Tiger Ragtime (3 page)

‘The Windsor?’ Her eyes rounded.

‘The Windsor,’ he repeated.

She snorted. ‘They wouldn’t allow me in through their front door.’

‘They wouldn’t dare object to a woman I choose to entertain in my suite. I’ll be paying too much for the privilege of living in it.’ He decided he’d teased her long enough. ‘I bet you never thought when Maisie’s boy Aled sailed out of Cardiff Docks all those years ago that he’d be back with enough money in his pocket to move into the Windsor and entertain you in style.’

‘Aled Cooper!’ she exclaimed. ‘You’re little Aled Cooper!’

‘Aled James now, Anna. I use my father’s name.’

‘I never met him.’

‘Neither did I,’ he said dryly.

‘You were so small and skinny, you looked half-starved. And you were always bloody angry about something or other. You used to come back to the house covered in bruises after fighting boys twice your size …’

‘I’m older and wiser, Anna. I pay people to fight my battles for me now. Dinner tonight, eight o’clock? Ask for me at the desk, I’ll tell them I’m expecting you.’

‘It’s carnival night.’

‘So?’

‘I’m hoping to make at least a fiver. I run my own house now, and own it, outright. I have the deeds to prove it,’ she said proudly.

‘How many girls?’

‘Six. And even if I say so myself, they’re bloody good. The cream of the docks’ crop. You must pay us a visit one night. We cater for all tastes, and I’ll see you all right. On the house, for old times’ sake. Your mother, God rest her soul, was good to me whenever she had a few bob and I didn’t.’

‘Which wasn’t often.’ Aled glanced across the road.

Harry Evans and his family were walking towards Loudoun Square. The festivities would be going on for hours yet. ‘Far be it from me to stop a working girl from working. How about I buy you a drink now, in the Jug and Platter in West Bute Street?’

‘Your mother’s favourite pub.’

‘It used to be,’ he agreed.

‘And you’ll still buy me dinner if I come round to the Windsor tomorrow?’

‘The best the house can provide.’

She shook her head. ‘Who would have thought it? Little Aled Cooper.’

‘James,’ he reminded her shortly. ‘Cooper is dead and buried.’

There was something in the tone of his voice that carried a warning. ‘James it is. And to think I tried to pick you up.’

He offered her his arm. ‘Is your tipple still gin and it?’

‘Fancy you remembering that.’ She smiled.

It hadn’t been difficult – gin and it had been his mother’s favourite tipple too.

It took David half an hour to fight his way through to Loudoun Square. He wasn’t only hampered by the crowds. His sister insisted on stopping and staring at the costumes of the revellers every few minutes, and by the time they reached the park in the centre of the square the parade had ended and the floats had drawn up and ringed the perimeter. Families had spread out blankets and coats and were camped on every available inch of space inside the railings, making it difficult to walk between them.

David spotted Edyth as soon as he approached the park. She was still sitting next to her driver on her baker’s cart, shaking her head at a crowd of young children who had gathered around it, hands outstretched in hope of scavenging a cornet.

‘I’m sorry. I’ve given out all the biscuits. But if you come with your mother to pick up your bread on Monday morning, I’ll see if I can find you something.’ To emphasise her words she tipped her basket upside down and hoped that Moody had kept the cornets she had set aside for Ruth safe.

David started towards her, but hesitated when he realised he didn’t know what to say to her or how he’d react if she mentioned his stay in hospital. In the event he needn’t have worried, she called out to him the moment she saw him.

‘David, how lovely to see you. I would kiss your cheek if you weren’t so smart and clean. The last thing I want to do is smear your clothes with make-up.’

‘I wouldn’t mind.’ His cheeks burned as he spoke.

‘Mary would, and she does your laundry.’ Edyth looked around. ‘Where are Harry, Mary, and the others?’

‘Somewhere behind me. I came on ahead to look after my sister and brothers …’ His voice tailed. He’d volunteered to look after them but he didn’t have a clue where any of them were.

‘There they are.’ She pointed to a spot inside the park. ‘I can see them sitting in front of the Bute Street Blues Band. The musicians couldn’t wait to get off the float. It was so cramped back there they could hardly breathe let alone play. Isn’t Judy a great singer?’

‘She is.’ He dutifully glanced at Judy, who was leading the band’s audience in a chorus of ‘Tiger Rag’.

‘Can I help you down?’ He held out his arms.

‘In a moment.’ Edyth turned to her driver. ‘Jamie, they’ll be announcing the winning floats any minute. As soon as they have, you can take the cart back to the shop and put the horses in the stable. Once they are bedded down, you’re free until you have to harness the cart at six o’clock on Monday morning.’

‘Can I wash off this muck and put on ordinary clothes?’

He looked so miserable she laughed. ‘Something tells me you didn’t enjoy being part of the carnival.’

‘I didn’t.’ He had the grace to smile.

‘Sorry, but it would be bad form if you drove off before the judges announced the winners. It would look like we were throwing a tantrum because we didn’t expect to win.’

‘You’re bound to get first prize. You were easily the best float in the parade,’ David gushed.

