The Lost Days of Summer (8 page)

For a moment she had forgotten her aunt’s strictures against the sin of taking the Lord’s name in vain, and was about to apologise abjectly when her aunt spoke. ‘Glad I am to see you appreciate this place, even if you are city reared,’ the older woman said quietly. ‘I remember when I first came here and Owain tried to make me see the beauty of it, how I fought against admitting its loveliness because I was so homesick. I come round in the end, but glad I am that you’ve more sense.’

Nell was so flabbergasted that she did not reply, but Bryn immediately burst into speech. ‘You wait till you see Llangefni, Nell. It’s the county town, with huge buildings and heaps of shops. Holyhead got nowhere near the same sort of shops and market stalls as you’ll see today. Love it you will; I do, and even my mam likes to go to Llangefni on market day, especially at Christmas.’ He looked down at her and in the strengthening light she could see the anticipation of the treat to come in his glowing eyes. ‘Mam’s English, you know; she comes from Shrewsbury. I’ve never been there, but she says it’s a grand town, even bigger than Llangefni. All my family love Holyhead, but Llangefni . . . well, wait and see.’

Nell smiled to herself. She had never visited Shrewsbury either, but guessed that it would seem very small compared with Liverpool. ‘Yes, I believe Shrewsbury is a very nice town,’ she said tactfully, however. ‘I suppose it’s because of having a Welsh father and an English mother that you speak both languages so well.’

Bryn nodded, grinning. ‘You’re getting the hang of Welsh yourself,’ he said generously. ‘When I come back after Christmas you’ll be chatting away like a native, because you won’t have me to interpret for at least a week, maybe longer, and scarcely at all when I get my papers through telling me where to join my ship.’

Nell had heard that recruiting had slowed down due to a lack of uniforms and weapons, but she did not want to upset her companion so pretended to agree with him. She realised that she would miss him. Ty Hen was some way from the nearest village, so she knew no one else of her own age, which meant that she relied heavily on Bryn’s companionship as well as on his ability as a teacher. He had insisted that they speak nothing but Welsh on the farm, so whilst they worked she strove to copy his words and to learn their meanings. In turn, he had explained that his spelling of English was poor, so Nell had begun to compile a dictionary of the most frequently used English words and Bryn pored over them whenever he could. In the weeks which had elapsed since Nell’s arrival, Bryn’s reading and spelling of English had improved, and Nell’s Welsh was coming on apace.

At that moment Auntie Kath turned and addressed a remark to Bryn in Welsh, and to Nell’s astonishment she understood at least the gist of it. Her aunt was asking Bryn to take care of Nell whilst she herself sold the eggs, butter and cheese which were stowed away in a box beneath the back seat. She turned to Nell and began to translate what she had just said, but her niece broke in, too excited and pleased with herself to remember how her aunt disliked being interrupted. ‘It’s all right, I understood!’ she said proudly. ‘But how will you sell the stuff, Auntie? You’re not taking a stall today, are you?’

Kath shook her head. ‘Not today, but I’ve a friend who comes in from Amlwch, a Mrs Williams, who’ll let me sell from her stall. I’ll stable Feather behind the Bull Hotel and meet you there when it’s time to go home. We’ll have to leave well before dark since I don’t intend to risk an accident.’

‘What time shall we see you at the Bull?’ Nell asked timidly. She half expected her aunt to snap a disagreeable reply, but instead the older woman suggested that they should meet around one o’clock. ‘Wicked cold it is,’ she observed. ‘I’ll treat the three of us to something hot before we set off for the farm.’

Bryn nudged Nell in the ribs. ‘On market days, the Bull does a steak and kidney pie which is almost as good as the one Mrs J makes,’ he whispered. ‘And since it’s Christmas, maybe the cook will have made a plum pudding. Love plum pudding I do.’

Nell was about to say that she too loved plum pudding when her aunt spoke once more, pointing ahead of her with the whip which she had assured Nell she would never use on Feather, save to guide the pony when they reached a junction. ‘See them houses do you? The ones all crowded close at the bottom of the hill? That’s where we’re bound. Now, I mean to drop my dairy produce off before I stable Feather, so you two can give me a hand at unloading and then go on your way.’

