Authors: Catrin Collier
‘My sister can cope with anything,’ Huw observed wryly.
‘And it’s always been poor Wyn who’s borne the brunt of my father’s temper.’
‘I’ve noticed.’
‘It’s the pain. He has to take it out on someone.’ She excused her father’s behaviour out of habit, because he never apologised for it himself. ‘Although he hasn’t gone on at Wyn quite so much since Billy was born.’
‘He’s a bonny baby.’
‘Isn’t he?’ she enthused. ‘I never thought there’d be any babies in our house. It’s wonderful being an auntie and Diana’s so generous. She lets me monopolise his waking time when I’m home …’ Her voice tailed away as she realised she was gushing.
‘It’s nice being an uncle too. I try to forget the “great”.’
‘You don’t look like a great-uncle.’ She was glad the blackout hid her face. She could feel her cheeks burning. What had she been thinking of? The comment could so easily be misconstrued as a compliment, and as her father would have undoubtedly pointed out, Huw Davies’s connection to her was hardly close enough for such familiarity.
They crossed Gelliwastad Road and walked down Church Street into Market Square in silence, she, squirming because she believed she’d embarrassed him by having been too personal, he, desperately searching for something to say. Myrtle was thirty-eight years old to his forty-five, and at times like this he wished he had the impetuosity and confidence of his nephew William. In the last year he and Myrtle had witnessed half the young people in their respective circles of friends and relations rush into war marriages, but he still lacked the courage to ask her to share his life and the house he’d inherited from his father in Bonvilston Road. Even now, when she worked in a factory full of what her father referred to as ‘common tarts’ she had retained her middle-class reserve, a reserve he felt put her way out of the reach of an ordinary working-class man like himself.
‘Myrtle, what a time to get up in the morning, eh?’ Judy Crofter, a blonde maneater from Leyshon Street, accosted them in Station Yard. Huw would have known her voice anywhere, and he thought her a most unsuitable acquaintance for a refined lady like Myrtle.
‘You get used to it like everything else, Judy.’
‘Myrtle, over here,’ another voice called.
‘I’ll leave you now.’ The milling crowd of women was too much for him, even when he was wearing his uniform.
‘Thank you for walking me down, Constable Davies.’
Huw straightened his helmet and beat a hasty retreat. Judy’s shrill tones followed him.
‘Seems to me we’re going to be hearing wedding bells soon, eh,’ her cackle echoed around the yard.
‘Constable Davies is a friend of the family.’
‘Friend? I’ve seen the look in his eye. Can’t wait to get his leg over like every other man …’
Huw crossed the road quickly. Whenever he daydreamed of Myrtle it was always in chaste terms. Sitting companionably either side of the fire in his parlour, miraculously transformed into a warm and cosy room by Myrtle’s delicate, womanly touch, or going shopping arm in arm, visiting his sister on a Sunday, all the small everyday trivia of family life he saw and envied in other households, and hadn’t been a part of since his father had died and his brothers moved away.
How dare Judy Crofter reduce his feelings for Myrtle Rees to a disgusting term more suited to what went on between sluts and their customers in station yard. How dare she!
It was morning when Bethan next drove up the hill to Penycoedcae. Bright, beautiful sunny morning without a cloud in the sky, but she wasn’t in a mood to appreciate the sparkling, spring light, or the buds breaking into flower in the fields and hedgerows. The night spent closeted in Alma’s mother’s bedroom had been a long one and the old lady had been confused and restless for most of it. Mrs Moore persisted in defying all logic and Dr John and Dr Evans’s predictions of imminent demise by lingering on when her heart should have given out weeks ago. The strain on Alma had been enormous, even before Charlie had come home.
This morning, she had urged the relief nurse to do all she could to keep the old lady going for the next twenty-four hours, but she still had a presentiment that Mrs Moore was going to die at the most inopportune moment, right in the middle of Charlie’s leave.