‘Thank you, but I know we weren’t. The Noah’s ark was.’ Edyth smiled at her driver. ‘Five more minutes at the most. And thank you. Considering the amount of noise, you did a great job of managing the team.’

‘Stan and Olly are bomb-proof.’ Jamie flicked the reins lightly over the horses that had been named after Laurel and Hardy.

A hush descended over the crowd. Edyth shaded her eyes against the sunlight and saw the Catholic priest, Father Reilly, climb on to a small platform that had been lashed together from odd bits of wood. Someone handed him a megaphone.

‘The standard of the floats this year was remarkably high. Well done, all those who participated in the carnival. We judges had a difficult decision to make and I know we’re not going to please everyone but here goes,’ he shouted.

The priest was hemmed in by leaders of the various communities who had made their home in the Bay. Edyth recognised representatives from the Welsh Methodist and Baptist chapels, Hindu temple, Muslim mosque, Buddhist temple, Jewish synagogue, and Greek Orthodox Church as well as the Reverend Alan Spicer, who had succeeded her husband Peter Slater to the post of parish vicar of the Anglican Church in Wales. He saw Edyth watching and nodded to her. She nodded curtly back.

Both the Reverend and his wife had been overtly friendly towards her, insisting that their housekeeper bought all their bread, biscuits and cakes at her baker’s. But Edyth’s experience with Peter was too recent and raw for her to accept sympathy. And it didn’t help that whenever the Reverend or Mrs Spicer singled her out, she felt that they were only doing so out of pity and their idea of Christian charity.

Father Reilly raised his voice. ‘Third prize goes to the boxing club’s sweeps’ float.’

A resounding cheer shattered the hush. Edyth applauded along with everyone else when the battered and retired boxer who ran the make-shift gym where the boys trained pushed the youngest member of his club towards the priest.

The boy took the cup and, in response to a shout of, ‘Hold it up, so everyone can see it,’ waved it above his head, which led to an escalation of the cheering. It was several minutes before the priest could continue.

‘Second, Goldman’s Midas Touch.’

Micah stepped past David, edged up to the cart and pitched his voice below the cheers. ‘They didn’t dare not give you a cup, lest you cut down on the giveaways at Christmas and Easter.’

Edyth chose to ignore him. She nudged Jamie. ‘Go and get it.’

Jamie stared at her in astonishment. ‘Me, Mrs Slater!’

‘You drove us, didn’t you?’

Trying to look as though he wasn’t enjoying the attention, Jamie handed the reins over to Edyth, clambered down from the cart and went to accept the cup. When he raised it above his head, the applause and cheering was even louder than it had been for the boxing club.

Edyth leaned towards Micah. ‘See what you get for giveaways.’

‘Cheers, cups, and giveaways don’t fill the till, pay the wages, or buy the flour,’ he muttered.

‘And the winner of this year’s carnival is …

Silence reigned over the park once more.

‘Christina Street’s Noah’s ark.’

The din that greeted the announcement was deafening. Micah made his way back to the band so they could play the winning floats out of the square. Edyth held out her hand and hauled Jamie back on to the cart.

‘Drive around twice with the other winning floats before you go back to the shop.’

Jamie took the reins from her. He held them in one hand and set the cup on his head with the other. ‘Is there anything else you want me to do besides take care of the horses, Mrs Slater?’ he shouted above the noise as she prepared to jump down.

‘No, but thank you for asking. And don’t attempt to put the top and back on the cart. Wait until Moody and the boys can help you on Monday morning.’

Micah and the rest of the band struck up ‘I’m Sitting on Top of the World’. David held out his arms to Edyth but she jumped clear of him, barely touching his fingers. ‘The greasepaint,’ she said by way of explanation.

The breath caught in David’s throat and blood rushed to his cheeks. He felt more of a country bumpkin than ever when he was around Edyth and he knew it showed. ‘Jamie called you Mrs Slater. I thought you and Peter were divorced.’

‘Our marriage is being annulled but it isn’t yet. I’m waiting for him to sign and send me the papers.’

‘So you still use your married name?’

‘I moved to the Bay as Peter’s wife. He may have left me but we’re still legally married. I can’t pretend otherwise,’ she replied crisply.

‘He must have been mad,’ he blurted.

‘More like I was mad to marry him in the first place,’ she dismissed. ‘But it’s a lovely day. Do we have to talk about Peter?’

‘Of course not.’ He dared to look into her eyes. She smiled and he stared down at his boots.

She saw his embarrassment and tried to ease it. ‘I know I should wait for you to ask, David, but do you want to dance?’

‘I’d love to.’ He offered her his arm. After glancing at her hand to make sure the greasepaint was dry, she took it just as the last cart disappeared up Bute Street and the band stopped playing.

The vibrant echoes of Caribbean steel drums filled the air. Scores of youngsters, boys and girls, ran into the only clear area in the centre of the park, the pitch the judges had occupied. They began to leap and gyrate to the throbbing beat with an abandon David wished he could emulate. But the long weeks he had spent in hospital recuperating had stiffened his joints and sapped his self-confidence. He doubted that he could manage a waltz with his former skill, let alone his favourite Charleston. And, if this was a dance, it was wilder than anything Harry’s sisters had taught him.