Nell sat back in her seat and gazed around her as they drove into the small town, where the strengthening sunlight shone on glittering frosted slates, houses and shops. After the Liverpool street markets, this one might have seemed small and insignificant to some, but to Nell it was delightful. The brilliant colours of the goods on display and the joviality of the traders warmed her heart and made her realise how very cut off from the rest of humanity she had felt on the farm. The fact that her aunt and Eifion, the only adults with whom she came in contact, always spoke to one another in Welsh had increased her feeling of isolation, and though she and Bryn chatted away in a mixture of the two languages when they were not working she still needed to have a great many words and phrases explained, making her feel foolish and inferior.

Now, as she descended from the trap and began to help her aunt to carry her boxes of produce to her friend’s stall, she heard English being spoken in a variety of accents all around. Auntie Kath introduced Nell to her friend, explaining that Mrs Williams was as English as Nell herself, but had married a Welshman and now spoke both languages with equal ease. She also explained in a whispered aside that Mrs Williams was a widow.

Nell smiled at the spry little woman and guessed that Mrs Williams and her aunt had been drawn together when they had first come to the island because they were both foreigners. She would have liked to ask Mrs Williams how long it had taken her to learn to speak Welsh, but she and Bryn were soon busy erecting the stall and setting out Auntie Kath’s wares, and the two older women – Mrs Williams must be in her sixties, Nell supposed – were deep in conversation and it would have been rude, Nell told herself, to interrupt.

As soon as the trap was emptied Auntie Kath drove off, manoeuvring skilfully through the crowds, for though it was early the market was in full swing. Gypsies, their dark eyes bright with excitement, were selling great swags of holly, ivy and mistletoe, no doubt cut from someone else’s property before the day had so much as dawned. But it was Christmas, so nobody was likely to object, Nell thought, though when she saw others selling eggs, butter and fowls trussed and ready for roasting she whispered to Bryn that such things must surely be stolen, since gypsies had no dairies in which to turn milk into butter, nor farmyards full of hens.

Bryn raised his eyebrows. ‘They aren’t idiots, you know,’ he said reprovingly. ‘They don’t go round thievin’ and then march into the market where they could be took off to prison as soon as a farmer recognised his butter pat mark. No, they buy the stuff off a farmer’s wife who’s either too busy to come to market or has too little to sell to make a visit worthwhile. Then they add a few pence for their trouble, and there you are. Of course, everyone knows the gyppos steal, but not at the Christmas market.’

‘Oh, I
see
,’ Nell said. ‘I never thought . . . of course, Auntie Kath’s butter has a picture of a cow with the letters ‘OJ’ under it, so whoever buys it knows it’s hers. I call that clever. By the way, what was it you were going to tell me about Auntie Kath and your pal Hywel?’

‘It’s not about Hywel exactly, it’s more about the Swtan, which is the Welsh longhouse I mentioned. The thing is, it belonged to your uncle, and it’s your aunt who owns it now, but years ago, when she first came to the island, there was bad blood between the Swtan and Ty Hen. I don’t know much about it, it was before I was born, but even now it don’t do to mention the Swtan to your aunt.’ He gave Nell a broad grin, his blue eyes dancing with mischief. ‘Wish I hadn’t told you; it ’ud be interesting to watch you put your foot in it.’

‘How charming you are. I find it all too easy to say the wrong thing and get into trouble, without any help from anyone,’ Nell said gloomily; then she brightened. ‘But she’s been really nice to me today; perhaps things are looking up at last.’

For a while the two wandered amongst the stalls, arguing over what gift would be most suitable for Bryn’s taid and for Auntie Kath; Nell would have been ashamed to go downstairs on Christmas morning without a gift for her aunt, even though she sometimes resented the older woman and longed for her own home and her laughing, heedless mother.

Finally, they settled on pipe tobacco for Eifion, a china figurine for his wife and a box of homemade fudge for Auntie Kath. Nell bought a tiny enamelled pansy brooch for her mother – it had to be small since it would go by post that very day – and another for her Auntie Lou. Then she and Bryn spent a few pence on a bag of toffee apples and finally, when she saw by the clock tower that it was past noon, she shooed Bryn off, telling him sternly that she would see him in twenty minutes since she wished to take a look round without him hanging on her arm.

Bryn gave her a knowing grin. ‘So do I too,’ he said ungrammatically. ‘See you in twenty minutes by the clock tower, then.’