She parked the car in the old coach-house Andrew had converted into a garage, and walked into the kitchen. Liza Clark was doling out mugs of milk and porridge to the rows of children ranged on benches at the kitchen table. Maisie had washed and dressed Rachel, and was giving Eddie his morning bottle.
‘I’ll do that, Maisie, about all I’m fit for is sitting down.’
‘You look fagged, Nurse John,’ Liza observed in her strong London accent. ‘Rough night?’
‘No rougher than Alma’s been having for the last couple of months. Any sign of our guests?’
‘I took them up some supper last night. Mrs Charlie brought down the dishes before we went to bed, but we haven’t seen them this morning,’ Maisie answered as she wiped a dribble of porridge from one of the younger mouths.
‘Alma needs the lie-in. She’s been working all day in the shops and sitting up all night with her mother for months now. No one can stand that kind of strain for any length of time.’
Liza began to lift the children who’d finished their breakfast from the table, and shepherd them to the downstairs cloakroom to brush their teeth in salt. She had taken it upon herself to relieve Bethan of as much of the work of looking after the evacuees as she could. With her mother killed in the bombing raid that had destroyed their house in East London, and her father away in the army, she had assumed full responsibility for her three younger sisters. They hadn’t been anyone’s ideal guests. Some people in Pontypridd had been prepared to take one evacuee child, a few had been imposed upon to make room for two, but no one had been prepared to take in four.
Bethan had arrived late at the station to find all the clean and tidy children already gone. The only ones left in the waiting room had flea bites, impetigo, or ringworm beneath the layers of grime that covered their hands and faces, and sitting, caring for them as well as her own sisters, had been a tearful Liza Clark, protesting in between sobs that she wouldn’t be separated from her sisters because she’d promised her parents she’d look after them no matter what.
Bethan had taken one look at the young girl who appeared even younger than her sixteen years, imagined herself in the same predicament and offered Liza and her family a home on condition Liza pulled her weight. It hadn’t taken the girl long to work out what ‘pulling her weight’ meant as Mrs Llewellyn-Jones, bank manager’s wife and WVS autocrat, had set aside the two worst cases of impetigo for Bethan ‘because nurses are used to that sort of thing’.
Gratitude had led Liza to do much more than anyone could have reasonably expected of her. Friendly with Maisie, she insisted on deferring to her hostess as the ‘lady’ of the house, which highly amused Bethan. The cockney was what most people on the Graig called a rough diamond with the emphasis on the ‘rough’, but Bethan couldn’t imagine getting through a day now without her warmth, sympathy, practical help and constantly flowing cups of tea.
She brought one over as soon as Bethan took her baby and sat in the chair Maisie had vacated. Rachel,
who was perched in her high chair at the head of the table in between Liza’s eight- and ten-year-old sisters, looked across at her mother.
‘Want to go and see Auntie Phyllis today, Rachel?’
The toddler nodded solemnly, lowering her brown ringlets into her enamel mug of milk.
‘I can look after Eddie and Rachel if you want to go to bed, Mrs John,’ Maisie offered as she dried Rachel’s hair with a tea towel.
‘You have enough to do. I can sleep just as well down there, and it will give you a chance to get on with the baking for the weekend.’
Liza laid a plate of toast spread with blackberry jam next to Bethan’s tea.
‘Thank you, I don’t know what I’d do without you two.’
‘Have a quieter life and a tidy house,’ Liza suggested.
‘I’d still have the children.’ Hearing a creak overhead, Bethan realised that either Alma or Charlie was stirring.
‘I’m going into Daddy’s study. Would you like to come with me, Rachel?’
The child nodded, and Maisie lifted her down. She trailed after Bethan as she crossed the hall. Conscious that her children were growing up without their father, Bethan was doing her utmost to make them feel that he was still part of the household. Andrew’s photograph was prominently displayed in every room, especially the bedroom the children shared, and she kept his study exactly as he’d left it apart from the addition of photographs and the special toys her mother-in-law had given her. Toys that had been his.
