Authors: Catrin Collier
‘People are doing it all the time.’
‘Not me. It’s downright irresponsible. Besides, I have a job, an important job.’
‘How is it going in the factory?’
‘Fine.’
‘Really?’ He raised his eyebrows, debating whether to let her know he’d met Judy on the train. And even without Judy’s testimony, he’d heard enough stories about the munitions factories to know that the working conditions in them were only marginally better than underground.
‘Yes, really,’ she asserted defiantly, ignoring his scepticism.
‘That offer of a ring still stands.’
‘An engagement ring?’
‘Only if you set the date for the wedding when I slip it on to your finger.’
‘How can I? You’re forgetting I haven’t been widowed a year. I need time, Alexander, please?’ She widened her eyes, giving him her most appealing look.
‘A week?’
‘Longer.’
‘How much longer?’
‘Must we talk about this now?’
‘Yes.’
‘At least six months.’
‘Fine, six months it is. Then I take you out, and I mean out, and tell Evan Powell and the world that we’re getting married.’
‘Alex …’
‘I’m serious, Jenny, you put me off again, and I’ll start looking elsewhere. I’ve had enough of being kept dangling on a string.’
‘This won’t do at all. I warned you, Ronnie.’
‘It was almost healed, Bethan,’ he protested as she examined his leg. ‘It’s just that I banged it yesterday, knocked off the scab …’
‘And set yourself right back where you were when you came home.’
‘I’m not going into hospital,’ he insisted.
‘No?’ She stood back, hands on hips and stared at him.
‘No,’ he repeated firmly.
‘All right.’ She threw the old bandages into a box and wrung out a pad of cotton wool in antiseptic. ‘Last chance. You stay in bed and rest. If it heals over in the next couple of days I won’t call the doctor in.’
‘I can’t do that. I promised to help Tina with the café.’
‘Then I’ll telephone Dr John right now.’
‘There’s no one to look after me. The girls are busy with the business.’
‘Move in with Luke and Gina. There’s an evacuee family there with a young mother who stays home: she can take care of you.’
‘There isn’t a spare bed, much less a spare room in Danycoedcae Road.’
‘Compromise. I take you up to my house, and Maisie and I will see to you.’
‘You’ve got enough to do without taking in patients.’
‘My house or a hospital? What’s it to be?’
‘Your house is full of kids and noise. I’d never have a moment’s peace. Suppose I stay here and take it easy,
very
easy,’ he emphasised, ‘for a few days. Then, if it doesn’t improve, you can cart me off.’
‘I know your idea of taking it easy.’
‘I swear, I won’t put my leg down except to go to the ty bach or cook.’
‘Cooking’s out, it involves standing. I’ll get the girls to send food up.’
‘Then I can stay here?’
She hesitated for a moment. ‘Only if I have your solemn promise not to put a foot to the floor more than twice a day for the next four days.’
‘You have it.’
‘I should never have allowed you to work in the café,’ she declared as she laid fresh dressings over the reopened wound.
‘There wasn’t anyone else to do it.’
‘Tina would have had to manage if you hadn’t been home.’ She cleared up the mess of dirty bandages and bowls and took them out to the washhouse.
‘Tea?’
‘I’ll make it. And after you’ve drunk it, I’m putting you to bed.’
‘No one’s done that since I was a baby.’
‘You’re behaving like one.’
‘You heard from Andrew lately?’ he asked in an attempt to coax her out of her starched-nurse mood.
‘Not since last week, and then the letter was months old. There must be an enormous mountain of undelivered Red Cross mail stacked somewhere between here and Germany.’
‘It must be hard on him, sitting around in a POW camp with nothing to do except worry about you.’
‘And get angry with me for not telling him things that I know will trouble him.’
‘Surely not angry, Beth?’
‘Yes, angry. Why are men so stupid, and why am I pouring out my problems to a patient?’
‘Try brother-in-law.’
‘You’ve enough troubles of your own.’
‘Seems to me problems are the only things people have too much of these days. Perhaps an effort should be made to share them around on a more equitable basis. Like rationing. Can’t you just see it? New Ministry of War directive, “No one is allowed to have more than one worry at a time. All problems must be part-exchanged for another. Hoarders will be prosecuted.”’
‘Nice idea.’ She picked up the kettle. ‘Pity it wouldn’t work. Take no notice of me, it’s just a bad day. Andrew’s birthday.’
‘At least he’ll be back, Beth.’
‘I wonder if I’ll know him when he walks through the door. A lot can happen in a year. I’ve changed, and from his letters I suspect he has.’
‘But not in ways that matter, surely?’