A slim, attractive girl with skin the colour of dark chocolate looped a blue silk scarf around Moody’s neck and roped him towards her. Reaching for his gold boater she placed it on her own head, and stood, legs apart, body pulsating, blowing him kisses.

‘Is that your baker?’ David asked Edyth.

‘It is,’ she confirmed. ‘I never knew he could dance like that.’

‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’

‘That makes two of us,’ Edyth concurred. ‘Shall we sit – or rather stand – this one out?’

Wary of losing her in the crowd, David covered the hand Edyth had hooked into his elbow with his own. But he couldn’t stop staring at the girl with the silk scarf. She was dressed modestly in a high-necked, calf-length, button-through cotton frock, yet her movements and the expression in her eyes exuded a sensuality that sent a peculiar thrill – half excitement, half fear – down his spine.

He had been to dozens of dances since Mary had married Harry, but had seen no one move like that girl. Edyth and her four sisters were considered good dancers but their steps were refined in comparison to the coloured girl’s. It was the difference between the Valetta and the Indian war dances he had seen in the cowboy films Harry had taken the family to see in Pontardawe.

He noticed that the girl’s movements were gradually being adopted by the people around her, including, to his astonishment, members of the Bute Street Blues Band. Even Micah, who was the pastor of a church. But unlike the chapel minister in the Swansea Valley, Micah obviously had no qualms about making a spectacle of himself. David stepped alongside Edyth, leaned against the railings and continued to watch the dancers. The drumming proved intoxicating. The raw sexuality of the girl’s movements both embarrassed and fascinated him, engendering feelings he would have found impossible to articulate.

Despite his misgivings, he found himself tapping his feet and swaying to the rhythm, all the while beset by the oddest feeling that the dancers were simply creations of, and extensions of, the music. When it ceased they would disappear, fading into nothingness like the early-morning mist above the reservoir in the valley below his farm.

The drumming slowed to a languorous conclusion. The beats grew fewer and softer until he couldn’t be certain the musicians were even hitting the skins. The dancers slowed and wiped the perspiration from their faces with coloured handkerchiefs. Micah left his partner and fell back alongside them.

‘Do you think it will take over from the tango?’ he asked.

‘Possibly, but I can’t see me adding it to my repertoire,’ Edyth replied.

‘Coward.’ He turned to David. ‘Enjoying the carnival?’ David nodded. The beat picked up again, as first one drummer then another and another began pounding their instruments.

‘I saw your feet tapping. Come on.’ Judy grabbed David’s hand and pulled him into the circle of dancers. David tried to protest but his voice was drowned by the music, and when he tried to retreat back to the railings, Judy grasped both his hands in hers so he couldn’t escape.

He glanced around self-consciously. There were onlookers but they appeared to be more interested in chatting to one another than watching the dancers and the people around them were too engrossed in their own enjoyment to care about anyone else. Taking his cue from Judy he tried to follow her steps, and moments later he was waving his arms and leaping with the rest of them, stiffness forgotten, hypnotised by the drumming that seemed to be keyed to his heartbeat.

The drummers quickened the pace, hitting their instruments louder and louder until they reached a fast-paced crescendo that ended abruptly. Silence reigned, so sudden and absolute it seemed incongruously deafening. David stepped away from Judy and staggered.

‘I’m sorry, I should have remembered you’d been ill,’ Judy apologised.

‘I’m fine now.’ David only realised he’d snapped when Judy flinched.

‘You’re a good dancer,’ she complimented. ‘But I knew that the first time I saw you do the Charleston with Edyth at her sister’s wedding last year.’

‘Of course, you were in the band,’ he commented absently, looking around for Edyth. She was still standing talking to Micah. ‘Shall we join the others?’

‘If you like, although the Green Swing Band will be playing more conventional dance music in a moment.’

‘Harry and Mary are here somewhere. And I promised to keep an eye on my younger brothers and sister …’

Judy recognised an excuse when she heard one but she had only been trying to be kind to David. She knew from a few things she’d overheard Edyth say to her brother Harry that David’s ‘accident’ hadn’t been entirely straightforward. And from the way David was watching Edyth it was obvious he had a crush on her. ‘Let’s ask Edyth and Mr Holsten if they’ve seen them. If they haven’t, I’ll help you to look for them.’

‘Gin and it.’ Aled set the third refill he’d bought Anna in front of her.

‘And the last this afternoon, or I’ll be sozzled.’

‘Anna Hughes, lose her head for gin?’ he questioned sceptically. ‘I don’t believe it. Remember that bottle we shared the night before I left?’ He pulled his chair close to hers and sipped his cognac.

‘We needed it after burying your mother that afternoon. Call me sentimental, but I put up a grave marker – nothing fancy, just a wooden cross with her name and date of death. I wasn’t sure of her date of birth.’

‘If ever I knew it, I can’t remember it.’

She sat back and studied him. ‘Whatever you’ve been doing for the past fifteen years has agreed with you. You’re looking well.’