Relieved of his presence, Nell began to search the stalls for something the young man would like. Auntie Kath’s Christmas gift of money had been generous, but she had no idea how much it would cost to send the brooches to her mother’s present RAF station, so felt she must hold back a reasonable sum whilst still wanting to buy something nice for Bryn.

As she searched, she kept glancing about her, fearing that he might be hanging around, watching to see what she bought. Sure enough, she suddenly became aware that someone was following her; spying on her in fact. She thought at first it must be Bryn, though like most people at the market the watcher was wrapped in warm clothing and had a cap jammed well down on his head, making identification difficult. Nell took a couple of steps towards him, but he dodged out of sight. She continued to search the stalls, and was soon able to assure herself that the spy was not Bryn, for she had seen his face for a fleeting moment. He was as dark as Bryn was fair, and when he realised he had been spotted he grinned and gave her a wave before disappearing into the crowd once more.

As soon as she was sure she was unobserved, she turned up her coat collar, pulled her scarf up round her mouth and nose, and scuttled for the river which tumbled and foamed on the far side of the market. She began to study the goods on the stalls there, seeing several things which she thought Bryn would like – a fishing rod, a canvas holdall, a large torch – and presently, when she reached the last row nearest the water, she slowed and crouched over a display of clasp knives. She picked one out at random and caught the seller’s eye. ‘How much?’ she hissed.

The elderly man behind the counter grinned toothlessly and told her the price, which was within her range, so Nell dug into her handbag, found the correct money and grabbed the knife, shoving it deep into her coat pocket. She would find some nice paper later, she decided, since it did not matter if Bryn saw the wrapping for his present.

The watcher seemed to have disappeared; certainly he had not followed her to the outer stalls, so if, as she suspected, Bryn had set a friend to watch her on his behalf, he would still not know what she had bought him.

But now, glancing up at the clock tower, she realised she should be making her way back there, so that they could meet Auntie Kath at the Bull Hotel. She had barely reached the tower when she was joined by Bryn, grinning all over his face and carrying a bag bulging with interesting-looking objects. ‘You’ll never guess what I’ve bought you . . .’ he was beginning, when Nell interrupted him.

‘It’s a bleeding miracle I managed to get you anything at all,’ she said sharply. ‘Every time I so much as began to ask a price, I saw some feller hiding away nearby, watching me like a hawk. If I could have caught him, I’d have boxed his perishin’ ears. Honestly, Bryn, a Christmas present is supposed to be a secret until Christmas Day. Were you trying to find out what I was buying? Why get someone to follow me from stall to stall? In the end, I had to buy your present in a real hurry.’

Bryn stared at her, his eyes rounding. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he said. ‘Anyway, I was far too busy searching for something which you’d like to worry about what you were getting me. In fact I wasn’t even in the market. I remembered seeing something in a shop on Stryd Fawr as we drove into town, so I went up there.’ He guffawed loudly. ‘Why on earth would I ask someone to follow you? And who would waste their time doing so, even if I had asked someone? The Christmas market only happens once a year, you know!’

‘I don’t believe you,’ Nell said indignantly. ‘The feller followed me from stall to stall, but though he kept dodging out of sight I was too quick for him. When I managed to catch his eye, he had the nerve to grin and wave, as though we were old pals. He
must
be a friend of yours, Bryn, and you
must
have set him on to follow me. I’m disgusted with you, really I am.’

‘And I’m disgusted with you,’ Bryn said, his cheeks flushing. ‘You’ve known me for weeks and weeks and actually think I could play a mean trick like that. The fact is, you’re a stranger and there aren’t many of them at the Christmas market, so I expect the lad wondered who you were and what you were doing on the island.’

‘Oh,’ Nell said slowly. ‘Yes, I suppose that’s quite possible. I’m really sorry if I misjudged you, Bryn, but it did seem so strange. If he hadn’t kept dodging out of sight, I wouldn’t have thought twice about it, but . . . if I was wrong, I’m really sorry. As you say, I’ve known you for quite a while now and you’ve never played a mean trick on anyone to my knowledge. But I can’t help wondering who he was and why he followed me.’

‘I’ve
told
you,’ Bryn said impatiently. ‘Country folk are curious, but you wouldn’t know that, of course. Or mebbe it was a sneak thief, after your purse. There’s always warnings to women to keep a hand on their cash when there’s gypsies about.’