‘I wish I could agree with you. Alma said Charlie seemed like a stranger when he came home, but at least they were able to spend a few days with one another. Heaven only knows when, if ever, I’ll see Andrew again.’ Lifting down the teapot she set about making the tea.
‘You still love him, don’t you?’
‘All I have are memories and photographs. To be honest, when I compare them to his letters, I’m not sure any more.’
‘Have you tried writing to tell him how you feel?’
‘So I can depress him even more than he is already?’
‘Hasn’t it occurred to you that he might be feeling the same way, which is why his letters seem angry?’
She looked at him and smiled. ‘Perhaps you should write a column in the
Observer.
“Problem page from the male point of view, from one of the few members of the species left in the town”.’
‘At least it would keep me off my feet and occupied. I’m not sure I know how to rest.’
‘I’ll get Diana to bring you up some books from the library.’
‘There’s no need to trouble her.’
‘She comes this way every day to check on the High Street shop, it wouldn’t be taking her out of her way.’
He fell silent, wary of protesting too much.
‘You two haven’t had a quarrel after that nonsense about Tony, have you?’
‘No, of course not. Look, if you really think she wouldn’t mind, ask her to look out for a couple of Agatha Christies, will you, please? I read one in the RAF camp and liked it.’
Bethan found Diana in the kitchen of Alma’s shop. She and Alma were sitting at one end of the enormous preparation table, drinking tea and eating tongue rolls.
‘Elevenses, because there’s never any time for dinner,’ Alma explained. ‘Want one?’ She pushed the bag of rolls across the table, and reached for the teapot.
‘Just a peaceful sit down would be bliss.’ Bethan took the vacant chair next to Alma’s.
‘Busy morning?’ Diana glanced at her cousin over the top of her cup.
‘The usual. I’m looking for help. Ronnie’s hit his leg and opened his wound.’
‘How did he manage that?’ Alma asked.
‘He didn’t say.’
‘He could have done it in Shoni’s yesterday, I met him there.’
‘Then he’s an even bigger idiot than I thought he was. What was he doing walking through the woods? I warned him if he didn’t rest, he’d end up in hospital.’
‘You know Ronnie: telling him to take it easy is like ordering a mongrel to stay away from a butcher’s stall. He probably saw it as an invitation to go on a route march.’ Alma picked up another roll and reached for the butter.
‘Well, he’ll have to stay put now: I’ve put him on bed rest for a week and I tucked him up myself.’
‘You’re not naive enough to think he’ll stay there, are you?’
‘No, which is why I was hoping you’d help.’ Bethan looked to Diana. ‘He needs something to do and he said he might read if you got him some Agatha Christie books.’
‘I’ll call in the library.’
‘That’s what I was hoping. You wouldn’t mind dropping them off as well, would you?’
‘I’ve got a better idea than books,’ Alma broke in before Diana could answer. ‘I saw the manager of the slaughterhouse this morning. I’ve got some definite figures on what we can have in the way of unrationed offal and meat. Perhaps Ronnie could work out the overheads and production figures on the basis of us taking over the kitchen of his High Street café.’
‘I don’t care what he does, as long as he keeps off that leg,’ Bethan said decisively. ‘If he doesn’t, he’ll end up in hospital, and then he can forget all about going into munitions for months.’
Diana walked into Laura’s house loaded down with three bags. One of library books, one of food, and one with paper, pencils and lists of costings that Alma had sent up. She called through, ‘It’s only me’ before heading down the passage and into the kitchen. She found Ronnie on his feet in the washhouse, filling the kettle.
‘I heard you coming in and thought you’d like tea.’
‘Bethan would kill you if she knew you were up.’
‘I’ve just been to the ty bach.’
‘Liar. It’s no joke, Ronnie, Bethan told me how bad it is.’
‘I’ll rest now.’ He carried the kettle into the kitchen and set it on the hob before lowering himself into an easy chair. She saw him grimace as he lifted his leg to prop his foot on a stool.
‘According to Bethan you should be in bed.’
‘Then I’d have to walk up and down stairs every time I wanted to go out the back.’
‘There is such a thing as a chamber pot.’
‘Which I haven’t used since I was three, and before you say another word, I’ve no intention of starting again now.’
‘I could get Wyn and Uncle Huw to come round and carry a bed down into the parlour.’
‘You’ll do no such thing. I promise to be a good boy, Miss.’ She glared at him and he dissolved into laughter. ‘Was that supposed to make me afraid?’
‘Yes.’
‘Don’t be cross. What have you brought me?’
‘Tongue rolls for your dinner, all the Agatha Christie books they had in the library, and some accounts that Alma thought might keep you busy. She talked the slaughterhouse into giving her extra supplies, and wants to go ahead with the expansion.’