Sitting on the sofa in front of Andrew’s desk she resumed Eddie’s interrupted feed. His tiny hands reached for the bottle as she stroked the soft down of dark hair on his head. She looked for a resemblance between the baby’s unformed features and those of his namesake, but there was already an auburn sheen to his hair that was pure Andrew and the eyes that had been blue had darkened: not to the deep brown of her own and Eddie’s eyes, more the tawny shade of her husband’s.
She leaned back and propped her feet up on a footstool. She had to stop looking for a likeness. Keeping her brother and sister’s memory alive was one thing; saddling the living with an ideal of the dead they couldn’t possibly live up to, quite another.
‘Good morning.’
Alma was standing in the doorway.
‘Come in, how’s Charlie?’
‘Fine, how’s my mother?’
‘The same. She hasn’t regained consciousness since you left, and she hasn’t a clue who is sitting with her, so you may as well stay here until Charlie has to go back.’
‘I couldn’t possibly do that.’
‘Don’t forget there’s a telephone here. The relief nurse promised to phone the minute there’s any change. Even if I’m not here, you could call a taxi and be with her in a quarter of an hour at the most.’
‘I’d still like to see her.’
‘Then I’ll take you down later on, but only if you promise to come right back. Diana has everything under control in the shops. She’s right, you do have good staff’
‘I know.’
‘If you’d like breakfast, just call Maisie.’
‘She has enough to do with the children. I’ll make something for Charlie and me later. I left him sleeping.’
Bethan looked at her closely. ‘Nothing wrong, is there?’
Alma stepped into the room and sat next to Bethan on the sofa. ‘Not exactly.’
‘You haven’t seen him in over a year. Things are bound to be strange between you. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll recognise Andrew when he eventually comes home.’
‘Before Charlie even walked into the house he saw me leave the restaurant with Ronnie.’
‘Come on, Charlie knows you. He loves you. He’d never think that you and Ronnie …’
‘He made it clear that he didn’t like the idea of me getting too friendly with Ronnie again, but even when he was being the masterful, jealous husband I had the feeling that his thoughts were elsewhere. As though he’d left his mind wherever he’s been, instead of bringing it home with him.’
‘I’ve known Charlie a long time. He’s always been quiet, you know that, particularly when he’s bothered about something. We don’t know what he’s going back to -’
‘That could be it, couldn’t it?’ Alma broke in eagerly. ‘He’s not allowed to say where he’s been or what he’s been doing, but given the languages he speaks, it stands to reason that he fights behind enemy lines.’
Bethan fell silent. She knew Alma was thinking the same as her. That people who were sent into enemy territory were out of uniform and if caught, shot as spies. She couldn’t begin to imagine the pressure of living with the knowledge that one wrong move meant a death sentence. Her own problems paled into insignificance beside those Charlie must face every minute of his working life.
‘I’m taking the children down to Phyllis’s for the day so I can get some sleep. Maisie’s going to be busy baking for the weekend, the others won’t go near my rooms, so why don’t you stay here again tonight?’ she offered. ‘You’d have all day to yourselves. Try and talk to him, Alma. I know Charlie: if you feel something’s wrong between you, he will too.’
‘You’re right.’ She looked at Rachel who was playing on the floor with a dozen green and red wooden blocks, and the baby who had just finished his feed and was sleeping, curled contently in Bethan’s arms. ‘I really envy you.’
‘And I you. I’d give a great deal to spend an hour with Andrew right now.’
‘Can I?’ Alma held out her arms and Bethan deposited Eddie in them. ‘Both of them are absolutely beautiful,’ Alma said for Rachel’s benefit, who seeing her mother’s lap empty, promptly climbed on to it.
‘Aren’t they?’ Bethan wrapped her arms around Rachel and dropped a kiss on the top of her head.
‘And Rachel and I have decided that Eddie looks just like his father, haven’t we, poppet? I only wish I knew how long this war was going to last.’
‘Don’t we all,’ Charlie agreed as he walked in. For the first time since his return he’d abandoned his uniform. Dressed in a pair of dark trousers and a thick, ribbed sweater, his fair hair tousled and uncombed, he reminded Bethan of the fishermen she’d seen setting off from the quaysides of west Wales.
