loved by anyone who looked at her twice or paid her the least attention.

As they had walked rapidly away from the picnicking party, Kath and her companion had exchanged rather guilty smiles because they both knew that it had indeed been Trixie who had first got to know the young gunner and had introduced him to the rest of her family. Kath had smiled at him and had felt her heart beat faster as their eyes met. Working as a staff nurse on a ward full of wounded soldiers, she had met a great many young men. Many of these, when they were discharged from hospital, had invited her to go dancing, or to the seaside, or to see a play or a film at the picture palace. She had liked most of them and enjoyed their company, and when they realised she did not intend to become serious, having never felt a decided partiality for any of them, they had moved on, leaving Kath to do the same.

Kath had thought herself cold, a spinster in the making, but had never regretted it. After meeting John, however, she had known this was not so; she was the same as any other girl. One glance from his dark eyes, one touch of his hand on hers, and she had fallen in love for the very first time in her life. It was embarrassing but true that Trixie had brought him home, rather as a young dog brings in a rabbit after a successful hunt. But within moments of their meeting, Kath had seen her own feelings reflected in his eyes and had understood the misery and despair which other girls felt when their men left them to return to the horrors of the trenches. As for Trixie’s affections, she had not believed then and did not believe now that they had been seriously engaged. It was just that Trixie wanted all the admiration, all the attention, and could not bear to see her elder sister admired above herself.

But there had been other young men around, a great many of them, Kath reminded herself now, lying in her bed and gazing up at the ceiling. With hindsight, she wished that she and John had not let their feelings show so plainly, but would things have been better had they pretended indifference? Remembering Trixie’s attitude, she thought not.

The odd thing was that of all the young men who danced attendance upon the Ripley sisters, ‘Welsh’ John had been easily the plainest. He had been stockily built, scarcely more than a couple of inches taller than Kath herself, with straight, almost black hair which flopped forward across a broad, tanned forehead. His face had been thin and his chin determined, but his dark eyes twinkled with humour, and when he gave his lopsided smile, Kath knew that hers was not the only heart that had melted. Her wretched little sister had fallen prey to that smile before Kath had even met him. But Trixie had been too young to stick to any one fellow for very long, and had John not made it clear that his relationship with Kath was serious the younger girl would probably hardly have noticed his defection. For Trixie, at that stage in her life at any rate, had had no thoughts of permanence, or marriage. She moved from one man to the next with a sunny smile, and had even seemed to forgive Kath for so clearly preferring John to any of the other young men who came to the house.

It had been just a coincidence, though a strange one, that the next man to take Trixie’s fancy had also been Welsh. John Williams returned to his regiment and along came Owain Jones, much more physically attractive than his countryman – tall, slim-waisted, with richly curling brown hair and beautifully white teeth – to be introduced to the Ripley household. He had been immediately annexed by Trixie, who had been very proud of her conquest.

The tinkle of the alarm bell brought Kath to the startled realisation that dawn now streaked the sky and the sun was edging up from behind the nearest hill. Obedient always to the alarm clock’s call, she got out of bed and crossed to her washstand, pulling her long cotton nightdress over her head and beginning the all-over wash with which she started each day.

She tried to banish all thoughts of the past from her mind, but the dream refused to be sent packing. She had only known John for a few months and though they had indeed become serious, had talked of marriage, she had no idea where his home had been, though she had assumed it must have been somewhere in North Wales since his accent was similar to Owain’s. So why, in the name of all that was wonderful, had she dreamed of that trip to Prince’s Park?

Kath finished washing and drying herself, dressed briskly, and left her bedroom. On reaching the kitchen, she opened the base of the range and pulled out the ash can, which she carried across the yard and emptied on the cinder path which led to the WC at the end of the garden. Then she returned to the house, made up the fire and wielded the bellows until the flames began to crackle. As she began to prepare breakfast, she reminded herself that she meant to explain to Nell why she had refused to visit the Swtan. Not that she had refused exactly, but it must have been plain that she had no intention of going to the longhouse herself. Sighing, she began to measure milk, water and oats into the big black saucepan, hearing her niece descending the stairs as she did so. Remember, she told herself severely, that your habit of never explaining hasn’t done you much good in the past. You’ve promised yourself that you’ll explain things to Nell and it’s about time you started. Why, you’ve not even told her . . . but I swear I’ll do it today.

Nell came into the kitchen and went straight to the pantry to get out the eggs and bacon and the big loaf of homemade bread. As she passed, she turned and grinned at Kath.

‘Morning, Auntie,’ she said cheerfully. ‘It’s going to be another hot one, by the look of it.’

Immensely relieved that her niece had apparently decided to forget the sharp words they had exchanged the previous evening, Kath agreed that the weather looked set fair and began to stir the porridge.

Another day had begun.

A couple of days after Nell’s trip to Church Bay, she was woken from a pleasant dream in which she had somehow learned to fly by a great deal of noise coming from downstairs. She shot up in bed and stared at her alarm clock, but it would not ring for another ten minutes, so the row from the kitchen was definitely not because she had overslept.

Sensing excitement of some sort, Nell dressed in record time and thundered down the stairs, bursting into the kitchen to find her aunt, Eifion and his wife, and another elderly man whom she knew to be Eifion’s brother Merion, all talking excitedly and with many gestures. When old Mrs Hughes saw her she came rushing across the room to clasp an astonished Nell in her plump old arms. ‘He’s fit and well, not dead at all,’ she said in a rush. ‘Oh, the dear Lord be thanked for his mercy; my favourite grandson’s coming home to us!’

‘Bryn? Do you mean Bryn’s alive?’ Nell squeaked, extricating herself with some difficulty from the old woman’s embrace. ‘Where is he? Why isn’t he here?’

‘In hospital he is; in Liverpool, though he’ll be sent home as soon as he’s fit enough,’ Eifion said. He pulled out a vast khaki handkerchief and blew his nose resoundingly. ‘It’s like a miracle so it is!’

Auntie Kath was pouring out mugs of tea which she pushed across the table, eyeing her niece thoughtfully. ‘I’ll make a big pan of porridge,’ she said. ‘And you, Nell, can start on the toast. Now sit yourselves down, everyone, and we’ll hear just what happened.’

Eifion finished blowing his nose and transferred the handkerchief to his eyes, which were running with what Nell guessed to be emotion. He took a drink of his tea, began to speak, choked, and gestured to his brother. ‘Best if you tell the tale,’ he said unsteadily. ‘Still too shocked – happy – I am. Go you on, Merion, you’ll tell it better than meself, being less involved.’