‘Good.’
‘Do you think you’ll be well enough to start it off?’
‘Give me two or three days.’
‘That’s not what Bethan said.’
‘I’m a quick healer. You in a hurry?’
She looked at the clock. If she wasn’t back to give Billy his midday feed, her mother would do it. And it was far too early to start the banking. ‘Not especially, why?’
‘I thought we could go through the figures together, seeing as how we’re going to be business partners.’ His heart beat faster as he looked at her. It was no use reminding himself that she was married and the mother of his brother’s child. He wanted to be with her. It was as simple and as dangerous as that.
‘All right.’ She pulled a chair to the table and opened the bag Alma had given her. ‘At least if I stay, I can stop you bobbing up and down every five minutes.’
Alexander walked down the hill with mixed feelings. He would much rather have spent the evening with Jenny than in a pub, but despite the warm welcome, marvellous supper and ecstatic reception, last night had ended on a sour note. Sheer frustration had driven him to give her the ultimatum that they make their relationship public or end it, but he had no regrets. Even six months was too long. He was tired of all the subterfuge. He respected his landlord, Evan Powell, and he would have liked to be able to look him in the eye every time his daughter-in-law’s name cropped up in conversation. Something he certainly couldn’t do at the moment.
He hadn’t even intended going out, but after coming home from the pit, bathing in the tin bath in the draughty and uncomfortable washhouse, changing, and eating supper he had felt restless, and as he had no place else to go, he’d decided to give the White Hart a try.
Crossing the road, he slowed his step as he walked past Griffiths’ shop. Freda was behind the counter. On impulse he called in and bought a packet of cigarettes. She didn’t mention Jenny’s name, and he didn’t dare ask, but no sound echoed down from upstairs, and when Jenny was home she usually had the radio on.
Did that mean she was working late? Or had she gone out with another man – Ronnie Ronconi again?
He carried on down the hill. Skirting station yard he resisted the temptation to eye the girls touting for trade, crossed the road and entered the Hart. Blinking against a fug of tobacco smoke, he peered into the bar. It was crowded with men playing darts and eking out their rationed pints. He walked on down the passage into the back room. An enormous crowd of women had commandeered the central tables, glasses of beer, shandy and sherry lined up in front of them. Cigarettes in mouths, they were laughing, drinking and chattering, making more noise than the men in the bar.
‘Gets you a bit, doesn’t it?’ the barman remarked as he walked past him with a tray of clean glasses. ‘But as the boss says, “Business is business.” Their money is as good as everyone else’s and seeing as how they earn it, why not?’
‘Why not indeed?’ Alexander echoed following him to the bar. As a fully paid up member of the Communist party he’d always advocated equality between the sexes, he’d just never assumed it would take such blatant proportions. Now he was faced with it, he was disturbed to discover that it shocked him to the core.
‘Alexander! Over here!’
Judy Crofter waved to him, her peroxide curls bobbing against her rouged cheeks, her lips stained a deep vermilion that bleached the colour from the rest of her face. But her pale skin was nothing compared to his when he noticed the woman sitting beside her. If looks could kill, the one Jenny was sending his way would have been enough for the barman to have reached for the sawdust bucket to cover his corpse.
‘That’s enough figures for one day. I can’t look at another number.’
‘I know what you mean, they won’t stand still on the page.’ Ronnie closed the child’s exercise book he’d been working in.
‘Do you want a hand to get up the stairs?’ Diana asked.
He looked at the clock. ‘The restaurant will have closed by now so Gina will be along soon with my tea. I’d rather eat it down here.’ He bundled the sheets of paper together. ‘Can you spare some time tomorrow?’
‘If you like.’
‘I’d like, very much indeed.’ He looked into her eyes. ‘I wasn’t sure you’d want to come near me again after yesterday.’
‘Yesterday was just one of those things. No harm done.’
‘No?’
‘Ronnie, I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. I’m happy as I am.’
‘Are you?’ His eyes were dark, serious in the gathering twilight.
‘There’s no reason why we shouldn’t be friends.’
‘Friends?’ he repeated slowly. ‘Is that what you think we are?’
‘How can we be anything else?’
‘That’s what I’d like to find out.’
‘Ronnie, I’m married. I have a family. I can’t offer any more than friendship.’
‘Then it will have to do.’ The ‘for the moment’ hovered unspoken between them.
The front door crashed open. ‘Ronnie, are you upstairs or down?’ Gina strode down the passage, slammed back the door and burst in carrying a hay box made out of a wooden ammunition crate. ‘I didn’t know you’d be here, Di. I brought your tea, Ronnie.’ She dumped the box on the table, and turned to her brother. ‘What are you doing out of bed?’