‘I hope I didn’t wake you when I left,’ Alma said.
‘I was only dozing. It’s too beautiful a day to waste sleeping. I thought we might go for a walk down Shoni’s pond.’
‘After I’ve seen my mother?’
‘We could pick up a couple of pies from the shop for a picnic lunch.’
‘In that case I’ll get us some breakfast now. Here, cuddle your godson.’
‘My godson?’ He looked to Bethan in surprise as Alma passed the baby to him.
‘I asked Alma if you’d like to be his godparents. It seemed appropriate, considering his name. Eddie was fond of both of you; he used to say you were the best boss he ever had.’
‘He was a good friend.’
‘So,’ she continued a little too brightly, ‘when this Eddie was christened, Alma stood godmother and my father stood in for you. Jenny and Haydn are the other godparents.’
‘Haydn was home?’
‘He had a forty-eight-hour Christmas leave, so he brought Jane down for the day.’
‘Lucky devil. And before I forget, thank you for this leave. I imagined snatched moments in between serving customers.’ He sat down and laid the baby on his knees. Eddie snuggled sideways and continued sleeping.
‘Most men hold babies out at arm’s length as though they’re likely to explode. You look as though you’ve handled them all your life.’
‘Does that surprise you?’
‘I just never thought of you with children.’
‘I was the eldest of six, but none of them were as quiet and well behaved as these two.’
‘I’m glad you approve. Have you thought any more about tonight?’
‘I’d like to see your father and Phyllis, Megan and Diana if you’re sure it’s not too much trouble for you.’
‘No trouble. I’ll stretch my district nurse’s petrol-ration and bring them up. Would you mind if Wyn, Ronnie Ronconi, Tina and Jenny come as well? We try to include Jenny and Tina in all the family things for Eddie and William’s sake, and Ronnie’s only just got back from Italy.’
‘No,’ he replied evenly, ‘I wouldn’t mind at all.’
‘You look a bit brighter than you did last time I saw you, but those clothes do nothing for you,’ Jenny Griffiths greeted Ronnie as he hobbled into her shop wearing a pair of trousers that were three inches too short and a pullover that barely skimmed his waist.
‘I raided Tony and Angelo’s wardrobes up at the house. They both seem to be a foot shorter than me, especially in the arms and legs, but as Tina confiscated the only rags I possess to fumigate them, these will have to do until I can get some clothing coupons.’
‘Eddie was about your height, but heavier,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘You’ve lost a lot of weight.’
‘The way Tina is feeding me I’ll soon put it back on.’
‘I’ve kept Eddie’s clothes. He moved them down from Graig Avenue on his last leave. I’d be grateful if you took them off my hands.’
‘I couldn’t do that. Think how you, Evan and Bethan would feel seeing me walk around town in Eddie’s things.’
‘We’d be thankful that they were being put to some use, instead of mouldering away in a wardrobe. Please, Ronnie, I wouldn’t have offered if I hadn’t meant it. I’ve almost taken them down to Wilf’s stall a couple of times, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It didn’t seem right to sell them and they didn’t fit anyone in the family. I’d rather you had them than strangers.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘You’d be doing me a favour by taking them. I need the space and if you don’t mind me saying so, it’s obvious you couldn’t bring much from Italy.’
‘I couldn’t bring anything from Italy. Not that there was much to bring,’ he added ruefully.
‘Come upstairs and look them over. If they fit and you can use them, I’ll pack everything up and ask Bethan to drop the parcel off at Laura’s house the next time she passes. That is where you’re living?’
‘It is,’ he answered, surprised that she’d taken the trouble to find out.
She opened the flap in the counter and threw the bolt across the shop door. ‘I daren’t leave the shop unlocked when I’m not here. George Collins delivered the cheese and butter rations this morning, and there’s always people looking for a bit extra. Generally the same ones who aren’t too fussy where it comes from.’
‘You might lose customers.’